Warriors 04 - Rising Storm (6 page)

“StarClan grants us safe passage,” Bluestar
repeated stubbornly.

“Go home!” snarled Mudclaw.

Fireheart's paws tingled as he sized up their opponents. Three strong cats against him and the unfit ThunderClan leader. They would not escape a fight without serious injury, and there was no way he could risk Bluestar's losing a life—not when he knew that she was on the last of her nine lives, which were granted by StarClan to all Clan leaders.

“We should go home,” Fireheart hissed at Bluestar. The she-cat swung her head around and stared at him in disbelief. “We're too far from safety and this isn't a battle we can fight,” he urged her.

“But I must speak with StarClan!” meowed Bluestar.

“Another time,” Fireheart insisted. Bluestar's eyes clouded with indecision and he added, “We'd not win this battle.”

He twitched with relief as Bluestar retracted her claws and let the fur on her shoulders relax. The ThunderClan leader turned back to Mudclaw and meowed, “Very well, we'll go home. But we will return. You cannot cut us off from StarClan forever!”

Mudclaw flattened his back and replied, “You've made a wise decision.”

Fireheart growled at Mudclaw. “Did you hear what Bluestar said?” Mudclaw narrowed his eyes threateningly, but Fireheart went on: “We will leave this time, but you will never again stop us from traveling to the Moonstone.”

Mudclaw turned away. “We'll escort you back to Fourtrees.”

Fireheart tensed, afraid of how Bluestar would react to the suggestion that the WindClan warrior did not trust the ThunderClan cats to leave his territory. But she simply padded forward, brushing past the WindClan cats as she headed back the way they had come.

Fireheart walked after her, followed at a distance by the WindClan cats. He was aware of them rustling through the heather behind him, and when he looked over his shoulder he caught glimpses of their lithe, brown shapes among the purple flowers. Frustration pricked at his paws with every step. He would not let WindClan block their way again.

They reached Fourtrees and began to climb back down the rocky slope, leaving the WindClan warriors at the top watching them with hostile, narrowed eyes. Bluestar was starting to look very tired. With each leap she landed heavily and grunted. Fireheart was frightened the she-cat would slip, but she kept her footing until they reached the grass at the bottom. Fireheart looked back up the hill to see the three WindClan cats silhouetted against the wide, glaring sky before they turned and vanished back into their own territory.

As the ThunderClan cats passed the Great Rock, Bluestar
let out a long moan. “Are you all right?” Fireheart asked, stopping.

Bluestar shook her head impatiently. “StarClan does not want to share dreams with me,” she muttered. “Why are they so angry with my Clan?”

“WindClan stood in our way, not StarClan,” Fireheart reminded her. But he couldn't help feeling that StarClan could have brought them better luck. Smallear's words echoed through his mind:
Fireheart's naming broke with Clan ritual for the first time since before I was born.

Fireheart felt his head spin with alarm. Were the warrior ancestors really angry with Thunderclan?

 

From the surprised murmurs that greeted their news when Fireheart and Bluestar padded back into camp, Fireheart guessed that the Clan shared his fears. Never before had a leader been turned back on a journey to the Moonstone.

Bluestar padded unsteadily to her den, her eyes fixed on the dusty ground as she crossed the clearing. Fireheart watched her with a heavy heart. Suddenly the sun felt too hot to bear beneath his thick coat. He headed for the shade at the edge of the clearing, and noticed Dustpelt padding toward him from the gorse tunnel, Ashpaw at his heels.

“You're back early,” meowed the tabby warrior. He circled Fireheart as Ashpaw stood wide-eyed and looked up at the two warriors.

“WindClan wouldn't let us pass,” Fireheart explained.

“Didn't you tell them you were going to Highstones?”
asked Dustpelt, sitting down beside his apprentice.

“Of course,” snapped Fireheart.

He saw Dustpelt's eyes flick toward the gorse tunnel and turned to see Darkstripe and Fernpaw enter the camp. Fernpaw looked exhausted as she ran to keep up with her mentor, her fur clumped and dusty.

“What are you doing back?” Darkstripe asked, narrowing his eyes at Fireheart.

“WindClan wouldn't let them pass,” Dustpelt announced. Fernpaw looked up at Dustpelt, her pretty green eyes round with surprise.

