Warriors 04 - Rising Storm (3 page)

As he watched Whitestorm leave, Fireheart's belly growled with hunger and he thought of the juicy pigeon Cloudpaw had caught. Whitestorm's ginger-and-white apprentice, Brightpaw, sat outside the apprentices' den, and Fireheart wondered if she'd brought the elders any fresh-kill. He padded over to the old tree stump where she was washing her tail. She lifted her head and mewed, “Hello, Fireheart.”

“Hi, Brightpaw. Been hunting?” Fireheart asked.

“Yes,” replied Brightpaw, her eyes shining. “It's the first time Whitestorm's let me out by myself.”

“Catch much?”

Brightpaw looked shyly at her paws. “Two sparrows and a squirrel.”

“Well done,” Fireheart purred. “I bet Whitestorm was pleased.”

Brightpaw nodded.

“Did you take it straight to the elders?”

“Yes.” Brightpaw's eyes clouded with worry. “Was that okay?” she mewed anxiously.

“That was great,” Fireheart assured her. If only his own apprentice were so reliable. Cloudpaw should have been back by now. The elders would need more than two sparrows and a squirrel to fill their bellies. He decided to visit them to check that they were not suffering too much from the greenleaf heat. As he approached the fallen oak where the elders made their den, voices drifted up from behind its bare branches.

“Willowpelt's kits will be born soon.” That was Speckletail. She was the oldest queen in the nursery, and her single kit was weak and small for its age after a bout of whitecough.

“New kits are always a good omen,” purred One-Eye.

“StarClan knows we could do with a good omen,” Smallear muttered darkly.

“You're not still fretting about the ritual, are you?” croaked Patchpelt. Fireheart could imagine the old black-and-white tom flicking his ears impatiently at Smallear.

“The what?” meowed One-Eye.

“The naming ceremony for the new Clan deputy,” Patchpelt explained loudly. “You know, when Tigerclaw left, a quarter moon ago.”

“It's my ears that don't work as well as they used to, not my
mind!” snapped One-Eye. She went on, and the other cats listened in silence because One-Eye was respected for her wisdom in spite of her bad temper. “I don't think StarClan would punish us just because Bluestar failed to name the new deputy before moonhigh. The circumstances were very unusual.”

“But that just makes it worse!” fretted Dappletail. “What will StarClan think of a Clan whose deputy turns against it, and whose new deputy was named
after
moonhigh? It looks as if we can't keep our cats loyal, or even carry out the proper ceremonies.”

Fireheart felt an icy ripple along his spine. When Bluestar had learned about Tigerclaw's treachery and banished him from the Clan, she had been too upset to carry out the proper rituals for appointing a new deputy. Fireheart had not been named as Tigerclaw's successor until the following day, and to many cats this was a very bad omen.

“Fireheart's naming broke with Clan ritual for the first time I can remember,” meowed Smallear in a grave tone. “I hate to say it, but I can't help feeling that his deputyship will be a dark time for ThunderClan.”

Patchpelt mewed in agreement, and Fireheart felt his heart pound as he waited for One-Eye to calm the others' fears with her wise words. But for once she remained silent. Above him the fierce sun continued to shine in a clear, blue sky, yet Fireheart felt chilled to the bone.

He turned away from the elders' den, unable to face them now, and paced anxiously along the edge of the clearing. As
he approached the nursery, Fireheart stared at the ground, lost in thought. A sudden movement outside the nursery entrance made him look up. He froze, and his heart began to pound as he recognized Tigerclaw's amber eyes gleaming at him. Horrified by the familiar gaze, Fireheart blinked in alarm. Then he realized that it was not the fierce warrior he was looking at, but Bramblekit—Tigerclaw's son.

Fireheart saw a ripple of pale
amber fur and looked up to see Goldenflower slip out of the nursery behind the dark tabby kit. A pale ginger kit dangled from her jaws, and she placed it gently on the ground next to Bramblekit. Fireheart knew at once that Goldenflower had seen his reaction, for the pale ginger queen wrapped her tail protectively around her kits and lifted her chin, as if she were challenging Fireheart to say something.

