Firestar’s Quest

Leafdapple let out a mrrow of amusement; Cherrypaw and Sparrowpaw exchanged glances, looking ashamed for believing the kits’ story.

“Skywatcher told us that your SkyClan ancestors called this the Shining Cave,” Firestar told them. “It would have been a special place for them.”

But the Whispering Cave might be a better name, he thought. He strained to hear any message from SkyClan’s warrior ancestors, but all he could hear was the lap of the swift black water and the mews of his Clanmates.

“What was special about it?” Sharpclaw asked.

Firestar gave each of the SkyClan cats a searching glance before he replied. Skywatcher had told them that this cave was a special place for medicine cats, but Firestar didn’t want to destroy their confidence by telling the new Clanmates that they still needed a vitally important Clan member before they could be a real Clan. Instead he watched to see if any cat could hear voices; to his disappointment, they were gazing warily around, respectful, but showing no sign of understanding the cave’s deeper meaning—not even Leafdapple, who had seemed sensitive enough to be a potential medicine cat.

“We’ll find a use for the cave when it’s needed,” he told Sharpclaw, stifling a sigh. “All in good time.”

The ginger tom gave Firestar a look from narrowed eyes, but said nothing more, only turning to lead the way along the ledge and out into the open again.

Firestar waited until every other cat had left before listening one last time for the voices the kits had heard. The hair on his pelt began to rise; perhaps, very faint and far away, there was something, but he couldn’t be sure. How could he put the new Clan in touch with the spirits of the former SkyClan when he couldn’t hear them either?

“Are you there?” he mewed aloud, hoping that SkyClan’s warrior ancestors could hear him. “If you are, show yourselves to us. And for the new Clan’s sake, please send us a medicine cat.”

Chapter 27

Firestar sat at the edge of the sandy training area, watching Sandstorm working with Clovertail. Several days had passed since the pale brown she-cat had agreed to join the sessions.

She was still anxious, still unsure about her place within the Clan, but she was trying her best.

She crouched with her tail lashing back and forth, her gaze fixed on Sandstorm. When the ginger she-cat sprang, Clovertail grabbed her and flipped her over to hold her down on the sand. Her three kits, watching beside Firestar, bounced up and down, letting out gleeful meows.

“Yes!” Rockkit yowled. “Go, Clovertail!”

“Bite her throat!” Bouncekit urged.

Sandstorm pushed Clovertail off and glared at the three kits as she spat out a mouthful of sand. “Do you mind?” she meowed. “You just wait until you’re apprentices. I’ll teach you about throat biting.”

All three kits collapsed in mrrows of laughter, their tiny tails waving in the air.

“It’s no use.” Firestar twitched his ears at his mate. “They know you’re not as fierce as you sound.”

Sandstorm ignored him. “You’re coming along very well,” she told Clovertail. “You might want to watch out for—”

She broke off at the sound of yowling coming from farther down the gorge. Firestar sprang to his paws. He flicked his tail at Sandstorm. “Come on. Clovertail, keep the kits here.”

Not waiting to see if Clovertail obeyed, he raced down the gorge. Sandstorm bounded at his heels. A heartbeat before they reached the Rockpile, the yowling stopped. The silence was almost as frightening as the sound.

Skidding around the lowest rocks of the Rockpile, Firestar came to a slippery halt. A couple of tail-lengths in front of him stood Rainfur, the gray rogue who had refused to join the Clan. His sides heaved as he fought for breath.

Patchfoot was facing him, his pelt bristling and his lips drawn back in a snarl. Leafdapple and Sharpclaw stood close by with their apprentices, looking ready to fight the intruder if they had to.

“Get out,” Patchfoot rasped. “You had the chance to stay and you turned it down. Now go, unless you want your fur clawed off.”

“Wait,” Firestar meowed, padding forward to push himself between Patchfoot and Rainfur. “What’s the problem?”

“Rainfur knows he’s not supposed to come here now,” Patchfoot began.

Firestar touched the black-and-white tom’s shoulder with his tail. “Let Rainfur speak for himself.”

By this time the gray rogue had gotten his breath back. “I need your help,” he meowed. “Please, Firestar. It’s not for me; it’s for my mate and her kits.”

Until then Firestar hadn’t even known that Rainfur had a mate. “What’s the matter with them?”