Firestar’s Quest

“Look at that,” he mewed, pointing with his tail to the scratches on the column of rock by the entrance.

“Yes, our ancestors’ claw marks.” Sharpclaw nodded.

“Look at the smaller claw marks at the bottom, the ones that go across instead of up and down. I always assumed that kits made them, but now I think they’re the marks of rats.”

Peering more closely at the marks, Firestar matched them in his memory with the tiny claws of rats. No kit would have claws so thorn-sharp.

Cherrypaw’s eyes stretched wide. “Rats came here?”

Firestar nodded. “We’ve always known that something drove the first SkyClan cats out of here and scattered them so that the Clan was destroyed. Now I think we know what that ‘something’ was.”

“Rats!” Sharpclaw snarled.

“Rats,” Firestar agreed.

Gazing down at the thin claw marks, scored across the ones made by cats, Firestar found it was easy to imagine hordes of rats pouring into the gorge and overwhelming the SkyClan warriors. They had set their marks in this cave to proclaim their victory. Firestar had no doubt that he was looking at a record of SkyClan’s defeat.

This was the secret that Skywatcher had refused to tell him, the secret of how the first SkyClan had been driven from the gorge. The rats’ hatred had been passed down and now it was being nourished by the leader Firestar and his patrol had met outside the barn—the rat who spoke cat, who must have learned to speak the language of his enemies to let them know exactly what he would do to them. He would stop at nothing to rid his territory of cats, just as his ancestors had done long ago.

Firestar worked his claws in the sandy floor. Were SkyClan doomed to be driven out of their homes again, just as their ancestors had been?

He padded out of the den and gazed across the gorge.

Clouds covered the sky, though there was a pale gleam of light where the sun was trying to break through. Slowly the clouds shifted into a pattern of light and dark, until the SkyClan ancestor’s face was looking down at him with eyes full of wisdom. Firestar’s paws seemed to freeze to the rock, and every hair on his pelt tingled. Why should the SkyClan ancestor appear now, when Firestar had not seen him for so long? Somehow Firestar was convinced it must be because there was a way to defeat the rats and save the Clan.

The clouds shifted again and the face of the ancestor disappeared. But the encouragement he had given Firestar flowed through his body from ears to tail tip. “Come on,” he meowed, glancing over his shoulder at Sharpclaw. “I’m going to call a Clan meeting.”

“Cats of SkyClan.” Firestar stood on top of the Rockpile, his flame-colored pelt gleaming in a shaft of sunshine. “You heard what happened today, first to Sandstorm’s patrol and then when I went back with Sharpclaw and Cherrypaw. Now we have to decide what we’re going to do.”

Pausing, he let his gaze travel over the Clan below. All the cats were sitting close to one another, as if they needed the physical support of their Clanmates. Petal was missing, looking after the kits in the nursery cave, but Rainfur was here, even though he wasn’t a Clan warrior. Sandstorm was sitting at the mouth of the medicine cat’s den, where she could keep an eye on Patchfoot and still listen to what was being said at the meeting.

“Can we do anything?” Leafdapple asked. “If there are as many rats as you say, how can we possibly beat them?” Her eyes met Firestar’s as she spoke; she wasn’t frightened or despairing, but Firestar could tell she saw no point in facing a battle they couldn’t win.

He knew he had to be honest with her. “It’s going to be tough. I’ve never come across rats like these before. But we don’t have to kill them all. Just enough to make them stay in their own territory.”

“They drove out the first SkyClan,” Sparrowpaw mewed nervously. “Why should we be any different?” Shortwhisker murmured agreement, his whiskers twitching.

“At least we know what we have to face,” Firestar replied.

He scraped his claws along the rock, desperate to turn this huddle of shaken cats into a Clan of loyal, determined warriors. “Your warrior ancestors are watching you now,” he told them, hoping it was true. “You should fight for their sakes, not just your own. This is your chance to take revenge!”

“Why?” Cherrypaw demanded. “We’ve never met our warrior ancestors. Okay, we’re living in their camp, but that doesn’t mean we have to fight their battles.”

Clovertail nodded, taking a pawstep that brought her to the young tortoiseshell’s side. “Cherrypaw is right. We’ve got to decide what’s right for us, not for some dead cats who already lost their battle.”

Firestar winced; Clovertail’s words were harsh, but she had a point.

“And what about the kits?” Shortwhisker fretted. “They can’t fight. But the rats will kill them if they come here.”

Rainfur bared his teeth. “Over my dead body.”