Rising Storm, Page 2

  Suddenly a second scent wafted toward him on the dry breeze. Fireheart opened his mouth, tipping his head to one side. The pigeon must have smelled it too, for its head shot up and it began to unfold its wings, but it was too late. A rush of white fur shot out from under some brambles. Fireheart stared in surprise as the cat pounced on the startled bird, pinning it to the ground with his front paws before finishing it off with a swift bite to the neck.

  The delicious smell of fresh-kill filled Fireheart’s nostrils. He stood up and padded out of the undergrowth toward the fluffy white tom. “Well caught, Cloudpaw,” he meowed. “I didn’t see you coming until it was too late.”

  “Nor did this stupid bird,” crowed Cloudpaw, flicking his tail smugly.

  Fireheart felt his shoulders tense. Cloudpaw was his apprentice as well as his sister’s son. It was Fireheart’s responsibility to teach him the skills of a Clan warrior and how to respect the warrior code. The young tom was undeniably a good hunter, but Fireheart couldn’t help wishing that he would learn a little humility. Deep down, he sometimes wondered if Cloudpaw would ever understand the importance of the warrior code, the moons-old traditions of loyalty and ritual that had been passed down through generations of cats in the forest.

  But Cloudpaw had been born in Twolegplace to Fireheart’s kittypet sister, Princess, and brought to ThunderClan by Fireheart as a tiny kit. Fireheart knew from his own bitter experience that Clan cats had no respect for kittypets. Fireheart had spent his first six moons living with Twolegs, and there were cats in his Clan that would never let him forget the fact that he was not forest-born. He twitched his ears impatiently. He knew he did everything he could to prove his loyalty to the Clan, but his stubborn apprentice was a different matter. If Cloudpaw was going to win any sympathy from his Clanmates, he was going to have to lose some of his arrogance.

  “It’s just as well you’re so quick,” Fireheart pointed out. “You were upwind. I could smell you, even if I couldn’t see you. And so could the bird.”

  Cloudpaw’s long snowy fur bristled and he snapped back, “I know I was upwind! But I could tell this dumb dove wasn’t going to be hard to catch whether he smelled me or not.”

  The young cat stared defiantly into Fireheart’s eyes, and Fireheart felt his annoyance turning to anger. “It’s a pigeon, not a dove!” he spat. “And a true warrior shows more respect for the prey that feeds his Clan.”

  “Yeah, right!” retorted Cloudpaw. “I didn’t see Thornpaw show much respect for that squirrel he dragged back to camp yesterday. He said it was so dopey, a kit could have caught it.”

  “Thornpaw is just an apprentice,” Fireheart growled. “Like you, he still has a lot to learn.”

  “Well, I caught it, didn’t I?” grumbled Cloudpaw, prodding the pigeon with a sullen paw.

  “There’s more to being a warrior than catching pigeons!”

  “I’m faster than Brightpaw and stronger than Thornpaw,” Cloudpaw spat back. “What more do you want?”

  “Your denmates would know that a warrior never attacks with the wind behind him!” Fireheart knew he shouldn’t let himself be drawn into an argument, but his apprentice’s stubbornness infuriated him like a tick on his ear.

  “Big deal. You might have been downwind like a good warrior, but I got to the pigeon first!” Cloudpaw raised his voice in an angry yowl.

  “Be quiet,” Fireheart hissed, suddenly distracted. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. The forest seemed strangely silent, and Cloudpaw’s loud meows were echoing too loudly through the trees.

  “What’s the matter?” Cloudpaw glanced around. “I can’t smell anything.”

  “Neither can I,” Fireheart admitted.

  “So what are you worried about?”

  “Tigerclaw,” Fireheart answered bluntly. The dark warrior had been prowling through his dreams since Bluestar had banished him from the Clan a quarter moon ago. Tigerclaw had tried to kill the ThunderClan leader, but Fireheart had stopped him and exposed his long-hidden treachery to the whole Clan. There had been no sign of Tigerclaw since, but Fireheart felt icy claws of fear pricking at his heart now as he listened to the stillness of the forest. It seemed to be listening too, holding its breath, and Tigerclaw’s parting words echoed in Fireheart’s mind: Keep your eyes open, Fireheart. Keep your ears pricked. Keep looking behind you. Because one day I’ll find you, and then you’ll be crowfood.

