Rising Storm

Chapter 25

Fireheart dropped Speckletail’s kit at Whitestorm’s paws and turned to face the Clan. “It’s shallow enough to wade most of the way,” he yowled. “Much shallower than usual. There’s a place in the middle where you’ll have to swim, but you’ll make it.” The cats looked at him with horrified eyes. “You have to trust me!” he urged.

Whitestorm met Fireheart’s gaze for a long heartbeat, then nodded calmly. He picked up Speckletail’s kit and waded into the river until he stood up to his belly in the dark water. Then he turned and flicked his tail for the others to follow.

Fireheart felt a familiar scent in his nostrils, and a soft ginger pelt brushed against his shoulder. He looked down into Sandstorm’s bright green gaze.

“You think it’s safe?” she murmured, pointing with her nose to the fast-flowing river.

“Yes, I promise,” Fireheart replied, wishing with all his heart that they were somewhere else, far from this flame-threatened shore. He blinked slowly at the steadfast warrior beside him, trying to comfort her with his gaze when really he wanted to bury his muzzle in her fur and hide until this nightmare was over.

Sandstorm nodded as if she could read his mind. Then she raced through the shallows and plunged into the deep central channel just as lightning lit up the rippling water. Fireheart’s chest tightened as the she-cat lost her footing on the pebbles and disappeared under the surface. He felt his heart stop beating and his ears roar like thunder as he waited for her to reappear.

Then Sandstorm bobbed up, coughing and thrashing with her paws, but swimming steadily toward the far shore. She struggled out on the other side, her coat dark with water and clinging to her body, and called to her Clanmates, “Just keep your paws moving and you’ll be okay!”

Fireheart’s chest ached with pride. He stared at the lithe shape, silhouetted against the trees on the other shore, and could hardly stop himself from leaping into the water and swimming to her side. But he had to see the rest of the Clan across first, and he forced himself to watch his Clanmates as they began to plunge headlong into the river.

Dustpelt and Cloudpaw dragged Patchpelt’s body to the water’s edge. Dustpelt looked down at it, then gazed across the river, his expression bleak at the impossibility of carrying the dead cat to the other side when it would be difficult enough to swim alone.

Fireheart padded to the warrior’s side. “Leave him here,” he murmured, even though the prospect of leaving another cat behind tore at his heart. “We can come back and bury him when the fire has passed.”

Dustpelt nodded and waded into the river with Cloudpaw. The apprentice was almost unrecognizable under the smoke stains, and Fireheart touched his nose to the young cat’s flank as he passed, hoping Cloudpaw could sense how proud his mentor was of his quiet courage.

When Fireheart lifted his head he saw Smallear hesitating at the river’s edge. On the far side, Sandstorm was standing belly-deep in water, helping the cats as they struggled to the shore. She called encouragingly to the old gray tom, but Smallear backed away as another bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Fireheart dashed toward the trembling elder, grabbed him by the scruff, and plunged into the river. Smallear wailed and floundered as Fireheart struggled to keep his head above the surface. The water felt icy after the heat of the flames, and Fireheart found himself gasping for breath, but he plowed on, trying to remember how easily Graystripe had swum this same channel.

Suddenly a swift current dragged him and Smallear off course. Fireheart flailed with his paws, feeling panic rise in his chest as he saw the gently sloping bank slip past and a steep wall of mud loom in its place. How would he climb out here, especially with Smallear? The elderly tom had stopped struggling now, and hung like a deadweight in Fireheart’s jaws. Only his rasping breaths in Fireheart’s ears showed that he was still alive, and might yet survive the crossing. Fireheart floundered in the water, trying to fight the current and keep Smallear’s muzzle above the water.

Without warning, a mottled head reached down from the bank and grabbed Smallear from him. It was Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy! Scrabbling in the mud for a pawhold, she dragged Smallear out, dropped him on the ground, and reached down again for Fireheart. He felt her teeth sharp in his scruff as she hauled him up the slippery bank. He felt a wave of relief as his paws sank into dry ground.

“Is that everyone?” Leopardfur demanded.

Fireheart looked around him. RiverClan cats were weaving among the ThunderClan cats as they crouched, drenched and shocked on the pebbles. Graystripe was one of them.

“I—I think so,” Fireheart stammered. He could see Bluestar lying under some trailing willow branches. She looked small and frail with her soaked fur flattened against her scrawny flanks.

“What about that one?” Leopardfur pointed with her nose to the unmoving black-and-white shape on the far shore.

Fireheart turned to look. The ferns on the other side were burning now, sending sparks flying into the river and illuminating the trees with flickering light. “He’s dead,” Fireheart whispered.

Without a word Leopardfur slipped into the river and swam to the other side. With her golden fur flickering in the light from the flames, she snatched up Patchpelt’s body and paddled strongly back, her front paws churning through the black water. A clap of thunder exploded overhead, making Fireheart flinch, but the RiverClan deputy didn’t stop swimming.

“Fireheart!” Graystripe raced over to Fireheart and pressed himself against his friend, his flank warm and soft against Fireheart’s drenched body. “Are you okay?”

Fireheart nodded, dazed, as Leopardfur hauled Patchpelt’s body onto the shore. She laid it at Fireheart’s paws and meowed, “Come on. We’ll bury him back at camp.”

“The…the RiverClan camp?”

“Unless you prefer to return to your own,” answered Leopardfur coldly. She turned and led the way up the slope, away from the river and the flames. As the ThunderClan cats heaved themselves to their paws and began to follow, heavy drops of rain began to fall through the canopy above. Fireheart twitched his ear. Had the rain come soon enough for the burning forest? More exhausted than he could ever remember being, he watched Graystripe lift Patchpelt’s drenched body easily in his strong jaws. The rain began to fall more heavily, pounding the forest as Fireheart fell in behind the other cats, his paws stumbling over the smooth pebbles.

