Bramblestar's Storm

by Erin Hunter

  Bramblestar watched as the remaining dens were marked out and the bedding organized. The pieces of the Twoleg pelt had almost dried out on the bush where Daisy had spread them, and the nests suddenly began to look comfortable.

  Squirrelflight padded up to his side and the two watched their Clanmates working for a few heartbeats. “You know,” she mewed, “I’m starting to believe that we will get through this.”

  Bramblestar nodded. “I’m sure we will. It takes more than a storm to destroy ThunderClan.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Bramblestar padded through his territory, weaving a path among the trees. The line of floodwater glinted silver a couple of tail-lengths away. Above his head the full moon shone down, so bright that the night was almost as clear as day. Walking to the water’s edge, Bramblestar looked out across the lake. At first the surface rippled with a pure, pale light. Then a scarlet stain began to spread, stretching its tendrils toward the shore. Bramblestar’s belly cramped with horror as he caught the tang of blood and saw thick red coils floating to the surface and swirling through the depths.

  No! A cat must be injured. . . . I have to get them out of the water before they drown!

  Bramblestar jumped into the lake. Silver droplets splashed around him, but before he could dive below the surface, he felt the teeth of another cat sink into his scruff. He let out a yowl and flailed his paws, but he couldn’t break the grip. The unseen cat dragged him back to the shore before it let go.

  Bramblestar whirled around and froze, his mouth falling open as he recognized the tom with the flame-colored pelt who stood in front of him.

  “Firestar!” he gasped. “There’s a cat in trouble,” he blurted out. “Look, it’s bleeding into the water! I have to find it!”

  Firestar’s green eyes glowed in the moonlight. “It’s okay,” he reassured Bramblestar. “Your Clanmates are safe. There are no cats in the lake.”

  Bramblestar took a long breath. “Then am I . . . am I dreaming? Oh, Firestar, it’s so great to see you!”

  Firestar dipped his head. “It’s good to be back in my old territory.”

  “I’ve tried to look after your Clan,” Bramblestar meowed, struggling with a mixture of joy and guilt that made his voice shake. “But I—I lost Seedpaw. I’m so sorry! If only I’d kept a closer watch on the apprentices.”

  “Seedpaw is safe in StarClan,” Firestar told him. “And you need to learn that you cannot guard every one of your Clanmates all the time. As their leader, they’ll look to you to make the big decisions, and to keep them safe from outside enemies, but they have to make their own choices as well. I promise you, you’re doing a good job.”

  Bramblestar began to feel soothed by his former leader’s confidence in him. “But what about the visitors? The kittypets?” he asked. “Would you have brought them into the Clan? And would you—?” The words began to spill out of him; he wanted to ask about every single thing he had done since Firestar died.

  Firestar raised a paw to silence him. “You know the answers already,” he mewed gently. “They are in your heart.” As Bramblestar blinked at him, he went on, “This is not my Clan anymore. You are ThunderClan’s leader now. Trust the cats who gave you your nine lives. They all knew you would do well—including me,” he added with a glint in his eyes.

  “Thank you, Firestar.” Bramblestar bowed his head. When he raised it again, he was startled to realize that the ginger cat was beginning to fade, and Bramblestar could see the stones on the shore through his starlit pelt.

  “I have come to tell you something very important,” Firestar meowed. “When water meets blood, blood will rise.”

  Bramblestar stared at him. “What does that mean?”

  “Look at the floodwater,” Firestar urged. “See how the blood cannot be drowned?”

  Bramblestar turned his head to gaze at the lake again. The strange upswelling of blood still shone scarlet among the waves.

  Firestar spoke from behind him. “I can’t tell you any more than this. Just remember . . .”

  His voice died away. When Bramblestar turned back, he was gone, and the forest was dark and silent. The moonlight too was blotted out, and Bramblestar was alone in the dark.

  Somewhere nearby, a cat sneezed. Bramblestar knew that he was back in the tunnel, surrounded by the warm scents of his sleeping Clanmates. The strangeness of his dream still wreathed around him, and Firestar’s mysterious words echoed in his head.

  When water meets blood, blood will rise. . . .

