Dustpelt nodded and waded into the river with Cloudpaw. The apprentice was almost unrecognizable under the smoke stains, and Fireheart touched his nose to the young cat’s flank as he passed, hoping Cloudpaw could sense how proud his mentor was of his quiet courage.
When Fireheart lifted his head he saw Smallear hesitating at the river’s edge. On the far side, Sandstorm was standing belly-deep in water, helping the cats as they struggled to the shore. She called encouragingly to the old gray tom, but Smallear backed away as another bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Fireheart dashed toward the trembling elder, grabbed him by the scruff, and plunged into the river. Smallear wailed and floundered as Fireheart struggled to keep his head above the surface. The water felt icy after the heat of the flames, and Fireheart found himself gasping for breath, but he plowed on, trying to remember how easily Graystripe had swum this same channel.
Suddenly a swift current dragged him and Smallear off course. Fireheart flailed with his paws, feeling panic rise in his chest as he saw the gently sloping bank slip past and a steep wall of mud loom in its place. How would he climb out here, especially with Smallear? The elderly tom had stopped struggling now, and hung like a deadweight in Fireheart’s jaws. Only his rasping breaths in Fireheart’s ears showed that he was still alive, and might yet survive the crossing. Fireheart floundered in the water, trying to fight the current and keep Smallear’s muzzle above the water.
Without warning, a mottled head reached down from the bank and grabbed Smallear from him. It was Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy! Scrabbling in the mud for a pawhold, she dragged Smallear out, dropped him on the ground, and reached down again for Fireheart. He felt her teeth sharp in his scruff as she hauled him up the slippery bank. He felt a wave of relief as his paws sank into dry ground.
“Is that everyone?” Leopardfur demanded.
Fireheart looked around him. RiverClan cats were weaving among the ThunderClan cats as they crouched, drenched and shocked on the pebbles. Graystripe was one of them.
“I—I think so,” Fireheart stammered. He could see Bluestar lying under some trailing willow branches. She looked small and frail with her soaked fur flattened against her scrawny flanks.
“What about that one?” Leopardfur pointed with her nose to the unmoving black-and-white shape on the far shore.
Fireheart turned to look. The ferns on the other side were burning now, sending sparks flying into the river and illuminating the trees with flickering light. “He’s dead,” Fireheart whispered.
Without a word Leopardfur slipped into the river and swam to the other side. With her golden fur flickering in the light from the flames, she snatched up Patchpelt’s body and paddled strongly back, her front paws churning through the black water. A clap of thunder exploded overhead, making Fireheart flinch, but the RiverClan deputy didn’t stop swimming.
“Fireheart!” Graystripe raced over to Fireheart and pressed himself against his friend, his flank warm and soft against Fireheart’s drenched body. “Are you okay?”
Fireheart nodded, dazed, as Leopardfur hauled Patchpelt’s body onto the shore. She laid it at Fireheart’s paws and meowed, “Come on. We’ll bury him back at camp.”
“The…the RiverClan camp?”
“Unless you prefer to return to your own,” answered Leopardfur coldly. She turned and led the way up the slope, away from the river and the flames. As the ThunderClan cats heaved themselves to their paws and began to follow, heavy drops of rain began to fall through the canopy above. Fireheart twitched his ear. Had the rain come soon enough for the burning forest? More exhausted than he could ever remember being, he watched Graystripe lift Patchpelt’s drenched body easily in his strong jaws. The rain began to fall more heavily, pounding the forest as Fireheart fell in behind the other cats, his paws stumbling over the smooth pebbles.
The RiverClan deputy led the blackened, bedraggled group through the reed beds beside the bank, until an island appeared ahead. In any other season it would have been surrounded by water; now the path merely glistened in the fresh rainfall.
Fireheart recognized this place. It had been ringed by ice the first time he had been here. Reeds had poked sharply through the frozen water then; now they swayed in great swathes, and silvery willow trees grew among the rustling stems. The rain cascaded down their delicate, trailing branches onto the sandy ground below.
Leopardfur followed a narrow passage through the rushes and onto the island. There was a lingering smell of smoke here, but the roar of the flames had faded, and Fireheart could hear the merciful sound of raindrops splashing down into the water beyond the reeds.
