Firestar’s Quest

“We can’t give up!” It was Leafdapple, speaking from a branch just above Firestar’s head. “Are we going to let Rainfur die for nothing?” When no cat answered her, she went on. “The rats have no more right to live here than we do. Aren’t we going to fight for what’s ours?”

Firestar looked up to see the tabby she-cat standing commandingly on her branch. Her eyes glowed with courage.

Around her the other cats were stirring, seeming to catch something of the fire that blazed within her.

“I’ll fight with you,” Sharpclaw snarled. “They’ll kill us anyway, but I’ll take a few of them with me.”

A chorus of voices rose up around Firestar, vowing to fight on, whatever happened. Even Shortwhisker agreed, though his fur was bristling and his eyes were blank with terror.

“We’re a Clan now,” Clovertail declared, “and this is where we belong. We’ve got to fight for that.”

Firestar hauled himself to his feet, digging his claws into the branch. His head was clearing now, and the strength of his next life flowed into his limbs—the strength of the SkyClan ancestor who had brought him here believing that he would not fail.

“I honor your courage,” he meowed. “And I’ll fight with you. You can have all my lives and all my strength if it will help you beat these rats.”

He was aware of Sandstorm’s ears pricking in surprise, but he meant every word. This was the right thing to do by the warrior code. For tonight, he was not the leader of ThunderClan, but a member of SkyClan.

“But what are we going to do?” Patchfoot asked in a small voice.

Firestar looked down. The tree was surrounded by sinuous rat bodies, their sharp eyes fixed on the warriors who had taken refuge in the branches. Cherrypaw and Sparrowpaw still stood at its foot, ready to spring up to join their Clanmates if the rats attacked.

But the rats seemed to be in no hurry. Firestar could tell they thought the battle was over, and they could wipe out the remaining cats as slowly as they wished.

“The rats are acting together,” he thought out loud. “Like a swarm of bees or a pack of dogs. Last night they stopped attacking us and all turned tail at once. Something is controlling them. They must be taking orders from the leading rat.”

“So kill him,” Sharpclaw hissed, flexing his claws, “and the rest of them will flee.”

“I hope so,” Firestar replied grimly.

“That’s all very well,” Patchfoot meowed. “But how do we tell which one is the leader? They all look the same to me.”

Firestar thought back to the last heartbeats of his previous life, when he had faced the rat leader inside the barn. His neck fur bristled at the memory of the malignant eyes and the hoarse voice telling him to die.

“Only the leader can speak the tongue of cats,” he meowed. “If we can make him talk to us, we’ll know which one he is.”

“And then…” Sharpclaw slashed one paw, claws extended, through the air.

Firestar glanced around. The SkyClan warriors were ready for action now, their eyes eager, their wounds and weariness forgotten. Even Shortwhisker seemed to have pulled back from the brink of his panic.

“We’ll have to climb down,” he began. “The rats will sit there forever if we stay up this tree.”

Taking the lead, he scrambled down to the cold, hard ground, landing beside the two apprentices. The rest of the Clan followed him in silence and stood gazing out across the mass of rats. Firestar noticed that the SkyClan descendants—Cherrypaw and Sparrowpaw, Shortwhisker and Sharpclaw—moved into position on the outside of the little group, as if they meant to protect their Clanmates who couldn’t escape up the tree so easily.

As they descended, a ripple passed through the crowd of rats, and they edged a little nearer. Firestar raised his head and faced them.

“You’re brave enough when you’re all together,” he taunted them. “But I bet you wouldn’t be so brave on your own. I don’t suppose even your clever leader would come out and face me.”

Not a rat moved.

“Cowards!” Sharpclaw sneered. “Crow-food-eating, skulking vermin!”

“Come and fight!” Firestar hurled the challenge against a wall of silence. Panic began to prickle in his fur. The leading rat was obviously clever enough not to show himself.

The cats pressed their backs to the tree as the rats crept a little nearer. Another few heartbeats, Firestar thought, and they would surge forward. The SkyClan cats would fight on for a little while, but sooner or later they would be overwhelmed. Once more SkyClan would become nothing more than a memory. What can I do? he asked himself, anguished.

Then a familiar scent drifted around him, and his paws tingled. Spottedleaf? He glanced from side to side, but there was no sign of the tortoiseshell she-cat. Only a soft voice that murmured in his ear: Not many, but one.

Then the sense of her presence faded. Wait! Firestar protested in his head. I don’t understand! How could Spottedleaf say that there were not many rats here?