by Erin Hunter
Fireheart approached the kit. It looked up at him, opening its tiny mouth in a rasping, painful cough. Fireheart gently pushed a small green herb toward it. “If you want to be a warrior, you’ll have to get used to swallowing these horrible things,” he mewed. “When you make your trip to the Moonstone, you have to eat herbs far worse than this.”
The kit looked wonderingly at him through half-closed eyes.
“Think of it as practice,” Fireheart urged. “Practice for when you become a warrior.”
The kit reached forward and took a tentative mouthful.
Fireheart gave it an encouraging purr.
Yellowfang appeared at his side. “Well done,” she meowed. She gestured with her nose, and Fireheart understood she wanted to talk to him. He followed her to the shelter of the tall rock where she slept. The rain was still falling, and Yellowfang’s matted gray fur was soaked, her sodden tail dragging in the dirt.
“Bluestar has whitecough,” she meowed gravely.
“But whitecough isn’t that serious, right?”
Yellowfang shook her head. “It came on very quickly,” she meowed, “and it’s affected her badly.” Fireheart’s stomach tightened as he remembered the dwindling number of lives left to the Clan leader. “I warned her to stay away from the other sick cats, but she wanted to see them,” Yellowfang went on. “She’s sleeping in her den at the moment. Frostfur is with her.”
The fear in Yellowfang’s eyes made Fireheart wonder if she knew the truth about Bluestar’s lives. Fireheart had assumed he was the only cat in the camp whom Bluestar had shared her secret with. The rest of the Clan thought she had three lives left, but perhaps a medicine cat could sense these things instinctively.
The truth was, if Bluestar lost this life, she would have only one more left.
CHAPTER 16
The rain continued through the night and into the next morning. But by sunhigh, the clouds began to clear. A somber air hung over the clearing as the Clan waited for news of their leader.
Fireheart crept out from the patch of brambles by the boundary wall, where he’d sheltered since dawn. He padded over to Bluestar’s den in the side of Highrock. There was no sound from inside. As he turned away, he ran into Willowpelt carrying food to the nursery. She tipped her head questioningly to one side.
Fireheart knew she was hoping for news of Bluestar. “Nothing to report, I’m afraid.” He shrugged.
Fireheart had given Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw a day’s rest from training. He could see them now, lounging outside their den, looking bored. Fireheart knew he had let them down, but he wanted to stay in camp while Bluestar was sick. At least Tigerclaw wasn’t here to criticize his decision. The great deputy had taken out the dawn patrol.
Suddenly the lichen at Bluestar’s den twitched and Frostfur burst through. She raced across the clearing to Yellowfang’s den and reappeared within moments with the medicine cat behind her.
Fireheart bounded over to Bluestar’s den just as Frostfur and Yellowfang pushed through the hanging lichen. He stopped outside and sat down, his heart racing. Frostfur peered out.
“What’s wrong?” Fireheart asked, his voice trembling.
Frostfur closed her eyes. “She has greencough,” she told him bleakly. “Stand watch and make sure no one comes inside.” She ducked back inside.
Fireheart sat motionless as shock flooded through him. Greencough! Bluestar really was in danger of losing another life.
A sharp yowl outside the camp made him turn and look toward the gorse tunnel. Dustpaw exploded into the clearing and skidded to a halt beside Fireheart. “I’ve come from Tigerclaw,” he panted. “I have a message for Bluestar.”
“She’s sick,” Fireheart replied. “You can’t go in.”
Dustpaw flicked his tail impatiently. “Tigerclaw needs to see her at the Thunderpath. It’s very urgent.”
“What’s wrong?”
Dustpaw glared at him. “Tigerclaw asked for Bluestar,” he sneered. “Not some kittypet pretending to be a warrior!”
Fury shot through Fireheart and he unsheathed his claws. “Bluestar can’t leave the camp,” he growled. He flattened his ears and moved so that he blocked the entrance to his leader’s den.
“Fireheart is right.” Yellowfang’s rough meow sounded behind him. She had come out of Bluestar’s den.
Dustpaw looked at the medicine cat, shrinking beneath her orange gaze. “Tigerclaw has found evidence of ShadowClan warriors in our territory,” he meowed. “They’ve invaded our hunting grounds!”
In spite of his fear for Bluestar, Fireheart felt his lip curl in anger. How dared they? After what ThunderClan had done for them!
