Warriors 04 - Rising Storm (20 page)

“Yellowfang!”

Fireheart dropped Bramblekit and yowled the medicine cat's name. The blood pounded in his ears as he listened for her reply, but he heard nothing except the dreadful crackling of the flames.

Bramblekit crouched at his paws, pressing his small body against Fireheart's legs. Pulsing with fear and frustration, and dimly aware of the pain from his singed flanks, Fireheart grabbed him and raced up the slope back to Patchpelt.

The old tom hadn't moved. Fireheart saw his chest weakly rising and falling and knew that Patchpelt would not be able to run to safety. He lowered Bramblekit onto the ground. “Follow me!” he yowled before clamping his tired jaws onto Patchpelt's scruff. With a final glance down the burning slope, Fireheart dragged the black-and-white tom away from the ravine into the trees. Bramblekit stumbled after them, too shocked to mew, his eyes huge and unfocused. Fireheart wished he were somehow able to carry both of them, but he couldn't leave Patchpelt to die where he lay. Somehow Bramblekit would have to find the strength to survive the
terrifying journey on his own paws.

Fireheart followed the trail of the other cats blindly, hardly aware of the forest around him, even though he turned back every few moments to check that Bramblekit was still keeping up. His last sight of the ravine filled his mind, a terrifying trough of flame and smoke that engulfed the camp, his home. And of Yellowfang and Halftail, there had been no sign at all.

They caught up with the rest of ThunderClan at Sunningrocks. Fireheart laid Patchpelt gently on the flat surface of the stone. Bramblekit raced straight to Goldenflower, who grasped him by his scruff and gave him a sharp, angry shake, choked by the purring that rose from her chest. Then she dropped him and began washing his smoke-stained fur with furious laps that softened to gentle strokes. The pale ginger queen glanced up at Fireheart, her eyes glistening with a gratitude she could not begin to put into words.

Fireheart blinked and looked away. It was beginning to dawn on him that Yellowfang might be lost because he stopped to save Tigerclaw's son. He shook his head violently. He couldn't think about that. His Clan needed him. He gazed around at the horror-struck cats that crouched on the smooth stones. Did they think they were safe here? They should have kept going to the river. Fireheart narrowed his eyes, trying to spot Sandstorm among the huddled shapes, but an infinite weariness made his legs feel heavier than stone, and he couldn't find the strength to get up and look for her.

He felt Patchpelt stir beside him. The old tom lifted his head, gasping for air, before collapsing into a coughing fit that
brought Cinderpelt hobbling stiffly out from the throng of cats. Fireheart watched as she pressed her paws heavily on Patchpelt's chest, desperately trying to clear his lungs.

Patchpelt stopped coughing. He lay still, strangely silent now that he was not even wheezing, and Cinderpelt looked up, her eyes brimming with sorrow. “He's dead,” she murmured.

Shocked mews rippled back across the rock. Fireheart stared at Cinderpelt in disbelief. How could he have brought Patchpelt this far, only for him to die? And on almost the exact spot where Silverstream had passed into the paws of StarClan. He looked anxiously at Cinderpelt, knowing she must be sharing the same thought. Her eyes were shadowed with grief and her whiskers quivered as she leaned down to close the old tom's eyes gently. Fireheart feared the pain would be more than she could bear, but as the other elders padded forward to share tongues with Patchpelt, the gray medicine cat sat up and raised her eyes to Fireheart. “We've lost another cat,” she whispered, her voice ringing hollow with disbelief. “But my grief won't help the Clan.”

“You're beginning to sound as strong as Yellowfang,” Fireheart told her softly.

Cinderpelt opened her eyes wide. “Yellowfang! Where is she?”

Fireheart felt a pain in his chest, so sharp it was as if a splinter from the burning tree had lodged in his heart. “I don't know,” he admitted. “I lost her in the smoke while she was rescuing Halftail. I was going to go back, but the kit…” His voice trailed away and he could only stare at the gray
medicine cat as her eyes clouded with unimaginable pain. What was happening to their Clan? Did StarClan truly want to kill them all?