“What? How dare they?” Darkstripe meowed, his tail bristling angrily.

“I don't know why Fireheart let them boss him around,” commented Dustpelt.

“I didn't have much choice,” Fireheart growled. “Would
you
have risked your leader's safety?”

Runningwind's meow sounded across the clearing. “Fireheart!” The lean warrior was trotting toward him, looking agitated. Darkstripe and Dustpelt glanced at each other and led their apprentices away. Runningwind reached Fireheart and asked, “Have you seen Cloudpaw anywhere?”

“No.” Fireheart felt his heart lurch. “I thought he was going out with you this afternoon.”

“I told him to wait till I'd washed.” Runningwind seemed more angry than worried. “But when I'd finished, Brightpaw told me he'd gone hunting by himself.”

“I'm sorry,” Fireheart apologized, sighing inwardly. The
last thing he needed right now was Cloudpaw's disobedience. “I'll speak to him when he gets back.”

Runningwind's eyes glittered with annoyance and he looked unconvinced by Fireheart's promise. Fireheart was about to apologize again when he saw Runningwind's expression turn to disbelief as Cloudpaw scampered into the camp, a squirrel grasped in his jaws. The apprentice's eyes shone with pride at the catch, which was almost as big as he was. Runningwind snorted with exasperation.

“I'll sort it out,” Fireheart meowed quickly. He sensed Runningwind had plenty more to say about Cloudpaw, but the warrior just nodded and padded away.

Fireheart watched the white cat carry his squirrel to the fresh-kill pile. Cloudpaw dropped it and wandered toward the apprentices' den without taking any food for himself, even though there was plenty of prey. With a sinking feeling, Fireheart guessed that Cloudpaw had already eaten while out hunting.
How many times could Cloudpaw break the warrior code in a single day?
he wondered irritably.

“Cloudpaw!” called Fireheart.

Cloudpaw looked up. “What?” he mewed.

“I want to talk to you.”

As Cloudpaw padded slowly toward him, Fireheart was uncomfortably aware of Runningwind watching from outside the warriors' den.

“Did you eat while out hunting?” he demanded as soon as Cloudpaw neared.

Cloudpaw shrugged. “So what if I did? I was hungry.”

“What does the warrior code tell us about eating before the Clan is fed?”

Cloudpaw looked at the treetops. “If it's anything like the rest of the code, it'll tell me I can't,” he muttered.

Fireheart pushed away his rising exasperation. “Did you fetch that pigeon?”

“I couldn't. It was gone.”

With a shock Fireheart realized he didn't know if he believed Cloudpaw or not. He decided there was no point pursuing it. “Why didn't you go hunting with Runningwind?” he asked instead.

“He was taking too long to get ready. Anyway, I prefer hunting alone!”

“You're still just an apprentice,” Fireheart reminded him sternly. “You'll learn better if you hunt with a warrior.”

Cloudpaw sighed and nodded. “Yes, Fireheart.”

Fireheart had no idea if Cloudpaw had really listened or not. “You'll never be given your warrior name if you carry on like this! How do you think you'll feel watching Ashpaw's and Fernpaw's naming ceremonies when you're still an apprentice?”

“That'll never happen,” Cloudpaw argued.

“Well, one thing's for certain,” Fireheart told him. “
You'll
be staying at camp while
they
go to the next Gathering.”

Finally Fireheart seemed to have Cloudpaw's attention. The white-haired apprentice stared up at him in disbelief. “But—” he began.

“When I report this to Bluestar, I think she'll agree with
me,” Fireheart interrupted him fiercely. “Now, go away!”

Tail down, Cloudpaw padded off toward the other apprentices, who were watching from outside their den. Fireheart didn't even bother looking to see if Runningwind had witnessed the scene. Right now he didn't care what the Clan thought of his apprentice. The opinions of the other cats seemed to pale into insignificance next to his growing fear that Cloudpaw would never become a true warrior.

“Bluestar, it's been a quarter moon
since we returned from the uplands.” Fireheart carefully avoided mentioning the Moonstone. Even though they were alone in her den, he still felt uncomfortable mentioning their fruitless expedition. “There's been no sign of WindClan in our territory, or ShadowClan.” Bluestar narrowed her eyes disbelievingly but Fireheart pressed on. “There are so many apprentices in training, and the woods are so full of prey, that it is hard to keep three warriors in camp all the time. I…I think two would be plenty.”