  What kind of prophecy was that? It can’t mean that no cats will drown, because Seedpaw has already died. So what does it mean?

  After a long time wrestling with different meanings, and discarding them all, Bramblestar gave up and curled deeper into his nest. He slipped back into sleep to the sound of Graystripe’s muffled snores.

  The voices and movement of cats around him woke Bramblestar. He lifted his head to see pale light spilling into the tunnel as his Clanmates headed out to start the new day. Yawning, he scrambled to his paws and followed them. For once it wasn’t raining, though the sky was still gray and there was a damp, chilly breeze.

  Squirrelflight was already outside, choosing cats for the dawn patrols. “Greetings, sleepyhead,” she mewed, dipping her head to Bramblestar.

  With a jolt Bramblestar remembered his dream. “I have to talk to you,” he told her. “Leafpool and Jayfeather, too. This is important.”

  His deputy gave him a worried look but didn’t ask any questions, just called Lionblaze and asked him to take over sorting out the patrols. Meanwhile Bramblestar headed back into the tunnel to find the two medicine cats.

  When all four cats were gathered it took a while to find a spot where they could talk without the rest of the Clan overhearing them. Not for the first time, Bramblestar missed the privacy of his old den on the Highledge. Finally they found a hollowed-out spot among the roots of a nearby oak tree.

  “Firestar came to me in a dream last night,” Bramblestar told his Clanmates once they were settled around him. “He told me, ‘When water meets blood, blood will rise.’ But I have no idea what that means.”

  Leafpool’s gaze lit up. “Firestar is watching over us!” she exclaimed.

  Jayfeather looked less impressed. “He might have been a bit clearer,” he grumbled.

  “And told us what we need to do,” Squirrelflight agreed, looking frustrated.

  “Jayfeather,” Leafpool began, “you know as well as any cat that omens and prophecies are often difficult to understand at first.”

  Just like the troublesome stick, Bramblestar thought, guessing that the tabby she-cat had deliberately not mentioned it. If only we’d understood that a bit sooner.

  “Often prophecies are only clear after they’ve come true,” Leafpool continued.

  “Then what’s the point of having them?” Bramblestar asked, exchanging a glance with Squirrelflight.

  “Keep the prophecy in mind as you listen to your instincts,” Leafpool advised him. “Then the meaning should appear.”

  Bramblestar still wasn’t sure that he understood, but he realized this was the best advice he was going to get. “Tell me right away if StarClan speaks to either of you,” he ordered the two medicine cats. “And if you have any more ideas about this prophecy.”

  “Of course,” Jayfeather responded. “Come on, Leafpool. We have herbs to sort.”

  As the medicine cats padded away, Squirrelflight turned to Bramblestar. “Thanks for sharing the prophecy with me,” she meowed. “I promise to keep watch for what it might mean.”

  Her support warmed Bramblestar as he led the way back to the other cats, but before he could tell Squirrelflight this, Jessy emerged from the tunnel and came bouncing up to him. The other two kittypets followed more slowly.

  “Hi, Bramblestar,” Jessy chirped. “I had a great time yesterday. What are we doing today?”

  Bramblestar was slightly taken aback by the brown she-cat’s enthusiasm. “If you really want to help the Clan,
” he meowed, “you need to learn how to hunt. Frankie and Minty, too.”

  Frankie, who came up in time to hear what Bramblestar said, looked interested, but Minty blinked doubtfully and took a step back.

  “Minty, you have to learn,” Frankie told her, touching her shoulder with his tail-tip. “You can’t stay here and expect these cats to feed you.”

  “But as soon as the water goes away, we’ll be able to go home,” Minty objected. “My housefolk will be so worried about me. Perhaps we’re too far away from them up here,” she fretted. “Maybe we should move closer to our homes, so when our housefolk come back they can find us quickly.”

  Millie, who was standing nearby with Graystripe, turned to the kittypet with a compassionate look in her eyes. “I don’t think the floods will go away for another quarter moon,” she mewed gently. “You’re safe here, safer than you would be in any other Clan’s territory, and you’ll be able to see when the water starts to go down. Then you can go home—but not before, not when it isn’t safe.”

  Minty’s eyes clouded with sadness. “We might be stuck here for ages,” she wailed. “My poor housefolk!”