Bramblekit began coughing, and Cinderpelt roused herself, shaking her head as if emerging from icy water. Fireheart watched her hobble to the kit's side and bend her head, vigorously licking his chest to stimulate his breathing. The coughing died away into a rhythmic wheezing that in turn eased as Cinderpelt worked.

Fireheart sat still and listened to the forest. He could feel his fur prickling in the sultry air. A breeze rustled through the trees, blowing from the direction of the camp. Fireheart opened his mouth, trying to distinguish fresh smoke from the stench of his singed fur. Was the fire still burning? Then he realized he could see the sky filling with clouds of smoke as the breeze drove the flames steadily toward Sunningrocks. His ears flattened as he heard the roaring of the fire rise above the soft murmuring of the leaves.

“It's coming this way,” he yowled, his voice sore and harsh after breathing in the smoke. “We must keep going to the river. We'll only be safe if we cross to the other side. The fire won't reach us there.”

The cats looked up, startled, their eyes gleaming dimly through the night. The light from the fire was already shining through the trees. Clouds of smoke began to billow down onto Sunningrocks, and the sound of the flames grew louder, fanned by the rising wind.

Without warning the rocks and the forest were illuminated
by a blinding flash. A thunderous crack exploded over the heads of the cats, making them flatten themselves against the rock. Fireheart lifted his eyes toward the sky. Behind the billowing smoke, he could see rain clouds rolling in overhead. Age-old terror mingled with relief as he realized that the storm had broken at last.

“Rain is coming!” he yowled, encouraging his cowering Clanmates. “It will put out the fire! But we must go now or we won't outrun the flames!”

Brackenfur pushed himself up from the rock first. As understanding rippled through the rest of the Clan, the other cats stood up too. Their horror of the fire outweighed their instinctive fear of the raging skies. They shifted restlessly across the rock face, not sure which way to run, and to Fireheart's relief he saw Sandstorm among them, her tail fluffed up and her ears flat back. The cats started to move farther apart, revealing Bluestar sitting motionless halfway up the rock, her face tilted to the stars. A brilliant fork of lightning split the sky, but Bluestar remained still. Was she praying to StarClan? Fireheart wondered in disbelief.

“This way!” he ordered. He signaled with his tail as another crash of thunder drowned out his voice.

The Clan began to stream down the rock toward the trail that led to the river. Fireheart could see the flames flickering between the trees now. A rabbit pelted past him, terrified. It didn't even seem to notice the cats, weaving through them as it hurtled from the fire and the storm and slipped under the rock, instinctively seeking out the sanctuary of the ancient
stone. But Fireheart knew that the flames would soon engulf this part of the forest, and he didn't want to risk losing any more cats to such a terrible death.

“Hurry!” he called, and the cats broke into a run. Mousefur and Longtail were carrying Willowpelt's kits once more, while Cloudpaw and Dustpelt dragged Patchpelt's body between them, the limp black-and-white shape jerking awkwardly over the ground. Whitestorm and Brindleface flanked Bluestar, encouraging the ThunderClan leader onward with gentle nudges.

Fireheart was turning to look for Sandstorm when he saw Speckletail struggling with her kit grasped in her jaws. The kit was well grown and Speckletail was not as young as the other queens. Fireheart raced over and took the kit from her. Speckletail flashed him a grateful look and started running.

The fire was beside them now that they had turned toward the river. Fireheart kept one eye on the advancing wall of flames as he urged the Clan onward. Around them the trees began to sway as the storm winds swelled and began to stir the burning forest, fanning the flames toward them. The river was in sight, but they still had to cross it, and few of the ThunderClan cats had done much swimming. There was no time to go farther downstream to the stepping-stones.

