Fire and Ice

by Erin Hunter

  He was suddenly aware of the rain clinging to his fur. The kit needed shelter, and soon. It looked strong, but it was still too small to withstand the cold and wet for long.

  “I’ll take him,” he meowed. “This is a great gift you’ve given to ThunderClan. And I’ll train him to be the finest warrior the Clan has ever seen!” He dipped his head and scooped up the kit by his scruff.

  Princess’s eyes shone with gratitude and pride. “Thank you, Fireheart,” she purred. “Who knows, maybe he’ll even become a leader and be given nine lives!”

  Fireheart gazed fondly at her trusting, hopeful face. Did his sister really believe this might happen? Then a twinge of doubt pricked him. He was taking this tiny kit back to a camp infected by greencough. What if he didn’t even make it to newleaf? But the cozy scent of the kit under his muzzle soothed him. The kit would survive. It was strong, and it shared his blood. Fireheart took a deep breath. He must be quick—the kit was getting cold already. He blinked a farewell at Princess and raced away into the bushes.

  The kit was heavier than he’d expected. It dangled from his mouth, bumping against his forelegs with faint protesting squeaks. By the time Fireheart reached the top of the ravine, his neck was aching. He made his way down to the camp, putting one paw carefully in front of the other, wary of slipping on the fast-melting snow.

  At the entrance, Fireheart hesitated. For the first time he wondered how he would explain this kit to the Clan—he was going to have to admit to visiting his kittypet sister. But it was too late now. He could feel the kit shivering. Fireheart squared his shoulders and padded through the gorse tunnel. The kit let out a deafening wail as a thorn tugged at its fur. Several pairs of eyes turned to look in amazement as Fireheart emerged into the clearing.

  Both hunting parties had returned. Mousefur, Whitestorm, Sandpaw, and Brackenpaw were all in the clearing. Only Graystripe was missing. One by one the rest of the Clan were drawn out of their dens by the noise and the unfamiliar scent. None of the cats made a sound. They stared at Fireheart with hostile, puzzled eyes as though he were a stranger.

  Fireheart turned slowly in the center of the clearing, the kit still dangling from his mouth, and looked at the ring of questioning eyes. His mouth began to feel dry. Why had he assumed the Clan would accept a kit that wasn’t even forest-born?

  He felt a rush of relief when Bluestar emerged from Yellowfang’s den. But her eyes widened in surprise as she saw him. “What is this?” she demanded.

  A tremor of foreboding ran along Fireheart’s spine. He placed the kit between his front paws and wrapped his tail over it to keep it warm. “It’s my sister’s firstborn,” he replied.

  “Your sister!” Tigerclaw glared at him accusingly.

  “You have a sister?” called Speckletail. “Where?”

  “The same place as Fireheart was born, of course,” Longtail hissed with disgust. “Twolegplace!”

  “Is that true?” Bluestar asked, her eyes widening further.

  “Yes,” Fireheart admitted. “My sister gave it to me to bring to the Clan.”

  “And why would she do that?” Bluestar asked with menacing calm.

  Fireheart stammered nervously. “I told her about Clan life—how great it was….” His voice trailed away under Bluestar’s incredulous gaze.

  “How long have you been visiting Twolegplace?”

  “Not long, just since leaf-bare began. But only to see my sister. My loyalty still lies with ThunderClan.”

  “Loyalty?” Darkstripe’s yowl rang out across the clearing. “And yet you bring a kittypet here?”

  “Isn’t having one kittypet in the Clan enough?” croaked one of the elders.

  “Trust a kittypet to find another kittypet!” snarled Dustpaw, ruffling his fur indignantly. He turned to Sandpaw and nudged her with his nose. Sandpaw glanced uncomfortably at Fireheart and then looked down at her paws.

  “Why have you brought it here?” Tigerclaw growled.

  “We need warriors….” The tiny kit squirmed beneath his belly as he spoke, and Fireheart realized how ridiculous he must sound. He bowed his head as yowls of scorn met his words.

  When the insults had died away, Runningwind spoke up. “The Clan has enough to worry about already without this.”

  “It’ll be nothing but a burden,” Mousefur agreed. “It’ll be at least five moons before it’s ready to begin training.”

  Whitestorm nodded his head in agreement. “You shouldn’t have brought this kittypet here, Fireheart,” he meowed. “It’ll be too soft for Clan life.”

  Fireheart bristled. “I was born a kittypet. Am I soft?” He thought that he’d begun to challenge the Clan’s prejudice against kittypets, but he was wrong. He couldn’t see one friendly face in the crowd.

  A voice sounded from behind Whitestorm. “If it carries Fireheart’s blood, it’ll make a good Clan cat.”

  Fireheart felt relief surge through his body. It was Graystripe! A brief flame of hope flared in Fireheart’s chest as Whitestorm stood aside and the other cats turned to look at the gray warrior. Graystripe stared around the circle of cats, meeting their gazes one by one with wide, steady eyes.

  “Makes a change to see you speak up for your friend, Graystripe. Last night you wanted to shred him!” sneered Longtail.

  Graystripe glared at the pale tabby, then whipped around as Darkstripe challenged him. “Yeah, Graystripe! How do you know Fireheart has blood worthy of ThunderClan? Did you taste it last night when you tried to take a chunk out of his leg?”

  Bluestar stepped forward, her blue eyes clouded with worry. “Fireheart, I believe that you meant no disloyalty to the Clan by visiting your sister, but why did you agree to bring her kit here? It is not your place to make decisions like this. What you have done affects the whole Clan.”

