Charred Legacy: Chapter Fifty-One
(AO3 counterpart here.)
Dawn encroached on the painful silence in camp. It seemed oblivious to the mourning in the shadows.
And it really was mourning, Fireheart was relieved to see as he looked over his Clanmates surrounding Bluestar’s body. Guilt and regret on some faces, grief and nostalgia on others. He caught several whispers of “I wish” and “if only”. The anger Frostfur had for Bluestar was gone; she sat beside her kits, eyes on the ground and ears back, pointing up to the pale sky. Even Goldenflower had her eyes shut tight, face creased morosely. Fireheart wondered to himself if she was wishing she had treated Bluestar differently up to now.
Stars know everyone else is.
Almost everyone was looking down at their paws, but Fireheart caught many glances his way, some concerned for his heart and others concerned for his next move, guessed by their minute changes in expression. He didn’t get to examine them for long—they immediately turned their heads when they realized they were being observed.
Greystripe and Ravenwing had taken up positions on either of Fireheart’s sides, leaning against him just enough to provide some comforting pressure without crushing him. Ravenwing was grooming the top of Fireheart’s head, trying to force a purr and more wobbling out breaths, and Greystripe’s bushy tail wrapped around his hind end. Neither of them spoke, just offered warmth and companionship.
Time seemed halted in place, even with the sky changing colors. Fireheart knew he had to do something for his Clanmates, but his eyes kept returning to the limp, bony body in the center of camp. He had managed to close her eyes, but she didn’t remotely look like she was sleeping. She reminded him of the kit-apprentices that had died in the battle against ShadowClan on WindClan’s territory—a pointless tragedy that he knew he would never get out of his memories.
It just wasn’t fair.
A shift of sand made him look up. Dustpelt was slowly making his way over to Fireheart, his face apprehensive. Fireheart got to his feet, his friends edging away from him to give him room while still staying close.
“What do you want to do?” Dustpelt asked in a low voice when he was within a muzzle-length’s distance from him.
Fireheart breathed in slowly, looking for a long moment at Bluestar, before turning back and speaking just as quietly. “I want to speak to the elders with you. We need to figure this out.”
Dustpelt nodded, both curt and sympathetic. He and Fireheart walked together in silence over to the elder’s den, where One-eye and Halftail were waiting. Neither of them said anything. One-eye just cocked her head in a gesture to the young toms and led them into the depths of the hollow log that made up the den. It went back surprisingly deep, giving enough space for the elders to sit together at the furthest wall and the warriors to sit across from them with more than a body-length of den left.
“Three dead in one night,” One-eye sighed. “So many senior warriors gone, too. We’re like a headless deer.”
Halftail lowered his chin. “Speckletail and Whitecloud at least had the foresight to tell us who they wanted to be their deputies. Even with only the young and mostly young remaining, we know what to do.”
“We have you two,” Dustpelt offered. “The Clan could’ve fallen to infighting without your speaking up and making this decision.”
Fireheart’s stomach knotted at the idea of his Clanmates arguing with each other, battling for leadership—or, worse, the Clan failing entirely, leaving nothing but an empty camp and loners seeking shelter in the other Clans.
That wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t.
I can’t let it.
“This decision isn’t ours,” Halftail said. He swept slowly with a paw, gesturing to the warriors. “It’s yours.”
“You need to speak with each other and choose for yourselves,” One-eye said. “We’re here as witnesses, and perhaps advisors. One of you will be leader. It’s up to you if the other will be deputy.”
The knot in Fireheart’s stomach tightened and iced over. His eyes met with Dustpelt’s; to his faint relief, the tabby looked just as terrified. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
“Well…” Dustpelt finally said, his voice weaker and more uncertain than Fireheart had ever heard before. “You know how I feel about it. So…”
Fireheart closed his eyes in thought. Dared he take such a high position himself? Could he handle it? Would anyone agree to this? Was he ready?
Maybe not, but… he had to try, didn’t he? For ThunderClan, if nothing else.
When he looked back at Dustpelt, he gave a reassuring blink. “I do. I’ll be happy to be leader if the Clan will accept me.” Dustpelt only got a heartbeat of relief before Fireheart lifted his tail. “On the condition that you’ll be my deputy. At least for now.” Dustpelt winced and Fireheart sheepishly twitched his whiskers. “I do need all the help I can get, and I know the other Clans would respect you more than me. If I have your support, I have the support of everyone. At least, to some extent.”
Dustpelt’s voice was faint. “…You’re more popular with others than you think.”
“And you’re more of an asset to ThunderClan than you think,” Fireheart gently retorted. “Whitecloud said that he wanted us both to lead when he was gone. We balance each other out, cover each other’s faults. I think he was right. And I’m inclined to honor his wishes.” He squinted in joking sternness. “I know how much you like to obey your seniors.”
A coughed half-chuff escaped Dustpelt, and his threatening-to-bristle fur settled again. He looked to the elders, who each gave an encouraging nod, and then back to Fireheart.
“You better find someone to replace me as soon as possible,” he said, giving a joking squint of his own.