Fireheart felt a rush of guilt. What was he thinking of? He was the Clan deputy, for StarClan's sake! He knew he had to reassure Goldenflower that these kits would be cared for and respected like any other member's of ThunderClan. “Your…your kits look healthy,” he stammered, but his fur prickled as the dark tabby kit stared up at him with unblinking amber eyes, the image of Tigerclaw's menacing glare.

Fireheart tried to push away the fear and anger that made him instinctively unsheathe his claws and press them against the hard ground.
It was Tigerclaw who betrayed ThunderClan
, he told himself.
Not this tiny kit.

“It's Tawnykit's first time out of the nursery,” Goldenflower told him. She glanced anxiously down at the little kit.

“They've grown quickly,” Fireheart murmured.

Goldenflower leaned down and licked each kit on the head, then padded toward Fireheart. “I understand how you feel,” she mewed quietly. “Your eyes have always betrayed your heart. But these are my kits and I will die to protect them if I have to.” She looked up into Fireheart's eyes and he saw the intensity of her feeling in their yellow depths.

“I'm afraid for them, Fireheart,” she went on. “The Clan will never forgive Tigerclaw—nor should they. But Bramblekit and Tawnykit have done nothing wrong, and I will not let them be punished because of Tigerclaw. I'm not even going to tell them who their father was, just that he was a brave and powerful warrior.”

Fireheart felt a pang of sympathy for the troubled queen. “They will be safe here,” he promised, but the amber eyes of Bramblekit still made his paws prickle with unease as Goldenflower turned away.

Behind them Whitestorm squeezed out of the nursery. “Brindleface thinks her two remaining kits are ready to begin their training,” he told Fireheart.

“Does Bluestar know?” Fireheart asked.

Whitestorm shook his head. “Brindleface wanted to share the news with Bluestar herself, but she hasn't visited the nursery in days.”

Fireheart frowned. The Clan leader usually took an interest in every aspect of Clan life, especially the nursery. Every cat knew how important it was for ThunderClan to have fine, healthy kits.

“I suppose it's not surprising,” Whitestorm continued. “She's still recovering from her wounds after the battle with the rogue cats.”

“Shall I go and tell her now?” Fireheart offered.

“Yes. Some good news might cheer her up,” Whitestorm remarked.

With a jolt, Fireheart realized that Whitestorm was as worried as he was about their leader. “I'm sure it will,” he agreed. “ThunderClan hasn't had this many apprentices in moons.”

“That reminds me,” meowed Whitestorm, his eyes suddenly brightening. “Where's Cloudpaw? I thought he was fetching prey for the elders.”

Fireheart glanced away awkwardly. “Er, yes, he is. I don't know what's taking him so long.”

Whitestorm lifted a massive paw and gave it a lick. “The woods are not as safe as they once were,” he murmured, as if he could read Fireheart's uneasy thoughts. “Don't forget WindClan and ShadowClan are still angry with us for sheltering Brokentail. They don't know yet that Brokentail is dead, and they might attack us again.”

Brokentail had once been the leader of ShadowClan. He had nearly destroyed the other Clans in the forest with his greed for more territory. ThunderClan had helped to drive Brokentail out of his troubled Clan, but had later given him sanctuary as a blind and helpless prisoner—a merciful decision that had not been welcomed by his former enemies.

Fireheart knew that Whitestorm was warning him as carefully as possible—the warrior hadn't even mentioned
the possibility that Tigerclaw might still be around—but his guilt at letting Cloudpaw go off alone made him defensive. “You let Brightpaw hunt alone this morning,” he retorted.

“Yes. I told her to stay in the ravine and to be back by sunhigh.” Whitestorm's tone was mild, but he stopped washing his paw and looked at Fireheart with concern in his eyes. “I hope Cloudpaw won't go too far from the camp.”

Fireheart looked away and muttered, “I should go and tell Bluestar the kits are ready.”

“Good idea,” answered Whitestorm. “I can take Brightpaw out for some training. She hunts well, but her fighting skills need some work.”

