Rising Storm (Warriors 5)

“Fireheart.” Cloudpaw was heading toward him. “Do you think the fire is out?”

“Graystripe and I are going to check,” Fireheart told him.

“Can I come?”

Fireheart shook his head. He didn’t know what they would find at the ThunderClan camp. Uncomfortably he also realized that he was afraid Cloudpaw would take one look at his ruined forest home and be tempted back into the cozy life of a kittypet.

“I’d do everything you told me,” Cloudpaw promised earnestly.

“Then stay and help take care of your Clan,” Fireheart meowed. “Whitestorm needs you here.”

Cloudpaw hid his disappointment by lowering his head. “Yes, Fireheart,” he mewed.

“Tell Whitestorm where I’m going,” Fireheart added. “I’ll be back by moonrise.”

“Okay.”

Fireheart watched the white apprentice pad back toward the other cats, praying that Cloudpaw would follow his orders for once and stay in the RiverClan camp.

Graystripe returned with Crookedstar at his side. The pale tabby’s amber eyes were narrowed inquiringly. “Graystripe tells me that he wants to travel with you to your camp,” he meowed. “Can’t you take one of your own warriors?”

“We lost two Clanmates in the fire,” Fireheart explained, getting to his paws. “I don’t want to find them by myself.”

The RiverClan leader seemed to understand. “If they have not survived, you’ll need the comfort of an old friend,” he meowed gently. “Graystripe may go with you.”

“Thank you, Crookedstar,” replied Fireheart, dipping his head.

Graystripe led the way to the river. On the other side of the swiftly flowing water, the forest was blackened and charred. The tallest trees had managed to retain a few of their leaves, which fluttered bravely at the tips of their highest branches. But it was a small victory when the rest of their branches were black and stripped bare. StarClan may have sent the storm to put out the fire, but it had come too late to save the forest.

Graystripe slipped into the river without speaking and swam across. Fireheart followed him, struggling to keep up with his strongly paddling friend. As they climbed onto the bank at the other side, the two cats could only stare in horror at the remains of their beloved woodland.

“Seeing this place from across the river was the only comfort I had,” murmured Graystripe.

Fireheart glanced at his friend with a pang of sympathy. It sounded as if Graystripe were even more homesick than he had thought. But he didn’t have a chance to ask any questions before Graystripe charged up the shore toward the ThunderClan border. The gray warrior crossed it eagerly, pausing to add his own scent mark. Fireheart couldn’t help wondering if his old friend was thinking of RiverClan boundaries—or ThunderClan.

Despite the devastation Graystripe seemed to relish being back in his old territory. As Fireheart pushed on to the camp, Graystripe wove back and forth behind him, sniffing intently before catching up with his friend. Fireheart was amazed that he could recognize anything. The forest was changed beyond belief, the undergrowth burned away, the air empty of the scent or sound of prey. The ground felt sticky underpaw where rain and ash had mingled to make black, acrid-smelling mud that clung to their fur. Fireheart shivered as raindrops splashed onto his wet pelt. The sound of a single, brave bird singing in the distance made his heart ache for everything that had been lost.

At last they reached the top of the ravine. The camp was clearly visible, stripped of its protective canopy, the hard earth gleaming like black stone in the rain. Only the Highrock was unchanged by the fire, apart from a slick of sticky black ash.

Fireheart rushed down the slope, sending grit and ash crumbling ahead of him. The tree where he had saved Goldenflower’s kit was nothing but a heap of charred sticks now, and he leaped over them easily. He searched for the gorse tunnel that had once led to the clearing, but only a tangle of blackened stems remained. He picked his way through and hurried into the smoke-stained clearing.

As he stared around, his heart pounding, he felt Graystripe nudge him. He followed the gray warrior’s gaze to where Halftail’s scorched body lay at what used to be the entrance to Yellowfang’s fern tunnel. The medicine cat must have tried to get the unconscious elder back into the safety of the camp, hoping perhaps that the cracked rock where she had made her den would protect them from the flames.

Fireheart started toward the burned shape, but Graystripe meowed, “I’ll bury Halftail. You look for Yellowfang.” He picked up the limp brown body and started to drag it out of the camp toward the burial place.

