Rising Storm

“I know,” Fireheart agreed. “But it’s not as simple as that.” He didn’t want to excuse Cloudpaw’s behavior to the rest of the Clan, but he wanted Bluestar to know the whole story. Although whether that was for Cloudpaw’s sake or his, he wasn’t quite sure. “He was taken away by the Twolegs against his will.”

“Taken away?” echoed Whitestorm. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw him being carried off inside a monster,” Fireheart explained. “He was crying out for help. I chased after him, but there was nothing I could do.”

“But he’d been accepting food from these Twolegs for some time,” Bluestar reminded him, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes,” Fireheart admitted. “I spoke to him about that yesterday, and I’m not sure he really wanted to live a kittypet life. He seemed to still think of himself as a Clan cat.” Fireheart swallowed uncomfortably. “I don’t think Cloudpaw understood how far he was breaking the warrior code.”

“Are you sure he is the sort of warrior that ThunderClan needs?” asked Bluestar.

Fireheart lowered his eyes, ashamed of his apprentice and recognizing the truth in Bluestar’s words. “He’s still young,” he meowed quietly. “I think he has the heart of a Clan cat, even if he doesn’t realize it himself yet.”

“Fireheart.” Bluestar’s mew was gentle. “ThunderClan needs loyal, brave cats, like you. If Cloudpaw was taken, then perhaps it was what StarClan intended. He may not be forest-born, but he has been part of our Clan long enough for our warrior ancestors to take an interest in him. Don’t be too sad. Wherever he has gone, StarClan will make sure he finds happiness there.”

Fireheart raised his eyes slowly to his old mentor. “Thanks, Bluestar,” he meowed. He wanted to believe that StarClan had Cloudpaw’s best interests at heart, that they weren’t punishing the Clan or signaling their disapproval of kittypets by sending the apprentice away. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but he was grateful to the Clan leader for her sympathy, and heartily relieved that she hadn’t read any darker message into Cloudpaw’s disappearance.

That night Fireheart dreamed again. The clear night sky stretched overhead as his dream swept him high above the forest to Fourtrees, holding him in its starry talons before dropping him down onto the Great Rock. Fireheart felt the ageless strength of the boulder beneath his paws and relished the coolness of the smooth stone on his pads, which still stung from chasing after Cloudpaw. He felt Spottedleaf coming, and with the feeling came a surge of relief that she had not abandoned him, like in his last dream.

“Fireheart.” The familiar voice whispered in his ears, and Fireheart spun around, expecting to see the medicine cat’s tortoiseshell coat glowing in the moonlight. But she was not there.

“Spottedleaf, where are you?” he called out, his heart aching with longing to see her.

“Fireheart,” the voice murmured again. “Beware an enemy who seems to sleep.”

“What do you mean?” asked Fireheart, his chest tightening. “What enemy?”

“Beware!”

Fireheart opened his eyes and jerked up his head. It was still dark inside the den and he could hear the steady breathing of the other ThunderClan warriors. He pushed himself up and weaved his way toward the entrance. As he slipped past Darkstripe, he noticed that the warrior’s ears were pricked and alert, although his eyes were closed.

Beware an enemy who seems to sleep. The warning sounded again in Fireheart’s head, but he shook the thought away. Spottedleaf didn’t need to remind him to be wary of Darkstripe. Fireheart knew very well that Darkstripe’s loyalty to ThunderClan did not necessarily mean loyalty to him. Spottedleaf’s warning had been about something else, something she feared Fireheart could not see for himself.

The clearing brought pale, silvery moonlight and a cool breeze. Fireheart sat at the edge and stared up at the stars. What could it be that Spottedleaf feared on Fireheart’s behalf? He searched his mind, going over everything that had happened to him recently—Bluestar’s recovery, Cloudpaw’s disappearance, his discovery of the sick ShadowClan cats. The ShadowClan cats! Cinderpelt said she had cured their sickness, but perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps they only seemed better. Fireheart felt alarm pricking like fleabites at the base of his tail. Spottedleaf had been a medicine cat. She might know that the sickness was not really cured. Perhaps she was warning him that it had already spread into the ThunderClan camp. The more Fireheart thought about it, the more certain he felt that this was what his dream had meant.

Bats flitted between the trees overhead and their soundless wings seemed to fan the flames of Fireheart’s alarm. How could he have let the ShadowClan cats stay in ThunderClan territory? He had to ask Cinderpelt if she was sure she had cured their sickness. He leaped to his paws and raced silently across the clearing, through the tunnel of ferns, and into Yellowfang’s den.