Rising Storm

Chapter 8

Mews of alarm and the pounding of paws in the clearing roused Fireheart from sleep. He blinked against the glaring sunshine that streamed between the branches above the warriors’ den.

A golden head appeared through the wall of leaves. It was Sandstorm, her pale green eyes gleaming with excitement. “We’ve captured two ShadowClan warriors!” she meowed breathlessly.

Fireheart leaped to his paws, instantly awake. “What? Where?”

“By the Owl Tree,” Sandstorm explained, adding, “they were asleep!” Her voice betrayed her scorn at the ShadowClan cats’ carelessness.

“Have you told Bluestar?”

“Dustpelt’s telling her now.” She ducked out of the warriors’ den and Fireheart sprang after her, past Runningwind, who jerked up his head, startled awake by the commotion.

Fireheart had slept fitfully after returning from the Gathering, shaken by the loaded silence that had greeted the announcement of his deputyship. His dreams had been filled with unknown cats that recoiled from him as if he were an owl of ill omen flying through a forest of shadows. He thought he had left his days as an outsider behind him, but the challenging stares from the other cats had warned him that he was still not fully accepted into forest life. He just hoped they didn’t find out about the broken naming ritual. That would only reinforce their uneasiness about a kittypet replacing a respected Clanborn deputy.

Now he faced yet another challenge. How would he deal with enemy cats captured on ThunderClan territory? Fireheart found himself hoping that Bluestar would be in a calm enough mood to guide him.

The dawn patrol was gathered in a circle in the middle of the clearing. Fireheart pushed his way through them and saw two ShadowClan cats crouching on the hard earth, their tails bushed out and their ears flattened.

He recognized one of the warriors at once. It was Littlecloud, a brown tabby tom. They’d met at a Gathering when Littlecloud was no more than a kit. He had been forced into apprenticeship by Brokentail when he was only three moons old. He was fully grown now, but still small-framed, and he looked in a bad way. His fur was matted and he stank of crowfood and fear. His haunches were bony, like featherless wings, and his eyes were sunk into his head. The other one wasn’t much better off. These were hardly warriors to be afraid of, Fireheart thought with a twinge of unease.

He looked at Whitestorm, who had led the dawn patrol. “Did they put up a fight when you found them?”

“No,” Whitestorm admitted, flicking his tail. “When we woke them up, they begged us to bring them here.”

Fireheart felt confused. “Begged you?” he echoed. “Why would they do that?”

“Where are these ShadowClan warriors?” yowled Bluestar, pushing her way through the audience of cats, her face twisted in fear and rage. Fireheart felt his belly tense. “Is this another attack?” she hissed at the two wretched cats.

“Whitestorm found them on patrol,” Fireheart explained quickly. “They were sleeping in ThunderClan territory.”

“Sleeping?” snarled Bluestar, her ears flat against her head. “Well, have we been invaded or not?”

“These were the only warriors we found,” meowed Whitestorm.

“Are you sure?” demanded Bluestar. “It could be a trap.”

As Fireheart looked at these two sorry creatures, his instinct told him that invasion was the last thing on their minds. But Bluestar had a point. It would be wise to make sure there were no other ShadowClan cats hiding in the woods, waiting for a signal to attack. He called to Mousefur and Dustpelt. “You two, take a warrior and an apprentice each. Start at the Thunderpath and work your way back to camp. I want every bit of the territory searched for signs of ShadowClan.”

To Fireheart’s relief the two warriors obeyed instantly. Dustpelt called Runningwind and Ashpaw, while Mousefur signaled to Swiftpaw and Brackenfur; then the six cats raced out of the camp and into the forest.

Fireheart turned back to the trembling captives. “What are you doing in ThunderClan territory?” he asked. “Littlecloud, why are you here?”

The tabby tom stared up at Fireheart with round, frightened eyes, and Fireheart felt a stab of sympathy. The cat looked as lost and helpless as he’d been at that first Gathering, when he was a barely weaned kit.

“W-Whitethroat and I came here h-hoping you’d give us food and healing herbs,” Littlecloud stammered at last.

Hisses of disbelief rose from the ThunderClan cats, and Littlecloud shrank back, pressing his scrawny body against the earth.

Fireheart stared at the prisoner in amazement. Since when did ShadowClan cats seek help from their bitterest enemy?

“Fireheart, wait.” The voice of Cinderpelt sounded softly in Fireheart’s ear. She was studying the two ShadowClan cats with narrowed eyes. “These cats are no threat to us. They are sick.” She limped forward and touched Littlecloud’s forepaw gently with her nose. “His pad is warm,” she mewed. “He has a fever.”

Cinderpelt was about to sniff the second cat’s paw when Yellowfang forced her way through the throng of cats. “No, Cinderpelt!” she screeched. “Get away from them!”

Cinderpelt leaped around. “Why? These cats are sick. We must help them!” She twisted her head, looking pleadingly first at Fireheart, then at Bluestar.

