Rising Storm (Warriors 5)

The elderly warrior shook his head as if the news came as no surprise. “There was a time when nothing would have kept Bluestar from a Gathering,” he observed quietly.

“We should take a party anyway,” Fireheart told him. “The other Clans must be warned about Tigerclaw. His group of rogues is a threat to all the Clans.”

Whitestorm nodded. “We could tell them Bluestar is ill, I suppose,” he suggested. “But we might be inviting trouble if we let it be known that our leader is weak.”

“It would be worse not to go at all,” Fireheart pointed out. “The other Clans will know about the fire. We must appear to be as strong as we can.”

“WindClan is clearly still hostile,” Whitestorm agreed.

“The fact that Sandstorm, Cloudpaw, and I fought them and won in their own territory won’t have helped,” Fireheart admitted. “And there’s RiverClan to consider.”

Whitestorm curiously looked at him. “But they gave us shelter after the fire.”

“I know,” Fireheart replied. “But I can’t help wondering if Leopardfur might demand something in return.”

“We have nothing to give.”

“We have Sunningrocks,” Fireheart answered. “RiverClan made no secret of their interest in that part of the forest, and right now we need every bit of our territory for hunting.”

“At least ShadowClan is weakened by sickness,” meowed Whitestorm. “That’s one Clan that won’t be attacking us for a while.”

“Yes,” agreed Fireheart, feeling guilty that they should be helped by another Clan’s suffering. “Actually, the news about Tigerclaw might work in our favor.” Whitestorm stared at him, puzzled, and Fireheart went on: “If I can persuade the other Clans that he’s a threat to them as well as us, they might put all their energy into protecting their own borders.”

Whitestorm nodded slowly. “It might be our best hope of keeping them away from our territory while we recover our strength. You’re right, Fireheart. We must go to the Gathering, even if Bluestar is unable to come with us.” His blue gaze met Fireheart’s, and he knew that they were thinking the same thing. Bluestar was able to go if she wanted—but she chose not to.

As the sun set, the cats began to take fresh-kill from the meager pile they had collected. Fireheart helped himself to a tiny shrew, which he carried to the nettle clump and gulped down in a few hungry mouthfuls. The Clan’s bellies hadn’t been full for days. The prey was returning, but slowly, and Fireheart knew they had to be careful about how much they caught. The forest must have a chance to replenish itself before they could eat their fill once more.

Once the cats had finished their paltry meal, Fireheart got to his paws and padded across the clearing. He felt the eyes of the Clan follow him as he leaped onto the Highrock. There was no need to call them—they gathered below with questioning eyes in the fading evening light.

“Bluestar will not be coming to this Gathering,” he announced.

Mews of alarm ripped through the cats, and Fireheart saw Whitestorm weaving among them, calming and reassuring them. How much had the Clan guessed about their leader’s state of mind? In the RiverClan camp they had united to protect Bluestar from prying eyes. But here in their own camp, her weakness left them vulnerable and afraid.

Tigerclaw’s tabby kit sat outside the nursery, staring up at the Highrock with round, curious eyes. For a moment Fireheart let himself be mesmerized by its yellow gaze, and images of Tigerclaw began to prowl around the edges of his mind.

“Does this mean ThunderClan won’t attend?” He was roused by Darkstripe’s voice as the striped warrior shouldered his way to the front. “After all, what is a Clan without a leader?”

Was Fireheart imagining the ominous glint in Darkstripe’s eye? “ThunderClan will go to Fourtrees tonight,” he meowed, addressing the whole Clan. “We must show the other Clans that we are strong, despite the fire.” He saw nods of agreement. The apprentices shuffled their paws and looked eagerly at one another, too young to understand the seriousness of attending a Gathering without a leader, and distracted by the hope that they might be chosen to go themselves.

“We mustn’t betray any weakness, for Bluestar’s sake and for the sake of the whole Clan,” Fireheart went on. “Remember, we are ThunderClan!” He yowled the final words, surprised by the fiery conviction that welled up from his heart, and the Clan responded by straightening their backs, licking at their ash-covered fur, and smoothing their singed whiskers.