But Yellowfang wasn’t interested in Dustpaw’s report. She turned to Fireheart, her eyes filled with urgency. “Fireheart,” she meowed. “Tell me, do you know whether there is any catnip in the Twolegplace?”
“Catnip?” Fireheart echoed.
“I need it for Bluestar,” Yellowfang explained. “It’s an herb I haven’t used for moons, but I think it will help her.” The medicine cat had Fireheart’s full attention now. She continued, “It has soft leaves and an irresistible scent….”
Fireheart interrupted her. “Yes, I know where to find some!” He had never seen it in the woods, but as a kit he had rolled in a patch in his Twoleg home.
“Good,” replied Yellowfang. “I need as much as you can carry, and fast.”
“What about Tigerclaw?” demanded Dustpaw.
“Tigerclaw will have to deal with it on his own for the moment!” Yellowfang snapped.
Cinderpaw had been watching them from the tree stump. She bounded up. “Deal with what himself?” she mewed excitedly. Fireheart signaled her to be quiet with an urgent flick of his tail.
Dustpaw ignored the apprentice. “ShadowClan could be in our territory by now!” he hissed.
Cinderpaw’s eyes widened but she held her tongue.
Yellowfang paused to think. “Where’s Whitestorm?” she asked.
“Patrolling Sunningrocks with Sandpaw and Mousefur,” Dustpaw answered.
Yellowfang nodded. “With Bluestar sick and Fireheart fetching catnip, we can’t risk sending any more warriors out of the camp. If ShadowClan is in our territory, they might attack here. They’ve done it before,” she reminded him grimly.
“If I’m quick getting the catnip,” Fireheart put in, “I could meet Tigerclaw afterward and bring back his message for Bluestar.”
Dustpaw’s eyes flashed. “But he wants Bluestar to see the evidence for herself. ShadowClan has left the remains of fresh-kill on our side of the Thunderpath!”
Yellowfang silenced him with a growl. “Bluestar doesn’t need to see the evidence,” she rasped. “The word of her deputy ought to be enough.”
“Tigerclaw just needs to be told that Bluestar can’t come,” meowed Fireheart. “I’ll take the message to him after I’ve fetched the catnip. Where is he?”
“I’ll go!” Dustpaw spat. “Do you think you’re a better messenger than me because you’re a warrior and I’m just an apprentice?” He threw Fireheart a look of pure hatred.
But Yellowfang had no time for quarrels. “The Clan will need protecting while Fireheart is gone!” she hissed at Dustpaw, flattening her ears. “Isn’t that duty important enough for you? Now, where is Tigerclaw?”
“Beside the burned ash tree that overhangs the Thunderpath,” Dustpaw replied sulkily.
“Right,” Yellowfang growled. “Go now, Fireheart! Quickly!”
As Fireheart sped away across the clearing, he heard small pawsteps sprinting after him. “Fireheart, wait!”
“Go back to your den, Cinderpaw,” he meowed over his shoulder without slowing down.
“But I could go and give Tigerclaw the message while you get the catnip!”
Fireheart stopped in his tracks and turned to face his young apprentice. “Cinderpaw, if there are any ShadowClan warriors around, you need to stay in camp.” Cinderpaw looked crushed, but Fireheart didn’t have time
to worry about her feelings. “Go back to your den,” he growled. Without waiting to see her reaction, he turned and charged out of the camp.
He raced through Tallpines and wove quickly through the undergrowth that backed onto Twolegplace. As he scrambled onto the fence that bordered his old home, the familiar smell of the garden filled his nostrils. Memories flooded his mind, making him dizzy for a moment. He thought of sunny afternoons playing in the garden with the toys his Twolegs held for him. He almost expected to hear them rattling his dinner and calling his kittypet name. Then he thought of Bluestar, fighting against greencough.
Fireheart leaped down into the garden and bounded across the lawn to the place where he remembered the catnip had grown. He inhaled deeply, his mouth open, and breathed out with relief. The enticing scent was still here somewhere.
Fireheart padded along the row of plants, sniffing the air. He couldn’t see the catnip, and all the time he was getting nearer and nearer to his old Twoleg nest. Fireheart’s steps grew slower. Scents of his kithood mingled with the catnip now, confusing him.
