Warriors 04 - Rising Storm (10 page)

Sandstorm came dashing over to greet them with the good news. “Willowpelt had two she-cats and a tom!” she announced.

“How's Willowpelt?” asked Cinderpelt anxiously.

“She's fine,” Sandstorm assured her. “She's feeding them already.”

Cinderpelt broke into a loud purr. “I must go and see,” she mewed, and hobbled toward the nursery.

Fireheart spat out his mouthful of herbs and looked around. “Where's Cloudpaw?”

Sandstorm narrowed her eyes mischievously. “When Darkstripe saw what a measly catch he'd brought back, he sent him off to clean out the elders' bedding.”

“Good,” Fireheart meowed, pleased for once with Darkstripe's interference.

“Did you speak to Cloudpaw?” asked Sandstorm, her tone turning more serious.

“Yes.” Fireheart's happiness at Willowpelt's kitting disappeared like dew under the midday sun as he thought of his apprentice's indifference.

“Well?” prompted Sandstorm. “What did he say?”

“I don't think he even realizes he's done anything wrong,” Fireheart meowed bleakly.

To his surprise, Sandstorm didn't seem troubled. “He's young,” she reminded Fireheart. “Don't be too upset. Keep remembering his first catch, and that you share the same blood.” She gave him a gentle lick on the cheek. “With any luck it'll show in Cloudpaw one day.”

Dustpelt trotted up and interrupted them, his eyes glinting with barely disguised scorn. “You must be proud of your apprentice,” he jeered. “Darkstripe tells me he made the smallest catch of the day.” Fireheart flinched as the warrior added, “You're obviously a great mentor.”

“Go away, Dustpelt,” spat Sandstorm. “There's no need to
be spiteful. It doesn't impress anyone, you know.”

Fireheart was surprised to see Dustpelt recoil as if Sandstorm had taken a swipe at him. The warrior turned and hurried away, flashing a resentful look at Fireheart over his shoulder.

“That's a neat trick,” Fireheart meowed, impressed by Sandstorm's ferocity. “You'll have to teach me how you do it!”

“I'm afraid it wouldn't work for you.” Sandstorm sighed, staring ruefully after Dustpelt. She had shared her apprenticeship with the tabby tom, but their friendship had faltered since Sandstorm had grown closer to Fireheart. “Never mind. I'll apologize later. Why don't we go and see the new kits?”

She led the way to the nursery, where Bluestar was just squeezing out of the entrance. The old leader's face was relaxed and her eyes were shining. As Sandstorm slipped inside, she declared triumphantly, “More warriors for ThunderClan!”

Fireheart purred. “We'll have more warriors than any Clan soon!” he meowed.

The leader's eyes clouded, and Fireheart felt a chill of unease spread across his fur. “Let's just hope we can trust our new warriors better than our old,” Bluestar growled darkly.

“Are you coming?” Sandstorm called to him from the warm shadows of the nursery. Fireheart shrugged off his fears about Bluestar and pushed his way inside.

Willowpelt lay in a nest made of soft moss. Three kits squirmed in the curl of her body, still damp and blind as they kneaded their mother's belly.

Fireheart saw a new softness enter Sandstorm's expression. She leaned forward and breathed in the warm, milky scent of each kit in turn while Willowpelt looked on, her eyes sleepy but content.

“They're great,” Fireheart whispered. It was good to see kits again, but he couldn't help feeling a thorn-sharp stab of sorrow. The last newborn kits he'd seen had been Silverstream's, and Fireheart's mind flew instantly to Graystripe. He wondered how his old friend was—whether he was still grieving, or whether his new life in RiverClan with his kits had helped to ease his sadness.

Fireheart felt his tail bristle as he picked up the scent of Tigerclaw's kit. He turned to see where it was, swallowing the distrust that rose like bile in his throat. Behind him, Goldenflower was curled in her nest, her eyes closed and the kits sleeping soundly at her side. The dark tabby kit looked as innocent as any of its nursery Clanmates, and Fireheart felt a pang of guilt at the resentment that ruffled his fur.

