Rising Storm

Chapter 28

With a tender lick, Fireheart closed the medicine cat’s eyes for the last time. Then he lowered his head onto her shoulder and felt the warmth fade from her body.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, listening to his heart beating alone in the shadowy cavern. He thought for a moment he caught the familiar scent of Spottedleaf, drifting into the den on the rain-chilled breeze. Had she come to guide Yellowfang to StarClan? Fireheart let the soothing thought flow through him and felt sleep swell like clouds at the edges of his mind.

“She will be safe with us.” Spottedleaf’s gentle mew ruffled his ear fur, and Fireheart lifted his head and looked around.

“Fireheart?” Graystripe called from the entrance. Fireheart struggled to sit up.

“I’ve buried Halftail,” the gray warrior meowed.

“Yellowfang’s dead,” Fireheart whispered. His hollow mew echoed off the stone walls. “She was alive when I found her, but she died.”

“Did she say anything?”

Fireheart closed his eyes. He would never share Yellowfang’s tragic secret with any cat, not even his oldest friend. “Just that…she was thankful Bluestar let her live in ThunderClan.”

Graystripe padded into the cave and bent his head to lick the old medicine cat’s cheek. “When I left, I never thought I wouldn’t speak to her again,” he murmured, his voice thick with sorrow. “Shall we bury her?”

“No,” Fireheart meowed firmly, his mind suddenly clear. Spottedleaf’s words echoed in his mind: She’ll be safe with us. “She was a warrior as well as a medicine cat. She will have her vigil and we can bury her at dawn.”

“But we must get back to the RiverClan camp and tell the others what has happened,” Graystripe reminded him.

“Then I’ll come back tonight and sit vigil with her,” Fireheart replied.

The two friends trekked back through the devastated forest in silence. The gray afternoon light was fading by the time they padded into the RiverClan camp. Groups of cats lay at the edge of the clearing, sharing tongues after their evening meal. The ThunderClan cats crouched in an isolated huddle at one side. As soon as Fireheart and Graystripe appeared, Cinderpelt struggled to her paws and limped toward them.

Bluestar rose too from where she lay beside Whitestorm. She brushed past Cinderpelt and reached the returning warriors first, her eyes filled with desperate hope. “Did you find Yellowfang and Halftail?”

Fireheart saw Cinderpelt hanging back, her ears pricked, as desperate for news as her Clan leader. “They’re both dead,” he told them. Fresh pain filled his heart when he saw Cinderpelt sway on her paws. The little cat backed away unsteadily, her eyes clouded. Fireheart wanted to go to her but Bluestar stood in his way. The ThunderClan leader’s blue eyes showed no pain. Instead they grew hard and cold, and a shiver ran down Fireheart’s spine.

“Spottedleaf told me that fire would save the Clan!” she hissed. “But it has destroyed us.”

“No,” Fireheart began, but he could not find the words to comfort his leader. His gaze followed Cinderpelt as she stumbled back to the others. To Fireheart’s relief, Sandstorm hurried forward to meet her, pressing her flank against Cinderpelt to support the medicine cat’s thin gray body. He looked back at Bluestar, his heart sinking at her stony expression.

“ThunderClan will return home tonight,” she decided in a voice like ice.

“But the woods are empty. The camp is ruined!” protested Graystripe.

“It doesn’t matter. We are strangers here. We should be back in our own territory,” spat Bluestar.

“Then I’ll escort you,” Graystripe offered.

Fireheart glanced at his friend and suddenly understood the longing in his eyes. Graystripe wanted to go home. The realization flooded Fireheart’s mind like a shooting star illuminating the night sky. Fireheart looked expectantly at Bluestar. Surely she could see Graystripe’s desire to return to ThunderClan?

“Why would we need an escort?” demanded Bluestar, her eyes narrowing.

“Well, perhaps I could help you rebuild the camp,” Graystripe suggested uncertainly. “Maybe stay for a while…” He faltered as Bluestar’s eyes flashed angrily.

“Are you trying to say that you want to come back to ThunderClan?” she spat. “Well, you can’t!”

Fireheart stared at her in stunned silence.

“You chose to be loyal to your kits rather than your Clan,” the leader snarled. “Now you must live with your decision.”

Graystripe flinched. Fireheart gazed at the old leader in disbelief as she turned and called to her Clan, “Get ready to leave. We are returning home!”

