The Raging Storm

CHAPTER 3

Alderheart sat down heavily beside Puddleshine’s nest. Two sunrises had passed since Bramblestar’s patrol had carried the ShadowClan cat to ThunderClan’s medicine den, and he had not improved. He frowned. Puddleshine was sick. Many of his wounds were still infected despite the careful cleaning and the marigold poultices Alderheart had applied day and night. It made no sense.

“I can’t seem to clear the infection,” he murmured.

Puddleshine lifted his head stiffly and blinked at him, his eyes clouded with pain. “You’ve treated my wounds the same way I would have. I don’t know why they’re not healing, either.”

“How is the pain today?”

“The poppy seeds you gave me have eased it a little.”

Alderheart touched his nose to Puddleshine’s ear. Heat pulsed from it. “You’re running a fever too.”

“It must be the infection,” Puddleshine mewed.

“Perhaps you have some other illness that is making you vulnerable to the infection. You smell weird.”

“I felt fine before I got tangled in the silverthorn.” Puddleshine’s eyes darkened. “How could I have been so foolish? I should have stayed clear.”

“There’s no point growling about it.” Alderheart was more concerned with dealing with Puddleshine’s wounds than with worrying how he got them. “Do you have any other symptoms? A sore throat? A bellyache?”

“No.” Puddleshine shifted wearily in his nest. “Only my wounds hurt.”

Alderheart glanced toward the den entrance. He felt out of his depth. He wasn’t used to not knowing the cause of a cat’s sickness. It was no comfort that Leafpool and Jayfeather were baffled too. “Do what you can,” Jayfeather had told him. “You’ll figure something out.” The blind medicine cat was checking on Ivypool’s kits in the nursery now. Leafpool had been out since dawn collecting herbs. Alderheart turned back to Puddleshine. “Can you think of another herb we could try?”

“Frecklewish mentioned wood sorrel at the last Moonpool meeting,” Puddleshine told him. “It’s just starting to sprout now.”

“I don’t know if it grows in ThunderClan territory.”

“There’s some around the ShadowClan border.” Puddleshine winced. “It’s dark green and has a sour smell.”

“I’ll find some. Let’s hope it works.”

As he spoke, voices sounded in the clearing. He pricked his ears. They sounded like ShadowClan. His heart lurched. Tigerstar had told Twigbranch that he’d be sending a patrol to fetch Puddleshine in a few days. Was this it? Alderheart shifted his paws. How would he explain that Puddleshine was in no fit state to travel home? He noticed Puddleshine’s gaze flick anxiously to the medicine-den entrance. “You rest,” Alderheart mewed. “I’ll go and see what’s happening.” He hurried out of the den.

Tawnypelt and Scorchfur stood in the clearing, flanked by Brackenfur and Fernsong.

“We found them waiting on the border,” Fernsong was explaining to his Clanmates, who were watching the ShadowClan cats warily as Bramblestar scrambled down the rock tumble.

For the first time, Alderheart noticed Dovewing standing behind Tawnypelt. The former ThunderClan warrior’s pale gray fur was bristling anxiously.

Alderheart narrowed his eyes. Why had she come? Dovewing had visited the camp when she’d first returned with Tigerstar. Every cat had been so relieved to see she was safe, they’d barely reproached her for her decision to abandon her Clan and take her kits to live with their father in ShadowClan. But that had been more than a moon ago. He wondered how ThunderClan felt now, seeing Dovewing as part of a ShadowClan patrol.

Squirrelflight padded forward to greet her, but a warning look from Scorchfur made her hesitate. Lionblaze frowned from beside the fresh-kill pile. Graystripe and Millie slipped from the elders’ den and exchanged looks as they saw Dovewing. Cherryfall and Bumblestripe glared at their former Clanmate, their hostility plain as Bramblestar reached the ShadowClan cats.

“You’ve come for Puddleshine?” the ThunderClan leader asked.

Tawnypelt met his gaze stiffly. “Tigerstar told the two youngsters you sent that we’d fetch him in two days. Is he ready?”

Scorchfur scanned the camp, clearly looking for the ShadowClan medicine cat. Dovewing’s gaze had drifted to the nursery.