Silently cursing Cloudpaw, Fireheart padded away toward the Highrock. Outside Bluestar's den, he gave his ears a quick wash and put Cloudpaw out of his mind before calling a greeting through the lichen that draped the entrance. A soft “Enter” sounded from inside, and Fireheart pushed his way slowly in.

It was cool in the small cave, hollowed out of the base of the Highrock by an ancient stream. The sunlight that filtered through the lichen made the walls glow warmly. Bluestar sat hunched in her nest like a brooding duck. Her long gray fur was dirty and matted.
Perhaps her wounds are still too sore to wash properly
, Fireheart thought. His mind shied away from considering the other possibility—that his leader no longer wished to look after herself.

But the worry he had seen in Whitestorm's eyes pricked at him. Fireheart couldn't help noticing how thin Bluestar looked,
and he remembered the half-eaten bird she'd abandoned last night, returning alone to her den instead of staying to share tongues with her senior warriors, as she'd used to.

The Clan leader raised her eyes as Fireheart entered, and he was relieved to see a faint spark of interest when she saw him.

“Fireheart,” she greeted him, sitting up and lifting her chin. She held her broad gray head with the same dignity Fireheart had admired when he first met her in the woods near his old Twoleg home. It was Bluestar who had invited him to join the Clan, and her faith in him had quickly established a special bond between them.

“Bluestar,” he began, respectfully dipping his head. “Whitestorm's been to the nursery today. Brindleface told him her kits are ready to begin their apprenticeships.”

Bluestar slowly widened her eyes. “Already?” she murmured.

Fireheart waited for Bluestar to start giving orders for the apprentice ceremony. But the she-cat just stared at him.

“Er…who do you want to be their mentors?” he prompted.

“Mentors,” echoed Bluestar faintly.

Fireheart's fur began to prickle with unease.

Suddenly a flinty hardness flared in her blue eyes. “Is there any cat we can trust to train these innocent kits?” she spat.

Fireheart flinched, too shocked to answer. The leader's eyes flashed once more. “Can
you
take them?” she demanded. “Or Graystripe?”

Fireheart shook his head, trying to push away the alarm that jabbed at him like an adder. Had Bluestar forgotten that
Graystripe was no longer part of ThunderClan? “I—I already have Cloudpaw. And Graystripe…” His words trailed away. He took a small, fast breath and began again. “Bluestar, the only warrior not fit to train these kits was Tigerclaw, and he has been exiled, remember? Any one of ThunderClan's warriors would make a fine mentor for Brindleface's kits.” He searched Bluestar's face for a reaction, but she was staring unseeing at the floor of the den. “Brindleface is hoping to have a naming ceremony soon,” he persisted. “Her kits are more than ready. Cloudpaw was their littermate, and he's been an apprentice for half a moon now.”

Fireheart leaned forward, willing Bluestar to answer. At last the she-cat nodded her head briskly and lifted her eyes to Fireheart. With a wave of relief he saw the tension leave her shoulders. And although her gaze still seemed remote and icy, it was calmer now. “We'll have the naming ceremony before we eat this evening,” she meowed, as if she had never doubted it.

“So who do you want to be their mentors?” Fireheart asked cautiously. He felt a tremor ripple through his tail as Bluestar stiffened again and her gaze darted anxiously around the cave.

“You decide.”

Her reply was barely audible, and Fireheart decided not to press her any more. He dipped his head and meowed, “Yes, Bluestar,” before backing out of the den.

He sat in the shade of the Highrock for a moment to gather his thoughts. Tigerclaw's treachery must have shaken
her even more than he realized if she didn't trust any of her warriors now. Fireheart ducked his head to give his chest a reassuring lick. It was barely a quarter moon since the attack by the rogue cats. Bluestar would get over it, he told himself. Meanwhile, he had to hide her anxiety from the other cats. If the Clan was already uneasy, as Whitestorm had said, seeing Bluestar like this would only make them more alarmed.

Fireheart flexed his shoulder muscles and padded toward the nursery. “Hi, Willowpelt,” he meowed as he reached the queen. The pale gray she-cat was lying on her side outside the thicket of brambles that sheltered the kits, enjoying the warmth of the sun.

