Bluestar was completely still. Fireheart knew she was with StarClan, preparing for her remaining life. He had watched Bluestar lose a life before. He felt his fur prickle at the eerie peace that seemed to enfold her body, but there was nothing he could do, so he waited.
Suddenly Bluestar gasped. “Fireheart, is that you?” she meowed in a croaky voice.
“Yes, Bluestar,” Fireheart murmured. “I’m here.”
“I have lost another life.” Bluestar’s voice was weak, but the relief made Fireheart want to reach forward and lick her between the ears, as Goldenflower had done. “When I lose this one, I will not be able to return.”
Fireheart swallowed hard. The thought of the Clan losing its great leader pained him, but the thought of losing his mentor and friend hurt even more. “How do you feel? Shall I fetch Yellowfang?”
Bluestar shook her head slowly. “The fever has gone. I am well enough. I just need to rest.”
“Very well,” meowed Fireheart. Light was beginning to filter through the lichen, and his head swam from his wakeful night.
“You must be tired,” meowed Bluestar. “Go and get some sleep.”
“Yes.” Fireheart heaved himself up. His legs felt stiff from lying so long. “Is there anything you need?”
“No. Just tell Yellowfang what has happened,” answered Bluestar. “Thank you for sitting with me.”
Fireheart tried to purr but it caught in his throat. There would be time for more words later. He pushed his way out through the lichen.
Outside a harsh brightness made him blink. It had snowed in the night. Fireheart stared in amazement. He had never seen snow before—his Twoleg owners had kept him shut inside when he was a very young kit whenever it was cold. But he’d heard the Clan elders talk of it. He nodded to Darkstripe, who had replaced Longtail guarding Bluestar’s den, and stepped into the strange powder. It felt wet and cold, crunching loudly under his paws.
Tigerclaw was standing in the clearing. It was still snowing and the flakes settled on the tabby’s thick fur without melting. Fireheart could hear him giving orders for the nursery wall to be padded with leaves to keep out the cold. “Then I want a hole to be scraped out where we can store prey,” the ThunderClan deputy instructed. “Use snow to line it, and cover it with more snow once it has been filled. We may as well make use of the snow while it’s here.”
Warriors raced around Tigerclaw, following his orders. “Mousefur, Longtail! Organize some hunting parties. We need as much fresh-kill as we can get before the prey takes to their burrows for good!” Tigerclaw spotted Fireheart padding across the clearing. “Fireheart, wait,” he called. “Oh, I suppose you’ll have to rest. I can’t imagine you’ll be any use on a hunting party this morning.”
Fireheart stared at the dark warrior, hostility rising like bile in his throat. “I’m going to see how Cinderpaw is first,” he growled.
Tigerclaw held his gaze for a moment. “How’s Bluestar?”
Mistrust ruffled Fireheart’s fur like a cold breeze. He’d heard Bluestar lie to Tigerclaw once before about how many lives she had left. “I’m no medicine cat,” he answered. “I can’t say.”
Tigerclaw snorted impatiently, then turned away and went back to giving orders. Fireheart walked over to Yellowfang’s den, relieved to escape the frenetic bustle of the camp. His heart began to pound as he wondered what state he would find Cinderpaw in. “Yellowfang,” he called.
“Hush!” Yellowfang sprang from Cinderpaw’s bracken nest. “She’s sleeping at last. She’s had a hard night. I couldn’t give her poppy seeds to ease the pain until she’d recovered from the shock.”
“But she’s going to live?” Fireheart’s legs felt wobbly with relief.
“I can’t be for sure for a few days. She’s hurt inside, and one of her hind legs is badly broken.”
“But it’ll mend, won’t it?” Fireheart pleaded desperately. “She’ll be training again by newleaf?”
Yellowfang shook her head, her yellow eyes sympathetic. “Fireheart, whatever happens, Cinderpaw will never be a warrior now.”
Fireheart’s head spun. He was dizzy with lack of sleep, and this devastating news sapped the last of his energy. Cinderpaw had been entrusted to him for her warrior training. Memories of the naming ceremony pricked like cruel thorns—Cinderpaw’s excitement, Frostfur’s motherly pride…“Does Frostfur know?” he meowed, feeling hollow.
