Rising Storm (Warriors 5)

The cats fell into a disgruntled murmuring, their curiosity clearly not satisfied. Fireheart couldn’t help wondering if Bluestar should warn the other Clans that Tigerclaw was still alive—that there was a dangerous traitor roaming the forest, unfettered by the warrior code.

But when Bluestar meowed again she made no mention of Tigerclaw. Instead she announced, “Our new deputy is Fireheart.”

Dozens of heads turned to look at Fireheart, and he felt hot under their questioning stares. The silence seemed to pound in his ears. He kneaded the ground and soundlessly urged the leaders to carry on with the Gathering, aware only of the sound of breathing and the rows upon rows of unblinking eyes.

CHAPTER 8

Mews of alarm and the pounding of paws in the clearing roused Fireheart from sleep. He blinked against the glaring sunshine that streamed between the branches above the warriors’ den.

A golden head appeared through the wall of leaves. It was Sandstorm, her pale green eyes gleaming with excitement. “We’ve captured two ShadowClan warriors!” she meowed breathlessly.

Fireheart leaped to his paws, instantly awake. “What? Where?”

“By the Owl Tree,” Sandstorm explained, adding, “they were asleep!” Her voice betrayed her scorn at the ShadowClan cats’ carelessness.

“Have you told Bluestar?”

“Dustpelt’s telling her now.” She ducked out of the warriors’ den and Fireheart sprang after her, past Runningwind, who jerked up his head, startled awake by the commotion.

Fireheart had slept fitfully after returning from the Gathering, shaken by the loaded silence that had greeted the announcement of his deputyship. His dreams had been filled with unknown cats that recoiled from him as if he were an owl of ill omen flying through a forest of shadows. He thought he had left his days as an outsider behind him, but the challenging stares from the other cats had warned him that he was still not fully accepted into forest life. He just hoped they didn’t find out about the broken naming ritual. That would only reinforce their uneasiness about a kittypet replacing a respected Clanborn deputy.

Now he faced yet another challenge. How would he deal with enemy cats captured on ThunderClan territory? Fireheart found himself hoping that Bluestar would be in a calm enough mood to guide him.

The dawn patrol was gathered in a circle in the middle of the clearing. Fireheart pushed his way through them and saw two ShadowClan cats crouching on the hard earth, their tails bushed out and their ears flattened.

He recognized one of the warriors at once. It was Littlecloud, a brown tabby tom. They’d met at a Gathering when Littlecloud was no more than a kit. He had been forced into apprenticeship by Brokentail when he was only three moons old. He was fully grown now, but still small-framed, and he looked in a bad way. His fur was matted and he stank of crowfood and fear. His haunches were bony, like featherless wings, and his eyes were sunk into his head. The other one wasn’t much better off. These were hardly warriors to be afraid of, Fireheart thought with a twinge of unease.

He looked at Whitestorm, who had led the dawn patrol. “Did they put up a fight when you found them?”

“No,” Whitestorm admitted, flicking his tail. “When we woke them up, they begged us to bring them here.”

Fireheart felt confused. “Begged you?” he echoed. “Why would they do that?”

“Where are these ShadowClan warriors?” yowled Bluestar, pushing her way through the audience of cats, her face twisted in fear and rage. Fireheart felt his belly tense. “Is this another attack?” she hissed at the two wretched cats.

“Whitestorm found them on patrol,” Fireheart explained quickly. “They were sleeping in ThunderClan territory.”

“Sleeping?” snarled Bluestar, her ears flat against her head. “Well, have we been invaded or not?”

“These were the only warriors we found,” meowed Whitestorm.

“Are you sure?” demanded Bluestar. “It could be a trap.”

As Fireheart looked at these two sorry creatures, his instinct told him that invasion was the last thing on their minds. But Bluestar had a point. It would be wise to make sure there were no other ShadowClan cats hiding in the woods, waiting for a signal to attack. He called to Mousefur and Dustpelt. “You two, take a warrior and an apprentice each. Start at the Thunderpath and work your way back to camp. I want every bit of the territory searched for signs of ShadowClan.”

