Rising Storm

by Erin Hunter

  “No,” called Mousefur. “It’s this way.” She brushed past him, quickening her pace, and veered toward Fourtrees. Fireheart and Whitestorm sped after her.

  As they raced through the trees, Fireheart realized he had been this way before. This was the trail Littlecloud and Whitethroat had followed after Bluestar had sent them away the first time. Had a ShadowClan raiding party come through the stone tunnel under the Thunderpath?

  Mousefur skidded to a halt between two towering ash trees. The Thunderpath droned in the distance, its foul stench drifting through the undergrowth. Ahead, Fireheart saw Runningwind’s lean brown body lying on the ground, ominously still. A black-and-white tom was bending over the unmoving warrior. With a jolt, Fireheart realized that it was Whitethroat.

  The ShadowClan warrior’s eyes stretched wide as he saw the approaching cats. He began to back away from Runningwind, his legs stumbling with shock. “He’s dead!” he wailed.

  Fireheart’s ears flattened as rage pulsed through him. Was this how ShadowClan warriors repaid another Clan’s kindness? Without stopping to see what Whitestorm and Mousefur were doing, he let out a furious screech and flung himself at Whitethroat, who shrank away, hissing. Fireheart knocked the ShadowClan warrior backward, and Whitethroat landed limply on the ground, offering no resistance as Fireheart loomed over him.

  Fireheart stared down, confused, as his enemy crouched helplessly beneath him, his eyes narrowed into terrified slits. While he hesitated, Whitethroat darted away and bolted into a tangle of brambles. Fireheart chased after him, ignoring the thorns that tore at his fur. The ShadowClan warrior must be heading for the stone tunnel. He pushed onward and caught a glimpse of the tip of Whitethroat’s tail as the tom struggled out of the brambles onto the grass verge.

  Fireheart emerged a moment later and saw Whitethroat poised on the edge of the Thunderpath. Fireheart hurtled toward him, expecting Whitethroat to flee to the tunnel, but Whitethroat took one look at the ThunderClan warrior and raced straight onto the Thunderpath.

  Fireheart watched in horror as the terrified cat scrambled blindly across the hard gray surface. A deafening roar sounded in his ears. Fireheart shrank back, screwing up his face as the foul-smelling wind of a monster blasted his fur. When it had passed, he blinked open his eyes and shook the grit from his ear fur. A ragged shape was lying motionless on the Thunderpath. The monster had hit Whitethroat.

  For a long heartbeat Fireheart froze, flooded by dreadful memories of Cinderpelt’s accident. Then he saw Whitethroat stir. Fireheart couldn’t leave any cat out there. Not even a ShadowClan enemy that had killed one of ThunderClan’s bravest warriors. He peered up and down the Thunderpath. There were no monsters in sight. He scurried across to where Whitethroat lay. The tom looked smaller than ever, his white chest glistening with blood like fire in the rays of the slowly sinking sun.

  Fireheart knew that moving the cat would only hasten his death. Trembling with shock, he looked down at the warrior Cinderpelt had taken such trouble to care for, in secret from the rest of her Clan. “Why did you attack our patrol?” he whispered.

  He leaned down as Whitethroat opened his mouth to speak, but the warrior’s gurgling mew was drowned as a monster roared past terrifyingly close, sending a wave of fumes and grit over the two cats. Fireheart sank his claws as well as he could into the unyielding surface and crouched closer to the ShadowClan warrior.

  Whitethroat opened his mouth again, releasing a thin trickle of blood. He swallowed painfully, sending a juddering spasm the length of his body. But before he could speak, his eyes focused on a point over Fireheart’s shoulder, back toward the woods of ThunderClan territory. Fireheart watched as Whitethroat’s eyes glittered with fear before they glazed over for the last time.

  He spun around to see what had filled Whitethroat’s final moments with such terror. His heart lurched when he saw who stood at the edge of the Thunderpath—the dark warrior who had prowled through so many of his dreams.

  Tigerclaw.

  CHAPTER 16

  Fireheart’s claws felt rooted to the Thunderpath as he stared at the cat that had cast a menacing shadow over his life for so long. There was no need for any pretense of shared Clan loyalty now. Tigerclaw was an outcast, the enemy of all cats who followed the warrior code.