Every cat turned expectantly to Bluestar, but the ThunderClan leader just stared, huge-eyed, at the captives. Fireheart could see the old gray she-cat struggling with bewilderment and fear, her eyes clouded with confusion. He realized he had to distract the cats’ attention while the troubled leader gathered her thoughts.

“Why us? What made you come to our territory?” he asked the two prisoners again.

The other ShadowClan cat, Whitethroat, spoke this time. He was a black tom with paws and a chest that used to be white but were now stained with dust. “You helped ShadowClan before, when we drove out Brokentail,” he explained quietly.

But ThunderClan also gave sanctuary to the ShadowClan leader, Fireheart thought with a ripple of unease. Had Whitethroat forgotten that? Then he realized that Brokentail had forced these cats into their apprenticeships when they were barely old enough to leave their mothers’ sides. Banishing their cruel leader must have come as such a relief that what had happened to him afterward paled into insignificance. And now that Brokentail was dead, there was no threat to the ShadowClan warriors from the ThunderClan camp beyond normal Clan rivalry.

Whitethroat went on: “We hoped you would be able to help us now. Nightstar is sick. The camp is in chaos with so many cats ill. There are not enough herbs or fresh-kill to go around.”

“What’s Runningnose doing? He’s your medicine cat. It’s up to him to tend to you!” spat Yellowfang, before Fireheart could say anything.

Fireheart was taken aback by her tone. Yellowfang had once belonged to ShadowClan. Even though Fireheart knew her loyalties lay with ThunderClan now, he was surprised at her lack of compassion toward her former Clanmates.

“Nightstar seemed all right at the Gathering last night,” Darkstripe growled.

“Yes,” agreed Bluestar, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

But Fireheart remembered how frail the ShadowClan leader had seemed, and he was not surprised when Littlecloud mewed, “He got worse when he returned to the camp. Runningnose was with him all night. He won’t leave Nightstar’s side. He let a kit die at its mother’s belly without even a poppy seed to ease its journey to StarClan! We are afraid that he’ll let us die too. Please help us!”

Littlecloud’s plea sounded real enough to Fireheart. He looked hopefully at Bluestar, but her blue eyes still looked bewildered.

“They must leave,” insisted Yellowfang in a low growl.

“Why?” Fireheart blurted out. “They’re no threat to us in this state!”

“They carry a disease I’ve seen before in ShadowClan.” Yellowfang began to circle the ShadowClan cats, studying them but keeping her distance. “It killed many cats last time.”

“It’s not greencough, is it?” Fireheart asked. Some of the ThunderClan cats began to edge slowly backward as Fireheart mentioned the sickness that had ravaged their own Clan during leaf-bare.

“No. It has no name,” Yellowfang muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on the captives. “It comes from the rats that live on a Twoleg dump on the far side of ShadowClan territory.” She glared at Littlecloud. “Surely the elders know those Twoleg rats carry sickness, and must never be taken as prey?”

“An apprentice brought the rat back,” explained Littlecloud. “He was too young to remember.”

Fireheart listened to the sick cat’s labored breathing as the ThunderClan cats looked on in silence. “What should we do?” he asked Bluestar.

Yellowfang spoke up before she could answer. “Bluestar, it is not long since greencough devastated our Clan,” she reminded her. “You lost a life then.” The medicine cat narrowed her eyes, and Fireheart guessed what she must be thinking. Only he and Yellowfang knew that Bluestar was on her last life. If the disease spread into ThunderClan, she might die, and ThunderClan would be left without a leader. The thought turned Fireheart’s blood to ice, and he shivered in spite of the hot morning sun.

Bluestar nodded. “You are right, Yellowfang,” she meowed quietly. “These cats must leave. Fireheart, send them away.” Her voice was flat and expressionless as she turned back to her den.

Reluctantly, his relief at reaching a decision tempered by pity for the sick cats, Fireheart meowed, “Sandstorm and I will escort the ShadowClan warriors back to their border.” Mews of approval rippled through the other cats. Littlecloud stared at Fireheart, pleading with his eyes. Fireheart forced himself to look away. “Go back to your dens,” he told his Clanmates.

The other cats slipped noiselessly into the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing, until only Cinderpelt lingered next to Fireheart and Sandstorm. Whitethroat started to cough, his body racked with painful spasms.

“Please let me help them,” begged Cinderpelt.

Fireheart shook his head helplessly as Yellowfang called from her tunnel, “Cinderpelt! Come here. You must wash their sickness from your muzzle.”

Cinderpelt stared at Fireheart.

“Come now!” spat Yellowfang. “Unless you want me to add a few nettle leaves to the mixture!”

Cinderpelt backed away with a last reproachful glance at Fireheart. But there was nothing he could do. Bluestar had given him an order, and the Clan had agreed.

Fireheart glanced at Sandstorm and was relieved to find her eyes filled with sympathy. He knew she would understand his struggle between compassion for the sick cats and the desire to protect his Clan from the illness.

“Let’s go,” Sandstorm meowed softly. “The sooner they get back to their own camp, the better.”