The RiverClan deputy led the blackened, bedraggled group through the reed beds beside the bank, until an island appeared ahead. In any other season it would have been surrounded by water; now the path merely glistened in the fresh rainfall.

Fireheart recognized this place. It had been ringed by ice the first time he had been here. Reeds had poked sharply through the frozen water then; now they swayed in great swathes, and silvery willow trees grew among the rustling stems. The rain cascaded down their delicate, trailing branches onto the sandy ground below.

Leopardfur followed a narrow passage through the rushes and onto the island. There was a lingering smell of smoke here, but the roar of the flames had faded, and Fireheart could hear the merciful sound of raindrops splashing down into the water beyond the reeds.

Crookedstar stood in a clearing in the center of the island, his fur bristling on his shoulders. Fireheart noticed the RiverClan leader glance suspiciously at Graystripe as the ThunderClan cats limped into the camp, but Leopardfur padded over to the light brown tabby and explained, “They were fleeing the fire.”

“Is RiverClan safe?” asked Crookedstar at once.

“The fire won’t cross the river,” replied Leopardfur. “Especially now that the wind has changed.”

Fireheart sniffed the air. Leopardfur was right; the wind had changed. The storm had been carried in on a wind much fresher than any he had smelled for a while. It rippled through his sodden fur, and Fireheart felt his mind begin to clear. Water dripped from his whiskers as he swung his head around to see where Bluestar was. He knew she should greet Crookedstar formally, but she was huddled among her Clan, her head low and her eyes half-closed.

Fireheart felt his belly clench with anxiety. ThunderClan could not afford to let RiverClan know how weak their leader was. He quickly stepped forward in her place. “Leopardfur and her patrol showed great kindness and courage in helping us flee the fire,” he meowed to Crookedstar, dipping his head low. Above him lightning still flickered across the cloudy sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling away from the forest.

“Leopardfur was right to help you. All the Clans fear fire,” replied the RiverClan leader.

“Our camp was burned and our territory is still on fire,” Fireheart went on, blinking away the rain that streamed into his eyes. “We have nowhere to go.” He knew he had no choice but to throw himself on the mercy of the RiverClan leader.

Crookedstar narrowed his eyes and paused. Fireheart felt his paws grow hot with frustration. Surely the RiverClan leader didn’t think this wretched group of cats posed any threat? Then Crookedstar spoke. “You may stay until it is safe for you to return.”

Relief flowed through Fireheart. “Thank you,” he meowed, blinking gratefully.

“Would you like us to bury your elder?” offered Leopardfur.

“You are very generous, but Patchpelt should be buried by his own Clan,” Fireheart answered. It was sad enough that the old warrior would not be laid to rest in his own territory, and Fireheart knew that his denmates would want to send him on his final journey to StarClan.

“Very well,” meowed Leopardfur. “I’ll have his body moved outside the camp so that your elders may sit vigil with him in peace.” Fireheart nodded his thanks as Leopardfur went on: “I’ll ask Mudfur to help your medicine cat.” The mottled she-cat scanned the drenched and shivering cats. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze fell on the huddled shape of the ThunderClan leader. “Is Bluestar injured?”

“The smoke was very bad,” Fireheart replied carefully. “She was among the last to leave the camp. Excuse me, I must see to my Clan.” He stood up and padded over to where Cloudpaw and Smallear sat, side by side. “Are you fit enough to bury Patchpelt?” he asked.

“I am,” meowed Cloudpaw. “But I think Smallear is—”

“I’m well enough to bury an old denmate,” rasped Smallear, his voice scratched by smoke.

“I’ll ask Dustpelt to help you,” Fireheart told them.

A brown tom was following Cinderpelt among the ThunderClan cats. He carried a bundle of herbs in his mouth, which he placed on the damp ground when Cinderpelt paused beside Willowpelt and her kits. The tiny cats were wailing pitifully, but refused to drink when Willowpelt pressed them to her belly.

Fireheart hurried over. “Are they okay?”

Cinderpelt nodded. “Mudfur suggested we give them honey to soothe their throats. They’ll be fine, but it’s done them no good to breathe in the smoke.”

The brown cat at her side meowed to Willowpelt, “Do you think they could manage a little honey?” The gray queen nodded and watched gratefully as the RiverClan medicine cat held out a wad of moss dripping with sticky, golden liquid. She purred as her tiny kits licked at it, first tentatively, then greedily as the soothing sweetness entered their mouths.

Fireheart padded away. Cinderpelt had everything under control. He found a sheltered corner at the edge of the clearing and sat down to wash. His singed pelt tasted foul as he brushed his tongue along it. His body ached with tiredness but he carried on licking. He wanted to wash away all trace of the smoke before he rested.

When he had finished, he glanced around the camp. The RiverClan cats had fled the rain into their dens, leaving the ThunderClan cats to huddle in groups at the edge of the clearing beneath the whispering wall of reeds, seeking any protection from the pounding rain. Fireheart was aware of the dark shape of Graystripe moving among his former Clanmates, soothing them with his gentle mew. Cinderpelt had finished tending to the cats and was curled up, exhausted, beside Ashpaw. Fireheart could just make out Sandstorm’s pale ginger flank, rising and falling steadily next to Longtail’s silver tabby back. Bluestar was asleep beside Whitestorm.

Fireheart rested his muzzle on his forepaws, listening to the beating of the rain on the muddy clearing. As his eyes closed, the unbearable image of Yellowfang’s terrified face burst into his mind. His heart began to pound, but exhaustion took over and he finally retreated into the refuge of sleep.