As they hurtled across the RiverClan scentline, Fireheart felt the heat of the fire against his flank and a cruel roaring that was even louder than the Thunderpath. He raced forward to lead the way down to the riverbank and skidded to a halt where the forest floor gave way to the pebbly shore. The
smooth stones glowed silver as lightning flashed once more, but the thunder that followed was hardly audible above the roaring of the fire. The Clan stumbled after Fireheart, their eyes filled with a new terror as they stared at the fast-flowing river. Fireheart felt his spirit quail at the thought of persuading his water-shy Clanmates to enter the river. But behind them the fire tore through the trees in relentless pursuit, and he knew there was no choice.

Fireheart dropped Speckletail's kit at Whitestorm's
paws and turned to face the Clan. “It's shallow enough to wade most of the way,” he yowled. “Much shallower than usual. There's a place in the middle where you'll have to swim, but you'll make it.” The cats looked at him with horrified eyes. “You have to trust me!” he urged.

Whitestorm met Fireheart's gaze for a long heartbeat, then nodded calmly. He picked up Speckletail's kit and waded into the river until he stood up to his belly in the dark water. Then he turned and flicked his tail for the others to follow.

Fireheart felt a familiar scent in his nostrils, and a soft ginger pelt brushed against his shoulder. He looked down into Sandstorm's bright green gaze.

“You think it's safe?” she murmured, pointing with her nose to the fast-flowing river.

“Yes, I promise,” Fireheart replied, wishing with all his heart that they were somewhere else, far from this flame-threatened shore. He blinked slowly at the steadfast warrior beside him, trying to comfort her with his gaze when really he wanted to bury his muzzle in her fur and hide
until this nightmare was over.

Sandstorm nodded as if she could read his mind. Then she raced through the shallows and plunged into the deep central channel just as lightning lit up the rippling water. Fireheart's chest tightened as the she-cat lost her footing on the pebbles and disappeared under the surface. He felt his heart stop beating and his ears roar like thunder as he waited for her to reappear.

Then Sandstorm bobbed up, coughing and thrashing with her paws, but swimming steadily toward the far shore. She struggled out on the other side, her coat dark with water and clinging to her body, and called to her Clanmates, “Just keep your paws moving and you'll be okay!”

Fireheart's chest ached with pride. He stared at the lithe shape, silhouetted against the trees on the other shore, and could hardly stop himself from leaping into the water and swimming to her side. But he had to see the rest of the Clan across first, and he forced himself to watch his Clanmates as they began to plunge headlong into the river.

Dustpelt and Cloudpaw dragged Patchpelt's body to the water's edge. Dustpelt looked down at it, then gazed across the river, his expression bleak at the impossibility of carrying the dead cat to the other side when it would be difficult enough to swim alone.

Fireheart padded to the warrior's side. “Leave him here,” he murmured, even though the prospect of leaving another cat behind tore at his heart. “We can come back and bury him when the fire has passed.”

Dustpelt nodded and waded into the river with Cloudpaw. The apprentice was almost unrecognizable under the smoke stains, and Fireheart touched his nose to the young cat's flank as he passed, hoping Cloudpaw could sense how proud his mentor was of his quiet courage.

When Fireheart lifted his head he saw Smallear hesitating at the river's edge. On the far side, Sandstorm was standing belly-deep in water, helping the cats as they struggled to the shore. She called encouragingly to the old gray tom, but Smallear backed away as another bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Fireheart dashed toward the trembling elder, grabbed him by the scruff, and plunged into the river. Smallear wailed and floundered as Fireheart struggled to keep his head above the surface. The water felt icy after the heat of the flames, and Fireheart found himself gasping for breath, but he plowed on, trying to remember how easily Graystripe had swum this same channel.

Suddenly a swift current dragged him and Smallear off course. Fireheart flailed with his paws, feeling panic rise in his chest as he saw the gently sloping bank slip past and a steep wall of mud loom in its place. How would he climb out here, especially with Smallear? The elderly tom had stopped struggling now, and hung like a deadweight in Fireheart's jaws. Only his rasping breaths in Fireheart's ears showed that he was still alive, and might yet survive the crossing. Fireheart floundered in the water, trying to fight the current and keep Smallear's muzzle above the water.