“Well?” Tawnypelt pressed when Bramblestar didn’t answer. The ThunderClan leader was staring at Dovewing.

“I’m surprised you brought her here,” he meowed. “Feelings are running high about her decision to leave.” He glanced uneasily at Cherryfall and Bumblestripe. The pale gray tom’s hackles were up.

“She’s a member of ShadowClan now,” Tawnypelt meowed simply. “She joins our patrols whether they’re hunting or escorting Clan members home.”

Bramblestar narrowed his eyes. “Surely she should be in the nursery taking care of her kits?”

Dovewing padded forward. “I asked to come,” she mewed softly. “I was hoping to see Ivypool.”

Bumblestripe lashed his tail. “You visited with Ivypool and her kits a moon ago. Before you went to ShadowClan. When you left your Clan, you left your kin. I thought you understood that.”

“I did what I thought was best for every cat,” Dovewing told him.

Alderheart’s pelt prickled uneasily. Bumblestripe’s feelings had clearly hardened since he’d last seen Dovewing. He looked toward the nursery.

Ivypool hung back in the shadows at the entrance, her gaze uncertain.

Bristlekit pushed past her mother, pale gray pelt fluffed with excitement. “Is that her?” she asked, bouncing into the clearing and staring at Dovewing.

Flipkit and Thriftkit crowded between Ivypool’s forelegs, their heads pressing against her chest. Their eyes were wide with curiosity.

“Are we allowed to talk to her?” Thriftkit asked.

“Why wouldn’t we be allowed?” Bristlekit padded closer to Dovewing and stared at her boldly. “Ivypool says you came to visit us before. But I don’t remember you. We’d only just opened our eyes. You look like Ivypool except you don’t have white splotches.”

Dovewing looked past the kit toward Ivypool, her gaze shimmering with hope. Ivypool didn’t move.

Daisy emerged from the nursery, pushing past the silver-and-white queen. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Kin is kin no matter the Clan.”

“Clan is more important than kin!” Cherryfall moved closer to Bumblestripe.

Lionblaze flicked his ears. “Loyalty is more important than anything,” he growled. “Bumblestripe’s right. When you leave your Clan, you leave your kin.”

Alderheart thought he caught a flicker of movement from the elders’ den. Graystripe was shifting uneasily, trying to look like he wasn’t listening to the discussion. Long before Alderheart was born, Graystripe had briefly left ThunderClan to be with kits he’d had with a RiverClan warrior. ThunderClan had eventually welcomed him back, though Alderheart had heard that not all of his Clanmates had trusted him right away.

Jayfeather stomped from the nursery and headed for the medicine den, his pelt twitching with irritation. “If warriors didn’t keep falling in love with the wrong cats, a lot of trouble could be avoided.” His blind blue gaze flashed toward Squirrelflight as though he could see her.

Squirrelflight bristled. “Don’t blame me for what your mother did,” she mewed sharply. “I only tried to help her.”

“So, that worked out well, didn’t it?” With a sniff, he pushed past Alderheart and disappeared into the medicine den.

Alderheart’s chest ached with sympathy for Dovewing. She was gazing at Ivypool with such longing he wondered how Ivypool could hesitate. But the ThunderClan queen returned her sister’s gaze blankly, her eyes round with indecision.

Flipkit padded into the clearing and stopped beside Bristlekit. He glanced shyly at Dovewing. “Ivypool says you have kits too. Do they look like us?”

“Shadowkit does, a little.” Emotion thickened Dovewing’s mew. “Lightkit and Pouncekit look more like their father.”

Graystripe padded toward Dovewing. Sympathy filled his warm amber gaze. “They must be very handsome,” he meowed softly.

“They are.” Dovewing blinked at him gratefully, then looked back to Ivypool, her tail drooping. “Won’t you come and greet me? I thought you’d understand. I made the best choice I could.”

Ivypool’s eyes glittered with pity. The two sisters stared at each other a moment, before Ivypool dipped her head and hurried to Dovewing, pressing her muzzle against her cheek. “Of course I understand,” she murmured. “It’s just so strange to think that you live with another Clan now, and our kits will grow up without ever knowing one another.” She pulled away. “How are your kits?”