Fireheart shook his head to clear it, and concentrated on the catnip scent. He pushed his way under a large bush, still dripping from the overnight rain, and found a large patch of the soft, fragrant herb. The recent frost had killed some of the leaves, but the sheltering bush had protected enough for Yellowfang to use. Fireheart bit off as many leaves as he could carry. Their flavor seeped deliciously into his mouth, but he was careful not to chew, much as he wanted to. Bluestar would need every drop of their precious juice.
With his jaws full, he turned and raced back up the garden. He leaped over the fence and pelted back through the forest, ignoring the brambles that dragged at his coat. He felt as if his lungs would burst—with his jaws closed to hold the herbs, he could breathe only through his nose.
Yellowfang was waiting for him in the gorse tunnel. Fireheart dropped the catnip at her paws and took a long gulp of air, his sides heaving. With a grateful look, Yellowfang picked up the leaves and rushed away toward Bluestar’s den.
As he sat gasping for air, Fireheart realized he could smell Cinderpaw’s excited scent in the gorse tunnel. He sniffed the ground around him. Had Cinderpaw left the camp even after he’d warned her about the ShadowClan warriors?
Fireheart dashed to the apprentices’ den and stuck his head inside. Brackenpaw was alone, sleeping.
“Where’s Cinderpaw?” Fireheart meowed.
Brackenpaw lifted his head sleepily. “Uh, what?”
“Cinderpaw! Where is she?”
“Don’t know,” answered Brackenpaw, confused.
Fireheart withdrew his head and looked around the clearing. Frostfur was pacing outside Bluestar’s den, her coat ruffled with agitation.
Fireheart wondered what to do. He didn’t have time to find Cinderpaw himself, and he didn’t want to tell the other warriors that she was missing. Graystripe! he thought suddenly. Graystripe could look for her while he went to find Tigerclaw. Fireheart hurried to the warriors’ den and slipped inside.
Graystripe’s nest was empty. A flash of anger shot through Fireheart. Where was his friend when he needed him? As if he couldn’t guess! Fireheart snorted crossly. Cinderpaw would have to fend for herself until he had found Tigerclaw and told him Bluestar was sick.
Fireheart raced back through the gorse tunnel and began the journey to the Thunderpath. As he followed the trail up the side of the ravine and into the woods, he was aware that Cinderpaw’s scent hung in the air. She must have come this way. Of course! She had gone to meet Tigerclaw herself! The fur on Fireheart’s spine prickled with worry and frustration. How could she be so foolish?
As he skirted Snakerocks, Fireheart began to smell the Thunderpath and hear the roar of its monsters.
Suddenly a shrill, high-pitched squeal sounded from the edge of the trees. Fireheart felt the blood run cold in his veins. It was the same cry he had heard in his dream.
He raced out of the trees and skidded to a halt on the grass border beside the Thunderpath. He looked desperately up and down the verge and spotted an ash tree, charred by lightning. That must be the place where Dustpaw had said Tigerclaw wanted to meet Bluestar. But the deputy was still some way in the distance, padding calmly toward the ash.
Fireheart broke into a run. The verge was very narrow here, with scarcely room for a rabbit, but Fireheart kept going. He called out to Tigerclaw as he ran.
“Did you hear that cry?” But the roar of an approaching monster drowned out his words.
Fireheart shuddered as it passed, waiting for the noise to die away so he could call out again to Tigerclaw. Then he noticed something beside the ash, a dark shape on the thin strip of grass. With a sickening jolt, he recognized the small body lying motionless beside the Thunderpath. It was Cinderpaw.
CHAPTER 17
Fireheart stared in horror. Ahead of him, Tigerclaw had reached the limp body and stood looking down at it, his massive shoulders rigid with shock. Fireheart forced himself nearer. Tentatively he stretched his head forward and sniffed Cinderpaw’s flank. She smelled of Thunderpath. One of her hind legs was twisted and glistening with blood. Fireheart was trembling so much he could hardly stand. Then he saw her side moving. She was still breathing! Speechless with relief, he looked up at Tigerclaw.
“She’s alive,” the deputy growled. He fixed his amber stare on Fireheart. “What was she doing here?”
“She came to find you,” Fireheart whispered.
“You mean you sent her here?”