To Fireheart’s relief the two warriors obeyed instantly. Dustpelt called Runningwind and Ashpaw, while Mousefur signaled to Swiftpaw and Brackenfur; then the six cats raced out of the camp and into the forest.

Fireheart turned back to the trembling captives. “What are you doing in ThunderClan territory?” he asked. “Littlecloud, why are you here?”

The tabby tom stared up at Fireheart with round, frightened eyes, and Fireheart felt a stab of sympathy. The cat looked as lost and helpless as he’d been at that first Gathering, when he was a barely weaned kit.

“W-Whitethroat and I came here h-hoping you’d give us food and healing herbs,” Littlecloud stammered at last.

Hisses of disbelief rose from the ThunderClan cats, and Littlecloud shrank back, pressing his scrawny body against the earth.

Fireheart stared at the prisoner in amazement. Since when did ShadowClan cats seek help from their bitterest enemy?

“Fireheart, wait.” The voice of Cinderpelt sounded softly in Fireheart’s ear. She was studying the two ShadowClan cats with narrowed eyes. “These cats are no threat to us. They are sick.” She limped forward and touched Littlecloud’s forepaw gently with her nose. “His pad is warm,” she mewed. “He has a fever.”

Cinderpelt was about to sniff the second cat’s paw when Yellowfang forced her way through the throng of cats. “No, Cinderpelt!” she screeched. “Get away from them!”

Cinderpelt leaped around. “Why? These cats are sick. We must help them!” She twisted her head, looking pleadingly first at Fireheart, then at Bluestar.

Every cat turned expectantly to Bluestar, but the ThunderClan leader just stared, huge-eyed, at the captives. Fireheart could see the old gray she-cat struggling with bewilderment and fear, her eyes clouded with confusion. He realized he had to distract the cats’ attention while the troubled leader gathered her thoughts.

“Why us? What made you come to our territory?” he asked the two prisoners again.

The other ShadowClan cat, Whitethroat, spoke this time. He was a black tom with paws and a chest that used to be white but were now stained with dust. “You helped ShadowClan before, when we drove out Brokentail,” he explained quietly.

But ThunderClan also gave sanctuary to the ShadowClan leader, Fireheart thought with a ripple of unease. Had Whitethroat forgotten that? Then he realized that Brokentail had forced these cats into their apprenticeships when they were barely old enough to leave their mothers’ sides. Banishing their cruel leader must have come as such a relief that what had happened to him afterward paled into insignificance. And now that Brokentail was dead, there was no threat to the ShadowClan warriors from the ThunderClan camp beyond normal Clan rivalry.

Whitethroat went on: “We hoped you would be able to help us now. Nightstar is sick. The camp is in chaos with so many cats ill. There are not enough herbs or fresh-kill to go around.”

“What’s Runningnose doing? He’s your medicine cat. It’s up to him to tend to you!” spat Yellowfang, before Fireheart could say anything.

Fireheart was taken aback by her tone. Yellowfang had once belonged to ShadowClan. Even though Fireheart knew her loyalties lay with ThunderClan now, he was surprised at her lack of compassion toward her former Clanmates.

“Nightstar seemed all right at the Gathering last night,” Darkstripe growled.

“Yes,” agreed Bluestar, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

But Fireheart remembered how frail the ShadowClan leader had seemed, and he was not surprised when Littlecloud mewed, “He got worse when he returned to the camp. Runningnose was with him all night. He

won’t leave Nightstar’s side. He let a kit die at its mother’s belly without even a poppy seed to ease its journey to StarClan! We are afraid that he’ll let us die too. Please help us!”

Littlecloud’s plea sounded real enough to Fireheart. He looked hopefully at Bluestar, but her blue eyes still looked bewildered.

“They must leave,” insisted Yellowfang in a low growl.

“Why?” Fireheart blurted out. “They’re no threat to us in this state!”

“They carry a disease I’ve seen before in ShadowClan.” Yellowfang began to circle the ShadowClan cats, studying them but keeping her distance. “It killed many cats last time.”

“It’s not greencough, is it?” Fireheart asked. Some of the ThunderClan cats began to edge slowly backward as Fireheart mentioned the sickness that had ravaged their own Clan during leaf-bare.