Flamepaw suddenly felt his chest tighten, as if he couldn’t get enough air. He was tired of being told he had to set his paws on a certain path because Firestar was his ancestor. Besides, he hadn’t passed his assessment because of which cats he was related to. He had passed because he had worked so hard.

  Did Sparkpelt really not notice how much time I spent practicing? Building up my strength, learning as many fighting and hunting techniques as I could? And all that while I was doing my apprentice duties as well? All the apprentice duties, because I was the only one.

  Flamepaw wondered when his mother would give him credit for his efforts, instead of pointing to the skills of some long-ago kin he had never even met. The answer seemed to be never.

  They even sort of named me after Firestar, though my pelt is black.

  His kin seemed to think they were honoring him, but Flamepaw felt as trapped as a mouse kept prisoner under their claws. Or as if he walked through his days under an enormous shadow—a shadow cast by the great leader Firestar.

  “The sun is going down,” Sparkpelt continued, seeming to be unaware of what Flamepaw was feeling. “We’ll have to hold your warrior ceremony tomorrow.” She gave Flamepaw’s ear a swift lick. “I’m sure you can’t wait!”

  Flamepaw tried to recapture his earlier excitement, but it was hard. He felt that he was becoming a warrior in a Clan that only valued him because he was Firestar’s kin, refusing to see the cat that he was. This will be my last night as an apprentice—but I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.

  “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Highledge for a Clan meeting!”

  Bramblestar’s voice rang out across the camp; Flamepaw, who had been waiting outside the apprentices’ den, nervously flexing his claws, rose and moved into the center of the camp.

  The sun had just cleared the tops of the trees above the stone hollow. The dawn patrol had returned, and though Squirrelflight had arranged the first hunting patrols, she hadn’t sent them out yet.

  Instead, the Clan began to assemble. Cloudtail, Brightheart, and Brackenfur slid out of the hazel bush that formed the elders’ den and found a sunny spot where they could relax. Spotfur and Daisy were sitting together at the entrance to the nursery, while Spotfur’s kits play wrestled in front of them. Alderheart greeted Flamepaw with a wave of his tail as he emerged from the medicine cats’ den, followed by Jayfeather. The Clan warriors formed a ragged circle with Flamepaw at its center. Squirrelflight and Lilyheart took places side by side at the front of the crowd.

  Flamepaw’s heart began to thump. It’s really going to happen!

  Sparkpelt bounded up to him and gave his head and shoulders a few swift licks, while Flamepaw wriggled away in embarrassment. “I’m not a kit!” he protested.

  “This is the most important day of your life,” Sparkpelt pointed out calmly. “It’s no time to look scruffy.”

  Flamepaw heaved a deep sigh, then stood still while his mother finished her grooming.

  Meanwhile Finchlight padded up and touched noses with him. “I wonder what name Bramblestar will give you,” she mewed. “Maybe something about the prey you killed to pass your assessment? Or maybe it’ll have to do with your long whiskers?”

  Flamepaw had no idea what warrior name Bramblestar had in mind for him. He didn’t even know what name he wanted, except that he wished he weren’t stuck with Flame.

  Finally Bramblestar made his way down the tumbled rocks and joined Flamepaw in the center of the circle. Flamepaw met his gaze and saw a glow of approval in his leader’s amber eyes.

  “One of the most important tasks a Clan leader carries out is the making of a new warrior,” Bramblestar began. “And the cat we honor today has waited a long time for this ceremony.” Turning to Lilyheart, he continued, “Has your apprentice learned the skills of a warrior, and does he understand the demands of the warrior code?”

  Lilyheart dipped her head. “He has, and he does.”

  “Then I, Bramblestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.” The Clan leader turned a wide-eyed gaze on Flamepaw, and continued. “Flamepaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code, and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

  Flamepaw lifted his head. All his hard work, all his struggles, even his two failed assessments, had been worth it for this moment. “I do,” he replied.

