Warriors 04 - Rising Storm (23 page)

“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?”

Loud mews rose from the crowd. “We are!” they called.

“Right,” Fireheart meowed. “Let's start work!”

The cats began to move away from the Highrock, weaving among one another swiftly to gather around Whitestorm and Darkstripe for their instructions.

Fireheart jumped down from the Highrock and padded to Sandstorm. “We need to organize a burial party for Yellowfang.”

“You didn't mention her death,” Sandstorm pointed out, her green eyes puzzled.

“Or Halftail's!” Fireheart glanced down as Cloudpaw's mew sounded beside him. The young apprentice sounded reproachful.

“The Clan knows they are dead,” Fireheart told them, feeling his fur prickle uncomfortably. “It is for Bluestar to
honor them with the proper words. She can do it when she's better.”

“And what if she doesn't recover?” ventured Sandstorm.

“She will!” Fireheart snapped. Sandstorm winced visibly, and he cursed himself. She was only voicing the fears of all the Clan. If Bluestar had really turned her back on the rituals of StarClan, Yellowfang and Halftail would never hear the proper words to send them on their journey to Silverpelt.

Fireheart felt his confidence slide away. What if the forest didn't recover before leaf-bare? What if they couldn't find enough fresh-kill to feed the Clan? What if Tigerclaw attacked? “If Bluestar doesn't get better, I don't know what will happen,” he murmured.

Fire flared in Sandstorm's eyes. “Bluestar made you her deputy. She'd expect you to know what to do!”

Her words hit Fireheart like stinging hail. “Put your claws away, Sandstorm!” he spat. “Can't you see that I'm doing the best I can? Instead of criticizing me, go and organize the apprentices to bury Yellowfang.” He glared at Cloudpaw. “You can go too. And try to keep out of trouble for once,” he added.

He turned away from the pair of startled-looking cats and marched across the clearing. He knew he had been unfair, but they had asked a question he wasn't ready to answer, a question so frightening that he couldn't begin to think what it might mean.

What if Bluestar never recovered?

The sky stayed gray and cloudy
over the next few days, but the showers didn't hamper the rebuilding of the camp. In fact Fireheart welcomed the cleansing rain that would wash the ash into the soil and help the forest to recover.

But this morning the sun shone high overhead, the clouds billowing away over the horizon.
The sky will be clear for tonight's Gathering
, Fireheart thought ruefully, wishing for once that the moon could be hidden so that the Gathering could not be held. Bluestar was still a long way from being her former self, emerging from her den only when Whitestorm persuaded her to come and see how the repairs were coming along. The ThunderClan leader had nodded blankly at the cats as they worked before limping back to the security of her nest. Fireheart wondered if she even remembered that the Gathering was tonight. Perhaps he should go and find out.

He padded around the edge of the clearing, feeling a ripple of pride at the work the Clan had done so far. The camp was already regaining some of its former shape. The trunk of the elders' oak was blackened but still in one piece, although its maze of branches had burned away to nothing.
The bramble nursery, which had been stripped of its protective leaves down to a tangle of stems, had been carefully patched with leafy twigs fetched from less damaged parts of the forest. And the camp wall had been shored up with the strongest branches the cats could find, although there was little they could do to replace the thick barrier of ferns that used to surround the camp. For that they would have to wait for the forest to grow again.

Fireheart heard a scratching behind the nursery. Through the patchy walls, he saw a familiar pelt of white fur. “Cloudpaw!” he called.

The apprentice emerged from behind the bramble bush, his jaws crammed with twigs that he'd been weaving through the nursery walls. Fireheart blinked in welcome. He hadn't been the only cat to notice how hard Cloudpaw had worked these past few days to fix the camp. There had been no more questions about the white apprentice's commitment to the Clan. Fireheart wondered if it had taken something as severe as a fire for Cloudpaw to discover the true meaning of loyalty. The young cat stood in front of him now without speaking, his fur flattened and blotchy with soot and mud, his eyes strained and exhausted.

“Go and rest,” Fireheart ordered gently. “You've earned it.”

Cloudpaw dropped his bundle of twigs. “Let me finish these first.”

“You can finish them later.”

“But I've only got a few left to do,” Cloudpaw argued.