The ThunderClan cats leaped to their paws at once, but Fireheart felt nothing but disappointment and anger as he watched Bluestar gather her Clan around her.

The leader’s gaze was fixed on a point beyond the cats at the edge of the clearing. Mistyfoot and Stonefur stood there, watching the ThunderClan cats. Fireheart saw sorrow pass through Bluestar’s eyes as she stared at her grown kits. Bluestar knew better than any cat what it was like to be torn between Clan and kin. She had once chosen to be loyal to her Clan rather than her kits, and it had caused her more pain than she would have wished on an enemy.

With a flash of insight, Fireheart thought he understood her reaction to Graystripe’s request. It was not the gray warrior she was angry at, but herself. She still regretted leaving her kits all those years ago. Part of her was trying to make sure that Graystripe didn’t make the same mistake.

The ThunderClan cats circled impatiently in the growing darkness, and Bluestar padded toward Crookedstar.

Fireheart turned and licked Graystripe’s shoulder. “Bluestar has her reasons for saying those things,” he murmured. “She’s suffering at the moment, but she’ll recover. And maybe then you can come home.”

Graystripe lifted his eyes and stared hopefully at Fireheart. “You think so?”

“Yes,” answered Fireheart, praying to StarClan that it was true.

He hurried after Bluestar and caught up in time to hear the ThunderClan leader thank Crookedstar formally for RiverClan’s generosity. Leopardfur stood beside them, gazing coolly at the ThunderClan cats.

“ThunderClan is in your debt,” Bluestar meowed, dipping her head.

Fireheart saw Leopardfur narrow her eyes at Bluestar’s words, her emerald eyes glittering. His paws prickled warily. What payment would RiverClan demand for this kindness? he wondered. He knew Leopardfur well enough to suspect that she would ask for something in return.

He followed Bluestar as she stalked to the head of her Clan and led them out of the RiverClan camp. Fireheart glanced backward and saw Graystripe standing alone in the shadows, his eyes filled with pain as he watched his former Clanmates walk away.

Fireheart sighed inwardly as Smallear hesitated again at the edge of the river. It was swollen from the rain, but Darkstripe and Whitestorm had already crossed and were waiting in the shallows at the other side. Dustpelt swam beside Fernpaw as the apprentice struggled to keep her little gray head above water. Sandstorm had crossed with Cinderpelt. The pale orange warrior had not left the medicine cat’s side since Fireheart had returned with the news about Yellowfang.

“Hurry up!” ordered Bluestar, snapping impatiently at Smallear.

The gray tom glanced over his shoulder in surprise at her harsh tone, and then hurled himself into the dark water. Fireheart tensed his muscles, ready to spring to the rescue, but there was no need. Longtail and Mousefur appeared on either side of the frantically splashing elder, buoying him up with their strong shoulders.

Bluestar leaped into the river and swam easily to the other side, all frailty gone from her body as if fire had purged the weakness from her and burned her strong again. Fireheart slipped into the water after her. The clouds above the trees were beginning to thin, and he felt a chill through his wet fur from the fresher wind as he waded from the river. He padded over to Cinderpelt, leaning down to lick her head. Sandstorm glanced at him, her eyes reflecting his sorrow, while the rest of the Clan paused on the shore and stared in silent horror at the forest. Even in the faint moonlight, the devastation was obvious, the trees stripped bare, the musty fragrances of the leaves and ferns replaced by the bitter stench of burned wood and scorched earth.

Bluestar seemed blind to it all. She strode past the other cats without pausing and headed up the slope toward Sunningrocks and the trail home. Her Clan could do nothing but follow.

“It’s like being somewhere else,” whispered Sandstorm. Fireheart nodded in agreement.

“Cloudpaw.” Fireheart slipped through the cats ahead of him and fell in step beside his apprentice. “Thank you for staying in the RiverClan camp as I asked.”

“No problem.” Cloudpaw shrugged.

“How are the elders?”

“They’re going to take a while to get over Halftail’s and Patchpelt’s deaths.” Cloudpaw’s voice was subdued. “But I managed to get them to eat some fresh-kill while you were away. They need to keep their strength up, however much they are grieving.”

“Well done. That was the right thing to do,” Fireheart told him, proud of his apprentice’s unexpectedly wise compassion.