Without warning, a mottled head reached down from the
bank and grabbed Smallear from him. It was Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy! Scrabbling in the mud for a pawhold, she dragged Smallear out, dropped him on the ground, and reached down again for Fireheart. He felt her teeth sharp in his scruff as she hauled him up the slippery bank. He felt a wave of relief as his paws sank into dry ground.

“Is that everyone?” Leopardfur demanded.

Fireheart looked around him. RiverClan cats were weaving among the ThunderClan cats as they crouched, drenched and shocked on the pebbles. Graystripe was one of them.

“I—I think so,” Fireheart stammered. He could see Bluestar lying under some trailing willow branches. She looked small and frail with her soaked fur flattened against her scrawny flanks.

“What about that one?” Leopardfur pointed with her nose to the unmoving black-and-white shape on the far shore.

Fireheart turned to look. The ferns on the other side were burning now, sending sparks flying into the river and illuminating the trees with flickering light. “He's dead,” Fireheart whispered.

Without a word Leopardfur slipped into the river and swam to the other side. With her golden fur flickering in the light from the flames, she snatched up Patchpelt's body and paddled strongly back, her front paws churning through the black water. A clap of thunder exploded overhead, making Fireheart flinch, but the RiverClan deputy didn't stop swimming.

“Fireheart!” Graystripe raced over to Fireheart and
pressed himself against his friend, his flank warm and soft against Fireheart's drenched body. “Are you okay?”

Fireheart nodded, dazed, as Leopardfur hauled Patchpelt's body onto the shore. She laid it at Fireheart's paws and meowed, “Come on. We'll bury him back at camp.”

“The…the RiverClan camp?”

“Unless you prefer to return to your own,” answered Leopardfur coldly. She turned and led the way up the slope, away from the river and the flames. As the ThunderClan cats heaved themselves to their paws and began to follow, heavy drops of rain began to fall through the canopy above. Fireheart twitched his ear. Had the rain come soon enough for the burning forest? More exhausted than he could ever remember being, he watched Graystripe lift Patchpelt's drenched body easily in his strong jaws. The rain began to fall more heavily, pounding the forest as Fireheart fell in behind the other cats, his paws stumbling over the smooth pebbles.

 

The RiverClan deputy led the blackened, bedraggled group through the reed beds beside the bank, until an island appeared ahead. In any other season it would have been surrounded by water; now the path merely glistened in the fresh rainfall.

Fireheart recognized this place. It had been ringed by ice the first time he had been here. Reeds had poked sharply through the frozen water then; now they swayed in great swathes, and silvery willow trees grew among the rustling stems. The rain cascaded down their delicate, trailing branches
onto the sandy ground below.

Leopardfur followed a narrow passage through the rushes and onto the island. There was a lingering smell of smoke here, but the roar of the flames had faded, and Fireheart could hear the merciful sound of raindrops splashing down into the water beyond the reeds.

Crookedstar stood in a clearing in the center of the island, his fur bristling on his shoulders. Fireheart noticed the RiverClan leader glance suspiciously at Graystripe as the ThunderClan cats limped into the camp, but Leopardfur padded over to the light brown tabby and explained, “They were fleeing the fire.”

“Is RiverClan safe?” asked Crookedstar at once.

“The fire won't cross the river,” replied Leopardfur. “Especially now that the wind has changed.”

Fireheart sniffed the air. Leopardfur was right; the wind had changed. The storm had been carried in on a wind much fresher than any he had smelled for a while. It rippled through his sodden fur, and Fireheart felt his mind begin to clear. Water dripped from his whiskers as he swung his head around to see where Bluestar was. He knew she should greet Crookedstar formally, but she was huddled among her Clan, her head low and her eyes half-closed.

