Warriors 03 - Forest of Secrets (9 page)

Back in the camp, Fireheart spotted
Bluestar leaving the nursery. Quickly he dropped his catch on the pile of fresh-kill and padded over to her.

“Yes, Fireheart, what is it?” the leader asked. Her voice was calm, but with a sinking feeling, Fireheart knew that the lack of warmth meant she had not forgiven him for asking about the missing ThunderClan kits.

He lowered his head respectfully. “Bluestar, I was hunting near Twolegplace, and—”

“Why there?” Bluestar interrupted. “Sometimes I think you spend too much time near Twolegplace, Fireheart.”

“I—I just thought there might be prey there,” Fireheart stammered. “Anyway, while I was there, I smelled some strange cats.”

At once Bluestar was alert; her ears flicked up and she fixed her eyes intently on Fireheart. “How many cats? What Clan were they from?”

“I'm not sure how many,” Fireheart admitted. “Five or six at least. But they didn't have the scent of any Clan.” He wrinkled his nose as he remembered. “They smelled of
crowfood, which made me sure they weren't kittypets.”

Bluestar looked thoughtful, and to Fireheart's relief her hostility toward him seemed to ebb away. “How recent was the scent?” she asked.

“Quite recent. But I didn't see any cats there.” Except Tigerclaw, he added silently. But Fireheart decided not to tell Bluestar that part of the story. The leader was in no mood to listen to any more accusations against her deputy, and he had no evidence anyway that Tigerclaw had had anything to do with the unknown cats.

“Rogues from the Twolegplace, perhaps?” Bluestar guessed. “Thank you, Fireheart. I'll tell the patrols to keep a lookout when they go that way. I don't suppose they're any threat to ThunderClan, but we can't be too careful.”

 

Fireheart padded toward the camp with a vole clamped firmly in his jaws. The sun shone from a brilliantly blue sky, and already, two days after his meeting with Princess, most of the snow was gone. Buds were swelling and a mist of tiny green leaves was beginning to cover the trees. More important, prey was reappearing in the forest. Already it was easier to replenish the pile of fresh-kill, and for the first time in moons the Clan was full-fed.

Fireheart arrived in the clearing to find the queens raking old bedding out of the nursery. When he had dropped his prey on the pile of fresh-kill, he went across to give them a hand, pleased to see that Cloudkit was helping too.

“I'm going to show the other kits the good moss place!”
the kit mewed proudly as he staggered past with a load of bedding.

“Good idea,” Fireheart agreed. He'd noticed that even after Tigerclaw relieved him of his duties with the elders, Cloudkit had gone on helping. Maybe at last the kit was feeling some spark of loyalty toward his adopted Clan. “Watch out for badgers, though!”

Just then he saw Goldenflower emerge from the nursery, pushing a ball of soiled moss in front of her. Her belly was round with the weight of the kits she was carrying.

“Hello, Fireheart,” she meowed. “Isn't it great to see the sun again?”

Fireheart gave the queen's shoulder a friendly lick. “Soon it'll be newleaf,” he mewed. “Just in time for your kits. If you—” He broke off and spun around as he heard Tigerclaw's voice behind him, speaking his name.

“Fireheart, if you've nothing better to do than stand gossiping with the queens, I have a job for you.”

Fireheart bit back an angry response. He'd been hunting all morning, and paused for only a few moments to talk to Goldenflower.

“I want you to take a patrol along the border of RiverClan,” the deputy went on. “No cat has been that way for a few days, and now the snow has gone we need to renew the scent markings. And make sure no RiverClan cats are hunting in our territory. If they are, you know what to do!”

“Yes, Tigerclaw,” Fireheart mewed. Hedgehogs must be growing wings, he thought, if Tigerclaw had chosen him to
lead a patrol! Then he realized that Tigerclaw was too clever to behave hostilely toward him in public. The deputy would be careful to treat him just the same as any other Clan warrior, in case Bluestar noticed.

But I still don't trust you! Fireheart thought. Aloud he meowed, “Whom shall I take with me?”

“Any cat you like. Or do you need me to hold your paw?” Tigerclaw added with a sneer.

“No, Tigerclaw.” By now Fireheart could barely keep his tongue curbed; he would have loved to swipe a claw over the deputy's scarred muzzle. He mewed a hasty good-bye to Goldenflower, and headed for the warriors' den. Sandstorm was there, lying on her side and energetically washing, while Graystripe and Runningwind shared tongues nearby.

“Who's up for a patrol?” Fireheart called. “Tigerclaw wants us to check the RiverClan border.”