“They’re well,” Dovewing purred. “I wish you could come and see them.”

Scorchfur flicked his tail. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon. Tigerstar doesn’t welcome visitors from other Clans.”

Alderheart shifted uneasily. That explained the frosty reception Twigbranch had reported when she and Finleap had returned from ShadowClan.

Scorchfur was glaring at Bramblestar. “Where is Puddleshine?”

Alderheart’s belly tightened. He stepped forward. “He’s too sick to travel.”

Scorchfur bristled. “Haven’t you treated his wounds?”

“Of course he has.” Bramblestar gazed evenly at the ShadowClan warrior. “But Puddleshine’s injuries are healing more slowly than expected.”

“I’ve dressed them with marigold and horsetail, but infection has taken hold,” Alderheart fought back anxiety as he tried to explain. “I don’t know how. I’m trying to clear it, but I haven’t found the right herb yet.”

Tawnypelt’s gaze sharpened. “You have three medicine cats!” she snapped. “Surely one of you is skillful enough to cure a silverthorn scratch?” She didn’t wait for an answer but marched toward the medicine den. Bramblestar hurried after her as she pushed past Alderheart and into the den. Scorchfur sat down in the clearing, his gaze mistrustful. Dovewing was admiring Ivypool’s kits, her whiskers twitching fondly as they slid beneath her belly, purring while their mother watched happily.

Alderheart squared his shoulders and followed Tawnypelt and Bramblestar into the den.

Tawnypelt was already sniffing Puddleshine while Jayfeather busied himself soaking nettles in the shallow pool at the back of the den. “He smells terrible. Haven’t you been taking care of him?”

Puddleshine looked at her through fever-hazed eyes. “Alderheart has done everything I would have done,” he meowed.

“The smell is something to do with the wounds.” Alderheart hurried to Puddleshine’s nest. “It’s not an infection I’ve seen before.”

“An infection is an infection,” Tawnypelt snapped.

Puddleshine shifted with a grimace. “Alderheart’s doing his best.”

Jayfeather looked up from his work. “Not everything is curable with a poultice and a prayer to StarClan,” he told Tawnypelt. “And getting angry isn’t going to help. Puddleshine clearly can’t walk home, and besides, there’s no one there to treat his wounds.”

“Alderheart can go with him,” Tawnypelt meowed.

“I’m not taking Alderheart away from his Clan,” Puddleshine meowed firmly. “I’ll stay here another few days until Alderheart has managed to treat the infection, and then I’ll return.”

“Who’s going to look after ShadowClan in the meantime?” Tawnypelt demanded.

“Is some cat sick?” Puddleshine asked, anxiety sparking in his gaze.

“No,” Tawnypelt admitted.

Bramblestar steered the ShadowClan warrior gently away from Puddleshine’s nest. “Let him rest,” he meowed softly, laying his tail across her back comfortingly. Tawnypelt relaxed a little beneath his touch, and for a moment, Alderheart thought how strange it was that he sometimes forgot his father had a sister in ShadowClan. “We’ll escort him home as soon as he’s well enough. We know he is needed back in your camp, but in the meantime, if there are illnesses or injuries in ShadowClan, send for us and I will gladly spare Alderheart or Leafpool to help.”

Tawnypelt frowned and then nodded curtly. “Okay.” Her gaze softened as she looked back at Puddleshine. “Get well,” she told him. “We miss you.”

Puddleshine blinked at her gratefully and she headed out of the den.

Jayfeather left the nettles soaking in the pool as Tawnypelt and Bramblestar disappeared. He padded to Puddleshine’s nest. “This is an infection I’ve never seen before,” he mewed thoughtfully. “And that smell!” He wrinkled his nose.

Alderheart could smell it too. It had grown worse day by day and now carried the putrid scent of decay. Fear wormed beneath his fur. “It must be the pus,” he mewed anxiously.

Jayfeather sniffed Puddleshine. “It’s all of him,” he mewed. “As if the infection has spread right into his fur. It’s even on his breath.”