  The fiery evening sun bled through the tips of the trees, its orange rays glowing on the dark pelt of the massive tabby. Across the silence of the deserted Thunderpath, Tigerclaw sneered at Fireheart.

  “Is chasing puny cats to their deaths the best you can do to defend your territory?”

  Fireheart’s mind cleared in a heartbeat, leaving his body pulsing with strength and cold fury. He stared straight into Tigerclaw’s eyes as the thundering of another monster stirred his ear fur. He held his ground as it whipped by him, another roaring at its heels. But Fireheart felt no fear. In the fleeting gap between the two monsters he focused on Tigerclaw and sprang.

  Tigerclaw’s eyes widened with surprise as Fireheart crashed into him, claws unsheathed and hissing with rage. They rolled together across the grass into the cover of the trees. Fireheart drew strength from the familiar scents of the forest—his territory now, not Tigerclaw’s—and the pair struggled wildly, flattening the brittle undergrowth and gouging deep scars in the ground with their claws.

  Fireheart had gotten a good grip on Tigerclaw in his first pounce. He could feel every one of the tabby’s ribs. Tigerclaw had lost weight, but his muscles felt hard beneath his thick pelt, and Fireheart quickly realized that exile had not diminished the warrior’s strength. Tigerclaw crouched and leaped upward, twisting in midair. Fireheart felt himself being flung from Tigerclaw’s back, felt the impact of the parched ground as he landed on his side. He gasped for the air that had been knocked from his lungs and struggled to his paws. He wasn’t fast enough. Tigerclaw pounced on him, pinning him to the ground with claws that seemed to pierce Fireheart to the bone.

  Fireheart yowled in agony, but the massive tom held him down, and he smelled the stench of crowfood as Tigerclaw stretched his neck forward to hiss into Fireheart’s ear, “Are you listening, kittypet? I will kill you, and all your warriors, one by one.”

  Even in the heat of battle, his words sent a chill through Fireheart. He knew Tigerclaw meant what he said. He suddenly became aware of new noises and smells around him—the rustle of unfamiliar paws and strange cat scents. They were surrounded. But by whom? Confused by the scents of the Thunderpath, Whitethroat’s blood, and his own fear, Fireheart wondered bleakly if these could be the remaining cats from Brokentail’s band of outcasts, who not long ago had helped Tigerclaw attack the ThunderClan camp. Had Whitethroat chosen to join these rogues rather than return to his own disease-ridden Clan?

  In desperation Fireheart pushed up with his hind legs, his claws raking for a hold on Tigerclaw’s belly. His old enemy must have underestimated how strong Fireheart had grown, for his grip loosened and he slithered onto the ground. Fireheart scrabbled away from him, lifting his head in time to see Mousefur and Whitestorm hurl themselves from the undergrowth onto two of the cats that had surrounded them. He glanced back at Tigerclaw, who had sprung to his paws and was rearing onto his hind legs, towering over Fireheart with his teeth bared and his amber eyes gleaming with hatred. He ducked as Tigerclaw lunged, darting forward and turning to swipe the dark warrior on the nose. Beside him he could hear the yowls and hisses of Whitestorm and Mousefur as they battled with the courage of StarClan. But they were badly outnumbered. As Fireheart dodged Tigerclaw once more, he looked around desperately for any means of escape. Claws raked at his hind legs, and he turned to see one of Tigerclaw’s rogues grasping him and snarling viciously. He was skinny and ungroomed like the others, his eyes glittering with spite.

  Tigerclaw reared up again with a furious hiss. Fireheart was bracing himself for Tigerclaw’s blow when he saw a blaze of gray. A broad pair of shoulders flashed past, and Fireheart recognized a warrior he had fought alongside many times before.

  Grays
tripe!

  The gray warrior lunged at Tigerclaw’s exposed belly, knocking him backward. Fireheart whipped around and bit the shoulder of the cat that clung to his hind leg until he felt his teeth scrape against bone. He released the rogue when he squealed, and spat out the blood that had dripped into his mouth.

