The Raging Storm

CHAPTER 4

Alderheart dreamed that he was padding through unfamiliar woods. His paws caught on sticks that littered the ground. Cracks scarred the uneven earth and he had to weave around them. Trees crowded close, their branches twisted, their bark gnarled. Hazy light filtered between them and the air felt too thick to breathe. Alderheart’s pelt prickled uneasily and he glanced over his shoulder, sensing danger behind him. He quickened his pace.

Behind him, a faint growl lifted to a roar like wind rushing toward him. His heart lurched as he broke into a run. Shadow pursued him, swallowing the light until darkness pressed at his heels. Fear surged in his chest as he smelled a deadly scent. Smoke! Acrid clouds blasted over him, and he felt heat on his tail. Looking over his shoulder, he saw fire pierce the smoke. It was chasing him down like a fox driving prey. Alderheart dashed between trees, leaping fissures and branches. Terror scorched beneath his pelt as the roar of the flames drowned out the pounding of blood in his ears.

He saw rocks ahead. A steep cliff rose from the forest floor, its rough face lined by ledges and cracks. He could climb it. Hope sparking in his chest, he leaped for the lowest ledge and scrambled upward, blindly reaching for paw hold after paw hold until he felt fresh air around him. He heaved himself onto the top of the cliff. Flames tore through the trees below. Smoke swirled and billowed as the fire howled past. Safe on the rocks, Alderheart watched for the smoke to clear. The forest would be charred. Nothing could have survived such a fire.

A breeze caught the thinning smoke and stirred it into thin mist. As it dissolved, Alderheart blinked in surprise. Where blackened stumps should have been, he saw a vibrant meadow. Lush green grass trembled with life, brilliant in the sunshine. The tang of its freshness bathed Alderheart, so strong that it woke him. He blinked open his eyes, the dream still fresh, and stared from his nest into the shadows of the medicine den.

Dawn light was filtering through the entrance and reaching down through the gap where fresh water dripped into the pool. Leafpool’s nest was empty. So was Jayfeather’s. Alderheart lifted his head. Anxiety jabbed his belly. Something was wrong.

“Jayfeather?” As he called through the half-light, he saw the blind medicine cat crouching beside Puddleshine’s nest. Leafpool was beside him, bent over the ShadowClan medicine cat. Panic sparked through his pelt as he scrambled from his nest. “Is he okay?”

Jayfeather turned his blind blue gaze on him. “He’s having a seizure.”

Leafpool was pressing Puddleshine into his nest while the tom thrashed violently beneath her paws.

“Hold his hind legs still,” Jayfeather ordered.

Alderheart thrust his paws into Puddleshine’s nest. The tom’s legs flailed stiffly. He struggled to hold them still as Jayfeather grasped the unconscious tom’s jerking head between his forepaws. Leafpool pressed down on the tom’s shoulders as he convulsed.

Please, StarClan! Don’t let him die! Alderheart had brought wood sorrel back to camp the day before. He’d chewed it into poultices and applied it carefully it to every wound. He’d nursed the semiconscious medicine cat through the long afternoon and had gone to his nest hoping that the sorrel would fight the infection. Clearly it had done nothing to help.

Slowly Puddleshine’s seizure weakened. His legs fell limp beneath Alderheart’s paws. “Is he alive?” Alderheart looked at Jayfeather, his throat tight.

“He’s still breathing.” Jayfeather laid Puddleshine’s head gently on the side of his nest.

Leafpool sat back on her haunches. “We should tell Tigerstar.”

“No!” Alderheart stiffened. “We can still cure him.” They were acting like there was no hope.

“Tigerstar should be warned,” Jayfeather murmured.

“Not yet.” Alderheart headed for the entrance. “We’re going to save Puddleshine. Give him feverfew to cool him down and thyme to calm his seizures. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Where are you going?” Leafpool blinked at him.

“Out.” Alderheart left the den and hurried across the clearing. The answer to Puddleshine’s illness must lie with the silverthorn. Alderheart would have to go back to it.

The camp was blue in the dawn light. Squirrelflight was stretching beneath the Highledge. Alderheart guessed she was getting ready to organize the day’s patrols. Graystripe was washing outside the elders’ den. Molewhisker was poking through the remains of the fresh-kill pile, while Cherryfall yawned sleepily in the clearing.

Alderheart nodded to them but didn’t speak. He walked with purpose, and no cat asked where he was going. He padded through the entrance and headed into the woods. Instinct carried him, as though StarClan were guiding his paws. He remembered his dream. The shock of Puddleshine’s seizure had driven it from his thoughts, but now it returned. He could smell the smoke from the fire and see the lushness of the meadow that had blossomed after it had passed. Was it a sign from StarClan? Were they trying to show him the answer?

He shook out his pelt. Don’t be dumb. What did a forest fire have to do with Puddleshine’s illness? It was just a dream. Not every dream held a message.

He followed the trail across the apprentices’ training ground and through the forest to the slope that led to the silverthorn. The sun had lifted above the horizon by the time he arrived, and its light was slicing between the trees.

Alderheart stopped beside the silverthorn. He padded in circles, tasting the air and sniffing the ground. If the silverthorn carried Twoleg poison, how would smelling it help? Frustrated, he lashed his tail. He had to think of something!

As he paced, he saw the deathberry bush shiver. A rabbit hopped from beneath it. Alderheart blinked in surprise. It was the wounded rabbit he’d seen yesterday. It was still limping, but its eyes had brightened. The stench of its infection had lost its bitter tang. It hopped into the sunlight and, lifting its ears in alarm, looked at Alderheart. Panic lit its eyes and it turned and fled.

Alderheart stared after it. Yesterday it could barely hop. Hope flared in his chest. If the rabbit had begun to recover from its infected wound, then so could Puddleshine. Alderheart remembered with a jolt that the rabbit had nibbled deathberries. It should be dead! He padded to the bush, careful not to tread on any fallen berries. He didn’t want poison on his paws. Peering beneath the low branches, he saw that the rabbit had left a makeshift nest in the dried leaves underneath. Leaning in, he examined it. Deathberry seeds were piled in a small heap beneath the bush.

Ducking out, Alderheart’s thoughts quickened. Had the deathberries cured the rabbit? Perhaps eating the flesh and leaving the seeds had given it just enough poison to kill the infection without killing the rabbit. Could it be true?

His dream flashed in his mind once more. The fire hadn’t killed the forest; a meadow had blossomed in its path. It was a sign! Alderheart stiffened with excitement. If I feed deathberries to Puddleshine, they won’t kill him. They’ll save him!

Quickly, Alderheart searched for a dock plant. He found one sprouting at the foot of an oak. Tearing off the largest leaf, he carried it back to the deathberry bush. He plucked berries gingerly with his claws and dropped them onto the leaf. Then he rolled up the leaf, folding the edges in so that the deathberries were safely wrapped. Carrying the bundle gently between his jaws, he headed back to camp. How was he going to persuade Jayfeather and Leafpool that such a desperate cure would work? His heart pounded. He would have to. These deadly berries could be Puddleshine’s only hope.