“Yes, she was here till dawn. She’s back in the nursery now; there are other kits to tend to. I’ll ask one of the elders to sit with Cinderpaw. She needs to be kept warm.”
“I can do that.” Fireheart padded over to the nest where Cinderpaw was sleeping and looked inside. She squirmed, and her blood-smeared sides heaved, as though she were fighting a battle as she slept.
Yellowfang gently nudged Fireheart with her nose. “You need to get some sleep,” she rasped. “Leave Cinderpaw to me.”
Fireheart stayed where he was. “Bluestar lost another life,” he burst out. Yellowfang blinked for a moment, then lifted her head to StarClan. She didn’t utter a word, but Fireheart could see the anguish in her orange eyes. “You know, don’t you?” he murmured.
Yellowfang lowered his chin and gazed into his eyes. “That this is Bluestar’s final life? Yes, I know. A medicine cat can tell these things.”
“Will the rest of the Clan be able to tell as well?” Fireheart asked, thinking of Tigerclaw.
Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. “No. She will be no weaker in this life than she was in any of her others.”
Fireheart blinked gratefully at her.
“Now,” Yellowfang ordered, “do you want some poppy seeds to help you sleep?”
Fireheart shook his head. Part of him longed for the deep, easy sleep they would bring. But if Tigerclaw was right and ShadowClan really was about to attack ThunderClan’s borders, he did not want to dull his senses. He might be needed to defend the camp.
Graystripe was back in the warriors’ den. Fireheart did not speak to him; his rage at finding him missing the night before lingered like a dull bruise. He padded silently to his nest, circled once, and settled down to wash.
Graystripe looked up. “You’re back, then.” He sounded edgy, as if he wanted to say more.
Fireheart stopped licking his forepaw and stared at Graystripe.
“You tried to warn Silverstream off,” Graystripe hissed furiously. Willowpelt, who was dozing on the other side of the den, opened one eye, then closed it again.
Graystripe lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, will you?” he spat. “I’m going to keep on seeing her, whatever you do or say.”
Fireheart snorted and flashed a resentful glance at his friend. His talk with Silverstream seemed so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it. But he hadn’t forgotten that Graystripe had been missing when he’d needed help finding Cinderpaw. He laid his head angrily on his muddy forepaws and closed his eyes. Cinderpaw was battling against her injuries and Bluestar was on her ninth life. As far as Fireheart was concerned, Graystripe could do what he liked.
CHAPTER 18
Graystripe had already left his nest when Fireheart awoke the next day. He could tell it was sunhigh by the light that glowed through the branches. He rose, his body still weary with grief, and pushed his head out of the den. Snow must have been falling all morning, for it lay thick on the ground and had drifted against the den. Fireheart found himself gazing out over a white wall that was as high as his shoulder.
The usual bustle of the camp seemed muted. Fireheart could see Willowpelt and Halftail whispering on the far side of the clearing. Mousefur was picking her way laboriously toward the store of fresh-kill, a rabbit dangling from her jaws. She stopped and sneezed, then carried on.
Fireheart lifted one paw and rested it on top of the snow. It felt hard at first, but when he pressed down, the thin covering of ice cracked and he gasped as his leg plunged into the drift. Fireheart snorted as he found himself up to his muzzle in snow. Shaking his head and lifting his chin, he leape
d forward, only to sink into more deep snow. He struggled on, alarm rising in his chest. He felt as if he were drowning in snow! Then, all of a sudden, there was solid ground under his paws. He had reached the edge of the clearing. The snow here was only a mouse-length deep, and Fireheart sat down with a soft crunch, relieved.
He tensed when he saw Graystripe plowing through the snow toward him. The gray warrior seemed unbothered by it, protected from its damp chill by his thick pelt. His face was shadowed with sorrow. “Have you heard about Bluestar?” he asked as he neared. “She lost a life to greencough.”
Fireheart flicked his ears impatiently. He could have told his friend that last night. “I know,” he snapped. “I was with her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” mewed Graystripe, shocked.
“You weren’t exactly in a friendly mood last night, if you remember. Anyway, if you weren’t always off breaking the warrior code, you might know what was going on in your own Clan,” he snarled.