Fireheart’s eyes widened with surprise. Did Tigerclaw think he would be so stupid? “I told her to stay in camp!” he protested. “She came by herself.” Because I couldn’t make her listen to me! he realized with dismay.
Tigerclaw snorted. “We must get her home.” He bent down with his mouth open, reaching for the small, crumpled body, but Fireheart dipped his head and picked up the apprentice by the scruff of her neck before Tigerclaw could touch her. He began to drag Cinderpaw into the woods as gently as he could, her body hanging limply between his front paws.
Darkstripe came bounding up to them. “I’ve checked Snakerocks again, Tigerclaw. There’s no sign of Shadow–” He broke off when he saw Cinderpaw dangling from Fireheart’s mouth. “What’s happened?”
Fireheart didn’t wait to hear Tigerclaw’s answer. He stumbled away through the trees with his precious burden. He could have prevented this accident! If only he’d made Cinderpaw listen to him, if he’d been a better mentor. Now her body was damaged and bleeding and she made no sound as she dangled from his jaws. Her hind paws scored a shallow trail through the leaves as, carefully, Fireheart carried her home.
Yellowfang was not in her clearing. The two kits with whitecough were curled together in their shelter, fast asleep. Fireheart laid Cinderpaw on the cold ground, then made a nest for her in the bracken by circling around and around. When he had finished, he grasped Cinderpaw’s scruff and gently pulled her inside.
“Fireheart?” Yellowfang meowed from the clearing. Tigerclaw must have told her about Cinderpaw. Fireheart hopped out of the nest. “She’s in here,” he croaked, feeling weak with relief at seeing the medicine cat.
“Let me look,” Yellowfang ordered. She brushed past Fireheart and climbed into the bracken to examine Cinderpaw. Fireheart sat down and waited.
At last Yellowfang jumped out. “She’s hurt very badly,” she meowed, her eyes dark with concern. “But I think I might be able to save her.”
It was a tiny hope, like a single sparkling dewdrop clinging to his pelt. Fireheart felt it glisten for a moment before Yellowfang went on: “I can’t promise anything.” She looked deep into Fireheart’s eyes and murmured, “Bluestar is very sick and I can do no more for her. StarClan must decide her fate now.”
Fireheart felt his eyes cloud with emotion; he could hardly see Yellowfang’s face, but he heard her speak to him again, her voice gentle. “Go and sit with Bluestar,” she meowed. “She was asking for you earlier. I will take c
are of Cinderpaw.”
Fireheart nodded blindly and turned away. Bluestar had been his mentor, and more than that, there had been a bond between them since their first meeting. But he felt torn. He should be with Cinderpaw, too.
A shadow loomed at the far end of the fern tunnel. Tigerclaw was sitting at the entrance to Yellowfang’s den, his head held high as usual. Fireheart’s shoulders stiffened with anger. Why couldn’t the great warrior show some sign of sorrow? After all, Cinderpaw had come looking for him. And for what? There hadn’t been any evidence of ShadowClan fresh-kill that Fireheart had noticed! He walked past Tigerclaw without a word, and headed across the clearing toward Bluestar’s den.
Longtail was sitting on guard outside. He glanced sideways but didn’t try to stop Fireheart as the young warrior pushed through the lichen.
Goldenflower, one of the queens, was inside. Fireheart could see her eyes shining in the gloom, and the pale fur of Bluestar lying curled in her nest. Goldenflower leaned forward and gently licked Bluestar’s head to cool it, like a mother nursing her kit. Fireheart’s heart ached as he thought of Cinderpaw. Would Frostfur be at her daughter’s side by now?
“Yellowfang has given her catnip and feverfew,” Goldenflower murmured to Fireheart. “We can only watch and wait now.” She got to her paws and touched Fireheart’s nose with her muzzle. “Will you be okay to sit with her?” she asked gently. Fireheart nodded and Goldenflower padded softly out of the den.
Fireheart lowered himself onto his belly, stretching his forepaws in front of him so that they just touched his leader’s face. He lay very still, his eyes fixed on Bluestar’s limp body. She didn’t even have the strength to cough now. Fireheart could hear her breathing in the darkness, shallow and rasping, and he listened to the faltering rhythm as the night slowly passed.
Her breathing stopped just before dawn. Fireheart had almost dozed off when he realized the cave was silent. There was no noise from the camp outside either, just a deathly hush, as if the whole Clan were holding its breath.