  “I know it’s not ideal,” Frankie comforted her. “I want to go back and look for Benny. But we have to keep away from more risks. Surely that’s what our housefolk want most of all: for us to survive?”

  Minty sighed, but she didn’t argue any more.

  Bramblestar felt a pang of sympathy for the kittypets. It had been a shock for them to lose their homes, and even Minty was trying to be brave and sensible. “I’ll take you hunting myself,” he meowed. “Dovewing, will you come too?”

  Dovewing, who had been waiting to join a patrol, spun around at the sound of her leader’s voice. “Me? But Ivypool is much better at hunting than me.” She sighed. “In fact, every cat is better than me now. . . .”

  Bramblestar knew that she was still regretting the loss of her special powers, which had helped her to pinpoint prey more accurately than any cat in the Clan. “And that’s what makes you the best cat to train these kittypets,” he told her briskly. “You know what it’s like to learn from the very beginning, when you’re feeling blind and deaf and lost in the trees.”

  “Oh!” Dovewing was obviously surprised by this idea. “Okay, I’d be glad to help,” she agreed.

  By this time the early patrols were ready to set out. Lionblaze was taking his cats to the WindClan border, to check the crossing place and to make sure there were no new WindClan scents. Squirrelflight was leading cats along the ShadowClan border, while Brightheart and Birchfall were both heading up hunting patrols in the woods beyond the territory.

  “We’re all being asked to travel much farther than we’re used to,” Squirrelflight murmured as the patrols set out.

  Bramblestar nodded, his gaze traveling across his thin, weary Clanmates. “We have no choice,” he reminded his deputy, feeling bad for them but knowing that they would all do what they had to, to protect the Clan and survive.

  He took Dovewing and the kittypets into the trees in the direction of the ShadowClan border, treading in Squirrelflight’s paw steps but letting her patrol draw ahead. Once they were well away from the tunnel among dense undergrowth, he halted.

  “First you have to learn the hunter’s crouch,” he began. “That’s essential for every ThunderClan cat—or any cat who happens to be living in ThunderClan for a time,” he added as Minty opened her jaws to object. “Dovewing, show them how.”

  Dovewing crouched down with her paws drawn up under her and her hind legs braced for a pounce.

  “See how she’s ready to leap?” Bramblestar meowed. “She’s putting all her strength into her hind legs—like this.” He pressed himself to the ground, copying Dovewing’s crouch. “Dovewing, show them the pounce.”

  Dovewing sprang forward, her forepaws extended and her claws ready to grip her quarry.

  “Great,” Bramblestar commented. “See how her forepaws flashed out? Her prey wouldn’t have a chance.”

  “Now you try,” Dovewing suggested.

  Bramblestar stayed in the crouching position so that the kittypets could copy him. All three looked nervous, but they wriggled into position and tucked in their paws neatly.

  “Very good,” Dovewing mewed, pacing around them and checking their position. “Frankie, pull your hind paws a bit farther in. That’s right.”

  “Excellent.” Bramblestar rose and arched his back in a stretch, loosening up after the crouch. “Now let’s try pouncing.” He peeled a bunch of moss off a nearby tree root and padded forward until he emerged in a small clearing. “Suppose this moss is a mouse,” he continued, dropping the bundle in the middle. “I want you to stalk it, crouch, and then pounce.”

  “Is this what you do with your apprentices?” Jessy asked.

  “Yes,” Bramblestar replied.

  Jessy let out a snort that was half-amused, though her tail-tip flicked frustratedly. “But we’re not apprentices!” she pointed out. “We’ve all hunted before, whatever you think of our skills. Why don’t you let us show you what we can do?”

  “I don’t think—” Bramblestar began, his neck fur beginning to rise defensively.

  “That’s a great idea,” Dovewing interrupted. “That way, we’ll see what we need to teach you.”

  Bramblestar nodded, appreciating the sense in what his Clanmate said. “Okay. Frankie, you go first. Can you scent any prey?”

  The tabby tom cast him a nervous glance, then stood with his ears pricked and his jaws parted to taste the air. Bramblestar was slightly surprised that he knew what to do.