Graystripe’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “I’ve just seen Cinderpaw,” he meowed. “I’m sorry she’s so sick.”
“How is she?”
“She looked bad, but Yellowfang said she’s pulling through,” replied Graystripe.
Fireheart stared anxiously across the clearing and stood up. He wanted to see his apprentice for himself.
Graystripe meowed, “She’s asleep now. Frostfur’s with her, and Yellowfang doesn’t want anyone else disturbing her.”
Fireheart flinched involuntarily. How was he going to tell Frostfur that it was his fault that Cinderpaw went to the Thunderpath? Instinctively, Fireheart turned to Graystripe, seeking reassurance. But Graystripe was trudging across the snowy clearing toward the nursery. Off to see Silverstream, Fireheart guessed resentfully, sheathing and unsheathing his claws as he watched his friend disappear from sight.
Fireheart noticed Speckletail, the oldest queen from the nursery and the mother of the kit with whitecough, only when she stopped right in front of him. “Is Tigerclaw inside?” she asked, pointing with her nose to the warriors’ den.
Fireheart shook his head.
Speckletail mewed, “There’s greencough in the nursery. Two of Brindleface’s kits are sick.”
“Greencough!” Fireheart gasped, shaken from his anger. “Will they die?”
“They might. But leaf-bare always brings greencough,” Speckletail pointed out gently.
“Surely there’s something we can do!” Fireheart protested.
“Yellowfang will do what she can,” answered Speckletail. “But in the end, it’s up to StarClan.”
A new flash of fury flared in Fireheart’s belly as Speckletail turned away and padded back to the nursery. How could the Clan tolerate these tragedies? He felt overwhelmed by the need to leave the camp, to escape the gloomy air that the rest of the Clan seemed content to breathe.
He jumped up and raced blindly across the snowy clearing, through the gorse tunnel and out into the forest. He was startled to find himself heading instinctively for the training hollow. The thought that he should be there, teaching Cinderpaw, was more than he could bear. As he veered to avoid it, he heard the voices of Whitestorm and Brackenpaw. The white-furred warrior must have taken Brackenpaw for training while Fireheart had been sleeping. Had no cat stopped to grieve for Bluestar’s lost life? Fireheart’s throat tightened as he fought back his rage and ran on, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the camp.
He finally stopped beneath Tallpines, his sides heaving with the effort of running through the snow. There was stillness here that calmed him. Even the birds had stopped singing. Fireheart felt as if he were the only creature in the world.
He didn’t know where he was going; he just padded on, letting the woods soothe him. As he walked, his mind cleared. He could do nothing for Cinderpaw, and Graystripe was out of reach, but he might be able to help Yellowfang fight the greencough. He would fetch some more catnip.
Fireheart turned his steps toward his old kittypet home, weaving through the brambles in the oak woods that backed onto Twolegplace. He leaped to the top of the fence at the end of his old home, nudging a ridge of snow into the garden below. It fell with a soft clump. Fireheart peered down into the garden. He could see tracks, smaller than a cat’s. A squirrel had been out hunting for its store of nuts.
It didn’t take Fireheart long to pluck a generous mouthful of leaves from the catnip bush. He wanted to take as much as he could. Its soft leaves might not survive this weather; this could be his last chance to gather it.
With his mouth crammed, Fireheart stared toward the swinging flap he had used as a kit. He wondered if his Twoleg housefolk still lived there. They’d been kind to him. He had spent his first leaf-bare cosseted in their nest, warm and safe from the cruelties of Thunderpaths and greencough.
The scent of this catnip must be going to my head, he thought sharply. He bounded up the garden and onto the fence with a single leap. He was unnerved by how much the thought of his Twoleg home had stirred him. Did he really want the safety and predictability of a kittypet’s life? Of course not! Fireheart shook the thought away. But the idea of returning to camp didn’t appeal to him yet.
Suddenly he thought of Princess.
Fireheart raced along the edge of the woods to the part of Twolegplace where his sister’s garden lay. When her fence was in sight, he dug down through the snow and buried the catnip beneath a layer of dead leaves to protect it from the cold. He was still panting from his run when he leaped onto the fence and called out to Princess. Then he scrambled back down into the woods to wait for her.