“We need to find an herb that will fight the infection from the inside,” Alderheart speculated.

Jayfeather narrowed his eyes. “Have you tried marigold and goldenrod?”

“In poultices,” Alderheart told him.

“He could swallow some,” Jayfeather suggested.

“Won’t they make him sick?” Alderheart frowned.

“What about horsetail?” Puddleshine looked toward the crack where the herbs were stored. “That’s good for infections.”

“But we only use it in ointments,” Alderheart reminded him.

Puddleshine’s ear twitched. “Jayfeather could be right. I might have to swallow the herbs to make them work. Putting them directly on the wound isn’t helping.”

“Okay.” Jayfeather headed toward the store. “Let’s start with marigold. I’m certain that won’t make you sick.”

“Puddleshine mentioned an herb I wasn’t familiar with that could dry up the wounds. It’s called wood sorrel. He told me what it smells like. I could go out and find some,” Alderheart offered.

“Do it now while I try this.” Jayfeather reached into the crack and pulled out a bundle of dried marigold.

Alderheart blinked at Puddleshine. “Don’t worry,” he told him. “We’re going to find out what’s wrong and how to cure it.”

Puddleshine purred weakly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Alderheart turned to the den entrance. He’d bring back wood sorrel, but he had a second plan in mind. He wanted to return to the silverthorn where Puddleshine had been injured. He might find a clue there about what had made the ShadowClan medicine cat so ill. Had something strange gotten into Puddleshine’s wound? If he could study what had infected Puddleshine, it might help him work out how to cure him.

Quickly, he crossed the clearing. Dovewing had left with her Clanmates. He could smell the ShadowClan patrol’s scent still strong at the camp entrance. Ivypool’s kits were chatting excitedly.

“We have ShadowClan kin!” Bristlekit sounded proud.

“Can we go and live in ShadowClan one day too?” Flipkit asked his mother.

“Hush!” Ivypool’s pelt bristled with alarm. She glanced around nervously. “You must never say that again. A warrior is loyal to the Clan they were born in.”

“But Dovewing wasn’t loyal,” Bristlekit mewed.

Alderheart ducked out of camp, his heart aching with pity for Ivypool. How could she defend her sister while teaching her kits that, without loyalty, the warrior code was hollow? He followed the route the ShadowClan cats had taken to the border, but peeled away from it as he reached a dip in the forest floor. He crossed it and headed deeper into the oak forest, following a long swath of nettles that flourished where the canopy opened in a slit overhead. This trail would take him straight to the silverthorn. He could investigate it thoroughly, and find the wood sorrel on his way back to camp.

Sunshine glittered through the leaves overhead. Fresh scents filled the air. Alderheart wondered if Leafpool had gathered many herbs. It would be good to have fresh leaves to work with again. He crossed the clearing the apprentices trained on. The sticks that had littered it had been cleared neatly to one side. As he pushed through the bracken on the far side, he tasted ShadowClan scents drifting from the border. The markers were fresh. He leaped the twining roots of an oak and ran up the short slope that led to the scent line. The silverthorn glinted in the shafts of sunlight piercing the canopy. Alderheart pulled up a few tail-lengths away and sniffed the air. There were no strange scents here, nothing that would explain Puddleshine’s infection. He could smell rabbit. One must have a burrow nearby. Sniffing the earth, he padded closer to the silverthorn, his gaze flicking ahead of him, scanning for clues. A deathberry bush sprouted beneath a rowan a few trees away. The berries that had survived leaf-bare clustered on the tips of the branches. Alderheart frowned. Could the juice of a deathberry be the cause of Puddleshine’s infection? He scanned the earth where the medicine cat had been trapped. There was no sign of berries there. He reached gingerly through the silver vine and rubbed the ground with his paw, then sniffed it. He could smell nothing but forest scents and a faint trace of Puddleshine’s blood.

Paw steps thrummed behind him. Undergrowth swished. He turned as the scents of Sparkpelt, Berrynose, and Ambermoon washed over him. The three ThunderClan warriors slewed to a halt on the path ahead. They’d left camp this morning to hunt. Berrynose was carrying two dead shrews by the tail while Ambermoon held a squirrel between her jaws.