Fireheart felt his belly clench with anxiety. ThunderClan could not afford to let RiverClan know how weak their leader was. He quickly stepped forward in her place. “Leopardfur and her patrol showed great kindness and courage in helping us flee the fire,” he meowed to Crookedstar, dipping his head
low. Above him lightning still flickered across the cloudy sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling away from the forest.

“Leopardfur was right to help you. All the Clans fear fire,” replied the RiverClan leader.

“Our camp was burned and our territory is still on fire,” Fireheart went on, blinking away the rain that streamed into his eyes. “We have nowhere to go.” He knew he had no choice but to throw himself on the mercy of the RiverClan leader.

Crookedstar narrowed his eyes and paused. Fireheart felt his paws grow hot with frustration. Surely the RiverClan leader didn't think this wretched group of cats posed any threat? Then Crookedstar spoke. “You may stay until it is safe for you to return.”

Relief flowed through Fireheart. “Thank you,” he meowed, blinking gratefully.

“Would you like us to bury your elder?” offered Leopardfur.

“You are very generous, but Patchpelt should be buried by his own Clan,” Fireheart answered. It was sad enough that the old warrior would not be laid to rest in his own territory, and Fireheart knew that his denmates would want to send him on his final journey to StarClan.

“Very well,” meowed Leopardfur. “I'll have his body moved outside the camp so that your elders may sit vigil with him in peace.” Fireheart nodded his thanks as Leopardfur went on: “I'll ask Mudfur to help your medicine cat.” The mottled she-cat scanned the drenched and shivering cats. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze fell on the huddled shape of
the ThunderClan leader. “Is Bluestar injured?”

“The smoke was very bad,” Fireheart replied carefully. “She was among the last to leave the camp. Excuse me, I must see to my Clan.” He stood up and padded over to where Cloudpaw and Smallear sat, side by side. “Are you fit enough to bury Patchpelt?” he asked.

“I am,” meowed Cloudpaw. “But I think Smallear is—”

“I'm well enough to bury an old denmate,” rasped Smallear, his voice scratched by smoke.

“I'll ask Dustpelt to help you,” Fireheart told them.

A brown tom was following Cinderpelt among the ThunderClan cats. He carried a bundle of herbs in his mouth, which he placed on the damp ground when Cinderpelt paused beside Willowpelt and her kits. The tiny cats were wailing pitifully, but refused to drink when Willowpelt pressed them to her belly.

Fireheart hurried over. “Are they okay?”

Cinderpelt nodded. “Mudfur suggested we give them honey to soothe their throats. They'll be fine, but it's done them no good to breathe in the smoke.”

The brown cat at her side meowed to Willowpelt, “Do you think they could manage a little honey?” The gray queen nodded and watched gratefully as the RiverClan medicine cat held out a wad of moss dripping with sticky, golden liquid. She purred as her tiny kits licked at it, first tentatively, then greedily as the soothing sweetness entered their mouths.

Fireheart padded away. Cinderpelt had everything under control. He found a sheltered corner at the edge of
the clearing and sat down to wash. His singed pelt tasted foul as he brushed his tongue along it. His body ached with tiredness but he carried on licking. He wanted to wash away all trace of the smoke before he rested.

When he had finished, he glanced around the camp. The RiverClan cats had fled the rain into their dens, leaving the ThunderClan cats to huddle in groups at the edge of the clearing beneath the whispering wall of reeds, seeking any protection from the pounding rain. Fireheart was aware of the dark shape of Graystripe moving among his former Clanmates, soothing them with his gentle mew. Cinderpelt had finished tending to the cats and was curled up, exhausted, beside Ashpaw. Fireheart could just make out Sandstorm's pale ginger flank, rising and falling steadily next to Longtail's silver tabby back. Bluestar was asleep beside Whitestorm.

Fireheart rested his muzzle on his forepaws, listening to the beating of the rain on the muddy clearing. As his eyes closed, the unbearable image of Yellowfang's terrified face burst into his mind. His heart began to pound, but exhaustion took over and he finally retreated into the refuge of sleep.