The Darkest Hour

The sun was going down, and the rock cast a long shadow across the sandy floor of the clearing. The scarlet rays of the dying sun made it too easy for Firestar to imagine that the camp was already washed in blood. He wondered if it wasn’t a sign from StarClan, that all his friends, all his warriors, would be destroyed. After all, the warrior ancestors had shown no sign of anger when Scourge had ripped Tigerstar’s nine lives out of him and let all his life’s blood run into the sacred ground at Fourtrees.

No, Firestar told himself. To think like that was to despair and do nothing. He had to go on believing that BloodClan could be defeated.

Clearing his throat, he began to speak. “Cats of ThunderClan, you have heard of the threat that faces us. BloodClan has come from Twolegplace and laid claim to the forest. They want us to run away and let them take over without a fight. But three days from now, we will stand together with WindClan and make BloodClan fight for every mouselength of the forest.”

In the clearing below, Cloudtail leaped to his paws and yowled agreement. Several cats echoed him, but Firestar could see that some glanced doubtfully at one another, as if they were not sure they had a chance of surviving against BloodClan and their fearsome leader.

“What about RiverClan and ShadowClan?” asked Whitestorm. “Will they fight? And if they do, which side will they be on?”

“That’s a good question,” Firestar replied. “And I don’t know the answer. The TigerClan warriors ran away when Tigerstar died.”

“Then we need to know where they went,” Whitestorm meowed.

“I could slip over into RiverClan territory to see,” suggested Mistyfoot, getting up from where she sat at the base of the rock. “I know all the best places to hide.”

“No,” Firestar ordered. “You’re in more danger over there than any cat. We don’t know if TigerClan are still persecuting half-Clan cats, and I don’t want to lose you. ThunderClan needs you.”

For a moment Mistyfoot looked as if she would have liked to argue, but she dipped her head and sat down again as Whitestorm meowed, “We can find out most of what we need from border patrols.”

Firestar nodded. “That’s your job, Whitestorm. I want extra patrols along the ShadowClan and RiverClan borders. Their main task is to find out what the other Clans are doing, but they can keep their eyes open for BloodClan as well. If Scourge decides to attack before the three days are up, I don’t want us to be caught napping.”

Whitestorm flicked his tail in agreement. “Consider it done.”

Firestar could see that his deputy’s calm efficiency had encouraged the rest of the Clan, and he went on quickly before their fears could return. “Next, every cat in the Clan must be prepared to fight.”

“Even the kits?” That was Sorrelkit, springing eagerly to her paws. “Can we be in the battle? Can we be apprentices?”

In spite of the danger they were in, Firestar suppressed a purr of amusement. “No, you’re too young to be apprentices,” he told Sorrelkit gently. “And I can’t take you into battle. But if BloodClan win, they’ll come here, and you’ll need to be able to defend yourselves. Sandstorm, will you be responsible for training the kits?”

“I will, Firestar.” Sandstorm’s green eyes flashed with approval at Sorrelkit and her littermates, Sootkit and Rainkit, who had scrambled up to stand beside their sister. “They’ll be able to give BloodClan a nasty surprise by the time I’ve finished with them.”

“What about Brightheart?” Cloudtail called. “Her fighting moves are coming along well.”

“I want to fight in the battle,” Brightheart mewed determinedly. “Can I, Firestar?”

Firestar hesitated. Brightheart was stronger now, and she had been training hard with Cloudtail. “I’ll think about it,” he promised. “Are you ready for an assessment?”

Brightheart nodded. “Anytime, Firestar.”

“We’ll fight with you, too,” Mistyfoot put in from where she sat near the base of the rock. Featherpaw and Stormpaw, sitting beside her, straightened up and looked determined. “We’re all strong enough, thanks to you.”

“Good. As for the rest of you”—Firestar’s gaze swept the clearing—“warriors, apprentices, and elders, you have three days to prep are. Graystripe, will you supervise a training program?”

His friend’s eyes lit up and his ears pricked. “No problem, Firestar.”

“Get a couple of the others to help you…and rotate the training sessions so Whitestorm has enough cats for his patrols, and for hunting.” Glancing around, he spotted the medicine cat sitting near the fern tunnel that led to her den. “Cinderpelt, are you ready to look after the wounded?”

Privately, Firestar knew there was no need to ask; he had never known Cinderpelt not to be ready, but he knew it would reassure the other cats to hear her say so out loud.

The look Cinderpelt gave him showed that she understood. “Everything’s prepared,” she replied. “But there’ll be a lot to do once the fighting starts. If you could let me have an apprentice to help, that would be great.”