  After a moment Frankie turned to him. “I think there’s a squirrel under there,” he mewed, angling his ears toward a holly bush at the edge of the clearing.

  “I think so, too,” Bramblestar replied; he had picked up the scent several heartbeats before Frankie. “See if you can catch it.”

  Forgetting all about stalking, Frankie tore across the clearing with a yowl, startling the squirrel, which shot out from beneath the holly bush and raced around a bramble thicket with its tail streaming out behind it. Frankie hurtled after it, crashing through the brambles, only to halt in frustration as the squirrel swarmed up the trunk of a nearby beech tree and vanished among the branches.

  His head and tail drooping, Frankie trudged back to the other cats. “I’m sorry, I messed up,” he muttered. He looked thoroughly depressed, and he had lost several tufts of fur in his mad dash through the brambles.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” Dovewing meowed bracingly. “Okay, you didn’t catch it, but you picked up its scent quickly, and you kept after it, even with brambles in the way. You just need to work on being quieter.”

  Frankie perked up. “I’ll remember that,” he promised.

  Dovewing gave him a nod and turned to Minty. “You try now.”

  Minty looked even more nervous than Frankie, but she stood still with her ears pricked just as he had done, though she forgot to taste the air for scent. She kept jumping at the sound of creaking branches or rustling leaves, as if she thought a fox or a badger might be sneaking up on her. At last she glanced at Bramblestar and whispered, “I think I’ve found something.”

  Bramblestar was confused. He couldn’t scent any nearby prey at all. Don’t tell me that kittypet is better at this than me! “Okay, go ahead,” he mewed.

  Minty started to stalk forward, setting her paws down lightly. At least she’s learned something from what Frankie did, Bramblestar thought, still wondering what she thought she was going to catch.

  Then Minty dropped into an untidy hunter’s crouch, and jumped forward with her forepaws stretching out. “Got it!” she yowled as she landed, sinking her claws into something brown, almost hidden by an arching fern. “Oh . . .” she added a moment later, looking disconcerted.

  Bramblestar padded over to look. He hid an amused purr when he saw that Minty’s prey was actually an old log half-buried in the grass.

  “I thought it was a rat,” she murmured, scrabb
ling her paws in embarrassment.

  “We don’t get many rats in this part of the forest,” Bramblestar told her. “But don’t worry, Minty. That was pretty good. If it had been a rat, you’d have stood a good chance of catching it.”

  Minty looked unconvinced.

  “My turn now,” Jessy announced.

  Instead of standing still, she began slipping quietly through the undergrowth, her paws hardly touching the ground, while she stared up into the trees. Bramblestar and the others followed her at a distance. Eventually Jessy froze, her gaze fixed on a low branch where a thrush was perched.

  Hunting in trees? Bramblestar thought. Not a chance!

  To his surprise, Jessy leaped up the tree trunk, quick as a fox. The thrush spotted her, and with a loud alarm call fluttered away into the next tree. Without hesitating, Jessy ran out along the branch and jumped after the thrush, pinning it to the next branch with one paw. The thrush struggled and nearly got free; Jessy almost overbalanced as she lowered her head and managed to bite it in the throat. She hopped down neatly with the thrush in her jaws and dropped it at Bramblestar’s paws.

  Bramblestar thought he had never seen a cat look so smug. And I told her I bet she’d never caught anything!

  “Wow, that was great!” Dovewing exclaimed.

  “Oh, Jessy’s a brilliant hunter,” Frankie told them. “And she loves to climb. Hey, Jessy, did you tell them about the time your housefolk thought you were stuck on the roof?”

  Jessy tossed her head. “I can’t believe they thought I couldn’t get down!”

  “Yes,” Frankie purred, “but you could have shown them before they climbed onto the roof themselves.”

  Jessy swished her tail and looked innocent.

  “I shouldn’t have dismissed your skills,” Bramblestar admitted to her. “That’s a rare skill, being able to jump between trees. Firestar wanted ThunderClan cats to learn, but it doesn’t come easily to us.”

  “I’ve never felt comfortable being off the ground,” Dovewing agreed. “I don’t have wings, in spite of my name.”

  “Maybe I should give you some lessons,” Jessy suggested. There was a teasing glint in her eye.