Graystripe scrambled to his paws right away at the mention of RiverClan, while Runningwind got up more slowly. Sandstorm paused in her washing and looked up at Fireheart. “Just when I was hoping for a bit of peace,” she complained. “I've been hunting since dawn.” But her tone was good-humored, not remotely as unfriendly as she was when he had first arrived in the Clan, Fireheart thought, and almost at once she got up and shook herself. “All right,” she mewed. “Lead on.”

“What about Brackenpaw?” Fireheart asked Graystripe. “Do you want to bring him along?”

“Whitestorm and Mousefur took the apprentices out,”
Runningwind explained. “All of the apprentices—more fool them! They're hunting fresh-kill for the elders.”

Fireheart led the way out of the camp, feeling a tingle in his paws as he leaped up the side of the ravine. It felt like moons since he'd had a good run without snow to freeze his paws off, and he wanted to stretch his muscles. “We'll head for the Sunningrocks,” he meowed, “and then follow the border up to Fourtrees.”

He set a brisk pace through the trees, but not so fast that he failed to notice the brilliant green fronds of new bracken beginning to unfurl, or the first pale buds of primroses pushing out of their green coverings. Birdsong filled the air, and the fresh scent of growing things.

He slowed down to a walk as the patrol approached the edge of the forest. Ahead of him he could hear the sound of the river, free at last from its bonds of ice. “We're almost at the border,” he meowed quietly. “From here on we have to keep alert. There may be RiverClan cats about.”

Graystripe stopped and opened his jaws to drink in scent from the breeze. “I can't smell any,” he reported. Fireheart wondered if he was disappointed that Silverstream wasn't nearby. “Besides, they'll have plenty of prey now that the river's unfrozen,” Graystripe added. “Why should they come and steal ours?”

“I wouldn't put anything past RiverClan,” growled Runningwind. “They'd steal the fur off your back if you didn't keep an eye on them.”

Fireheart saw Graystripe beginning to bristle. “Come on,
then,” he meowed hastily, trying to distract his friend before he said something that gave away his divided loyalties. “Let's go.” He raced away through the last of the trees and burst out onto open ground. What he saw there brought him skidding to a halt, and the memory of his dream crashed into his mind like a thunderclap.

In front of the cats, the land sloped gently down to the river—or what had been the river. Swelled by the melting snow, the fast-flowing water had burst the banks and risen until it lapped the grass barely a rabbit-length from Fireheart's paws. The tips of reeds just showed above it; farther upstream, the Sunningrocks were gray islands in the midst of a shimmering silver lake.

The thaw had certainly come, but now the river was in full flood.

“Great StarClan!” breathed Sandstorm.

The other two cats grunted in agreement, but Fireheart was speechless with horror. He had instantly recognized the shining expanse of water, and now he recalled Spottedleaf's ominous words: “Water can quench fire.”

Fear chilled him as he struggled to understand how this flood could threaten his Clan, so that he was hardly aware of Graystripe trying to attract his attention until the big gray cat pressed up close to his side. Panic flared in Graystripe's amber eyes, and Fireheart didn't need to ask why. His friend was afraid for Silverstream.

The land was lower on the RiverClan bank, so the floodwaters could spread much farther. As for the camp on the island…Fireheart wondered how much of that was underwater. He had grown to like Silverstream in spite of his concerns, and he felt a grudging respect for Mistyfoot and Graypool, too. He didn't want to imagine them driven out of their camp, or worse, drowned.

Runningwind had padded right to the water's edge and was gazing out across the river. “RiverClan isn't going to like
this,” he remarked. “And a good thing, too. It'll keep them off our territory.”

Fireheart felt Graystripe tense at the note of satisfaction in Runningwind's voice. He shot his friend a warning glance. “Well, we can't patrol the border now,” he pointed out. “We'd better get back to camp and report this. Come on, Graystripe,” he added firmly, seeing the warrior look once more with anguish across the swollen river.

 

As soon as Bluestar heard the news she leaped to the top of the Highrock and gave the familiar call: “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

At once cats began to pour out of their dens and into the clearing. Fireheart took his place at the front of the crowd, noticing with a prickle of annoyance that Cloudkit had come bouncing along after Brindleface, although he was too young to attend the meeting. He saw Yellowfang and Cinderpaw listening from the mouth of the fern tunnel. Even Brokentail emerged from his den, nudged along by Mousefur.

The bright morning was coming to an end. Clouds were massing to cover the face of the sun, and the gentle breeze had strengthened until a stiff wind blew across the clearing, flattening the fur of the cats who crouched around the Highrock. Fireheart shivered, and didn't know whether it was from cold or apprehension.