“But what if we're attacked again?” Bluestar fretted.

“If WindClan really intended to harm ThunderClan,” Fireheart pointed out, “Mudclaw wouldn't have let you leave the uplands….”
alive,
he finished silently, letting his words trail away.

“Okay.” Bluestar nodded, her eyes clouded with an unreadable emotion. “Only two warriors need stay in camp.”

“Thanks, Bluestar.” This was going to make the task of organizing all the guards, hunting parties, and apprentice training much easier. “I'll go and sort out tomorrow's patrols.”
Fireheart dipped his head respectfully and left the den.

Outside the warriors were waiting for him. “Whitestorm, you lead the dawn patrol,” Fireheart ordered. “Take Sandstorm and Ashpaw with you. Brackenfur, Dustpelt, you'll guard the camp while I'm hunting with Cloudpaw.” He looked around at the remaining warriors, realizing how much more confident he felt about arranging the patrols. He'd had a lot of practice since Bluestar stayed in her den so much nowadays. Pushing away the unsettling thought, Fireheart went on: “I'll leave it up to the rest of you whether you train your apprentices or take them hunting, but I want the fresh-kill pile as full as it is today. We're getting used to eating well!” An amused purr ran through the group of warriors. “Darkstripe, you lead tomorrow's sunhigh patrol. Runningwind, you take sunset. You can choose who you take with you; just be sure to let them know so they can be ready in time.”

Runningwind nodded, but Darkstripe's eyes glittered and he asked, “Who will be going to the Gathering tonight?”

“I don't know,” Fireheart admitted.

Darkstripe narrowed his eyes. “Didn't Bluestar tell you, or hasn't she decided yet?”

“She hasn't discussed it with me,” Fireheart answered. “She'll tell us when she's ready.”

Darkstripe turned his head and stared into the shadowy trees. “She'd better tell us soon. The sun is starting to set.”

“Then you should be eating,” Fireheart told him. “You'll need your strength for the Gathering, if you're going.” Darkstripe's tone made him uneasy, but he refused to let it
ruffle his fur. He sat down and waited for the warriors to move away. Only when they had all gone did he turn back to Bluestar's den. She hadn't mentioned the Gathering, and he'd been too busy worrying about tomorrow's patrols to remember it.

“Ah, Fireheart.” Bluestar met him as she was pushing her way out through the lichen. She looked as if she'd just finished washing, and her pelt glowed in the dusky light. Fireheart felt a jolt of relief that she seemed to be taking care of herself once more. “When you've eaten, call the warriors together for the Gathering.”

“Er…who shall I call?” Fireheart asked.

Bluestar looked surprised. She listed the names so easily—leaving out Cloudpaw and including Ashpaw, as he'd requested several days earlier—that Fireheart wondered if perhaps she'd already told him, and he'd forgotten.

“Yes, Bluestar,” he answered. He dipped his head and padded across the clearing to the fresh-kill pile. A fat pigeon had been left on the heap. He decided to leave it for Bluestar. Perhaps this might tempt her to eat more than two mouthfuls. He picked up a vole, not feeling very hungry himself. He was too unsettled by Bluestar's shifting, patternless moods.

As Fireheart carried the vole back to his favorite eating place, a shiver ran along his spine. Instinctively he looked over his shoulder, and he felt a prickle of apprehension as he saw Bramblekit watching him. He recalled Cinderpelt's words:
He will never know his father. It will be the Clan that raises him.
Fireheart forced himself to nod at the kit, then turned away
and padded to the clump of nettles to eat.

When he'd finished his meal, Fireheart glanced around the clearing. The rest of the Clan was sharing tongues as night stretched out the shadows and brought a welcome coolness to the camp. The days had been so hot lately that Fireheart had found himself wishing more and more that he could swim like the RiverClan cats. He looked over at the apprentices' den, wondering if Cloudpaw would remember that he wasn't going to the Gathering because he had eaten while out hunting.