Crookedstar stood in a clearing in the center of the island, his fur bristling on his shoulders. Fireheart noticed the RiverClan leader glance suspiciously at Graystripe as the ThunderClan cats limped into the camp, but Leopardfur padded over to the light brown tabby and explained, “They were fleeing the fire.”
“Is RiverClan safe?” asked Crookedstar at once.
“The fire won’t cross the river,” replied Leopardfur. “Especially now that the wind has changed.”
Fireheart sniffed the air. Leopardfur was right; the wind had changed. The storm had been carried in on a wind much fresher than any he had smelled for a while. It rippled through his sodden fur, and Fireheart felt his mind begin to clear. Water dripped from his whiskers as he swung his head around to see where Bluestar was. He knew she should greet Crookedstar formally, but she was huddled among her Clan, her head low and her eyes half-closed.
Fireheart felt his belly clench with anxiety. ThunderClan could not afford to let RiverClan know how weak their leader was. He quickly stepped forward in her place. “Leopardfur and her patrol showed great kindness and courage in helping us flee the fire,” he meowed to Crookedstar, dipping his head low. Above him lightning still flickered across the cloudy sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling away from the forest.
“Leopardfur was right to help you. All the Clans fear fire,” replied the RiverClan leader.
“Our camp was burned and our territory is still on fire,” Fireheart went on, blinking away the rain that streamed into his eyes. “We have nowhere to go.” He knew he had no choice but to throw himself on the mercy of the RiverClan leader.
Crookedstar narrowed his eyes and paused. Fireheart felt his paws grow hot with frustration. Surely the RiverClan leader didn’t think this wretched group of cats posed any threat? Then Crookedstar spoke. “You may stay until it is safe for you to return.”
Relief flowed through Fireheart. “Thank you,” he meowed, blinking gratefully.
“Would you like us to bury your elder?” offered Leopardfur.
“You are very generous, but Patchpelt should be buried by his own Clan,” Fireheart answered. It was sad enough that the old warrior would not be laid to rest in his own territory, and Fireheart knew that his denmates would want to send him on his final journey to StarClan.
“Very well,” meowed Leopardfur. “I’ll have his body moved outside the camp so that your elders may sit vigil with him in peace.” Fireheart nodded his thanks as Leopardfur went on: “I’ll ask Mudfur to help your medicine cat.” The mottled she-cat scanned the drenched and shivering cats. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze fell on the huddled shape of the ThunderClan leader. “Is Bluestar injured?”
“The smoke was very bad,” Fireheart replied carefully. “She was among the last to leave the camp. Excuse me, I must see to my Clan.” He stood up and padded over to where Cloudpaw and Smallear sat, side by side. “Are you fit enough to bury Patchpelt?” he asked.
“I am,” meowed Cloudpaw. “But I think Smallear is—”
“I’m well enough to bury an old denmate,” rasped Smallear, his voice scratched by smoke.
“I’ll ask Dustpelt to help you,” Fireheart told them.
A brown tom was following Cinderpelt among the ThunderClan cats. He carried a bundle of herbs in his mouth, which he placed on the damp ground when Cinderpelt paused beside Willowpelt and her kits. The tiny cats were wail
ing pitifully, but refused to drink when Willowpelt pressed them to her belly.
Fireheart hurried over. “Are they okay?”
Cinderpelt nodded. “Mudfur suggested we give them honey to soothe their throats. They’ll be fine, but it’s done them no good to breathe in the smoke.”
The brown cat at her side meowed to Willowpelt, “Do you think they could manage a little honey?” The gray queen nodded and watched gratefully as the RiverClan medicine cat held out a wad of moss dripping with sticky, golden liquid. She purred as her tiny kits licked at it, first tentatively, then greedily as the soothing sweetness entered their mouths.
Fireheart padded away. Cinderpelt had everything under control. He found a sheltered corner at the edge of the clearing and sat down to wash. His singed pelt tasted foul as he brushed his tongue along it. His body ached with tiredness but he carried on licking. He wanted to wash away all trace of the smoke before he rested.