  Astounded, Fireheart looked at the battle that raged around him. Graystripe must have brought a whole RiverClan patrol, for now it was the rogue cats who were outnumbered as they struggled against the sleek-furred warriors. He turned to see Graystripe twisting free of Tigerclaw’s grasp and sprang to help his friend. Together they reared at Tigerclaw, swiping at him to drive him backward, matched step for step as they had practiced so many times in training. Then, without even exchanging a glance, they lunged as one and forced the massive tabby onto the ground. Tigerclaw let out a muffled hiss as Fireheart pressed his foe’s muzzle into the dirt while Graystripe grasped the tabby’s shoulders and pounded his flank with his hind legs.

  Fireheart heard screeches fading into the woods and realized that the rogue cats were fleeing the battle. Tigerclaw took advantage of Fireheart’s lapse of attention and wriggled free. He fled toward the brambles, spitting with fury, and disappeared among the barbed stems.

  As the wails of the rogue cats faded away, the warriors shook the dust from their pelts and licked their wounds. Fireheart realized for the first time that Bluestar’s son, Stonefur, was among the RiverClan cats. “Is anyone badly hurt?” he gasped.

  The cats shook their heads, even Mousefur, who was still bleeding from the first attack.

  “We should return to our own territory,” meowed Stonefur.

  “ThunderClan thanks you for your help.” Fireheart dipped his head respectfully.

  “Rogue cats threaten all of us,” Stonefur replied. “We couldn’t leave you to fight them alone.”

  Whitestorm shook his muzzle, scattering drops of blood. He looked at Graystripe. “It’s good to fight beside you again, friend. What brought you here?”

  “He heard Fireheart’s yowl from Fourtrees, where we were patrolling,” Stonefur answered for Graystripe. “He persuaded us to come and help.”

  “Thanks,” answered Fireheart warmly. “All of you.”

  Stonefur nodded and turned away into the trees. His patrol followed. Fireheart touched Graystripe with his muzzle as he passed, sorry to see him leave, and painfully aware that there was no time to say as much as he wanted. “See you, Graystripe,” he meowed.

  He felt Graystripe’s purr rumbling through his thick coat. “See you,” murmured the gray warrior.

  Fireheart shivered as the sun finally disappeared from the forest. He could see Mousefur’s eyes shining in the dark, tense with pain. Then he felt a fresh wave of sorrow as he remembered the price that had been paid for the rogue cats’ attack. Runningwind’s body would be growing cold by now. And this was not the only untimely death Tigerclaw had brought to the forest that day.

  Fireheart looked at Whitestorm. “Can you and Mousefur get Runningwind back to camp without me?”

  The white warrior narrowed his eyes curiously but said nothing and nodded.

  Fireheart twitched his ear. “I’ll follow you back soon. There’s something I must do first.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Fireheart padded heavily back to the Thunderpath. The smell of Tigerclaw and the rogue cats was still heavy in the air, but he could hear no noises other than birdsong and the whispering of the breeze through the leaves. In the calm after the battle, he noticed how strongly the scent of ShadowClan mingled with the other smells. Had there been other ShadowClan cats, as well as Whitethroat, among the rogues? He wondered if the sickness in the ShadowClan camp was so bad that its warriors were imposing their own exile and joining up with Tigerclaw’s band of outcasts for protection. Or perhaps the scent had simply wafted from the territory on the other side of the Thunderpath.

  Fireheart stared across the hard gray path at the body of the black-and-white warrior. If Whitethroat had joined the rogue cats because his Clan was too sick to support him, it didn’t explain the look of horror on his face when he’d seen Tigerclaw. Why would Whitethroat have been so terrified if Tigerclaw were now his leader? With a flicker of guilt, Fireheart suddenly wondered if Whitethroat had stumbled on Runningwind’s body by sheer accident, after Tigerclaw had led the attack on the ThunderClan patrol. But what was he doing in ThunderClan territory? And where was Littlecloud? There were too many questions, and none of the answers made sense.

  One thing was certain: Fireheart could not leave Whitethroat’s body to be battered by monsters on the Thunderpath. It was quiet now, and Fireheart crossed to the middle and grasped the warrior’s scruff in his teeth. He dragged him gently across to the verge on the far side, hoping that his Clanmates would find him soon and give him an honorable burial. Whatever Whitethroat had or had not done, StarClan would judge him now.

  When Fireheart entered the moonlit ThunderClan camp, Runningwind’s body lay in the center of the clearing. He looked peaceful, stretched out as if he were asleep. Bluestar was pacing around the warrior’s body, her broad gray head swinging from side to side.