  “Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior name,” Bramblestar went on. “Squirrelflight tells me that you showed extraordinary patience and ingenuity in your last hunt, just like Firestar. To honor that connection, from this day forward Flamepaw will be known as Flameheart, and we welcome him as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

  Flamepaw stared at his Clan leader, his mouth gaping in shock. He couldn’t believe the name his Clan leader had given him. It was bad enough that Flame was part of it, when he was a black cat. But now Bramblestar wanted to burden him with Firestar’s warrior name, too. Will they ever appreciate me for who I am?

  Meanwhile, yowls of approval broke out from the assembled cats. “Flameheart! Flameheart!”

  Flamepaw gathered every scrap of his courage and held up his tail for silence, raking the crowd with a grim gaze. Bramblestar could not have spoken words that would have hurt him more, to speak of his kin at a special moment which that should have been for him alone. He felt as though his heart had been pierced with icy claws.

  But that just makes it easier to do what I’m going to do now.

  His Clanmates had begun to realize that something was wrong. Their joyful chanting grew ragged and uncertain, until it died away altogether. Every cat was staring at Flamepaw in confusion.

  When the stone hollow was silent, Flamepaw drew himself up. “Flameheart will not be my name,” he announced.

  Gasps of shock ran through the crowd. Flamepaw could guess why: As far as he knew, no cat had ever refused their warrior name—certainly not at their naming ceremony.

  Squirrelflight was the first cat to speak, her green eyes snapping fury. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “How dare you reject your name!”

  It was hard for Flamepaw to face her without flinching. After all, Firestar had been Squirrelflight’s father; he couldn’t blame her for being angry.

  Before he could respond, Bramblestar turned to his deputy and waved his tail at her in a calming gesture. Then he looked back at Flamepaw.

  “If you don’t want to be named Flameheart, what name do you want?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Flamepaw confessed. “I just know that I want something that reflects the cat I am, not some cat from the past that you all wish me to be.” His anger overflowed, and he spat the words out. “I’m not Firestar! I don’t even look like him, in case you haven’t noticed. I will think of a perfect name for myself and let you know.”

  Cats were exchanging bewildered glances, clearly not knowing how to react. But Flamepaw thought he saw a glimmer of understanding in Bramblestar’s eyes. No cat spoke to Flamepaw, except for his mother, Sparkpelt, who broke away from the crowd and bounded forward to his side.

  “You’re being disrespectful and mouse-brained,” she hissed. “This is no way to endear yourself to your Clan.”

  “That’s not fair!” The protest came from Flamepaw’s sister, Finchlight. “Flamepaw was humiliated when he was made to take his assessment three times, even though every cat knows he deserved to be a warrior long ago. So the least you can do is let him choose his own name!”

  “Warriors do not choose their own names!” Squirrelflight retorted icily, her dark ginger fur bristling.

  Growls and loud meows rose from the assembled Clan as every cat began to join the argument. Seeing how angry he had made Sparkpelt and Squirrelflight, Flamepaw began to wonder if he had gone too far. Desperately, he clung to his conviction that he was right, but it took all his strength to ignore the turmoil around him and keep his gaze fixed on Bramblestar.

  His Clan leader still stood calmly in the midst of the turmoil, holding Flamepaw in his quiet attention. At last he raised his voice, and his Clan fell silent.

  “We will compromise,” he announced. “Flamepaw, I will give you a name that more accurately reflects your appearance and demeanor, but still honors your ancestor. That is the way of this Clan, and—like it or not, Flamepaw—we see some of Firestar’s qualities in you.” He raised his tail as Flamepaw opened his jaws to protest. “You’re right that your pelt doesn’t bring fire to mind,” he continued. “Just like your father, Larksong, you are as black as night. So from now on, Flamepaw, you will be known as Nightheart.”

  Chapter 23

  “So, Frostpaw, did StarClan send you a dream last night?” Mothwing looked up from grooming herself as soon as Frostpaw emerged from her den, blinking in the pale dawn light.

  Frostpaw paused for a moment before replying. The last shreds of her dream still clung to her, and she was reluctant to surrender the wonder in exchange for an ordinary day in the RiverClan camp.

  But it’s not an ordinary day, she reminded herself. It’s the day we get our new leader!

  “Well?” Mothwing asked, an edge of impatience in her tone.