  Cloudpaw’s mew broke the silence. “What would Tigerclaw be doing around here?” he scoffed. “Bluestar exiled him!”

  “I know,” Fireheart agreed. “And only StarClan knows where he went. But Tigerclaw made it clear that we’d not seen the last of him!”

  “I’m not scared of that traitor.”

  “Well, you should be!” hissed Fireheart. “Tigerclaw knows these woods as well as any cat in ThunderClan. He’d tear you to shreds if he got the chance.”

  Cloudpaw snorted and circled his catch impatiently. “You’ve been no fun since Bluestar made you deputy. I’m not hanging around if you’re just going to waste the morning trying to scare me with nursery tales. I’m meant to be hunting for the Clan elders.” And he dashed away into the brambles, leaving the lifeless pigeon lying on the earth.

  “Cloudpaw, come back!” Fireheart yowled furiously. Then he shook his head. “Let Tigerclaw have the young mouse-brained idiot!” he muttered to himself.

  Lashing his tail, he snatched up the pigeon and wondered whether to carry it back to camp for Cloudpaw. A warrior should be responsible for his own fresh-kill, he concluded, and tossed the pigeon into a thick clump of grass. He padded after it and flattened down the green stalks to cover the fat bird, wishing he could be sure that Cloudpaw would return and take it back with the rest of his catch to the hungry elders. If he doesn’t bring it home with him, he can go hungry until he does, Fireheart decided. His apprentice had to learn that even in greenleaf, prey should never be wasted.

  The sun rose higher, scorching the earth and sucking moisture from the leaves on the trees. Fireheart pricked his ears. The forest was still eerily quiet, as if its creatures were hiding till the evening shade brought relief from another day of glaring heat. The stillness unnerved him, and a flicker of doubt tugged at his belly. Perhaps he should go and find Cloudpaw after all.

  You tried to warn him about Tigerclaw! Fireheart could almost hear the familiar voice of his best friend, Graystripe, echoing in his head, and he winced as bittersweet memories flooded through him. It was exactly the sort of thing the former ThunderClan warrior would say to him right now. They had trained together as apprentices and fought beside each other until love and tragedy had torn them apart. Graystripe had fallen in love with a she-cat from another Clan, but if Silverstream had not died in her kitting, perhaps Graystripe would have stayed with ThunderClan. Once more Fireheart remembered Graystripe carrying his two kits into RiverClan territory, taking them to join their dead mother’s Clan. Fireheart’s shoulders sagged. He missed the companionship of Graystripe and still silently shared words with him almost every day. He knew his old friend so well, it was always easy to imagine what Graystripe would say in reply.

  Fireheart shook away the memories with a flick of his ears. It was time he got back to camp. He was the deputy of ThunderClan now, and there were hunting parties and patrols to organize. Cloudpaw would have to manage alone.

  The ground was dry underpaw as Fireheart raced through the woods to the top of the ravine where the camp lay. He hesitated for a moment and enjoyed the surge of pride and affection he always felt as he approached his forest home. Even though he had spent his kithood in Twolegplace, he had known since the first time he had ventured into the forest that this was where he truly belonged.

  Below him, the ThunderClan camp was well hidden by thick brambles. Bounding down the steep slope, Fireheart followed the well-worn path to the gorse tunnel that led into the camp.

  The pale gray queen, Willowpelt, lay at the entrance to the nursery, warming her swollen belly in the morning sun. Un
til recently she had shared the warriors’ den. Now she lived in the nursery with the other queens while she waited for her first litter to be born.

  Beside her, Brindleface affectionately watched her two kits as they tussled on the hard earth, scuffing up small clouds of dust. They had been Cloudpaw’s adopted littermates. When Fireheart had brought his sister’s firstborn into the Clan, Brindleface had agreed to suckle the helpless kit. Cloudpaw had recently been made an apprentice, and it would not be long before Brindleface’s own kits were ready to leave the nursery too.

  A murmur of voices drew Fireheart’s gaze toward the Highrock, which stood at the head of the clearing. A group of warriors was gathered in the shadows beneath the rock on which Bluestar, the leader of ThunderClan, normally stood to address her Clan. Fireheart recognized Darkstripe’s tabby pelt, the lithe shape of Runningwind, and Whitestorm’s snowy head among them.