“The instant a younger cat arrives with potential, you’re being thrown out of your rank,” Fireheart promised. “Don’t come wailing to me when you change your mind and want to be leader after all.”
Dustpelt snorted before turning to the elders. “We’ve made our decision, then.”
“You have.” One-eye stood up stiffly. “Let’s report to the rest of the Clan, and we’ll see what they think.”
Fireheart took the lead, the significance of such a minor thing not lost on him, and stepped out of the elder’s den. Cats had sat close by the log, eavesdropping as they waited. Now that the authority was out in the open, they shuffled backwards or ducked their heads, but their eyes stayed on Dustpelt and Fireheart as the pair walked to the meeting stump. By the time they jumped onto it, the entire Clan had gathered around, giving Bluestar’s body a wide berth.
“We’ve spoken with One-eye and Halftail,” Dustpelt said, brisk and businesslike despite his shaking tail tucked close behind his legs. “And we’ve made a decision about leadership.” He immediately looked at Fireheart, stepping a bit to the side to give him room.
Fireheart looked down at his Clanmates. He had no idea what perfect thing he could say to make them all feel safe and comforted. He didn’t know what to say at all, really. He felt their eyes on him as he had as a half-year-old kittypet, small and awkward against the giants of ThunderClan.
But he had to say something.
His eyes drifted over to Bluestar’s body. He straightened his posture, opened his mouth, and prayed that Bluestar’s spirit would give him strength.
“Whitecloud told the elders, months ago, that he was going to choose between me and Dustpelt for his future deputy.” Fireheart silently cursed that his voice was so soft even as he tried to raise it to something like the volume someone in authority would use. “And he told me that his vision was for whichever one of us was picked to appoint the other as deputy when they themselves became leader. He wanted us to lead together, even as young as we are.” Grief tightened his throat. “I don’t know what he saw in me, but I trust his intuition better than anyone else’s.”
He half-expected someone to shout for him to get to the point. No one did. They just watched him, a mix of sorrow and hope in their eyes.
“Dustpelt has agreed to serve as deputy,” he went on. “And, if you would have me—if you trust me to do it, as Whitecloud imagined, and as I would be honored to do - I’ve agreed to be leader.”
“Oh, come on.”
There it was. Fireheart looked over the crowd, catching sight of Darkstripe towards the back and right, scowling at him in complete disgust.
“You must be joking,” Darkstripe said, much louder than Fireheart. “You really expect we’d let a yearling kittypet lead us? Your apprentice isn’t fully raised—hardly raised at all, going by what he’s been doing behind our backs that you allowed.” His yellow eyes narrowed. “Not to mention all that you’ve done yourself to ‘honor’ ThunderClan. Serving our enemies, breaking laws, disrespecting superiors. You’re too soft and you can barely count! What idiot would agree to this?”
“I would,” Greystripe said immediately.
“So would I,” Ravenwing agreed.
“Count me in on that.” Sandstorm, close to Darkstripe, disdainfully tossed her head. “You can be petty and whine about it if you want, but these two are the best hope we have for ThunderClan to make it out of this rotted mess.”
“I agree, too,” Lizardtail said. He gave Fireheart an approving look. “They’re both more capable than you think.”
Fireheart blinked in surprise, touched as more and more support rose out of the crowd. The fear in their eyes was drowned in the growing light of hope. Goldenflower’s proud purr could be heard over the rest of the voices, and Bramblekit was staring at Fireheart in awe. Even Tawnykit nodded in approval. It tickled him to look over and see Darkstripe staring at his Clanmates, baffled and outraged.
“Then…” Fireheart cleared his throat as the noise died down enough for him to be heard. “Does ThunderClan approve of this? Me as leader, Dustpelt as deputy?”
Dustpelt looked at him with a nod, then said to the crowd, “An ‘aye’ if you approve.”
A round of “Aye!”, called almost in unison, washed around Fireheart. He couldn’t see anyone (except Darkstripe) who hadn’t said it. He looked at Dustpelt, suddenly fighting a swelling of giddiness in his chest. Dustpelt’s eyes were crinkled in warm amusement at whatever expression Fireheart had on. Probably kit-like excitement. Fireheart tried to control his face into something more calm as the “ayes” died down.
“Thank you all,” he said humbly. “I’m honored to serve you.”
Sandstorm raised her voice, dry and casual as usual, but he didn’t miss the camaraderie in her tone. “So, leader, what’s your first order?”
---
Fireheart’s first order, after a moment of thought, was to scout the northern forestland and retrieve Whitecloud and Yellowfang. Dustpelt was firm about him staying home in case the dog was still out there, despite Fireheart’s attempt to lead the search party himself. Dustpelt took control of that, taking Teaselfoot, Lizardtail, and Mousefur out with him. The rest stayed in, waiting, until they came back, carrying the torn and bloody bodies solemnly. It was daylight by this time, and Fireheart wasn’t the only one exhausted.
“Leave them in the center of camp with Bluestar,” he decided when Teaselfoot asked what to do. “We need to rest and recover. We’ll take them out to be buried tomorrow night.”
