Rising Storm

Chapter 12

“Help! Don’t let them take me!” Fireheart heard Cloudpaw’s desperate yowling above the noise of the roaring monster.

The Twoleg took no notice. It clambered into the monster with Cloudpaw and slammed the door shut. In a cloud of choking fumes, the monster pulled away and headed up the Thunderpath.

“No! Wait!”

Fireheart ignored Sandstorm’s cry as he dashed out of the passageway and pelted after the monster. The rough stone path tore at his pads, but as fast as he ran, the monster went faster, until it rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

Fireheart skidded to a halt, his paws stinging and his heart pounding. Sandstorm called to him again. “Fireheart! Come back!”

Fireheart glanced in despair at the empty Thunderpath where the monster had stood just moments before and then hurried back to Sandstorm. Numb with shock, he blindly followed Sandstorm as she led him along the passageway, past the nest, through the garden, and over the fence into the safety of the woods.

“Fireheart!” Sandstorm gasped when they landed on the leafy forest floor. “Are you okay?”

Fireheart couldn’t answer. He stared at the blank fence, trying to take in what he had just seen. The Twolegs had stolen Cloudpaw! Fireheart couldn’t block out the look of fear on the young cat’s face. Where were they taking him? Wherever it was, Cloudpaw hadn’t wanted to go.

“Your pads are bleeding,” murmured Sandstorm.

Fireheart lifted a foreleg and turned over his paw to look. He gazed blankly at the oozing blood until Sandstorm leaned forward and began to lick the grit from his wounds. It stung, but Fireheart didn’t protest. The rhythmic licks comforted him, stirring long-distant memories of kithood. Gradually the panic that had frozen his mind began to melt away. “He’s gone,” he meowed dismally. His heart felt like a hollow log, ringing with sorrow at every beat.

“He’ll find his way home,” Sandstorm told him. Fireheart looked at her calm green eyes and felt a flicker of hope.

“If he wants to,” she added. Her words pierced him like thorns, but her eyes were full of sympathy, and Fireheart knew she was only speaking the truth. “Cloudpaw might be happier where he’s going,” she meowed. “You want him to be happy, don’t you?”

Fireheart nodded slowly.

“Come on then; let’s get back to camp.” Sandstorm’s mew became brisk, and Fireheart felt a surge of frustration.

“It’s easy for you!” he argued. “You share Clan blood with the rest of them. Cloudpaw was my only kin. Now there’s no one in the Clan that’s close to me.”

Sandstorm flinched as if he had struck her. “How can you say that? You have me!” she spat. “I’ve done nothing but try to help you. Doesn’t that mean anything? I thought that our friendship was important to you, but clearly I was wrong!” She spun around, flicking Fireheart’s legs with her tail before racing away into the trees.

He watched her disappear, bewildered by her response. His paws stung, and he felt more wretched than he could ever remember. He began to wander slowly through the woods, steering clear of Princess’s fence. He couldn’t even imagine how he would tell her what had happened to her kit.

With every step, the thorn-sharp worry about what Fireheart was going to say to the rest of the Clan added to his misery. He imagined how Darkstripe would gloat when he discovered Fireheart’s kin had gone back to the soft life of a kittypet. Once a kittypet, always a kittypet! Perhaps the jibe that had haunted Fireheart for so long had an element of truth in it after all.

The scuttling of a mouse under the pine trees distracted him. The Clan still had to be fed. Fireheart crouched instinctively, but there was no joy in the hunt this time. He chased and caught the mouse with cold swiftness and carried it toward the camp.

The sun was touching the tips of the trees when he reached the gorse tunnel. He paused and took a steadying breath before he walked into the clearing, the mouse swinging between his jaws.

The Clan was sharing tongues around the clearing after their evening meal. Mousefur met him at the entrance and Fireheart wondered if she had been waiting for his return. “You’ve been gone a long time,” she observed mildly. “Is everything okay?”

Fireheart glanced awkwardly away. He felt he should share his news about Cloudpaw with Bluestar first.

“Whitestorm organized the evening patrol in your absence,” Mousefur went on.

“Er…good…thanks,” Fireheart stammered. Mousefur dipped her head politely and padded away.

