Rising Storm (Warriors 5)

Bluestar leaped into the river and swam easily to the other side, all frailty gone from her body as if fire had purged the weakness from her and burned her strong again. Fireheart slipped into the water after her. The clouds above the trees were beginning to thin, and he felt a chill through his wet fur from the fresher wind as he waded from the river. He padded over to Cinderpelt, leaning down to lick her head. Sandstorm glanced at him, her eyes reflecting his sorrow, while the rest of the Clan paused on the shore and stared in silent horror at the forest. Even in the faint moonlight, the devastation was obvious, the trees stripped bare, the musty fragrances of the leaves and ferns replaced by the bitter stench of burned wood and scorched earth.

Bluestar seemed blind to it all. She strode past the other cats without pausing and headed up the slope toward Sunningrocks and the trail home. Her Clan could do nothing but follow.

“It’s like being somewhere else,” whispered Sandstorm. Fireheart nodded in agreement.

“Cloudpaw.” Fireheart slipped through the cats ahead of him and fell in step beside his apprentice. “Thank you for staying in the RiverClan camp as I asked.”

“No problem.” Cloudpaw shrugged.

“How are the elders?”

“They’re going to take a while to get over Halftail’s and Patchpelt’s deaths.” Cloudpaw’s voice was subdued. “But I managed to get them to eat some fresh-kill while you were away. They need to keep their strength up, however much they are grieving.”

“Well done. That was the right thing to do,” Fireheart told him, proud of his apprentice’s unexpectedly wise compassion.

The ravine lay like an open wound in the landscape. Sandstorm stopped and peered over the edge, and Fireheart could see her trembling. He was shivering too, even though his fur had already dried from the river crossing. The Clan filed slowly down the steep slope and followed Bluestar into the camp. Inside the clearing the cats gazed silently around the stripped, blackened space that had once been their home.

“Take me to Yellowfang’s body!” Bluestar meowed sharply at Fireheart, cracking the silence.

Fireheart’s fur bristled. This wasn’t the weak shell of a leader he had struggled to protect in recent moons; but nor was it the wise and gentle leader who had welcomed him to the Clan and been his mentor. He began to pad toward Yellowfang’s clearing, and Bluestar followed. Fireheart glanced over his shoulder and saw Cinderpelt limping behind the ThunderClan leader.

“She’s in her den,” he meowed, standing at the entrance. Bluestar slipped into the shadows inside the rock.

Cinderpelt sat down and waited.

“Aren’t you going in?” Fireheart asked.

“I’ll grieve later,” Cinderpelt told him. “I think Bluestar needs us now.”

Surprised at the composure in Cinderpelt’s voice, Fireheart looked into her eyes. They were unnaturally bright with sadness, but seemed calm as she blinked gently at him. He returned the gesture, grateful for her strength of spirit in the middle of such endless tragedy.

A chilling wail echoed from Yellowfang’s den. Bluestar staggered out, twisting her head wildly and glaring around at the blackened trees. “How could StarClan do this? Have they no pity?” she spat. “I will never go to the Moonstone again! From now on, my dreams are my own. StarClan has declared war on my Clan, and I shall never forgive them.”

Fireheart stared at his leader, frozen with horror. He noticed Cinderpelt creep quietly to Yellowfang’s den and wondered if she’d gone to grieve for her old friend, but she reappeared a moment later holding something in her jaws, which she dropped beside Bluestar.

“Eat these, Bluestar,” she urged. “They will ease your pain.”

“Is she injured?” asked Fireheart.

Cinderpelt turned to look at him and lowered her voice. “In a way. But her injuries cannot be seen.” She blinked. “These poppy seeds will calm her and give her mind time to heal.” She turned back to Bluestar and whispered again, “Eat them, please.”

Bluestar bent her head and obediently licked up the small black seeds.

“Come,” Cinderpelt meowed gently, and led the ThunderClan leader away.

