The Darkest Hour

As he stumbled upward toward the open air, following his own scent trail along the dark passage, the way seemed twice as long as before. Firestar’s fur scraped against the tunnel walls and he was filled with horror at the thought of being buried alive. The air felt too thick to breathe, and as his panic grew in the unbroken blackness of the tunnel he began to imagine that it would never end, that he would be trapped for ever in blood and darkness.

Then he saw the pale outline of the tunnel entrance, and burst out into the still night air, where the moon was sinking behind thin clouds. Firestar dug his claws into the loose earth of the hillside while shudders passed through his body from nose to tail.

A few moments later, Cinderpelt emerged behind him and pressed herself against his side until he managed to control his dreadful shivering and his breathing steadied.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t you know?”

Cinderpelt shook her head. “I know that the ritual was interrupted—the scent of blood told me that. But I don’t know why.” She looked deep into his eyes; her own were burning with concern. “Tell me…did you receive your nine lives and your name?”

Firestar nodded, and the medicine cat relaxed slightly. “Then the rest can wait. Let’s go.”

For a moment Firestar felt too exhausted to move. But he did not want to stay anywhere near Mothermouth and the terrible things that he had seen in the cave. Shakily, pawstep by pawstep, he began to descend the hill. Cinderpelt padded beside him, sometimes nudging him toward an easier route, and Firestar was grateful for her unquestioning presence.

As they drew farther away from the tunnel, the stench of blood faded from his mouth and nostrils. Still, Firestar felt that even if he washed for a moon he would never get rid of the last traces from his fur. He began to feel stronger, but he was still very tired, and as soon as the rocky hillside gave way to grass he flopped down in the shelter of a hawthorn bush.

“I’ve got to rest,” he meowed.

Cinderpelt tucked herself into the grass beside him and for a few moments the two cats shared tongues in silence. Firestar wanted to tell the medicine cat what he had seen, but something kept him silent. Partly he wanted to protect her from the dreadful fear he had felt—even if she could explain what Bluestar’s prophecy meant, would it help to have another cat look forward to the future with the dread that he now felt? And partly he hoped that if he never spoke of the dreadful vision, it might not come true. Or was there a curse on his leadership that nothing could avert? Bluestar had told him before she died that he was the fire who would save the Clan. How could that be true, if the fire was quenched by the tidal wave of blood he had just seen? Firestar had experienced prophetic dreams before, and he had learned to take them seriously. He could not ignore this, especially when it came at such a significant moment, while he was receiving his nine lives and his new name.

Cinderpelt broke into his reverie. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it yet, you know.”

Firestar pushed his muzzle into her fur, grateful for her warmth. “I’ll think about it first,” he mewed slowly. “Right now…it’s too close.” He shivered again at the memory. “Cinderpelt,” he went on, “I’ve never told any cat this before, but…sometimes I have dreams that tell me about the future.”

Cinderpelt’s ears twitched in surprise. “That’s unusual. Clan leaders and medicine cats commune with StarClan, but I never heard of ordinary warriors having prophetic dreams. How long has this been going on?”

“Since I was a kittypet,” Firestar admitted, remembering the dream of hunting a mouse that had first driven him into the forest. “But I…I don’t know if the dreams come from StarClan.” After all, before he came to the forest, he hadn’t even known about StarClan. Could they have been watching over him even then?

The medicine cat’s eyes were thoughtful. “In the end, all dreams come from StarClan,” she murmured. “Do they always come true?”

“Yes,” Firestar replied. “But not always in the way I expect. Some are easier to understand than others.”

“Then you should bear that in mind when you’re trying to understand this latest dream.” Cinderpelt gave him a comforting lick. “Remember, Firestar, you’re not alone. Now that you’re Clan leader, StarClan will share many things with you. But I’m here to help you interpret the signs. Tell me as much or as little as you want.”

Though Firestar was grateful for her understanding, Cinderpelt’s words chilled him. His new relationship with StarClan was driving him along new paths where he might not want to go. For a few heartbeats he longed to be no more than a warrior again, hunting with Graystripe or sharing tongues with Sandstorm in the den.