Warriors AU: Rising Storm

Prologue

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I know I usually post the prologue and the allegiances on the same day but I got extremely sick the night I posted the allegiance. I'm finally better so I can finally start this story! Thanks for the patience!

An agonized groan echoed across the moon-bleached floor of a forest clearing. Two cats crouched in the shadows under one of the bushes at the edge. One of them writhed in pain, lashing her long tail. The other cat raised herself to her paws and bowed her head. She had been a medicine cat for many long moons, and yet she could only watch helplessly as the leader of her Clan was overpowered by the sickness that had already claimed so many lives. She knew of no herb that would ease the cramps and fever this sickness brought, and her patchy gray fur bristled with frustration as the leader convulsed again and then felt exhausted into the moss-lined nest. Fearfully, the medicine cat leaned forward and sniffed. There was still breath in the leader's body, but it was foul and shallow, and the she-cat's thin flanks heaved with every gasp.

A screech ripped through the woods. Not a cat this time, but an owl. The medicine cat stiffened. Owls brought death to the forest, stealing prey and even kits that had strayed too far from their mothers. The medicine cat raised beseeching eyes to the sky, praying to the spirits of her warrior ancestors that the owl's call was not an ill omen. She stared through the branches that formed the roof of the den, searching the dark sky for Silverpelt. But the swath of stars where Starclan lived was hidden by clouds, and the medicine cat shivered with fear. Had their warrior ancestors abandoned them to the sickness that ravaged the camp?

Then the wind stirred the trees, rattling the brittle leaves. High above, the clouds shifted and a single star sent a frail beam of light through the roof of the den. In the shadows, the leader drew in a long, steady breath. Hope leaped like a fish in the medicine cat's heart. Starclan was with them after all.

Weak with relief, the medicine cat lifted her chin, giving silent thanks to her warrior ancestors for sparing the life of her leader. As she narrowed her eyes against the shaft of starlight, she heard spirit-voices murmuring deep inside her head. They whispered of glorious battles to come, of new territories, and of a greater Clan rising from the ashes of the old. The medicine cat felt joy surge in her chest and pulsate through her paws. This star carried much more than a message of survival.

Suddenly, without warning, a wide gray wing swept across the ray of starlight, plunging the den into darkness. The medicine cat shrank back and pressed her belly to the floor as the owl screeched down and raked the roof of the den with its talons. It must have smelled the sickness that weakened the leader, and swooped in search of easy prey. But the branches were too thick for the owl to break through.

The medicine cat listened to the slow beating of wings as the owl flew away into the forest, then sat up, heart hammering, and searched the night sky once more. Like the owl, the star was gone. In its place was only blackness. Dread crawled beneath the medicine cat's pelt and clutched at her heart.

"Did you hear that?" a she-cat called through the entrance of the den, her voice high-pitched with alarm. The medicine cat squeezed quickly out into the clearing, knowing the Clan would be waiting for an interpretation of the omen. Warriors, queens and kings, and elders—those well enough to move from their nests—huddled in the shadows on the far side of the clearing. The medicine cat paused for a moment, listening to the Clan murmuring anxiously to one another.

"What's an owl doing here?" hissed a mottled warrior, her eyes glinting in the darkness.

"They never come so close to the camp," wailed an elder.

"Did it take any kits?" demanded another warrior, turning her broad head to the cat beside her.

"Not this time," replied the silver king. He had lost three of his kits to the sickness, and his voice was dull with pain. "But it might come back. It must smell our weakness."

"You'd think the stench of death would keep it away." A tabby warrior limped into the clearing. Her paws were clotted with mud and her fur ruffled. She had been burying a Clanmate. There were more graves to be dug, but she was too weak to go on that night. "How's our leader?" she asked, her voice tight with fear.

"We don't know," replied the mottled she-cat.

"Where's the medicine cat?" whined the king.

The cats peered around the clearing and the medicine cat saw their frightened eyes gleaming in the dark. She could hear the rising panic in their voices and knew they needed to be soothed, assured that Starclan had not abandoned them completely. Taking a deep breath, the cat forced the fur to lie flat on her shoulders and padded across the clearing.

"We don't need a medicine cat to tell us the owl's screech spoke of death," whimpered an elder, her eyes brimming with fear.

"How do you know?" spat the mottled warrior.

"Yes," agreed the king, glancing at th4 elder. "Starclan doesn't speak to you!" He turned as the medicine cat reached them. "Was the owl an omen?" he mewed anxiously.

Shifting her paws uncomfortably, the medicine cat avoided a direct reply. "Starclan has spoken to me tonight," she announced. "Did you see the star shine between the clouds?"

The king nodded, and around him 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.

"She can't die now!" cried the king. "What about her 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 king 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 her 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 king.

"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 her head away to hide her trembling whiskers. She prayed that the Clan would not ask again about the owl. She 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.