 

Fireheart awoke early the next day. Thoughts of Graystripe lay heavy at the edge of his mind like rain clouds. He missed his old friend even more now that he was so worried about Cloudpaw. Talking to Sandstorm had helped, but he longed to know what Graystripe would say. Fireheart lay in his nest for a few moments before he made up his mind: He would go to the river today to see if he could find his old friend.

He slipped out of the den and gave himself a long, satisfying stretch. The sun was only just showing on the horizon,
and there was a powdery softness in the early morning sky. Dustpelt was sitting in the middle of the clearing talking with Fernpaw. Fireheart wondered grimly what the brown warrior wanted to share with Darkstripe's gentle apprentice. Was Dustpelt poisoning her mind with malicious gossip? But Dustpelt's fur lay smoothly on his broad shoulders, and Fireheart detected none of the usual arrogance in his tone, even though he couldn't hear what he was saying. In fact the warrior was talking to Fernpaw in a voice as soft as a wood pigeon.

Fireheart approached the pair. When Dustpelt saw him coming, his eyes hardened.

“Dustpelt,” Fireheart greeted him, “will you take the sunhigh patrol?”

Fernpaw's eyes sparkled with excitement. “Can I go too?”

“I don't know,” Fireheart admitted. “I haven't spoken with Darkstripe about your progress yet.”

“Darkstripe says she's doing well,” meowed Dustpelt.

“Then perhaps you could speak to him about it,” Fireheart suggested. He didn't want to provoke a scornful response, but this could be a chance to smooth out some of the hostility Dustpelt usually showed toward him. “But take Ashpaw and another warrior too.”

“Don't worry,” Dustpelt assured him. His eyes were filled with uncharacteristic concern. “I'll make sure Fernpaw's safe.”

“Er…good,” meowed Fireheart, padding away. He couldn't believe that he'd had a whole conversation with Dustpelt without the warrior uttering a single barbed jibe.

Once he was out of the ravine, Fireheart raced toward Sunningrocks. The ground was so dry that his paws threw up small clouds of dust where they pounded over the forest floor. When he reached the great stone slabs, he noticed that the plants growing between the cracks had shriveled and died, and it dawned on him with a shock that it had been almost two moons since it had rained.

He skirted the bottom edge of the rocks and headed for the scent markers at the edge of RiverClan territory. The forest thinned out and sloped down to the river here. The air was filled with birdsong and the whispering of wind-stirred leaves, and in the background Fireheart could hear the steady lap of water. He stopped and sniffed the air. There was no scent of Graystripe. If he was going to see his friend, Fireheart would have to venture into RiverClan territory. Determination made him more willing than usual to take the risk. Their dawn patrol would be out, but with any luck they would be patrolling the other borders now.

Fireheart crept cautiously across the scentline and pushed his way through the ferns to the edge of the water, feeling exposed and vulnerable. There was still no sign of Graystripe. Did he dare cross the river and try his luck deeper in RiverClan territory? It would be easy enough—the water was shallow now, so he could wade most of the way, apart from the deep channel in the middle, where the current was slow enough to swim without too much difficulty. After all, he'd grown more used to water than most ThunderClan cats during the terrible floods of newleaf.

An unexpected scent drifting into his half-open mouth made Fireheart stiffen in surprise. It was the stench of ShadowClan! What were ShadowClan cats doing so far from home? The whole of ThunderClan's territory lay between their land and the river.

Alarmed, Fireheart backed into the ferns. He inhaled deeply, trying to pinpoint where the smell came from. With a sickening feeling, he recognized more than the scent of ShadowClan. There was a rancid tang of illness to it that he had smelled recently, and it was coming from farther upriver.

Fireheart began to creep slowly through the ferns, their browning tips whispering against his fur. He could see the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak tree ahead of him, just inside the ThunderClan border. Its twisted roots stuck out of the forest floor, the earth under which they had once been buried long since eroded by wind and rain. Now there was a space underneath, a small cave walled by roots. Fireheart sniffed again. The smell was definitely coming from there, tainted by the unmistakeable stench of sickness.

Fear and the desire to protect his Clan made Fireheart instinctively unsheathe his claws. Whatever foulness was in that cave must be driven out of ThunderClan territory. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, Fireheart raced from the ferns. He arched his back and stood threateningly in the mouth of the root cave, ready for a fight. But he was met by a heavy silence, broken with shallow, rasping breaths.

