Эрин Хантер: Rising Storm

“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.

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.