When he had finished, he glanced around the camp. The RiverClan cats had fled the rain into their dens, leaving the ThunderClan cats to huddle in groups at the edge of the clearing beneath the whispering wall of reeds, seeking any protection from the pounding rain. Fireheart was aware of the dark shape of Graystripe moving among his former Clanmates, soothing them with his gentle mew. Cinderpelt had finished tending to the cats and was curled up, exhausted, beside Ashpaw. Fireheart could just make out Sandstorm’s pale ginger flank, rising and falling steadily next to Longtail’s silver tabby back. Bluestar was asleep beside Whitestorm.
Fireheart rested his muzzle on his forepaws, listening to the beating of the rain on the muddy clearing. As his eyes closed, the unbearable image of Yellowfang’s terrified face burst into his mind. His heart began to pound, but exhaustion took over and he finally retreated into the refuge of sleep.
CHAPTER 26
Fireheart felt as if he had slept for only a moment when he woke. A cool breeze was ruffling his fur. The rain had stopped. Above, the sky was filled with billowing white clouds. For a moment he felt confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then he became aware of the sound of voices meowing nearby and recognized Smallear’s trembling mew.
“I told you StarClan would show its anger!” rasped the old tom. “Our home has gone; the forest is no more.”
“Bluestar should have appointed the deputy before moonhigh,” fretted Speckletail. “It’s the custom!”
Fireheart leaped to his paws, his ears burning, but before he could say anything, Cinderpelt’s mew rose into the air.
“How can you be so ungrateful? Fireheart carried you across the river, Smallear!”
“He nearly drowned me,” complained Smallear.
“You’d be dead if he’d left you behind,” spat Cinderpelt. “If Fireheart hadn’t smelled the smoke in the first place, we might all be dead!”
“I’m sure Patchpelt, Halftail, and Yellowfang are deeply grateful to him.”
Fireheart’s fur rippled with anger as he heard Darkstripe’s sarcastic yowl.
“Yellowfang will thank him herself when we find her!” hissed Cinderpelt.
“Find her?” echoed Darkstripe. “There’s no way she’ll have escaped that fire. Fireheart should never have allowed her to go back to the camp.”
Cinderpelt growled deep in her throat. Darkstripe had gone too far. Fireheart padded quickly from the shadows and saw Fernpaw sitting beside Darkstripe, staring up at her mentor with horror in her eyes.
Fireheart opened his mouth, but it was Dustpelt who spoke first. “Darkstripe! You should show more respect for your lost Clanmates, and”—he glanced sympathetically at the frightened Fernpaw—“be more careful with what you say. Our Clanmates have suffered enough already!”
Fireheart was taken aback to hear the young warrior challenge his former mentor.
Darkstripe eyed Dustpelt with equal surprise, than narrowed his eyes dangerously.
“Dustpelt’s right,” Fireheart meowed quietly, stepping forward. “We shouldn’t be arguing.”
Darkstripe, Smallear, and the others whipped around to stare at Fireheart, their ears and tails flicking awkwardly as they realized he had heard their conversation.
“Fireheart!” Graystripe’s mew interrupted them, and Fireheart saw his friend crossing the clearing, his fur damp from the river.
“Have you been on patrol?” Fireheart asked, turning away from the ThunderClan cats and padding over to meet Graystripe.
“Yes. And hunting,” meowed Graystripe. “We can’t all sleep the morning away, you know.” He nudged Fireheart on the shoulder and went on: “You must be hungry. Come with me.” He led Fireheart toward a pile of fresh-kill at the edge of the clearing. “Leopardfur says this is for your Clan,” Graystripe told him.
Fireheart’s belly growled with hunger. “Thanks,” he meowed. “I’d better let the Clan know.” He went over to where the ThunderClan cats were gathered. “Graystripe says that pile of food is for us,” he announced.
“Thank StarClan,” Goldenflower meowed gratefully.
“We don’t need other Clans to feed us,” sneered Darkstripe.
“I suppose you can go hunting if you want,” Fireheart meowed, narrowing his eyes at the tabby warrior. “But you’ll need to ask Crookedstar’s permission first. After all, this is his territory.”
Darkstripe snorted impatiently and padded toward the fresh-kill pile. Fireheart looked at Bluestar. She hadn’t reacted to the news of food at all.