“Okay,” Fireheart answered. He looked at Littlecloud, forcing himself to ignore the desperation on the small cat’s face. “The Thunderpath is busy. There are always more monsters about in greenleaf. We’ll help you cross.”

“No need,” whispered Littlecloud. “We can cross it ourselves.”

“We’ll take you there anyway,” Fireheart told him. “Come on.”

The ShadowClan warriors heaved themselves to their paws and padded unsteadily to the camp entrance. Sandstorm and Fireheart followed without speaking, although Fireheart drew in his breath sharply as he watched the sick cats haul themselves painfully up the ravine.

As they made their way into the forest, a mouse scuttled across the path in front of them. The ShadowClan warriors’ ears twitched but they were too weak to give chase. Without stopping to think, Fireheart shot ahead of Sandstorm and tracked the scent of the mouse into the undergrowth. He killed it and carried it back to the sickly ShadowClan cats, dropping it at Littlecloud’s paws. As if they felt too ill to be grateful, they said nothing but crouched and nibbled at the fresh-kill.

Fireheart saw Sandstorm looking on doubtfully. “They can’t spread sickness by eating,” he pointed out. “And they’ll need their strength to return to their camp.”

“Looks like they don’t have much appetite anyway,” Sandstorm commented as Littlecloud and Whitethroat suddenly got up and stumbled away from the half-eaten mouse into the undergrowth. A moment later Fireheart heard them retching.

“A waste of prey,” Sandstorm muttered, scraping dust over the remains of the mouse.

“I guess,” answered Fireheart, disappointed. He waited till the two cats reappeared, then led Sandstorm after them.

Fireheart could smell the acrid fumes of the Thunderpath a few moments before the rumbling of the monsters reached them through the leaf-laden trees. Sandstorm meowed to the ShadowClan cats, “I know you don’t want our help, but we’ll see you across the Thunderpath.” Fireheart nodded in agreement. He was more concerned about their safety than suspicious that the cats would not leave ThunderClan territory.

“We’ll cross alone,” insisted Littlecloud. “Just leave us here.”

Fireheart looked sharply at him, suddenly wondering if he should be less trusting. But he still found it hard to believe that these sick warriors posed any threat to his Clan. “Okay,” he conceded. Sandstorm flashed him a questioning glance, but Fireheart gave a small signal with his tail and the orange she-cat sat down. Littlecloud and Whitethroat nodded farewell and disappeared into the ferns.

“Are we going to—” began Sandstorm.

“Follow them?” Fireheart guessed what she was going to say. “I suppose we should.”

They waited a few moments for the sound of the ShadowClan cats to fade into the bushes, and then began to track them through the forest.

“This isn’t the way to the Thunderpath,” Sandstorm whispered as the trail veered toward Fourtrees.

“Perhaps they’re following the route they came by,” Fireheart suggested, touching his nose to the tip of a bramble stem. The fresh stench of the sick cats made his lip curl. “Come on,” he meowed. “Let’s catch up with them.” Anxiety flashed through him. Had he been wrong about the ShadowClan cats? Were they heading back into ThunderClan territory in spite of their promise to leave? He quickened his pace and Sandstorm ran silently at his heels.

The noise of the Thunderpath hummed like sleepy bees in the distance. The ShadowClan cats seemed to be following a trail that ran parallel with the stinking stone path. Their scent led Fireheart and Sandstorm out of the cover of the forest ferns and onto a bare patch of ground. Just ahead, the ShadowClan cats had crossed the scentline that marked the border between the two territories and were ducking into a clump of brambles, unaware of their ThunderClan shadows.

Sandstorm narrowed her eyes. “Why are they going in there?”

“Let’s find out,” Fireheart replied. He hurried forward, swallowing a prickle of fear as he crossed the scentline. The rumble of the Thunderpath had grown much louder, and his ears twitched uncomfortably at the bruising din.

The ThunderClan warriors picked their way through the barbed stems. Fireheart was painfully aware they were on hostile territory now, but he had to be sure that the ShadowClan cats were returning to their camp. By the sound of it, the Thunderpath was only a few foxlengths in front of them now, and the scent of the sick cats was almost drowned by its fumes.

Suddenly the brambles ended and Fireheart found himself stepping out onto the filthy grass that edged the Thunderpath. “Careful!” he warned Sandstorm as she hopped out beside him. The hard gray path lay right in front of them, shimmering in the heat, and the ginger she-cat shrank back as a monster roared past.

“Where are the ShadowClan cats?” she asked.

Fireheart stared across the Thunderpath, screwing his eyes up and flattening his ears as more monsters screamed past, their bitter wind dragging at his fur and whiskers. The sick cats were nowhere to be seen, but they couldn’t possibly have crossed already.

“Look,” Sandstorm hissed. She pointed with her nose. Fireheart followed her wide-eyed stare along the dusty strip of grass. It was empty apart from a tiny flicker of movement where the tip of Whitethroat’s tail was disappearing into the ground, underneath the stinking flat stone of the Thunderpath.

Fireheart’s eyes grew round with disbelief. It was as if the Thunderpath had opened its mouth and swallowed the ShadowClan cats whole.