  As Fireheart padded silently across the baked earth, Darkstripe’s querulous meow sounded above the other voices. “So who’s going to lead the patrol at sunhigh?”

  “Fireheart will decide when he returns from hunting,” Whitestorm answered calmly. The elderly warrior was clearly reluctant to be stirred by Darkstripe’s hostile tone.

  “He should be back by now,” complained Dustpelt, a brown tabby who had been an apprentice at the same time as Fireheart.

  “I am back,” Fireheart announced. He shouldered his way through the warriors to sit down beside Whitestorm.

  “Well, now that you’re here, are you going to tell us who’s going to lead the patrol at sunhigh?” meowed Darkstripe. The silver tabby turned a cold gaze on Fireheart.

  Fireheart felt hot under his fur, in spite of the shade cast by the Highrock. Darkstripe had been closer to Tigerclaw than any other cat, and Fireheart couldn’t help wondering about the depth of his loyalty, even though Darkstripe had chosen to stay when his former ally was exiled. “Longtail will lead the patrol,” Fireheart meowed.

  Slowly Darkstripe switched his gaze from Fireheart to Whitestorm, his whiskers twitching and his eyes glittering with scorn. Fireheart swallowed nervously, wondering if he had said something stupid.

  “Er, Longtail’s out with his apprentice,” explained Runningwind, looking awkward. “He and Swiftpaw won’t be back till evening, remember?” Beside him, Dustpelt snorted scornfully.

  Fireheart gritted his teeth. I should have known that! “Runningwind, then. You can take Brackenfur and Dustpelt with you.”

  “Brackenfur’ll never keep up with us,” meowed Dustpelt. “He’s still limping from the battle with the rogue cats.”

  “Okay, okay.” Fireheart tried to disguise his mounting agitation, but he couldn’t help feeling he was just plucking names at random as he ordered, “Brackenfur can go hunting with Mousefur and…and…”

  “I’d like to hunt with them,” Sandstorm offered.

  Fireheart blinked gratefully at the orange she-cat and went on. “…and Sandstorm.”

  “What about the patrol? It’ll be past sunhigh if we don’t decide soon!” meowed Darkstripe.

  “You can join Runningwind on patrol,” snapped Fireheart.

  “And the evening patrol?” Mousefur asked mildly. Fireheart stared back at the dusky brown she-cat, his mind suddenly blank.

  Whitestorm’s rusty mew sounded beside Fireheart. “I’d like to lead the evening patrol,” he meowed. “Do you think Swiftpaw and Longtail would like to come with me when they return?”

  “Yes, of course.” Fireheart looked around the circle of eyes and was relieved to see that they all seemed satisfied.

  The cats moved away, leaving Fireheart alone with Whitestorm. “Thanks,” he meowed, dipping his head to the old warrior. “I guess I should have planned the patrols before now.”

  “It’ll get easier,” Whitestorm reassured him. “We have all grown used to Tigerclaw telling us exactly what to do and when.”

  Fireheart glanced away, his heart sinking.

  “They’re also bound to be more edgy than usual,” Whitestorm went on. “Tigerclaw’s treachery has shaken the whole Clan.”

  Fireheart looked at the white warrior and understood that Whitestorm was trying to encourage him. It was easy to forget that Tigerclaw’s actions had come as a massive shock to the rest of the Clan. Fireheart had known for a long time that Tigerclaw’s hunger for power had driven him to murder and lies. But the other cats had found it hard to believe that the fearless warrior would turn against his own Clan. Whitestorm’s words reminded Fireheart that, even if he did not yet have Tigerclaw’s confident authority, he would never betray his Clan as Tigerclaw had done.

  Whitestorm’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I must go and see Brindleface. She said there was something she wanted to talk to me about.” He dipped his head. The warrior’s respectful gesture took Fireheart by surprise, and he nodded awkwardly in reply.

  As he watched Whitestorm leave, Fireheart’s belly growled with hunger and he thought of the juicy pigeon Cloudpaw had caught. Whitestorm’s ginger-and-white apprentice, Brightpaw, sat outside the apprentices’ den, and Fireheart wondered if she’d brought the elders any fresh-kill. He padded over to the old tree stump where she was washing her tail. She lifted her head and mewed, “Hello, Fireheart.”

  “Hi, Brightpaw. Been hunting?” Fireheart asked.