The ravine lay like an open wound in the landscape. Sandstorm stopped and peered over the edge, and Fireheart could see her trembling. He was shivering too, even though his fur had already dried from the river crossing. The Clan filed slowly down the steep slope and followed Bluestar into the camp. Inside the clearing the cats gazed silently around the stripped, blackened space that had once been their home.

“Take me to Yellowfang’s body!” Bluestar meowed sharply at Fireheart, cracking the silence.

Fireheart’s fur bristled. This wasn’t the weak shell of a leader he had struggled to protect in recent moons; but nor was it the wise and gentle leader who had welcomed him to the Clan and been his mentor. He began to pad toward Yellowfang’s clearing, and Bluestar followed. Fireheart glanced over his shoulder and saw Cinderpelt limping behind the ThunderClan leader.

“She’s in her den,” he meowed, standing at the entrance. Bluestar slipped into the shadows inside the rock.

Cinderpelt sat down and waited.

“Aren’t you going in?” Fireheart asked.

“I’ll grieve later,” Cinderpelt told him. “I think Bluestar needs us now.”

Surprised at the composure in Cinderpelt’s voice, Fireheart looked into her eyes. They were unnaturally bright with sadness, but seemed calm as she blinked gently at him. He returned the gesture, grateful for her strength of spirit in the middle of such endless tragedy.

A chilling wail echoed from Yellowfang’s den. Bluestar staggered out, twisting her head wildly and glaring around at the blackened trees. “How could StarClan do this? Have they no pity?” she spat. “I will never go to the Moonstone again! From now on, my dreams are my own. StarClan has declared war on my Clan, and I shall never forgive them.”

Fireheart stared at his leader, frozen with horror. He noticed Cinderpelt creep quietly to Yellowfang’s den and wondered if she’d gone to grieve for her old friend, but she reappeared a moment later holding something in her jaws, which she dropped beside Bluestar.

“Eat these, Bluestar,” she urged. “They will ease your pain.”

“Is she injured?” asked Fireheart.

Cinderpelt turned to look at him and lowered her voice. “In a way. But her injuries cannot be seen.” She blinked. “These poppy seeds will calm her and give her mind time to heal.” She turned back to Bluestar and whispered again, “Eat them, please.”

Bluestar bent her head and obediently licked up the small black seeds.

“Come,” Cinderpelt meowed gently, and led the ThunderClan leader away.

Fireheart felt his paws tremble as he watched Cinderpelt’s quiet skill. Yellowfang would be so proud of her apprentice. He padded into the den and grasped Yellowfang’s crumpled, smoke-stained body by its scruff. He heaved it into the moonlit clearing, and arranged it so that Yellowfang rested with the same dignity with which she had lived. When he had finished he bent down to give his old friend one final lick. “You shall sleep beneath the stars for the last time tonight,” he whispered, and settled down beside her to sit in vigil as he had promised.

Cinderpelt joined him as the three-quarter moon began to slide away and the horizon glowed cream and pink above the blackened treetops. Fireheart stood and stretched his tired legs. He gazed around the devastated clearing.

“Don’t grieve too much for the forest,” murmured the gray cat beside him. “It will grow back quickly, stronger because of the injuries it has suffered, like a broken bone that heals twice as well.”

Fireheart let her words soothe him. He dipped his head gratefully to her and went to find the rest of the Clan.

Mousefur was sitting on guard outside Bluestar’s den.

“Cinderpelt ordered it,” Whitestorm explained, padding out of the shadows. The warrior’s pelt was still stained with smoke and his eyes were red-rimmed from the fire and exhaustion. “She said Bluestar was sick, and needed to be watched over.”

“Good,” Fireheart meowed. “How are the rest of the Clan?”

“Most of them slept a little, once they’d found places dry enough to lie down.”

“We should send out a dawn patrol,” Fireheart thought out loud. “Tigerclaw might take advantage of what has happened.”

“Who will you send?” asked Whitestorm.

“Darkstripe seems the fittest of the warriors, but we’ll need his strength to start rebuilding the camp.” Even as he spoke, Fireheart knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth. He wanted to keep the dark tabby warrior where he could see him. “I’d like you to stay here as well, if that’s okay.” Whitestorm dipped his head in agreement as Fireheart continued, “We need to tell the other cats what’s happening.”