“You look dead on your paws,” Fireheart insisted. “Go on.”

“Yes, Fireheart.” He turned to leave and glanced forlornly at the fallen oak where Smallear sat with Dappletail and One-Eye. “The elders' den seems so empty,” he mewed.

“Patchpelt and Halftail are with StarClan now,” Fireheart reminded him. “They'll be watching you tonight from Silverpelt.” A wave of regret tugged at his belly as he remembered that Bluestar had refused to conduct the proper ceremony for her dead Clanmates.

“I will not place them in the paws of StarClan,” she had told him bitterly. “Our warrior ancestors do not deserve the company of ThunderClan cats.” And so Whitestorm had soothed the anxious Clan by speaking the words that would send Yellowfang and Halftail safely to their old friends in Silverpelt, just as he had done for Patchpelt at the RiverClan camp.

Cloudpaw nodded, but he looked unconvinced. Fireheart knew that the apprentice still found it hard to believe that the lights of Silverpelt were the spirits of their warrior ancestors, watching over their old hunting grounds. “Go and rest,” he repeated.

The young cat dragged his paws toward the charred stump where the apprentices gathered to eat and share tongues. Brightpaw hurried across the clearing to greet her friend, and Cloudpaw met her with a friendly nuzzle. But the white apprentice's eyelids were already drooping, and his greeting was interrupted by a huge yawn. He lay down where he was, resting his head on the ground and closing his sore eyes. Brightpaw crouched at his side and gently began to wash Cloudpaw's grubby pelt. Watching them, Fireheart felt a pang
of loneliness as he remembered the same companionship he had once shared with Graystripe.

He turned his paws once more toward Bluestar's den. Longtail was sitting outside, and he nodded as Fireheart passed. Fireheart paused at the entrance. The lichen had been burned away and the stone was black with soot. He mewed a quiet greeting and stepped inside. Without the lichen, the wind as well as daylight flooded in, and Bluestar had dragged her bedding into the shadows at the back of the drafty cave.

Cinderpelt sat beside the huddled shape of the leader, pushing a pile of herbs toward her. “They'll make you feel better,” she urged.

“I feel fine,” snapped Bluestar, keeping her eyes fixed on the sandy floor.

“I'll leave them here, then. Perhaps you'll manage them later.” Cinderpelt stood and walked unevenly toward the den entrance.

“How is she?” Fireheart whispered.

“Stubborn,” replied Cinderpelt, brushing past him out of the den.

Fireheart cautiously approached the old leader. Bluestar was even more of a stranger to him now, locked in a world of fear and suspicion directed not just against Tigerclaw, but at all their warrior ancestors in StarClan. “Bluestar,” he began tentatively, dipping his head. “The Gathering is tonight. Have you decided who will go?”

“The Gathering?” Bluestar spat with disgust. “You decide who to take. I won't be going. There is no longer any reason for me to honor StarClan.” As she spoke, a cloud of ash blew through the open doorway, cutting off her words with a bout of coughing.

Fireheart stared in dismay as spasms racked her frail body. Bluestar was the leader of the Clan! It was she who'd taught him about StarClan and the way the warrior spirits watched over the forest. Fireheart couldn't believe she would reject the beliefs she had based her whole life upon.

“Y-you don't have to honor StarClan,” he stammered at last. “Just be there to represent your own Clan. They need your strength now.”

Bluestar looked at him for a long moment. “My kits needed me once, but I gave them to another Clan to raise,” she whispered. “And why? Because StarClan told me I had a different destiny. Is this it? To be attacked by traitors? To watch my Clan die around me? StarClan was wrong. It was not worth it.”

Fireheart felt his blood turn to ice. He turned and padded blindly out of the den. Sandstorm had replaced Longtail outside. Fireheart looked hopefully at the pale orange warrior, but she clearly hadn't forgiven his harsh words, because she fixed her eyes on her paws and let him pass without speaking.

Feeling unsettled, Fireheart spotted Whitestorm trotting back into camp with the sunhigh patrol. He signaled to the white warrior with his tail, and Whitestorm headed toward
him while the rest of the patrol split up in search of food and a place to rest.

“Bluestar isn't well enough to attend the Gathering,” Fireheart meowed when Whitestorm reached him.

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.