Fireheart watched him go, his heart frozen with dread. He knew this was why he had come back to the camp, but his legs suddenly felt too weak to move. He forced himself to walk over to the burned stumps that lined the path to Yellowfang’s clearing. There was no sheltering green tunnel now. The medicine cat’s home was open to the sky, and the only sound was the relentless patter of raindrops on the slimy ground.

“Yellowfang!” he called, his voice hoarse, as he padded into the clearing.

The rock where the medicine cat had made her den was black with soot, but, mingled with the smell of ash, Fireheart detected the familiar scent of the old medicine cat. “Yellowfang?” he called again.

A low, rasping mew answered him from inside the rock. She was alive! Shaking with relief, Fireheart squeezed into the shadowy cave.

There was barely light enough to see. Fireheart had never been in here before, and he paused for a moment, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. At the foot of one wall was a row of herbs and berries, stained by smoke but unburned. Then he glimpsed a pair of eyes shining at him from the far end of the narrow cavern.

“Yellowfang!” Fireheart rushed to the medicine cat’s side. She lay with her legs crumpled beneath her, soot-covered and wheezing, too weak to move. She could barely hold his gaze, and when she spoke her voice was breathless and feeble.

“Fireheart,” she croaked. “I’m glad it’s you who came.”

“I shouldn’t have left you here.” Fireheart pressed his muzzle against her matted fur. “I’m so sorry.”

“Did you save Patchpelt?”

Fireheart shook his head hopelessly. “He had breathed in too much smoke.”

“Halftail too,” rasped Yellowfang.

Fireheart saw her eyelids quiver and begin to close, and he meowed desperately, “But we saved Goldenflower’s kit!”

“Which one was it?” Yellowfang murmured.

“Bramblekit.” He watched as Yellowfang closed her eyes briefly, and his blood ran cold. Now Yellowfang knew that he had risked her life to save Tigerclaw’s. Had StarClan shared something with her, something she feared enough to wish the kit had not survived?

“You’re a brave warrior, Fireheart.” Yellowfang suddenly opened her eyes wide and stared fiercely at him. “I could not be prouder of you if you were my own son. And StarClan knows how many times I have wished that you were, instead of”—she drew a shallow, grating breath, and Fireheart knew every word stuck thorn-sharp in her throat—“Brokentail.”

Fireheart flinched as the old medicine cat revealed her terrible secret: that ShadowClan’s brutal leader had been her son, given up at birth because medicine cats were not allowed to have children. Who knew what agonies Yellowfang had endured as she watched her son kill his own father to become leader, and then destroy her Clan with his bloodthirsty ambitions?

And how could Fireheart tell her that he already knew this? That he had understood that the reason she had wanted to give Brokentail sanctuary in her adopted Clan was because she wanted one last chance to take care of the son she had given up? He leaned forward and licked her ears, hoping to soothe her, but she went on.

“I killed him. I poisoned him. I wanted him to die.” Her rasping admission collapsed into painful coughing.

“Hush. Save your strength,” Fireheart urged. He knew this, too. He had watched, hidden, as she fed Brokentail the poisonous berries after the trai

torous cat helped Tigerclaw’s rogues attack ThunderClan. He had witnessed the cruel warrior die at his mother’s paws, and he had heard Yellowfang give away her real relationship with the heartless tom. “Let me fetch you some water,” he offered.

But Yellowfang shook her head slowly. “Water’s no use to me now,” she croaked. “I want to tell you everything before I—”

“You’re not going to die!” Fireheart gasped, feeling a shard of ice pierce his heart. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“Don’t waste your time.” Yellowfang coughed angrily. “I’m going to die whatever you do, but I’m not afraid. Just listen to me.”

Fireheart wanted to beg her to be silent, to save her breath so that she could live a few moments longer, but he respected her enough to obey her even now.

“I wish you’d been my son, but I could not have borne a cat like you. StarClan gave me Brokentail to teach me a lesson.”

“What did you need to learn?” Fireheart protested. “You are as wise as Bluestar herself.”

“I killed my own son.”

“He deserved it!”

“But I was his mother,” whispered Yellowfang. “StarClan may judge me how they will. I am ready.”

Unable to answer, Fireheart dipped his head and began frantically licking her fur, as if his love for this old she-cat were enough to hold her in the forest for a while longer.