“Bluestar is sleeping. Do you think we should disturb her?” A worried frown crossed Whitestorm’s face as he spoke.

Fireheart shook his head. “No. We’ll let her rest. I’ll speak to the Clan.”

He bounded onto the Highrock in a single leap and called the familiar summons. Below him, the Clan cats padded drowsily from the wreckage of their dens, their tails and ears flicking in surprise when they saw Fireheart waiting where their leader usually stood to address them.

“We must rebuild the camp,” he began once they had settled in front of him. “I know it looks a mess now, but it is the height of greenleaf. The forest will grow back quickly, stronger because of the injuries it has suffered.” He blinked as he repeated Cinderpelt’s words.

“Why isn’t Bluestar telling us this?” Fireheart stiffened as Darkstripe challenged him from the back of the group.

“Bluestar is exhausted,” Fireheart told him. “Cinderpelt has given her poppy seeds so that she can rest and recover.” Anxious murmurs rippled through the cats below.

“The more she rests, the quicker she’ll recover,” Fireheart reassured them. “Just like the forest.”

“The forest is empty,” fretted Brindleface. “The prey has run away or died in the fire. What will we eat?” She glanced anxiously at Ashpaw and Fernpaw, her face shadowed with a mother’s concern even though her kits had left the nursery.

“The prey will come back,” Fireheart assured her. “We must hunt as usual, and if we need to go a little farther to find fresh-kill, then we will.” Murmurs of agreement rose from the clearing, and Fireheart began to feel a surge of confidence.

“Longtail, Mousefur, Thornpaw, and Dustpelt—you’ll take the dawn patrol.” The four cats looked up at Fireheart and nodded, unquestioning. “Swiftpaw, you can replace Mousefur on guard duty and make sure Bluestar is not disturbed. The rest of us will start work on the camp. Whitestorm will organize parties to gather materials. Darkstripe, you can supervise the rebuilding of the camp wall.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” demanded Darkstripe. “The ferns are all burned away.”

“Use whatever you can,” answered Fireheart. “But make sure it is strong. We mustn’t forget Tigerclaw’s threat. We need to stay alert. All kits shall remain in camp. Apprentices will travel only with warriors.” Fireheart gazed down on the silent Clan. “Are we agreed?”

Loud mews rose from the crowd. “We are!” they called.

“Right,” Fireheart meowed. “Let’s start work!”

The cats began to move away from the Highrock, weaving among one another swiftly to gather around Whitestorm and Darkstripe for their instructions.

Fireheart jumped down from the Highrock and padded to Sandstorm. “We need to organize a burial party for Yellowfang.”

“You didn’t mention her death,” Sandstorm pointed out, her green eyes puzzled.

“Or Halftail’s!” Fireheart glanced down as Cloudpaw’s mew sounded beside him. The young apprentice sounded reproachful.

“The Clan knows they are dead,” Fireheart told them, feeling his fur prickle uncomfortably. “It is for Bluestar to honor them with the proper words. She can do it when she’s better.”

“And what if she doesn’t recover?” ventured Sandstorm.

“She will!” Fireheart snapped. Sandstorm winced visibly, and he cursed himself. She was only voicing the fears of all the Clan. If Bluestar had really turned her back on the rituals of StarClan, Yellowfang and Halftail would never hear the proper words to send them on their journey to Silverpelt.

Fireheart felt his confidence slide away. What if the forest didn’t recover before leaf-bare? What if they couldn’t find enough fresh-kill to feed the Clan? What if Tigerclaw attacked? “If Bluestar doesn’t get better, I don’t know what will happen,” he murmured.

Fire flared in Sandstorm’s eyes. “Bluestar made you her deputy. She’d expect you to know what to do!”

Her words hit Fireheart like stinging hail. “Put your claws away, Sandstorm!” he spat. “Can’t you see that I’m doing the best I can? Instead of criticizing me, go and organize the apprentices to bury Yellowfang.” He glared at Cloudpaw. “You can go too. And try to keep out of trouble for once,” he added.

He turned away from the pair of startled-looking cats and marched across the clearing. He knew he had been unfair, but they had asked a question he wasn’t ready to answer, a question so frightening that he couldn’t begin to think what it might mean.

What if Bluestar never recovered?