He stared into the gloom, his hackles raised. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he blinked in surprise.
The last time he'd seen these cats, they'd been disappearing under the Thunderpath, back to their own territory. It was the two ShadowClan warriors who had sought help from ThunderClan—Littlecloud and Whitethroat.

“Why have you come back?” Fireheart spat. “Go home, before you infect every Clan in the forest!” He drew back his lips, baring his teeth, when a familiar voice sounded behind him.

“Fireheart, stop! Leave them alone!”

“Cinderpelt! What are you doing here?
” Fireheart spun around to face the medicine cat. “Did you know about this?”

A pile of herbs lay between Cinderpelt's paws. She lifted her chin defiantly. “They needed my help. There was nothing for them in their camp but sickness.”

“So they came straight back!” Fireheart glared at her angrily. “Where did you find them?”

“Near Sunningrocks. I smelled their sickness when I was out collecting herbs yesterday. They were looking for a safe place to hide,” explained Cinderpelt.

“And you brought them here.” Fireheart snorted. “They probably only came back onto our land because they knew you'd take pity on them.” Cinderpelt's concern for the ShadowClan cats had been obvious when they were in the ThunderClan camp. “Did you think you could treat them without any cat finding out?” Fireheart demanded. He couldn't believe that Cinderpelt had exposed herself—and the rest of the Clan—to such a risk.

Cinderpelt met his eyes, undaunted. “Don't pretend you're really angry with me. You felt just as sorry for them,” she
reminded him. “You couldn't have turned them away a second time either!”

Fireheart could see that she believed she had done the right thing, and he had to admit the truth in her words—he couldn't deny he felt sorry for the sick cats, and had felt uncomfortable with Bluestar's lack of compassion. “Does Yellowfang know?” he asked, his anger fading.

“No, I don't think so,” answered Cinderpelt.

“How sick are they?”

“They're starting to recover.” Cinderpelt allowed a hint of satisfaction to enter her voice.

“I still smell sickness,” Fireheart meowed suspiciously.

“Well, they're not completely cured yet. But they will be.”

Littlecloud's voice rasped from the shadows behind him. “We're getting better, thanks to Cinderpelt.”

Fireheart could hear that Littlecloud's voice was already stronger than it had been in the ThunderClan camp, and the young warrior's eyes shone brightly in the gloom. “They do sound better,” he admitted, turning back to the young medicine cat. “How did you do it? Yellowfang seemed to think this sickness was deadly.”

“I must have found the right combination of herbs and berries,” Cinderpelt replied happily. Fireheart noticed she spoke with a confidence he'd not heard in her for a while, and he recognized the spirit of the lively, strong-willed apprentice he had once trained.

“Well done!” he meowed. He thought instinctively of how Bluestar would relish the news that a ThunderClan cat might
have found a cure for ShadowClan's strange sickness. But then he remembered that Bluestar was not the leader she had once been. It wouldn't be safe to tell her that Cinderpelt had been hiding ShadowClan cats in ThunderClan territory. Her judgment had been clouded by her obsession with the threat of attack.

Fireheart realized that as long as the ShadowClan cats remained here, they were in danger. He was afraid Bluestar would order them to be killed at once if she found out they were still on ThunderClan territory. “I'm sorry, Cinderpelt.” He shook his head. “These cats must leave. It's not safe for them here.”

Cinderpelt flicked her tail in frustration. “They're too ill to return to their own camp yet. I might be able to heal them, but I'm no good as a hunter. They haven't eaten properly for days.”

“I'll catch them something now,” Fireheart offered. “It should give them enough strength to travel home.”

“But what about when we get back?” Whitethroat rasped from the shadows.

Fireheart couldn't answer that, but he couldn't risk their sickness finding its way into the ThunderClan camp. What if a ShadowClan patrol came into ThunderClan territory looking for their missing warriors? “I'll feed you; then you must go,” he repeated.

Littlecloud's voice was hoarse and high-pitched as he pushed himself to a sitting position, his paws scrabbling on the hard earth. “Please don't send us back! Nightstar is so weak. It's as if the sickness takes a new life from him each day.
Most of the Clan thinks he's going to die.”