She lifted her head as Fireheart stopped beside her. “Hi, Fireheart. How's life as a deputy?” Her eyes were gently curious and her voice was friendly, not challenging.

“Fine,” Fireheart told her.
Or it would be, if I didn't have a pain in the neck for an apprentice
, he thought with frustration,
or the elders fretting about the wrath of StarClan, or a leader who can't even decide who should mentor Brindleface's kits.

“Glad to hear it,” purred Willowpelt. She twisted her head to wash her back.

“Is Brindleface around?” Fireheart asked.

“She's inside,” Willowpelt meowed between licks.

“Thanks.” Fireheart pushed his way into the brambles. It was surprisingly bright inside. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the twisted branches, and Fireheart told himself he would have to get the holes patched before the cold winds of leaf-fall.

“Hi, Brindleface,” he meowed. “Good news! Bluestar says the naming ceremony for your kits will be this evening.”

Brindleface was lying on her side while her two pale gray kits clambered over her. “Thank StarClan for that!” she grunted as the heavier of the kits, his fur speckled with dark flecks, sprang off his mother's flank and flung himself at his sister. “These two are getting too big for the nursery.”

The kits tumbled over and rolled against their mother's back in a tangle of paws and tails. Brindleface gently shoved the kits away from her and asked, “Do you know who their mentors will be?”

Fireheart was already prepared for this question. “Bluestar hasn't decided yet,” he explained. “Are there any warriors you'd prefer?”

Brindleface looked surprised. “Bluestar will know best; she should decide.”

Fireheart knew as well as any cat that it was traditional for the Clan leader to select mentors. “Yes, you're right,” he meowed heavily.

His fur prickled as the breeze carried the odor of Tigerclaw's tabby kit to his scent glands. “Where's Goldenflower?” he asked Brindleface, more sharply than he intended.

Her eyes widened. “She's taken her kits to meet the elders,” she replied. She narrowed her eyes at Fireheart. “You recognize Tigerclaw in his son, don't you?”

Fireheart nodded uncomfortably.

“He has his father's looks, but that's all,” Brindleface assured him. “He's gentle enough with the other kits, and his
sister certainly keeps him in his place!”

“Well, that's good.” Fireheart turned away. “I'll see you later at the ceremony,” he meowed as he pushed his way back through the entrance.

“Does this mean Bluestar's decided when the naming ceremony should be?” Willowpelt called over to him when he appeared outside.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Who will be their men…?”

But Fireheart trotted away before he could hear the rest of Willowpelt's question. News of the naming ceremony would spread through the camp like forest fire, and every cat would want to know the same thing. Fireheart would have to decide soon, but his nostrils were still filled with the scent of Bramblekit, and his mind whirled as dark thoughts unfolded sinister wings within him.

Instinctively he headed for the fern tunnel that led to the medicine cat's clearing. Yellowfang's apprentice, Cinderpelt, would be there. Now that Graystripe had gone to live with RiverClan, Cinderpelt was Fireheart's closest friend. He knew that the gentle gray she-cat would be able to make sense of the confused emotions that seethed in his heart.

He quickened his pace through the cool ferns and emerged into the sunlit clearing. At one end loomed the flat face of a tall rock, split down the center. The niche in the middle of the stone was just large enough for Yellowfang to make her den and store her healing herbs.

Fireheart was about to call when Cinderpelt limped out
from the shadowy cleft in the rock. As ever, delight at seeing his friend was tempered by the pain of seeing the twisted hind leg that had prevented her from becoming a warrior. The young she-cat had been badly injured when she'd run onto the Thunderpath. Fireheart couldn't help feeling responsible, because Cinderpelt had been his apprentice when the accident happened. But as she recovered under the watchful eye of the Clan's medicine cat, Yellowfang had begun to teach her how to care for sick cats, taking her on as apprentice a moon and a half ago. Cinderpelt had found her place in the Clan at last.

A large bunch of herbs dangled from Cinderpelt's jaws as she limped into the clearing. Her face was creased in a worried frown, and she didn't even notice Fireheart standing at the tunnel entrance. She dropped the bundle on the sun-baked ground and began sorting fretfully though the leaves with her forepaws.