Cloudpaw was crouched on the tree stump outside his den entrance, play-fighting with Ashpaw, who was scrabbling at him from below. Fireheart was pleased that at least Cloudpaw was getting on with his denmates. He wondered if Graystripe would be at Fourtrees tonight. It seemed unlikely, as he had been in RiverClan for barely a moon. But he had given them Silverstream's kits. The RiverClan leader, Crookedstar, must have been grateful—after all, Silverstream had been his daughter, so the kits were his kin. And even though it would confirm his friend's acceptance into another Clan, Fireheart found himself hoping that Graystripe would be granted the privilege of joining the Gathering.

Fireheart pushed himself to his paws and called the cats together for the ThunderClan patrol. As he ran through the list of names that Bluestar had given him—“Mousefur, Runningwind, Sandstorm, Brackenfur, Brightpaw, Ashpaw, and Swiftpaw”—he realized with growing unease that Darkstripe, Longtail, and Dustpelt weren't among them. The three warriors had all been close allies of Tigerclaw,
and Fireheart wondered if Bluestar had left them out deliberately. An uncomfortable shiver rippled through his fur as the three cats exchanged glances, then fixed their gazes on him. There was an unmistakable gleam of anger in Darkstripe's eyes. Unnerved, Fireheart turned away and joined the other cats to wait for Bluestar.

She was sharing tongues with Whitestorm outside her den, and only when the gathered warriors began kneading the ground with anticipation did she get up and cross the clearing.

“Whitestorm will be in charge of the camp while we're away,” she announced.

“Bluestar,” Mousefur addressed her leader cautiously. “What are you going to say about the way that WindClan stopped you from traveling to Highstones?”

Fireheart's shoulders tensed. Mousefur clearly wanted to know if the ThunderClan cats should prepare themselves for hostility.

“I shall say nothing,” Bluestar answered firmly. “WindClan knows that what they did was wrong. It's not worth risking their aggression by pointing it out in front of the other Clans.”

The ThunderClan warriors greeted her response with reluctant nods, and Fireheart couldn't help wondering whether they saw weakness or wisdom in their leader's decision as they followed her through the gorse tunnel and out into the moonlit forest.

Dirt and pebbles showered down as the cats scrambled up
the side of the ravine. The lack of rain had left the forest as dry as crushed bones, and the sun-scorched ground seemed to turn to dust beneath their paws. Once in the woods, Bluestar ran on ahead. Fireheart dropped to the rear of the group as the cats raced silently through the trees, ducking beneath brittle ferns and swerving past brambles.

Sandstorm measured her pace until she matched Fireheart stride for stride, clearing a fallen branch in a single fluid leap. As they landed, she turned to Fireheart and murmured, “Bluestar seems to be feeling well again.”

“Yes,” Fireheart agreed guardedly, concentrating on threading his body between some prickly bramble stalks.

Sandstorm went on, keeping her voice low so it didn't carry to the other cats. “But she seems distant. She doesn't seem to be as…” She hesitated, and Fireheart didn't try to fill the silence that followed. His worst fears were being confirmed. The other ThunderClan cats were beginning to notice Bluestar was not herself.

“She's changed,” Sandstorm finished.

Fireheart didn't look at the ginger she-cat. Instead he veered away to avoid a thick clump of nettles while Sandstorm leaped over them, springing up and through the stinging leaves to land on the forest floor beyond.

Fireheart ran faster to catch up. “Bluestar's still shaken,” he said, panting. “Tigerclaw's treachery was a huge shock.”

“I don't understand why she never suspected him.”

“Did
you
ever suspect Tigerclaw?” countered Fireheart.

“No,” Sandstorm admitted. “No cat did. But the rest of the
Clan has recovered from the shock. Bluestar still seems…” Again she seemed lost for words.

“She's leading us to the Gathering,” Fireheart pointed out.

“Yes, that's true,” answered Sandstorm, brightening.

“She's still the same Bluestar,” Fireheart assured her. “You'll see.”

The two warriors quickened their pace. They leaped over a stream that had been too swollen to cross during the newleaf floods. Now it trickled along a stony bed, so dry that it was almost impossible to imagine the water had ever flowed higher.

The rest of the group was only just ahead of them by the time they neared Fourtrees. Fireheart led Sandstorm along their trail, the undergrowth still trembling where the cats had passed, as if the leaves shared the Clan's anticipation of the Gathering.