Fireheart frowned. “Surely he has plenty of lives left.”

“You haven't seen how ill he is!” cried Whitethroat. “The Clan is scared. There's no cat ready to take his place.”

“What about Cinderfur, your deputy?” asked Fireheart. The two ShadowClan cats looked away and didn't answer. Did that mean that Cinderfur had died already, or that he was just too old to become a leader? Like Nightstar, Cinderfur had been an elder when Brokentail had been driven out. Fireheart felt his sympathy winning in spite of his better judgment. “Okay.” He sighed reluctantly. “You can stay here until you're strong enough to travel.”

“Thank you, Fireheart,” Littlecloud meowed wheezily. His eyes glittered with gratitude. Fireheart dipped his head, realizing how hard it must be for these proud ShadowClan warriors to admit they were dependent on another Clan.

He turned away and padded past Cinderpelt. She whispered as he passed, “Thanks, Fireheart. I knew you would understand why I took them in.” Her eyes brimmed with compassion. “I couldn't let them die. Even…even if they were from another Clan.” And Fireheart knew she was thinking of Silverstream, the RiverClan queen she had not been able to save.

He licked her ear affectionately. “You are a true medicine cat,” he purred. “That's why Yellowfang chose you as her apprentice.”

It didn't take Fireheart long to catch a thrush and a rabbit for the ShadowClan cats. This part of the forest was rich in
prey. He was careful not to stray across the RiverClan border, although it was tempting—the scent of prey was strong from there, and it had been a long time since Fireheart had tasted water vole. But he was pleased with the juicy rabbit he found beside Sunningrocks, and the thrush was an easy catch, too busy cracking open a snail to hear his stealthy approach.

Cinderpelt was crouched beside the ancient oak when he returned, chewing berries and spitting the pulp into her herb mixture. Fireheart nudged the fresh-kill into the root cave, but he didn't enter. The stench of sickness made him wary of going inside.

He looked at Cinderpelt as she worked, feeling a sudden tingle of fear for the small cat. She must have entered the cave many times. “Are you okay?” he meowed quietly.

Cinderpelt looked up from her herbs. “Yes, I'm fine,” she replied. “And I'm glad you found out about these cats. I didn't like keeping secrets from the Clan.”

Fireheart flicked his tail uneasily. “I think we should keep this to ourselves,” he told her.

Cinderpelt narrowed her eyes. “Aren't you going to tell Bluestar?”

“Normally I would—” Fireheart began hesitantly.

“But she's still not over the Tigerclaw thing,” Cinderpelt finished.

Fireheart sighed. “Sometimes I think she's getting better, but then she'll say something or…” He trailed away.

“Yellowfang says it will take time for her to recover,” mewed Cinderpelt.

“Then she's noticed too?”

“To be honest,” Cinderpelt murmured regretfully, “I think most of the Clan has.”

“What are they saying?” Fireheart wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“She has been a great leader for a long time. They are simply waiting for her to become like that again.” Cinderpelt's reply soothed Fireheart. The Clan's faith was moving, and should be trusted. Of course Bluestar would recover.

“Are you coming back with me?” he meowed.

“I have to finish up here.” Cinderpelt picked up another berry with her teeth and started to chew.

Fireheart felt strange as he walked away, leaving Cinderpelt alone with the two ShadowClan cats and a stench that made his fur creep. He wondered if he'd done the right thing by letting them stay.

Outside the ThunderClan camp, he sheltered beneath a leafy bush and gave himself a good wash. He screwed up his eyes at the stink of the sick ShadowClan cats. He wished he could wash away the taste with a drink from the stream behind the training hollow, but it had dried up days ago. He'd have to follow its course back toward the river if he were to find water, and it was time he returned, before his Clanmates started to wonder where he was. He would return to find Graystripe another day.

Sandstorm met him as he emerged from the gorse tunnel into the clearing. “Been hunting?” she asked.

“Looking for Graystripe, honestly.” Fireheart decided to
admit to the easiest part of the truth.

“I don't suppose you found any signs of Cloudpaw then,” Sandstorm meowed, apparently unconcerned by Fireheart's admission.

