Warriors 04 - Rising Storm (21 page)

Fireheart felt as if he had
slept for only a moment when he woke. A cool breeze was ruffling his fur. The rain had stopped. Above, the sky was filled with billowing white clouds. For a moment he felt confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then he became aware of the sound of voices meowing nearby and recognized Smallear's trembling mew.

“I told you StarClan would show its anger!” rasped the old tom. “Our home has gone; the forest is no more.”

“Bluestar should have appointed the deputy before moonhigh,” fretted Speckletail. “It's the custom!”

Fireheart leaped to his paws, his ears burning, but before he could say anything, Cinderpelt's mew rose into the air.

“How can you be so ungrateful? Fireheart carried you across the river, Smallear!”

“He nearly
drowned
me,” complained Smallear.

“You'd be dead if he'd left you behind,” spat Cinderpelt. “If Fireheart hadn't smelled the smoke in the first place, we might
all
be dead!”

“I'm sure Patchpelt, Halftail, and Yellowfang are deeply grateful to him.”

Fireheart's fur rippled with anger as he heard Darkstripe's sarcastic yowl.

“Yellowfang will thank him herself when we find her!” hissed Cinderpelt.

“
Find
her?” echoed Darkstripe. “There's no way she'll have escaped that fire. Fireheart should never have allowed her to go back to the camp.”

Cinderpelt growled deep in her throat. Darkstripe had gone too far. Fireheart padded quickly from the shadows and saw Fernpaw sitting beside Darkstripe, staring up at her mentor with horror in her eyes.

Fireheart opened his mouth, but it was Dustpelt who spoke first. “Darkstripe! You should show more respect for your lost Clanmates, and”—he glanced sympathetically at the frightened Fernpaw—“be more careful with what you say. Our Clanmates have suffered enough already!”

Fireheart was taken aback to hear the young warrior challenge his former mentor.

Darkstripe eyed Dustpelt with equal surprise, than narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“Dustpelt's right,” Fireheart meowed quietly, stepping forward. “We shouldn't be arguing.”

Darkstripe, Smallear, and the others whipped around to stare at Fireheart, their ears and tails flicking awkwardly as they realized he had heard their conversation.

“Fireheart!” Graystripe's mew interrupted them, and Fireheart saw his friend crossing the clearing, his fur damp from the river.

“Have you been on patrol?” Fireheart asked, turning away from the ThunderClan cats and padding over to meet Graystripe.

“Yes. And hunting,” meowed Graystripe. “We can't all sleep the morning away, you know.” He nudged Fireheart on the shoulder and went on: “You must be hungry. Come with me.” He led Fireheart toward a pile of fresh-kill at the edge of the clearing. “Leopardfur says this is for your Clan,” Graystripe told him.

Fireheart's belly growled with hunger. “Thanks,” he meowed. “I'd better let the Clan know.” He went over to where the ThunderClan cats were gathered. “Graystripe says that pile of food is for us,” he announced.

“Thank StarClan,” Goldenflower meowed gratefully.

“We don't need other Clans to feed us,” sneered Darkstripe.

“I suppose you can go hunting if you want,” Fireheart meowed, narrowing his eyes at the tabby warrior. “But you'll need to ask Crookedstar's permission first. After all, this is his territory.”

Darkstripe snorted impatiently and padded toward the fresh-kill pile. Fireheart looked at Bluestar. She hadn't reacted to the news of food at all.

Whitestorm twitched his ears. “I'll make sure everyone gets a share,” he promised, glancing at Bluestar.

“Thanks,” Fireheart answered.

Graystripe padded up and dropped a mouse on the ground at his paws. “Here, you can eat this at the nursery,” he meowed. “There are some kits I want you to see.”

Fireheart picked up the mouse and followed his friend toward a tangle of reeds. As they approached, two silver bundles hurtled through a tiny gap in the thickly woven stems and rushed toward Graystripe. They flung themselves at him, and Graystripe rolled over happily, batting with gentle sheathed paws as the kits climbed over him. Fireheart knew at once whose kits they were.

Graystripe purred loudly. “How did you know I was coming?” he rumbled.

“We smelled you!” answered the larger kit.

“Very good!” Graystripe praised him.

As Fireheart finished the last mouthful of mouse, the gray warrior sat up and the kits tumbled off him. “Now it's time you met an old friend of mine,” he told them. “We trained together.”