Bluestar had stopped at the head of the slope and was staring down into the valley. Fireheart could see lithe feline shapes slipping through the shadows, greeting each other with muted purrs. From the scents on the still air, he could tell that ThunderClan was the last to arrive. Fireheart watched Bluestar gaze at the Great Rock in the center of the clearing and saw a shudder ripple along her spine. She seemed to take a deep breath before plunging down the slope.

Fireheart raced after her with his Clanmates. He slowed as he reached the clearing and scanned the other cats for a glimpse of Graystripe. The RiverClan deputy, Leopardfur, was talking with a ShadowClan warrior Fireheart didn't
recognize. Crookedstar, the RiverClan leader, sat with Stonefur, looking silently around the clearing. Fireheart scented another RiverClan cat close by, but when he turned, he saw it was an apprentice moving to greet Brightpaw. There was no sign or scent of Graystripe. Fireheart wasn't surprised, but his tail still drooped with disappointment.

A gray ShadowClan apprentice joined Brightpaw as well. With one ear Fireheart listened idly to their conversation.

“Has your Clan seen any more of the rogues? Nightstar's worried that they're still roaming the forest.”

Fireheart froze when he heard the ShadowClan cat's question. All of the Clans had been worried about the group of rogue cats that had been scented in their territories. What the other Clans didn't know was that ThunderClan's deputy, Tigerclaw, had befriended these rogues and used them to attack his own camp. Fireheart gave Brightpaw a cautionary glance, warning her to keep silent, but there was no need. The white-and-ginger she-cat replied coolly, “We've not scented them in our territory for nearly a moon.”

Fireheart felt a jolt of relief as the RiverClan cat added, “Nor ours. They must have left the forest.” Fireheart wished he could share the RiverClan cat's confidence, but his instincts told him that, if Tigerclaw were involved, the rogue cats would return one day.

Mudclaw, the WindClan warrior who had turned Fireheart and Bluestar away from Highstones, sat a foxlength away. Fireheart recognized the young WindClan warrior
Onewhisker standing at Mudclaw's side. He had made friends with this small brown tabby on the journey back from exile, but he didn't dare approach him now. Mudclaw was eyeing him coldly, and Fireheart knew this was no place to continue the argument they'd begun on their way to the Moonstone.

But he couldn't resist flexing his claws, still angry at the memory, and was angered further when Mudclaw leaned sideways to whisper something into his companion's ears with a meaningful glance at Fireheart. To Fireheart's surprise Onewhisker blinked sympathetically at him, then turned and walked away, leaving Mudclaw flicking his tail with annoyance. It looked as if there was at least one WindClan warrior who remembered the old debt of loyalty to ThunderClan. Fireheart couldn't stop his whiskers from twitching with satisfaction as he stalked past Mudclaw and headed toward Leopardfur and the ShadowClan warrior.

His confidence evaporated when he approached the RiverClan deputy. Although they were equals now in the hierarchy of their Clans, this she-cat had a fierce and commanding presence. Ever since ThunderClan and RiverClan cats had fought at the gorge and a RiverClan warrior, Whiteclaw, had fallen to his death, Fireheart had felt her unforgiving hostility as sharp as thorns. But he needed to find out how Graystripe was doing. He nodded respectfully, and Leopardfur dipped her head in return.

The ShadowClan warrior sitting beside Leopardfur started to rasp a greeting, but broke off, coughing and spluttering.
Fireheart noticed for the first time how ragged the warrior's pelt looked, as if he hadn't groomed himself for a moon.

Leopardfur gave her paws a lick and wiped her face as the ShadowClan warrior stumbled into the shadows.

“Is he all right?” Fireheart asked.

“Does he look all right?” retorted Leopardfur, her lip curling with distaste. “Cats shouldn't come to the Gathering riddled with disease.”

“Shouldn't we do something?”

“Like what?” meowed Leopardfur. “ShadowClan has a medicine cat.” She lowered her paw, her wet whiskers gleaming in the moonlight. Her eyes glittered with curiosity. “I hear you are ThunderClan's new deputy.” Fireheart nodded, realizing that Graystripe must have shared this news with his new Clan. Leopardfur went on: “What happened to Tigerclaw? None of the other Clans seemed to know. Is he dead?”