“Cats of ThunderClan,” meowed Bluestar. “Our camp may be in danger. The snow has gone, but the river has burst
its banks. Part of our territory is already flooded.”

A chorus of dismay rose from the Clan, but Bluestar raised her voice above the yowls. “Fireheart, tell the Clan what you have seen.”

Fireheart stood up and described how the river had overflowed near the Sunningrocks.

“It doesn't sound that dangerous to us,” meowed Darkstripe when he had finished. “We have plenty of territory left for prey. Let RiverClan worry about the floods.”

A murmur of approval broke out, although Fireheart noticed that Tigerclaw stayed silent. He sat at the base of the Highrock, motionless except for the twitching tip of his tail.

“Silence!” spat Bluestar. “The water could spread here before we know it. Something like this is bigger than Clan rivalry. I don't want to hear that any RiverClan cats have died from these floods.”

Fireheart noticed a hot glow in her eyes as she spoke, as if her words meant more than she had said. Puzzled, he remembered how angry Bluestar had been with him for speaking to RiverClan warriors; yet now her strength of feeling suggested a current of sympathy running deep within her.

Patchpelt spoke up from among the elders. “I remember the last time the river overflowed, many moons ago. Cats from all Clans drowned. Prey drowned, too, and we went hungry even though our paws stayed dry. This is not just RiverClan's problem.”

“Well said, Patchpelt,” meowed Bluestar. “I remember those days, too, and I hoped I would never have to see such times
again. But since it has happened, these are my orders: No cat is to go out alone. Kits and apprentices must not leave the camp without at least one warrior. Patrols will go out to discover how far the floods reach—Tigerclaw, see to it.”

“Yes, Bluestar,” meowed the deputy. “I'll send out hunting patrols, too. We must build up a stock of prey before the water rises any farther.”

“Good idea,” agreed Bluestar. She raised her voice again to address the whole Clan. “The meeting is over. Go to your duties.” She leaped down lightly from the Highrock and padded across to talk with Patchpelt and the other elders.

Fireheart was waiting to see if Tigerclaw would choose him for a patrol when he noticed Graystripe edging away from the circle of cats. Fireheart headed after him, and caught up just as he broke for the gorse tunnel. “Where do you think you're going?” he hissed in the gray warrior's ear. “Bluestar just said that no cat should go out alone.”

Graystripe turned a panicky look on him. “Fireheart, I have to see Silverstream,” he protested. “I have to be sure she's okay.”

Fireheart let out a long sigh of exasperation. He understood how his friend was feeling, but he could hardly have chosen a worse time to go visiting his mate. “How will you get across the river?” he asked.

“I'll manage,” Graystripe promised grimly. “It's only water.”

“Don't be such a mouse-brain!” Fireheart spat, remembering the time Graystripe had fallen through the ice, when
Silverstream had rescued him. “You nearly drowned once before. Wasn't that enough for you?”

Graystripe didn't answer; he just swung around and made for the tunnel again.

Fireheart glanced over his shoulder. The other cats in the clearing were breaking up into small groups under Tigerclaw's direction, ready to go out on patrol. “Stop, Graystripe!” he hissed, halting his friend at the entrance to the tunnel. “Wait there.”

Once he was sure Graystripe had done as he asked, he bounded across the clearing toward the deputy. “Hey, Tigerclaw,” he meowed. “Graystripe and I are ready to go. We'll check the RiverClan boundary downstream of the Sunningrocks, all right?”

Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased that Fireheart had taken it upon himself to choose which area he was going to patrol. But he had no reason to refuse, especially with Bluestar in earshot. “All right,” he growled. “Try to bring some prey back, as well.”

“Yes, Tigerclaw,” Fireheart replied, dipping his head before turning to race back to Graystripe. “Okay,” he panted. “We're on patrol, so at least no cat will wonder where we've gone.”

“But you—” Graystripe began to protest.

“I know you have to go,” Fireheart meowed. “But I'm coming with you.”

He felt a prickle of guilt as he spoke. Even on patrol, he and Graystripe wouldn't be expected to cross Clan boundaries. Bluestar would be furious if she knew that two of her
warriors were risking their lives to go into enemy territory when their own Clan needed them so badly. But Fireheart couldn't just stand there and let Graystripe go alone. His friend could be swept away in the floods and never return.

“Thanks, Fireheart,” murmured Graystripe as they left the tunnel. “I won't forget this.”