“He's not in camp?”

“He went out hunting first thing this morning.”

Fireheart knew she suspected the same as he did—that Cloudpaw was paying another visit to the Twolegs. “What should I do?”

“Why don't we go and find him together?” suggested Sandstorm. “Perhaps if I talk to him too, we can make him see sense.”

Fireheart nodded gratefully. “It's worth a try,” he agreed.

He led the way through Tallpines, neither cat speaking as they ran lightly over the ground. The air was still, and the needles felt soft and cool beneath their paws. Fireheart was acutely aware that this trail was as familiar to him as the route to Fourtrees or Sunningrocks, but Sandstorm was more cautious, pausing every so often to sniff the air and check for scent markings.

As they padded out from the pine forest and into the green woods, Fireheart sensed that Sandstorm's anxiety was building. He glanced at her and saw the tension in her shoulders as the line of Twoleg nests loomed ahead of them.

“Are you sure this is the way he would have come?” she whispered, looking nervously from side to side. A dog barked and Sandstorm's fur bristled.

“It's okay, the dog won't leave its garden,” Fireheart
assured her, feeling uncomfortable that he knew things like this. Sandstorm had taunted him about his kittypet origins when he had first joined the Clan, and now that she accepted him so completely as a forest cat, he was reluctant to remind her that he had been born somewhere different.

“Don't the Twolegs bring their dogs out here?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” Fireheart admitted. “But we'll have plenty of warning. Twoleg dogs don't exactly creep through the woods. You'll hear them before you smell them, and their stench isn't subtle.” He hoped his humor might help Sandstorm relax, but she remained as tense as ever.

“Come on,” he urged. “Cloudpaw's scent is here.” He rubbed his cheek against a bramble stem. “Does it smell fresh to you?”

Sandstorm leaned forward and sniffed the bramble. “Yes.”

“Then I think we can guess where he was heading.” Fireheart padded around the bramble, relieved that at least the trail was leading them away from Princess's garden. He had no desire for Sandstorm to meet his kittypet sister just yet. Since he had brought Cloudpaw to the camp, the Clan all knew that he visited her, but they had no real idea of the affection that bonded him to Princess, and he preferred to keep it that way. It was best to keep the other cats as certain as he was that his heart lay with the Clan, in spite of his friendship with his sister.

As they neared the fence that Cloudpaw had climbed the day before, Fireheart felt an ominous chill ripple through his pelt. There were new scents here, as well as Cloudpaw's.
Something had changed. He led Sandstorm to the silver birch and she followed him lightly up the smooth trunk and into its branches. Fireheart could see her whiskers twitching as she sniffed the air.

Fireheart peered through the windows in the Twoleg nest. The space inside looked curiously dark and empty. He jumped as a door slammed, making a strange echoing bang like a thunderclap. He began to feel alarmed.

“What is it?” asked Sandstorm nervously as Fireheart leaped down to the fence, his tail fluffed up.

“There's something strange going on. The nest is empty. Stay there,” he ordered. “I'm going to have a closer look.”

He crept across the garden, keeping low. As he neared the door to the Twoleg nest he heard pawsteps behind him. He spun around and saw Sandstorm, her face tense but determined. He nodded at her, silently agreeing she could stay with him if she wanted, then turned toward the door again.

Just then, the loud rumble of a monster started up. Fireheart slipped down the passage that skirted one side of the nest. His fur bristled with fear, but he kept going until he had reached the end of the pathway. He peered out from the shadows to where bright sunshine flooded a treeless maze of Twoleg nests and pathways.

He felt Sandstorm panting at his side, her pelt lightly brushing his. “Look,” he hissed. A gigantic monster, almost as big as a Twoleg nest, stood on the Thunderpath. The deafening growl was coming from the belly of the monster.

Both cats flinched as another door to the nest clattered
shut just around the corner from them. Fireheart saw a Twoleg walking toward the monster with something swinging from its hand. It looked like a den woven from brittle dead stems. Through the hard mesh at one end of the den, Fireheart could see a soft white pelt. He peered closer, and felt his heart lurch as he recognized the face behind the mesh, its eyes stretched wide with terror.

It was Cloudpaw!