“Hey, Alderheart!” Sparkpelt greeted him with a purr. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for clues about what’s making Puddleshine so sick,” Alderheart told her.

Ambermoon dropped the squirrel. “Is he worse?”

“Yes.” Alderheart glanced toward the silverthorn. “I wondered if he picked up an infection here that is making it hard for his wounds to heal.”

Sparkpelt flicked her tail angrily at the silverthorn. “Who knows what Twolegs use to make that stuff? I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s poisonous.”

Berrynose laid the shrews on the ground. “We wondered whether to try to use sticks to cover it up. But I think it’s better to leave it in plain sight so cats can see to avoid it.”

“It’s too big for us to move.” Ambermoon blinked at the silverthorn. “Besides, where would we move it to? It’ll be dangerous wherever we leave it.”

Alderheart sniffed the vine once more. “If it is Twoleg poison making Puddleshine sick, herbs might not be enough to cure him.” Worry jabbed in his belly.

“You’ll find a way,” Sparkpelt mewed encouragingly.

“I hope so.” As he spoke, movement caught Alderheart’s eye. A rabbit hopped clumsily from beneath a bramble a few tail-lengths away. Hadn’t it scented the cats?

Sparkpelt had already seen the prey. She’d dropped into a hunting crouch, and her gaze was fixed on the rabbit as it stumbled into the open.

“It’s injured,” Alderheart whispered. He could see dried blood on its swollen hind leg.

“So it’ll be easier to catch.” Sparkpelt’s tail quivered with excitement as Berrynose and Ambermoon stood as still as rocks behind her.

“Wait!” Alderheart detected a familiar scent wafting from the rabbit—the same sweet scent of decay that clung to Puddleshine. “It’s not just wounded; it’s infected.”

Sparkpelt looked at him questioningly. “Are you sure?”

“Can’t you smell it?”

Ambermoon’s nose was twitching. “He’s right. It smells sour. Let’s leave it. We don’t want to poison the Clan.”

Sparkpelt straightened, disappointment in her eyes. “I guess we’ll have to try elsewhere.”

Berrynose nodded toward the rabbit as it lolloped heavily toward the deathberry bush, eyes dull with pain. “Look, it’s so sick, it can’t even tell we’re here.”

“Come on.” Sparkpelt jerked her head toward the slope. “Let’s head for the beeches. There will be healthy rabbits there.” Berrynose picked up the shrews again and Ambermoon grabbed the squirrel. “Will you be okay?” Sparkpelt asked Alderheart.

“Sure,” he told her. “I’m about to head back to camp. There are herbs I want to pick on the way.”

Sparkpelt dipped her head politely before heading away. Berrynose and Ambermoon followed, nodding as they passed.

Alderheart glanced back at the rabbit. Why was it snuffling around the deathberry bush? Alarm sparked through him as the rabbit paused and reached up with its teeth to pluck a deathberry from the tip of a branch. What’s it doing? Alderheart watched in horror as the rabbit dropped the berry at its paws and began to nibble delicately at the flesh. Doesn’t it know that it’s poisonous? He thought all woodland creatures knew to stay away from deathberries. Their bitter tang betrayed the poison they carried. Perhaps it knows it’s dying and wants to end its suffering. It must be in a lot of pain to choose death. For the first time, Alderheart felt a twinge of sympathy for prey. Perhaps he should kill it himself. It would die quickly. But Alderheart didn’t trust his skills. He’d begun training as a warrior before he’d become a medicine-cat apprentice, but he’d never been very good. He could hunt if he had to, but he couldn’t be sure his killing bite would be as quick or as painless as it should be. And the thought of biting into infected prey made him hesitate.

He turned away. If the rabbit wanted to die, he’d leave it in peace. Besides, he’d promised Puddleshine he’d fetch the wood sorrel as quickly as he could.

Heading away from the silverthorn, he tried not to think of the rabbit’s suffering. Whatever poison the silverthorn carried, it was clearly deadly. He quickened his step. The sooner he treated Puddleshine the better. He just hoped that the wood sorrel would be enough to cure the stricken medicine cat.