Whitestorm twitched his ears. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a share,” he promised, glancing at Bluestar.
“Thanks,” Fireheart answered.
Graystripe padded up and dropped a mouse on the ground at his paws. “Here, you can eat this at the nursery,” he meowed. “There are some kits I want you to see.”
Fireheart picked up the mouse and followed his friend toward a tangle of reeds. As they approached, two silver bundles hurtled through a tiny gap in the thickly woven stems and rushed toward Graystripe. They flung themselves at him, and Graystripe rolled over happily, batting with gentle sheathed paws as the kits climbed over him. Fireheart knew at once whose kits they were.
Graystripe purred loudly. “How did you know I was coming?” he rumbled.
“We smelled you!” answered the larger kit.
“Very good!” Graystripe praised him.
As Fireheart finished the last mouthful of mouse, the gray warrior sat up and the kits tumbled off him. “Now it’s time you met an old friend of mine,” he told them. “We trained together.”
The kits turned their amber eyes on Fireheart, staring up at him in awe.
“Is this Fireheart?” mewed the smallest one. Graystripe nodded, and Fireheart felt a glow of pleasure that his friend had spoken about him already to his kits.
“Come back here, you two!” A tortoiseshell face appeared in the entrance of the nursery. “It’s going to rain again.” Fireheart saw the eyes of the kits narrow crossly, but they turned and padded obediently toward the den.
“They’re great,” he purred.
“Yeah,” Graystripe agreed, his eyes soft. “More thanks to Mosspelt than me, I have to say. She’s the one who looks after them.” Fireheart heard a note of wistfulness in his friend’s voice, and wondered just how much Graystripe missed his old home.
Neither cat spoke as the gray warrior got to his paws and led Fireheart out of the camp. They sat down on a small patch of bare earth among the reeds. A willow tree arched above their heads, its branches quivering in the fresh breeze. Fireheart felt the wind tug at his fur as he stared through the willow curtain toward the distant woods. It looked as if StarClan was going to send more rain to the forest.
“Where’s Yellowfang?” asked Graystripe.
Fresh grief welled up in Fireheart’s chest. “Yellowfang came back to the ThunderClan camp with me to look for Patchpelt and Halftail. I lost her in the smoke. A…a tree fell into the ravine as she was coming out.” Was there any way she could have survived the flames? He couldn’t help a flare of hope bur
sting in his chest, like a trapped pigeon frantically stretching its wings. “I don’t suppose you found any scent of her on your patrol?”
Graystripe shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you think the fire’s still burning after that storm?” meowed Fireheart.
“I’m not sure. We saw a few plumes of smoke while we were out.”
Fireheart sighed. “Do you think any of the camp will be left?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” answered Graystripe. He lifted his head and stared through the leaves at the darkening skies. “Mosspelt was right—more rain’s coming.” As he spoke, a large drop landed on the ground beside them. “That should put out the last of the flames.”
Fireheart felt his head spin with grief as more drops spattered through the trees and splashed on the brittle reeds. Before long, the rain was pouring down for the second time, and it seemed that StarClan was weeping for all that had been lost.
CHAPTER 27
By late afternoon the lingering smell of smoke had been replaced by the stench of wet ash, but Fireheart relished its bitter odor.
“The fire must be out by now,” he meowed to Graystripe, who was sheltering beside him beneath a clump of reeds. “We could go back and see if it’s safe for the Clan to return.”
“And look for Yellowfang and Halftail,” Graystripe murmured.
Fireheart had known that his old friend would guess why he really wanted to go back to the camp. He blinked at the gray warrior, grateful for his understanding.
“I’ll have to ask Crookedstar if I can come,” Graystripe added. The words came as a shock to Fireheart. He had almost forgotten that Graystripe belonged to another Clan now.
“I’ll be back soon,” called the gray warrior, already bounding away.
Fireheart gazed across the clearing to where Bluestar was huddled next to Whitestorm, as if the white warrior were the only barrier between her troubled mind and the horrific fate that had befallen her Clan. Fireheart wondered if he should tell her where he was going. He decided not to. For the moment he would act alone and rely on his Clan to shield their leader’s weakened state from the curious RiverClan cats.