The kits turned their amber eyes on Fireheart, staring up at him in awe.

“Is this Fireheart?” mewed the smallest one. Graystripe nodded, and Fireheart felt a glow of pleasure that his friend had spoken about him already to his kits.

“Come back here, you two!” A tortoiseshell face appeared in the entrance of the nursery. “It's going to rain again.” Fireheart saw the eyes of the kits narrow crossly, but they turned and padded obediently toward the den.

“They're great,” he purred.

“Yeah,” Graystripe agreed, his eyes soft. “More thanks to Mosspelt than me, I have to say. She's the one who looks after them.” Fireheart heard a note of wistfulness in his friend's
voice, and wondered just how much Graystripe missed his old home.

Neither cat spoke as the gray warrior got to his paws and led Fireheart out of the camp. They sat down on a small patch of bare earth among the reeds. A willow tree arched above their heads, its branches quivering in the fresh breeze. Fireheart felt the wind tug at his fur as he stared through the willow curtain toward the distant woods. It looked as if StarClan was going to send more rain to the forest.

“Where's Yellowfang?” asked Graystripe.

Fresh grief welled up in Fireheart's chest. “Yellowfang came back to the ThunderClan camp with me to look for Patchpelt and Halftail. I lost her in the smoke. A…a tree fell into the ravine as she was coming out.” Was there any way she could have survived the flames? He couldn't help a flare of hope bursting in his chest, like a trapped pigeon frantically stretching its wings. “I don't suppose you found any scent of her on your patrol?”

Graystripe shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

“Do you think the fire's still burning after that storm?” meowed Fireheart.

“I'm not sure. We saw a few plumes of smoke while we were out.”

Fireheart sighed. “Do you think any of the camp will be left?”

“You'll find out soon enough,” answered Graystripe. He lifted his head and stared through the leaves at the darkening skies. “Mosspelt was right—more rain's coming.” As he spoke,
a large drop landed on the ground beside them. “That should put out the last of the flames.”

Fireheart felt his head spin with grief as more drops spattered through the trees and splashed on the brittle reeds. Before long, the rain was pouring down for the second time, and it seemed that StarClan was weeping for all that had been lost.

By late afternoon the lingering smell
of smoke had been replaced by the stench of wet ash, but Fireheart relished its bitter odor.

“The fire must be out by now,” he meowed to Graystripe, who was sheltering beside him beneath a clump of reeds. “We could go back and see if it's safe for the Clan to return.”

“And look for Yellowfang and Halftail,” Graystripe murmured.

Fireheart had known that his old friend would guess why he really wanted to go back to the camp. He blinked at the gray warrior, grateful for his understanding.

“I'll have to ask Crookedstar if I can come,” Graystripe added. The words came as a shock to Fireheart. He had almost forgotten that Graystripe belonged to another Clan now.

“I'll be back soon,” called the gray warrior, already bounding away.

Fireheart gazed across the clearing to where Bluestar was huddled next to Whitestorm, as if the white warrior were the only barrier between her troubled mind and the horrific fate that had befallen her Clan. Fireheart wondered if he should tell her where he was going. He decided not to. For the
moment he would act alone and rely on his Clan to shield their leader's weakened state from the curious RiverClan cats.

“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 traitorous 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.

“Fireheart,” Yellowfang murmured.

Fireheart paused. “Yes?”

“Thank you for bringing me to ThunderClan. Tell Bluestar I have always been grateful for the home she gave me. This is a good place to die. I only regret that I will miss watching you become what StarClan has destined you to be.” The old medicine cat's voice trailed away, and her flanks heaved with the effort of sucking air into her smoke-scorched lungs.

“Yellowfang,” Fireheart pleaded. “Don't die!”

Her painful breathing clawed at his heart, and he realized there was nothing he could do. “Don't be afraid of StarClan.

They will understand about Brokentail,” he promised wretchedly. “You will be honored by our warrior ancestors for your loyalty to your Clanmates and for your endless courage. So many cats owe their lives to you. Cinderpelt would have died after her accident if you had not tended to her. And when there was greencough, you fought day and night….”

Fireheart could not stop the words from tumbling out even though he knew the old medicine cat's breathing had faded into everlasting silence. Yellowfang was dead.