As Fireheart watched her go, he tried to tell himself that Cloudpaw’s loss didn’t mean he was alone in the Clan. Most of the cats seemed to accept him as deputy, despite the broken naming ritual. Fireheart just wished he could be sure that StarClan felt the same way, and his earlier fears clouded his mind like noisy fluttering crows. Was Cloudpaw’s loss a sign that StarClan wanted to punish ThunderClan by depriving it of a potential warrior? Even worse, were the Clan’s warrior ancestors signaling that kittypets didn’t belong in the Clan?

Fireheart felt as if his legs were about to give way under the weight of his anxiety. He dropped his offering on the pile of fresh-kill and looked around. Sandstorm was lying beside Runningwind, a sparrow in her paws. Fireheart flinched as the ginger she-cat cast him a reproachful glance. He knew he would have to apologize, but first he had to tell Bluestar about Cloudpaw.

Fireheart crossed to the leader’s den and called a greeting at the entrance. He was surprised when Whitestorm’s voice answered. He poked his head through the lichen and saw Bluestar curled in her nest, her head up and eyes shining as she shared tongues with Whitestorm. For once the ThunderClan leader looked like any other warrior, enjoying the company of a trusted friend. And as he saw the contented expression on Bluestar’s face, Fireheart shied away from disturbing her with his bad news. He’d tell her later.

“Yes, what is it?” asked Bluestar.

“I…I just wondered if you were hungry,” Fireheart stammered.

“Oh.” Bluestar sounded puzzled. “Thank you, but Whitestorm brought me something.” She dipped her head toward the half-eaten pigeon that lay on the floor of her den.

“Er…fine, I’ll leave you to eat it then.” Fireheart quickly backed out before she could ask what he had been up to. He returned to the fresh-kill pile, picked up the mouse he’d caught earlier, and carried it toward the nettle clump where Sandstorm and Runningwind lay.

Sandstorm looked away when she saw him coming and busied herself with tearing the wings off her fresh-kill. Fireheart dropped his mouse onto the ground.

“Hi, there,” Runningwind greeted him. “I thought you were going to miss mealtime.”

Fireheart tried to purr a friendly reply, but his answer came out hoarsely. “Busy day.” Runningwind glanced at Sandstorm, who was still ignoring the Clan deputy, and Fireheart thought he saw the lean warrior’s whiskers twitch.

“Sorry about earlier,” Fireheart whispered to Sandstorm.

“So you should be,” she muttered, not looking up.

“You’ve been a good friend,” Fireheart persisted. “I’m sorry I made you think I don’t appreciate you.”

“Yeah, well, next time try thinking beyond your own whiskers!”

“Are we friends again?” Fireheart meowed.

“We always were,” she replied simply.

Relieved, Fireheart lay down beside her and began to crunch on his mouse. Runningwind hadn’t uttered a word, but Fireheart noticed that his eyes were glowing with amusement. His interaction with Sandstorm was obviously attracting attention from the other warriors. Fireheart felt a self-conscious prickle ripple through his fur, and he looked awkwardly around the clearing.

Darkstripe was sitting in front of the apprentices’ den talking to Ashpaw. Fireheart wondered why he was speaking to Dustpelt’s apprentice instead of sharing a meal with the other warriors. Ashpaw was shaking his head, but the dark tabby warrior carried on talking until Ashpaw lowered his eyes and began to pad across the clearing toward the nettle patch.

Fireheart’s ears twitched. From the way Darkstripe was watching the young gray apprentice, he could tell something was up.

Ashpaw stopped in front of Fireheart, his small body stiff and his tail flicking nervously.

“Is something wrong?” Fireheart asked.

“I was just wondering where Cloudpaw was,” mewed Ashpaw. “He said he’d be back by mealtime.”

Fireheart gazed past the apprentice at the dark tabby who watching them closely, his amber eyes glinting with undisguised interest. “Tell Darkstripe that if he wants to know, he should ask me himself!” he snapped.

Ashpaw flinched. “I…I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Darkstripe told me…” The apprentice shuffled his paws and suddenly looked up, staring Fireheart straight in the eye. “Actually, it’s not just Darkstripe who wants to know. I’m worried, too. Cloudpaw promised he’d be back by now.” The gray apprentice hesitated, glancing away, and finished, “Whatever else he might do, Cloudpaw always keeps his word.”

Fireheart was amazed. It had never occurred to him that Cloudpaw could have earned the respect and loyalty of his denmates like any other warrior. But what did Ashpaw mean by “whatever else he might do”?