  “Yes,” replied Brightpaw, her eyes shining. “It’s the first time Whitestorm’s let me out by myself.”

  “Catch much?”

  Brightpaw looked shyly at her paws. “Two sparrows and a squirrel.”

  “Well done,” Fireheart purred. “I bet Whitestorm was pleased.”

  Brightpaw nodded.

  “Did you take it straight to the elders?”

  “Yes.” Brightpaw’s eyes clouded with worry. “Was that okay?” she mewed anxiously.

  “That was great,” Fireheart assured her. If only his own apprentice were so reliable. Cloudpaw should have been back by now. The elders would need more than two sparrows and a squirrel to fill their bellies. He decided to visit them to check that they were not suffering too much from the greenleaf heat. As he approached the fallen oak where the elders made their den, voices drifted up from behind its bare branches.

  “Willowpelt’s kits will be born soon.” That was Speckletail. She was the oldest queen in the nursery, and her single kit was weak and small for its age after a bout of whitecough.

  “New kits are always a good omen,” purred One-Eye.

  “StarClan knows we could do with a good omen,” Smallear muttered darkly.

  “You’re not still fretting about the ritual, are you?” croaked Patchpelt. Fireheart could imagine the old black-and-white tom flicking his ears impatiently at Smallear.

  “The what?” meowed One-Eye.

  “The naming ceremony for the new Clan deputy,” Patchpelt explained loudly. “You know, when Tigerclaw left, a quarter moon ago.”

  “It’s my ears that don’t work as well as they used to, not my mind!” snapped One-Eye. She went on, and the other cats listened in silence because One-Eye was respected for her wisdom in spite of her bad temper. “I don’t think StarClan would punish us just because Bluestar failed to name the new deputy before moonhigh. The circumstances were very unusual.”

  “But that just makes it worse!” fretted Dappletail. “What will StarClan think of a Clan whose deputy turns against it, and whose new deputy was named after moonhigh? It looks as if we can’t keep our cats loyal, or even carry out the proper ceremonies.”

  Fireheart felt an icy ripple along his spine. When Bluestar had learned about Tigerclaw’s treachery and banished him from the Clan, she had been too upset to carry out the proper rituals for appointing a new deputy. Fireheart had not been named as Tigerclaw’s successor until the following day, and to many cats this was a very bad omen.

  “Fireheart’s naming broke with Clan ritual for the first time I can remember,” meowed Smallear in a grave tone. “I hate to say it, but I can’t help feeling that his deputyship
will be a dark time for ThunderClan.”

  Patchpelt mewed in agreement, and Fireheart felt his heart pound as he waited for One-Eye to calm the others’ fears with her wise words. But for once she remained silent. Above him the fierce sun continued to shine in a clear, blue sky, yet Fireheart felt chilled to the bone.

  He turned away from the elders’ den, unable to face them now, and paced anxiously along the edge of the clearing. As he approached the nursery, Fireheart stared at the ground, lost in thought. A sudden movement outside the nursery entrance made him look up. He froze, and his heart began to pound as he recognized Tigerclaw’s amber eyes gleaming at him. Horrified by the familiar gaze, Fireheart blinked in alarm. Then he realized that it was not the fierce warrior he was looking at, but Bramblekit—Tigerclaw’s son.

  CHAPTER 2

  Fireheart saw a ripple of pale amber fur and looked up to see Goldenflower slip out of the nursery behind the dark tabby kit. A pale ginger kit dangled from her jaws, and she placed it gently on the ground next to Bramblekit. Fireheart knew at once that Goldenflower had seen his reaction, for the pale ginger queen wrapped her tail protectively around her kits and lifted her chin, as if she were challenging Fireheart to say something.

  Fireheart felt a rush of guilt. What was he thinking of? He was the Clan deputy, for StarClan’s sake! He knew he had to reassure Goldenflower that these kits would be cared for and respected like any other member’s of ThunderClan. “Your…your kits look healthy,” he stammered, but his fur prickled as the dark tabby kit stared up at him with unblinking amber eyes, the image of Tigerclaw’s menacing glare.

  Fireheart tried to push away the fear and anger that made him instinctively unsheathe his claws and press them against the hard ground. It was Tigerclaw who betrayed ThunderClan, he told himself. Not this tiny kit.