Side by side, the two warriors scrambled up the steep, rocky slope. As they headed into the forest, retracing the steps of their earlier patrol, Fireheart noticed how muddy the ground was underpaw. The melted snow had soaked the earth like the heaviest rainfall, even without the deadly spread of floodwater from the river.

When they reached the edge of the trees Fireheart realized that the water had risen even farther. The Sunningrocks were almost submerged now, and the current swirled around them in tight circles. “We'll never make it across there,” he meowed.

“Let's head downstream,” Graystripe suggested. “We might be able to use the stepping stones.”

“We can try,” Fireheart mewed uncertainly. He was about to follow his friend when he thought he heard something—a thin, wailing sound, above the wind and the rushing of the torrent. “Wait,” he called. “Did you hear that?”

Graystripe looked back, and both cats stood, ears pricked, straining to catch the sound. Then Fireheart heard it again—the panic-stricken mewing of kits in distress.

“Where are they?” he meowed, looking all around and up into the trees. “I can't see them!”

“There.” Graystripe flicked his tail in the direction of the Sunningrocks. “Fireheart, they'll drown!”

Fireheart saw that the current had driven a mat of twigs and debris up against the Sunningrocks. Two kits balanced precariously on it, their tiny mouths stretched wide as they wailed for help. Even as Fireheart watched, the current tugged at the mat, threatening to sweep it away. “Come on,” he yowled to Graystripe. “We've got to reach them somehow.”

Taking a deep breath, he waded into the flood. The water soaked into his fur at once, and a paralyzing, icy chill crept up his legs. The tug of the current made it harder to stay on his paws with every step he took.

Graystripe splashed in behind him, but when the water reached his belly fur he stopped. “Fireheart…” he choked out.

Fireheart twisted around to give him a comforting nod. He could understand how the river might terrify Graystripe, after his near-drowning a few moons ago. “Stay there,” he meowed. “I'll try to push the mat over to you.”

Graystripe nodded, trembling too violently to speak. Fireheart waded forward a few more paces, then launched himself into the current and began to swim, thrashing his legs instinctively to push himself through the black water. They were upstream of the Sunningrocks; if StarClan was kind, he should be carried down toward the kits.

For a moment he lost sight of them in the wind-ruffled waves, though he could still hear their terrified cries. Then the smooth gray bulk of a Sunningrock loomed up beside
him. He kicked out strongly, fearing for one panic-stricken heartbeat that he would be swept right past.

The current swirled; Fireheart's paws worked furiously, and the river tossed him against the rock, driving the breath out of his body. He scrabbled at the rough surface, bracing himself against the rushing water, and found himself face-to-face with the two kits.

They were both very small—still suckling from their mother, Fireheart guessed. One was black and one gray, their fur plastered against their tiny bodies, and their brilliant blue eyes wide with terror. They were crouched on a tangled mat of twigs, leaves, and Twoleg rubbish, but when they saw Fireheart they started to scramble toward him. The mat lurched and their wails grew louder as river water sloshed over them.

“Keep still!” Fireheart gasped, paddling madly against the current. Briefly he wondered if he could climb onto the rock and haul the kits up with him, but he was not sure how long it would be before the Sunningrocks were completely submerged. His best plan was still to push the mat over to Graystripe. Looking back, he saw that his friend had already moved downstream, into a good position to catch the mat as it was swept toward him.

“Here we go,” Fireheart muttered. “StarClan help us!” He pushed himself off from the rock, thrusting at the mat with his muzzle to guide it into the current. The two kits whimpered and flattened themselves against the twigs.

Fireheart put every last scrap of energy into pushing the
mat ahead of him with his nose and paws. He could feel exhaustion draining the strength from his limbs. His fur was soaked, and he was so cold he could hardly breathe. Raising his head and blinking water out of his eyes, he realized with horror that he had lost sight of Graystripe and the bank. It seemed as if there was nothing in the world but the churning water, the fragile mat of twigs, and the two terrified kits.

Then he heard Graystripe's voice, sounding close by. “Fireheart! Fireheart, here!”

Fireheart thrust again at the mat, trying to propel it toward the voice. It spun away from him, and his head went under. Coughing and choking, he clawed his way back to the surface, to see Graystripe pacing on dry land just a few tail-lengths away.

For a heartbeat Fireheart felt relief that he was nearly there. Then he focused his blurred eyes on the kits again, and fear pulsed through him. The mat was beginning to break up.

Fireheart watched helplessly as the twigs underneath the gray kit gave way and the tiny creature was plunged into the torrent.