Rising Storm

  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!”

  CHAPTER 11

  “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!

  CHAPTER 12

  “Help! Don’t let them take me!” Fireheart heard Cloudpaw’s desperate yowling above the noise of the roaring monster.

  The Twoleg took no notice. It clambered into the monster with Cloudpaw and slammed the door shut. In a cloud of choking fumes, the monster pulled away and headed up the Thunderpath.

  “No! Wait!”

  Fireheart ignored Sandstorm’s cry as he dashed out of the passageway and pelted after the monster. The rough stone path tore at his pads, but as fast as he ran, the monster went faster, until it rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

  Fireheart skidded to a halt, his paws stinging and his heart pounding. Sandstorm called to him again. “Fireheart! Come back!”

  Fireheart glanced in despair at the empty Thunderpath where the monster had stood just moments before and then hurried back to Sandstorm. Numb with shock, he blindly followed Sandstorm as she led him along the passageway, past the nest, through the garden, and over the fence into the safety of the woods.

  “Fireheart!” Sandstorm gasped when they landed on the leafy forest floor. “Are you okay?”

  Fireheart couldn’t answer. He stared at the blank fence, trying to take in what he had just seen. The Twolegs had stolen Cloudpaw! Fireheart couldn’t block out the look of fear on the young cat’s face. Where were they taking him? Wherever it was, Cloudpaw hadn’t wanted to go.

  “Your pads are bleeding,” murmured Sandstorm.

  Fireheart lifted a foreleg and turned over his paw to look. He gazed blankly at the oozing blood until Sandstorm leaned forward and began to lick the grit from his wounds. It stung, but Fireheart didn’t protest. The rhythmic licks comforted him, stirring long-distant memories of kithood. Gradually the panic that had frozen his mind began to melt away. “He’s gone,” he meowed dismally. His heart felt like a hollow log, ringing with sorrow at every beat.

  “He’ll find his way home,” Sandstorm told him. Fireheart looked at her calm green eyes and felt a flicker of hope.

  “If he wants to,” she added. Her words pierced him like thorns, but her eyes were full of sympathy, and Fireheart knew she was only speaking the truth. “Clo
udpaw might be happier where he’s going,” she meowed. “You want him to be happy, don’t you?”

  Fireheart nodded slowly.

  “Come on then; let’s get back to camp.” Sandstorm’s mew became brisk, and Fireheart felt a surge of frustration.

  “It’s easy for you!” he argued. “You share Clan blood with the rest of them. Cloudpaw was my only kin. Now there’s no one in the Clan that’s close to me.”

  Sandstorm flinched as if he had struck her. “How can you say that? You have me!” she spat. “I’ve done nothing but try to help you. Doesn’t that mean anything? I thought that our friendship was important to you, but clearly I was wrong!” She spun around, flicking Fireheart’s legs with her tail before racing away into the trees.

  He watched her disappear, bewildered by her response. His paws stung, and he felt more wretched than he could ever remember. He began to wander slowly through the woods, steering clear of Princess’s fence. He couldn’t even imagine how he would tell her what had happened to her kit.

  With every step, the thorn-sharp worry about what Fireheart was going to say to the rest of the Clan added to his misery. He imagined how Darkstripe would gloat when he discovered Fireheart’s kin had gone back to the soft life of a kittypet. Once a kittypet, always a kittypet! Perhaps the jibe that had haunted Fireheart for so long had an element of truth in it after all.

  The scuttling of a mouse under the pine trees distracted him. The Clan still had to be fed. Fireheart crouched instinctively, but there was no joy in the hunt this time. He chased and caught the mouse with cold swiftness and carried it toward the camp.

  The sun was touching the tips of the trees when he reached the gorse tunnel. He paused and took a steadying breath before he walked into the clearing, the mouse swinging between his jaws.

  The Clan was sharing tongues around the clearing after their evening meal. Mousefur met him at the entrance and Fireheart wondered if she had been waiting for his return. “You’ve been gone a long time,” she observed mildly. “Is everything okay?”