A bit ghoulish of him to leave corpses in the open, perhaps, but no one argued with this idea. Everyone dragged themselves to their nests without a word. It took Fireheart until he stepped into the warrior’s den to realize that he would be sleeping elsewhere now, and this wasn’t his den anymore.
One more night, as a goodbye, he thought, and curled up in his nest by the entryway. No one argued with him or even asked what he was doing here. They were all too busy sleeping. Fireheart gazed into the darkness of the den, watching Ravenwing and Greystripe rest by him before falling asleep himself.
He was the first to wake up that night, as usual. He contemplated resting some more, but the memories of the previous night shook him awake, and (not without some reluctance) he pulled himself out of his nest for the last time.
Out in camp, Whitecloud, Yellowfang, and Bluestar were resting together. Goldenflower was in her usual position, dozing in front of the nursery. Aspenpaw was likely inside with the kits, Fireheart figured. He glanced over at the prey-pile, grateful for its size. He approached it, took a squirrel, and placed it in front of Goldenflower.
Just as he turned away, her soft voice came to him. “Honeymouse?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” He turned back, aware that he hadn’t groomed out his pelt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Are you doing alright? Being…” His tail swept towards the bodies. “Out here with them?”
Goldenflower blinked lovingly at him. “I’m better than alright. My son is the leader of ThunderClan. How could I be anything but ecstatic?” Before he could say anything, she sat up, towering over him, and started brushing away dry moss with her paw. “He’s got to look presentable, of course.”
Fireheart purred in amusement, letting her paw moss off here and lick a stray hair there. “I do have to keep myself clean. It’d be a bad look for my mira to be grooming me like a kit.”
“Oh, give me this last one.” Goldenflower nosed his ear affectionately and sat back, pleased with herself. “There, that’s better. Now you look like a leader.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever look like that,” Fireheart said meekly, standing straight even so. “But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all we can ask for,” Goldenflower said, briefly pressing her forehead to his.
Fireheart blinked at her slowly before turning and walking to the trio of bodies. He stood over them, silently reflecting on the torn neck of Whitecloud and the cracked-backwards spine of Yellowfang. Their blood had dried on their pelts. Curious that they hadn’t bled onto the sand. Maybe it stopped running when one died.
“I’m sorry I ran,” he murmured to Whitecloud and Yellowfang. “I know you told me to, but… I can’t help but feel I should’ve stayed and fought to save you.” He grimaced. “I guess I’d be dead too, then. I don’t know if I want to die just yet. ThunderClan needs me.” He sighed through his nose in an attempt at humor. “Isn’t that hilarious? Me being needed by so many cats. I hope you were right about this, Whitecloud.”
The bodies didn’t speak, but Fireheart had a faint impression of a cuffed ear, like Yellowfang was swatting him in irritation for his self-doubt.
He went to the meeting stump, taking a mole, and sat atop it, his prey between his paws, not eating just yet. Slowly, his Clanmates emerged, one by one, yawning and quickly licking their pelts. A few caught sight of Fireheart and drew closer to the stump. By the time the last cat came out, a crowd had settled around him, waiting for him to speak.
“It’s a sad way to start the night,” he said after he was sure everyone was listening. “But I think we as a Clan ought to take Whitecloud, Yellowfang, and Bluestar out and bury them, before we do anything else.” He looked down at Cinderpaw, standing beside the stump and watching him with unusual sadness. “Where do you think Yellowfang would like to be buried?”
Cinderpaw sighed, but her response came quick. “In the heart of the forest. I think she’d tear my ears off if I took her back to ShadowClan. This was her home.”
Fireheart nodded, and spoke to the Clan again. “What of Whitecloud?”
“Perhaps by the Sycamore,” Willowpelt said, glum. “He was as great of a deputy as we could hope for.”
Fireheart tilted his head just a little at something odd in her eyes, but he addressed the Clan. “That we can do.”
“What about Bluestar?” Mousefur asked.
Fireheart had thought about this one. He expected it wouldn’t be received well, but he said it anyway. “I believe near Sunningrocks would be best for her.”
The older cats frowned immediately, and the younger cats looked confused.
“Her kits are buried there,” Fireheart explained, and some cats blinked in surprise. “Yes, she had kits, and they died. As much as some in ThunderClan don’t want to talk about it, Sunningrocks has significance to her, kits and…” He hesitated. “Otherwise.”
The younger cats looked at each other in puzzlement, but, to Fireheart’s relief, the older warriors’ frowns relented and they voiced delayed agreement.
“We’ll take them all together, as a Clan.” Fireheart stood up. “After we’re done, I would like everyone to try and catch something on their way home. We need to rest and eat, and, well, be a little more presentable for the Gathering.”
“So we will be going?” Brackenpaw asked hopefully.
Fireheart nodded. “If we can be sure the dog isn’t going to intercept us. The Gathering is tomorrow; let’s keep our ears and eyes open as we move around the forest. Now—” He looked around the Clan. “Are we in agreement about the burial sites?”
Scattered confirmations.
“Good.” He gestured to the prey-pile. “But let’s all try to eat first. We have a long night ahead of us.”