  The rest of the Clan hung back, keeping to the shadows at the edge of the clearing. The air was thick with distress. The cats weaved silently among one another, glancing anxiously at their leader as she padded back and forth, muttering under her breath. She didn’t even try to control her grief, as she would have done once. Fireheart remembered how quietly she had mourned her old friend and deputy, Lionheart, many moons ago. She showed none of that silent dignity now.

  Fireheart could feel the Clan watching him as he approached their leader. Bluestar looked up, and he felt a stab of alarm when he saw that her eyes were clouded with fear and shock.

  “They say Tigerclaw did this,” she rasped.

  “It might have been one of his rogues.”

  “How many are there?”

  “I don’t know,” Fireheart admitted. It had been impossible to count in the thick of battle. “Many.”

  Bluestar began to shake her head again, but Fireheart knew she had to be told everything, whether she wanted to know what was going on in the forest or not. “Tigerclaw wants vengeance against ThunderClan,” he reported. “He told me he is going to kill our warriors one by one.”

  Behind him the Clan exploded into horrified yowls. Fireheart let them wail, keeping his eyes fixed on Bluestar. He felt his heart flutter like a trapped bird as he begged StarClan to give her the strength to cope with this openly declared threat. Gradually the Clan fell silent, and Fireheart waited with them for Bluestar to speak. An owl screeched in the distance as it dived through the trees.

  Bluestar lifted her head. “It’s only me he wants to kill,” she murmured, so quietly that only Fireheart could hear her. “For the sake of the Clan—”

  “No!” Fireheart spat, cutting her off. Did Bluestar really intend to give herself up to Tigerclaw? “He wants revenge on the whole Clan, not just you!”

  She dropped her head. “Such vicious betrayal!” she hissed. “How could I not have seen his treachery when he lived among us? What a fool I’ve been!” She shook her head, her eyes closed. “What a mouse-brained fool.”

  Fireheart’s paws trembled. Bluestar seemed determined to torture herself by claiming all responsibility for Tigerclaw’s wickedness. With a sickening jolt he realized he would have to take charge.

  “We must make sure the camp is guarded day and night from now on. Longtail.” He looked over at the striped warrior. “You will sit guard till moonhigh.” Then he swung his head toward Frostfur. “You will take over then.” The two cats nodded, and Fireheart bent his head toward Runningwind’s body. “Mousefur and Brackenfur can bury Runningwind at dawn. Bluestar will sit vigil with him until then.” He glanced at his leader, who was staring blankly at the ground, and hoped that she’d heard him.

  “I will join her,” meowed Whitestorm. The white warrior shouldered his way through the crowd and sat beside Bluestar, pre
ssing his pelt against hers.

  One by one the Clan padded forward to pay their respects to their lost friend. Willowpelt slipped from the nursery and touched the dead warrior gently with her muzzle, whispering her sorrowful farewell. Goldenflower followed her, signaling to her kits to stay back. Fireheart felt a chilling sense of foreboding as he saw the dark tabby kit peering curiously around his mother. He couldn’t help feeling that this kit, however innocent, kept Tigerclaw’s menace alive inside the Clan. Fireheart shook away the thought as he watched Goldenflower gently lick Runningwind’s cheek. He must have faith in her and the Clan to raise the kit to be a truer warrior than his father had been.

  After Goldenflower had padded away, Fireheart stepped forward and leaned down to lick Runningwind’s dull pelt. “I will avenge your death,” he promised softly.

  As he backed away, he saw a figure step forward from the shadow of the Highrock. It was Darkstripe. Fireheart watched his eyes flick from Runningwind to Bluestar and back, burning, not with fear or grief, but with a brooding thoughtfulness.

  Unsettled, Fireheart headed for one place he knew he would find comfort. He padded through the ferns to Yellowfang’s den, his bites and scratches beginning to sting as much as the thorn-sharp doubts that fretted in his mind.

  Thornpaw sat in the well-trampled grass clearing. Cinderpelt and Yellowfang crouched beside him while he held up a paw for them to examine. Cinderpelt peeled a wad of cobwebs away from the pad, making Thornpaw grimace. “It’s still bleeding,” the apprentice medicine cat reported.

  “It should have stopped by now,” rasped Yellowfang. “We need to dry this wound before infection creeps in.”