“I shall take Darkstripe, Mousefur, Sandstorm, Whitestorm, Ashpaw, and Cloudpaw.”

“Will the others be enough to protect the camp?” Darkstripe demanded.

“Tigerclaw will know there is a Gathering,” added Longtail. “What if he uses the opportunity to attack?”

“We can’t afford to leave more cats behind than usual. If we appear weak at the Gathering, we risk inviting attack from all the Clans,” Fireheart insisted.

“He’s right,” agreed Mousefur. “We can’t let the others see our weakness!”

“RiverClan already knows the fire destroyed our camp,” added Willowpelt. “We must show them we are as strong as ever.”

“Then we are agreed?” asked Fireheart. “Longtail, Dustpelt, Frostfur, Brindleface, and Brackenfur will guard the camp. Elders, queens, you will be safe with them, and we shall return as soon as we can.”

He listened to the murmurs and searched the eyes looking up at him. With a wave of relief, he saw heads begin to nod. “Good,” he meowed, and leaped down from the rock.

The warriors and apprentices he had chosen to come with him were already circling at the camp entrance, impatiently flicking their tails. A familiar long-furred white pelt was among them. This would be Cloudpaw’s first Gathering. Fireheart had been looking forward to this moment since the kit had first come to the Clan. He still remembered his own first Gathering, racing down the slope to Fourtrees surrounded by mighty warriors, and he couldn’t help feeling a stab of disappointment as he looked around at the smoke-stained and hungry cats Cloudpaw would have to follow. And yet Fireheart could feel their excitement and pent-up energy as strong as ever. Sandstorm was kneading the ground with her forepaws, and Mousefur’s eyes shone brightly in the growing darkness as Fireheart hurried across to them.

“Longtail,” he meowed, pausing briefly beside the brown warrior. “You will be senior warrior here. Guard the Clan well.”

Longtail dipped his head to Fireheart. “They’ll be safe, I promise.”

Fireheart’s glow of satisfaction at Longtail’s respectful gesture was soured by the mocking glance Darkstripe threw him from the camp entrance. It was as if the warrior could see through his outer confidence to the uncertainty that lay beneath. Fireheart caught Sandstorm’s eye as he passed her. She was staring at him intently. Bluestar made you her deputy. She’d expect you to know what to do! Her challenging words, which had stung like an adder’s bite before, suddenly strengthened him, and he flashed Darkstripe a look of defiance as he led the way out of the camp.

The cats charged silently through the forest, the burned trees reaching into the darkening sky like twisted claws. Fireheart felt his paws sink into the ash, damp and sticky, but there was a hopeful scent in the air of fresh green shoots sprouting from the cinders.

He glanced backward. Cloudpaw was keeping up well, and Sandstorm was pushing ahead, drawing closer until she ran at his side, matching his pace.

“You spoke well on the Highrock,” she meowed, panting.

“Thanks,” answered Fireheart. He pulled away as they scrambled up a steep mound, but Sandstorm caught up as they reached the top.

“I…I’m sorry about what I said about Bluestar,” she meowed quietly. “I was just worried. The camp is looking great, considering…”

“Considering I’m deputy?” Fireheart suggested sourly.

“Considering it was so badly damaged,” Sandstorm finished. Fireheart’s ears twitched. “Bluestar must be proud of you,” she went on, and Fireheart winced—he doubted if Bluestar had even no

ticed, but he was grateful for Sandstorm’s words.

“Thanks,” he meowed again. He turned his head as they ran down the other side of the mound and looked into the warrior’s soft emerald eyes. “I missed you, Sandstorm—” he began.

He was interrupted by the sound of powerful paws drumming behind them, and the voice of Darkstripe growled, “So what are you going to tell the other Clans, then?”

Before Fireheart could answer, a fallen tree loomed ahead. He sprang into the air, but a branch caught his paw and he landed clumsily, stumbling. The other cats raced past him, but they slowed instinctively as Fireheart fell behind.