The snow made his paws ache with cold as he paced restlessly under an oak tree. Perhaps she is kitting, he told himself, or shut inside. He had just persuaded himself he wasn’t going to see her today when he heard her familiar mew. He looked up to see her standing on top of her fence. Fireheart felt a shiver of anticipation. Her belly was no longer swollen. Princess must have kitted.
He breathed in her scent as she approached and felt it warm him. “You’ve kitted!” he meowed.
Princess gently touched his nose with hers. “Yes,” she mewed softly.
“Did it go okay? Are the kits all right?”
Princess purred. “It was fine. I have five healthy kits,” she meowed, her eyes glowing with pleasure. Fireheart licked her head and she mewed, “I didn’t expect to see you out in this weather.”
“I came to find some catnip,” Fireheart told her. “There’s greencough in the camp.”
Princess’s eyes clouded with worry. “Are many of your Clan ill?”
“Three so far.” Fireheart hesitated for a moment, then meowed sadly, “Our leader lost another life last night.”
“Another life?” echoed Princess. “What do you mean? I thought it was only an old she-cat’s tale that cats have nine lives.”
“Bluestar was granted nine lives by StarClan because she’s leader of our Clan,” Fireheart explained.
Princess looked at him in awe. “Then it’s true!”
“Only for Clan leaders. The rest of us have only one life, like you, and like Cinderpaw….” Fireheart’s voice trailed away.
“Cinderpaw?” Princess must have detected the grief in his voice.
Fireheart gazed into her eyes, and the thoughts that had been troubling him began to tumble out. “My apprentice,” he meowed. “She was hit on the Thunderpath last night.” His voice cracked as he remembered finding her broken, bleeding body. “She’s badly hurt. She might still die. And even if she survives, she’ll never become a warrior.”
Princess moved closer and nuzzled him. “You spoke so fondly of her last time you were here,” she mewed. “She sounded full of fun and energy.”
“The accident shouldn’t have happened,” Fireheart growled. “I was supposed to meet Tigerclaw. He’d asked for Bluestar, but Bluestar was ill, so I offered to go instead. I had to fetch catnip first, and Cinderpaw went in my place.” Princess looked alarmed and Fireheart added qu
ickly, “I told her not to. But perhaps if I’d been a better mentor she’d have listened to me.”
“I’m sure you’re a good mentor.” Princess tried to soothe him, but Fireheart hardly heard her.
“I don’t know why Tigerclaw wanted Bluestar to meet him in such a dangerous place!” he spat. “He said there was evidence that ShadowClan had invaded our territory, but when I arrived there was no scent of them at all!”
“Was it a trap?” Princess suggested.
Fireheart looked into his sister’s questioning eyes and suddenly began to wonder. “Why would Tigerclaw want to hurt Cinderpaw?”
“It was Bluestar he asked for,” Princess pointed out.
Fireheart’s fur bristled. Could his sister be right? Tigerclaw had summoned Bluestar to the narrowest part of the Thunderpath verge. Surely even Tigerclaw wouldn’t deliberately put his Clan leader in danger? Fireheart shook the thought away. “I d-don’t know,” he stammered. “Everything’s so confusing at the moment. Even Graystripe’s hardly speaking to me.”
“Why?”
Fireheart shrugged. “It’s too complicated to explain.” Princess nestled next to him in the snow, pressing her soft fur against his. “I just feel like such an outsider at the moment,” Fireheart went on gloomily. “It’s not easy being different.”
“Different?” Princess looked puzzled.
“Being born a kittypet, when the other cats are all Clanborn.”
“You seem like a Clanborn cat to me,” mewed Princess. Fireheart blinked gratefully at her. She went on, “But if you’re not happy in the Clan, you can always come home with me. My housefolk would look after you, I’m sure.”
Fireheart pictured himself living his old kittypet life, warm, cozy, and safe. But he couldn’t forget how he’d watched the woods from his Twoleg garden and dreamed of being out in the forest. A breeze stirred his thick fur and carried the scent of a mouse to his nose. Fireheart shook his head firmly. “Thank you, Princess,” he meowed. “But I belong with my Clan now. I could never be happy in a Twoleg nest. I would miss the scents of the forest, and sleeping beneath Silverpelt, hunting my own food and sharing it with my Clan.”