  “Yes, I had a dream,” Frostpaw replied at last. “I was back at the Moonpool, and the whole ground was covered with white, curled feathers. It was so beautiful!”

  “Hmm . . . So Curlfeather is to be our new leader.” For a moment Frostpaw thought that Mothwing sounded almost disappointed, or perhaps doubtful, as if somehow she wasn’t pleased that StarClan had sent the dream.

  She can’t be jealous of me, surely! She never seemed jealous of Willowshine because she could speak to StarClan and Mothwing can’t.

  When Mothwing next spoke, she sounded as brisk and capable as always; Frostpaw thought she must have been imagining things.

  “We’d better make an announcement to the Clan, so you and Curlfeather can set off for the Moonpool.”

  Without waiting for a response from Frostpaw, Mothwing bounded past the opening of their den, up the bank, and through the bushes into the center of the camp. Frostpaw followed more slowly, stifling a groan at the thought of the endless stretch of moorland she would have to cross for the second day running.

  By the time Frostpaw emerged from the bushes, Mothwing was standing on the Highstump. “Let all cats old enough to swim gather to hear my words!” she yowled.

  The dawn patrol, with Podlight in the lead, was about to leave, but turned back at the sound of Mothwing’s summons. More warriors—Curlfeather among them—pushed their way out of their den, yawning and blinking sleep out of their eyes. Mosspelt crept from the elders’ den, flopped down at the entrance, and began to wash her ears.

  As soon as Mothwing spotted Frostpaw, she leaped down from the Highstump. “Up you go,” she meowed, angling her ears to tell Frostpaw to take her place. “You ought to make the announcement.”

  Frostpaw shrank back. “Mothwing, I can’t . . . ,” she protested.

  “Nonsense, of course you can.” Mothwing’s tone was sharp, but her amber eyes were warm and encouraging. “It was your sign.”

  Knowing there was no point in arguing, Frostpaw scrambled up onto the Highstump and gazed down at her Clan. She was acutely conscious of the faces of all her Clanmates, raised toward her, each gaze firmly fixed on her.

  Please, StarClan, help me do this.

  “Cats of RiverClan,” she began, then realized that her voice was too high-pitched; she was almost squeaking like a kit. She swallowed and began again. “Yesterday at the Moonpool, StarClan sent me a sign, and last night they confirmed it with a dream—a dream of white, curled feathers. Their meaning is clear: Curlfeather will be the new leader of RiverClan.”

  For a few heartbeats the Clan stood in silence, as if they needed time to take in what Frostpaw had just told them. Meanwhile Curlfeather turned a shocked look on her, one that gradually changed to an expression of pleasure and pride.

  “Me?” she asked. “Really, me? Oh, thank you, Frostpaw. I swear by StarClan that I will do my best to be a true leader of this Clan.”

  But while she was speaking, some of her Clanmates turned to each other, exchanging uneasy glances. Doubtful murmurs rose from the crowd. Suppose they don’t accept what I told them? Frostpaw thought anxiously.

  “Are you okay with that, Mothwing?” Owlnose asked eventually.

  The medicine cat dipped her head in reply. “I trust Frostpaw’s instincts and her connection with StarClan,” she meowed. “If she says StarClan has chosen Curlfeather, then Curlfeather will be our leader. Besides, StarClan must still approve her by giving her nine lives and her name. If they refuse, we will know Frostpaw was wrong.”

  The Clan seemed to relax at Mothwing’s words, gathering around Curlfeather to congratulate her. Frostpaw’s littermates, Graypaw and Mistpaw, nuzzled her proudly.

  “If I can’t be leader myself,” Duskfur, Curlfeather’s mother, declared, “then I’m glad it’s my kit. You’re a good warrior, Curlfeather, and we all trust you.”

  Murmurs of agreement rose from the assembled Clan, their doubts seeming to vanish like morning mist. Frostpaw sensed a feeling of relief that the problem of leadership had been settled at last. The camp was in disarray: The fresh-kill pile wasn’t as full as usual, and the bedding in the dens had been allowed to get stale. A strong leader and an efficient deputy would soon take care of all that.

  RiverClan will soon revive and be as strong as ever, Frostpaw told herself.