Fireheart felt his paws tremble as he watched Cinderpelt’s quiet skill. Yellowfang would be so proud of her apprentice. He padded into the den and grasped Yellowfang’s crumpled, smoke-stained body by its scruff. He heaved it into the moonlit clearing, and arranged it so that Yellowfang rested with the same dignity with which she had lived. When he had finished he bent down to give his old friend one final lick. “You shall sleep beneath the stars for the last time tonight,” he whispered, and settled down beside her to sit in vigil as he had promised.

Cinderpelt joined him as the three-quarter moon began to slide away and the horizon glowed cream and pink above the blackened treetops. Fireheart stood and stretched his tired legs. He gazed around the devastated clearing.

“Don’t grieve too much for the forest,” murmured the gray cat beside him. “It will grow back quickly, stronger because of the injuries it has suffered, like a broken bone that heals twice as well.”

Fireheart let her words soothe him. He dipped his head gratefully to her and went to find the rest of the Clan.

Mousefur was sitting on guard outside Bluestar’s den.

“Cinderpelt ordered it,” Whitestorm explained, padding out of the shadows. The warrior’s pelt was still stained with smoke and his eyes were red-rimmed from the fire and exhaustion. “She said Bluestar was sick, and needed to be watched over.”

“Good,” Fireheart meowed. “How are the rest of the Clan?”

“Most of them slept a little, once they’d found places dry enough to lie down.”

“We should send out a dawn patrol,” Fireheart thought out loud. “Tigerclaw might take advantage of what has happened.”

“Who will you send?” asked Whitestorm.

“Darkstripe seems the fittest of the warriors, but we’ll need his strength to start rebuilding the camp.” Even as he spoke, Fireheart knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. He wanted to keep the dark tabby warrior where he could see him. “I’d like you to stay here as well, if that’s okay.” Whitestorm dipped his head in agreement as Fireheart continued, “We need to tell the other cats what’s happening.”

“Bluestar is sleeping. Do you think we should disturb her?” A worried frown crossed Whitestorm’s face as he spoke.

Fireheart shook his head. “No. We’ll let her rest. I’ll speak to the Clan.”

He bounded onto the Highrock in a single leap and called the familiar summons. Below him, the Clan cats padded drowsily from the wreckage of their dens, their tails and ears flicking in surprise when they saw Fireheart waiting where their leader usually stood to address them.

“We must rebuild the camp,” he began once they had settled in front of him. “I know it looks a mess now, but it is the height of greenleaf. The forest will grow back quickly, stronger because of the injuries it has suffered.” He blinked as he repeated Cinderpelt’s words.

“Why isn’t Bluestar telling us this?” Fireheart stiffened as Darkstripe challenged him from the back of the group.

“Bluestar is exhausted,” Fireheart told him. “Cinderpelt has given her poppy seeds so that she can rest and recover.” Anxious murmurs rippled through the cats below.

“The more she rests, the quicker she’ll recover,” Fireheart reassured them. “Just like the forest.”

“The forest is empty,” fretted Brindleface. “The prey has run away or died in the fire. What will we eat?” She glanced anxiously at Ashpaw and Fernpaw, her face shadowed with a mother’s concern even though her kits had left the nursery.

“The prey will come back,” Fireheart assured her. “We must hunt as usual, and if we need to go a little farther to find fresh-kill, then we will.” Murmurs of agreement rose from the clearing, and Fireheart began to feel a surge of confidence.

“Longtail, Mousefur, Thornpaw, and Dustpelt—you’ll take the dawn patrol.” The four cats looked

up at Fireheart and nodded, unquestioning. “Swiftpaw, you can replace Mousefur on guard duty and make sure Bluestar is not disturbed. The rest of us will start work on the camp. Whitestorm will organize parties to gather materials. Darkstripe, you can supervise the rebuilding of the camp wall.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” demanded Darkstripe. “The ferns are all burned away.”

“Use whatever you can,” answered Fireheart. “But make sure it is strong. We mustn’t forget Tigerclaw’s threat. We need to stay alert. All kits shall remain in camp. Apprentices will travel only with warriors.” Fireheart gazed down on the silent Clan. “Are we agreed?”