Rising Storm

Shifting his paws uncomfortably, the medicine cat avoided a direct reply. “StarClan has spoken to me tonight,” he announced. “Did you see the star shine between the clouds?”

The queen nodded, and around her the other cats’ eyes flickered with desperate hope. “What did it mean?” asked the elder.

“Will our leader live?” called the tabby warrior.

The medicine cat hesitated.

“He cannot die now!” cried the queen. “What about his nine lives? StarClan granted them only six moons ago!”

“There is only so much strength StarClan can give,” answered the medicine cat. “But our ancestors have not forgotten us,” he went on, trying to push aside the image of the owl’s dark wing as it blotted out the thin ray of light. “The star brought a message of hope.”

A high-pitched moan sounded from a dim corner of the camp, and a tortoiseshell queen sprang up and hurried toward the sound. The others continued to stare at the medicine cat with eyes that begged for comfort.

“Did StarClan speak of rain?” asked a young warrior. “It’s been so long since it rained, and it might cleanse the camp of the sickness.”

The medicine cat shook his head. “Not of rain, but of a great new dawn that awaits our Clan. In that ray of light, our warrior ancestors showed me the future, and it will be glorious!”

“Then we’ll survive?” mewed the silver queen.

“We’ll do more than survive,” the medicine cat promised. “We shall rule the whole forest!”

Murmurs of relief flickered through the cats, the first purrs that had been heard in the camp for nearly a moon. But the medicine cat turned his head away to hide his trembling whiskers. He prayed that the Clan would not ask again about the owl. He dared not share the dreadful warning StarClan had added when the bird’s wing had obscured the star—that the Clan would pay the highest possible price for their great new dawn.

Chapter 1

Warm shafts of sun shine streamed through the canopy of leaves and flickered over Fireheart’s pelt. He crouched lower, aware that his coat would be glowing amber among the lush green undergrowth.

Paw by paw, he crept beneath a fern. He could smell a pigeon. He moved slowly toward the mouthwatering scent until he could see the plump bird pecking among the ferns.

Fireheart flexed his claws, his paws itching with anticipation. He was hungry after leading the dawn patrol and hunting all morning. This was the high season for prey, a time for the Clan to grow fat on the forest’s bounty. And although there had been little rain since the newleaf floods, the woods were rich with food. After stocking the fresh-kill pile back at camp, it was time for Fireheart to hunt for himself. He tensed his muscles, ready to leap.

Suddenly a second scent wafted toward him on the dry breeze. Fireheart opened his mouth, tipping his head to one side. The pigeon must have smelled it too, for its head shot up and it began to unfold its wings, but it was too late. A rush of white fur shot out from under some brambles. Fireheart stared in surprise as the cat pounced on the startled bird, pinning it to the ground with his front paws before finishing it off with a swift bite to the neck.

The delicious smell of fresh-kill filled Fireheart’s nostrils. He stood up and padded out of the undergrowth toward the fluffy white tom. “Well caught, Cloudpaw,” he meowed. “I didn’t see you coming until it was too late.”

“Nor did this stupid bird,” crowed Cloudpaw, flicking his tail smugly.

Fireheart felt his shoulders tense. Cloudpaw was his apprentice as well as his sister’s son. It was Fireheart’s responsibility to teach him the skills of a Clan warrior and how to respect the warrior code. The young tom was undeniably a good hunter, but Fireheart couldn’t help wishing that he would learn a little humility. Deep down, he sometimes wondered if Cloudpaw would ever understand the importance of the warrior code, the moons-old traditions of loyalty and ritual that had been passed down through generations of cats in the forest.

But Cloudpaw had been born in Twolegplace to Fireheart’s kittypet sister, Princess, and brought to ThunderClan by Fireheart as a tiny kit. Fireheart knew from his own bitter experience that Clan cats had no respect for kittypets. Fireheart had spent his first six moons living with Twolegs, and there were cats in his Clan that would never let him forget the fact that he was not forest-born. He twitched his ears impatiently. He knew he did everything he could to prove his loyalty to the Clan, but his stubborn apprentice was a different matter. If Cloudpaw was going to win any sympathy from his Clanmates, he was going to have to lose some of his arrogance.

“It’s just as well you’re so quick,” Fireheart pointed out. “You were upwind. I could smell you, even if I couldn’t see you. And so could the bird.”

Cloudpaw’s long snowy fur bristled and he snapped back, “I know I was upwind! But I could tell this dumb dove wasn’t going to be hard to catch whether he smelled me or not.”