  The sky was a clear, pale blue as Frostpaw and Curlfeather padded past the horseplace, but there was little warmth in the sun’s rays, and every blade of grass was edged with frost. The leaves on the trees across the lake in ThunderClan territory had almost all changed from green to brown and gold.

  Leaf-fall is really here, Frostpaw thought.

  “I’m sure you’ll be a great leader,” she told her mother, “but I wish the whole decision hadn’t been up to me.”

  Curlfeather flicked Frostpaw’s shoulder affectionately with her tail. “The rest of the Clan seems happy about it,” she mewed. “And you didn’t choose me because I’m your mother, did you?”

  “No!” Frostpaw stared at her in shock. “I wouldn’t do that! I really did see a curled feather beside the Moonpool, and have the dream. I wouldn’t lie to my Clan.”

  “Of course not,” Curlfeather purred, seeming satisfied by Frostpaw’s answer. “And I promise you that I’ll do my best for the Clan, from today right to the end of my nine lives. I just wish that you seemed happier about it. If you saw the feather . . .”

  “I did—but my decision was based on how I interpreted that feather.” Frostpaw couldn’t share her mother’s confidence. “How can I be sure that I was right?”

  “You should trust yourself more.” Curlfeather’s voice was bracing. “Your decision was based on more than that feather. It was your connection to StarClan that showed you the sign and helped you realize what it meant. And it was StarClan who sent you the dream.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but—”

  “If you need proof,” Curlfeather interrupted, “I’m sure you’ll feel calmer once I receive my nine lives from StarClan.”

  “I hope that’s true,” Frostpaw meowed. “More than anything, RiverClan needs stability and strength, and naming a great leader like you would help. I just hope it all goes well. The sooner you receive your nine lives, the better.”

  Privately, though, Frostpaw still had her doubts. She knew that ordinarily all a medicine cat had to do was escort the new leader to the Moonpool. But maybe this time she would need to do more. Curlfeather had never been Clan deputy, and as far as she knew, StarClan had never given nine lives to a cat in a situation like this.

  Mothwing had told her how Nightstar, who had led ShadowClan back in the old forest, had never received his nine lives, because the former leader, Brokenstar, was still alive, even though he had been deposed for his savage mistreatment of his Clan. And StarClan had actually brought the second Tigerstar back from the dead because his Clan needed him to lead them. But none of that was the same as what RiverClan was facing now.

  She let out a long sigh. “This is all new territory,” she murmured.

  Curlfeather gave her ear an encouraging lick. “Then I’m glad we’re exploring it together.”

  Frostpaw and her mother reached the border stream between WindClan and ThunderClan territory, and followed it uphill until they found a place that was narrow enough to leap across. Soon they had left the trees of ThunderClan behind them and emerged onto the open moor.

  A cold wind was blowing right in their faces, plastering Frostpaw’s fur to her sides and making her eyes water. The tough grass felt chilly beneath her paws. The long trek to the Moonpool daunted her, yet she longed to reach it and have all this over with, so that she could return to her Clan with their new leader. They’ll all be so relieved that the problems are behind us. And then I can have a nice long nap, knowing the Clan is in capable paws.

  They were still trudging up the first moorland slope, Frostpaw’s legs tired from the journey of the day before. They had almost reached the top when she heard a terrifying baying sound.

  “What was that?” Curlfeather exclaimed.

  Frostpaw glanced over her shoulder to see three dogs burst out of the forest they had just left. For a couple of heartbeats she froze in panic at the sight of the huge creatures, their muscular bodies and brindled pelts, their jaws gaping as they howled. Then Curlfeather shoved at her sharply, almost carrying her off her paws.

  “Run!” her mother yowled. “Back to the trees!”

  Frostpaw gaped, staring at her mother in horror. Is she telling me to run toward the dogs?

  “Go!” Curlfeather repeated. “We have to get off the moor.”

  Then Frostpaw understood. Here in the open there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to avoid the fearsome creatures that were already closer, letting out deep-throated barks as they followed the cats’ trail. And we’re RiverClan cats, not WindClan; we don’t have their speed.

 

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