  Fireheart looked at Graystripe, hoping for more support, but Graystripe wouldn’t meet his eyes. Fireheart craned his head around, and every cat turned their gaze away from him. Fireheart began to panic. Had he endangered his own position in the Clan by bringing Princess’s kit here?

  Bluestar spoke again. “Tigerclaw, what do you think?”

  “What do I think?” meowed Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt his heart sink at the note of arrogant satisfaction in the deputy’s voice. “I think he should get rid of it at once.”

  “Goldenflower?”

  “It certainly looks too small to survive until newleaf,” the ginger queen remarked.

  “It’ll have greencough by sunrise!” added Mousefur.

  “Or it’ll eat our fresh-kill until next snowfall and then die of cold!” spat Runningwind.

  Bluestar dipped her head. “That’s enough. I must think about this.” She padded to her den and disappeared inside. The rest of the Clan slipped away, muttering darkly.

  Fireheart picked up the bedraggled kit and carried him to the warriors’ den. The kit was shivering and mewling pathetically. Fireheart curled his body around the little scrap and closed his eyes, but hostile faces of the Clan swam around his mind, filling his heart with dread. He thought he had been lonely before, but now it seemed as if the entire Clan had disowned him.

  Graystripe pushed his way into the den and settled down into his nest. Fireheart glanced nervously at him. Graystripe had been the only cat to speak in his defense, and Fireheart wanted to thank him. After an uncomfortable pause, in which the kit cried and cried, Fireheart mumbled, “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

  Graystripe shrugged. “Yeah, well,” he meowed, “no one else was going to do it.” He twisted his head around and began to wash his tail.

  The kit carried on mewling, his cries growing louder. Some of the other warriors padded into the den to escape the rain outside. Willowpelt glanced briefly at Fireheart and the kit, but she didn’t speak.

  “Can’t you shut that thing up?” complained Darkstripe as he prodded the moss in his nest.

  Fireheart licked the kit desperately. It must be very hungry by now. A rustle in the den wall made him lift his head.
It was Frostfur. She crept over to Fireheart’s nest and looked down at the miserable kit. Suddenly she dipped her head and sniffed the kit’s soft fur. “He’d be better off in the nursery,” she murmured. “Brindleface has milk to spare. I could ask her to feed it.”

  Fireheart stared at the queen in surprise.

  Frostfur gazed back at him, her eyes warm. “I haven’t forgotten that you rescued my kits from ShadowClan.”

  Fireheart picked up the kit yet again and followed Frostfur out of the warriors’ den. The rain was even heavier now. Together they padded quickly to the nursery. Frostfur disappeared through its narrow entrance, and Fireheart squeezed in after her. He paused inside the thicket of brambles, blinking until his eyes got used to the dim light.

  Inside the dry, dark cocoon, Brindleface was curled around her two healthy kits. She looked suspiciously at Fireheart, then at the kit that dangled from his jaws.

  Frostfur whispered to Fireheart, “One of Brindleface’s kits died last night.” Fireheart remembered the sick kits squirming beside Yellowfang and wondered, with a pang, which one had gone. He put Princess’s kit down and turned to Brindleface. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  The queen blinked at him, her grief raw in her eyes.

  “Brindleface,” Frostfur began, “I can only guess at how much pain you feel. But this kit is starving, and you have milk. Will you feed him?”

  Brindleface shook her head and shut her eyes tight as if to deny Fireheart’s presence in her den.

  Frostfur stretched her head forward and pressed her muzzle gently against Brindleface’s cheek. “I know he won’t replace your son,” she whispered. “But he needs your warmth and care.”

  Fireheart waited anxiously. The kit’s cries grew louder. It could smell Brindleface’s milk and began to squirm blindly toward her soft belly. It nuzzled its way between Brindleface’s other two kits. Brindleface looked down as it wriggled forward, following her milk-scent. She watched, without resisting, as he latched onto her belly and began to suckle. Fireheart ached with relief and gratitude as he saw Brindleface’s eyes soften and the white kittypet began to purr, kneading her swollen stomach with tiny paws.

  Frostfur nodded. “Thank you, Brindleface. Can I tell Bluestar that you will care for the kit?”

  “Yes,” replied Brindleface quietly, not taking her eyes off the white kit. She nudged him closer to her belly with one hind paw.

  Fireheart purred and bent his head to nose her shoulder. “Thank you. I promise I’ll bring you extra fresh-kill every day.”

  “I’ll go and tell Bluestar,” meowed Frostfur.

  Fireheart looked up at the white queen, stirred by her kindness. “Thank you,” he mewed.

  “No kit deserves to starve, Clanborn or not.” Frostfur turned and pushed her way out of the brambles.

  “You can go now,” Brindleface murmured to Fireheart. “Your kit will be safe with me.”

  Fireheart nodded and followed Frostfur out into the rain. He thought about returning to his den, but until he’d heard Bluestar’s decision about the kit, he knew he could not settle.

  As he paced around the clearing, his fur matting into wet clumps, he saw Frostfur slip out of Bluestar’s den and hurry back to the nursery.

  Willowpelt was preparing to lead evening patrol out of the camp when Bluestar finally came out of her den. Fireheart stopped, his heart pounding so fast he thought his legs would give way under him. Bluestar leaped onto the Highrock and began the familiar summons. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather below the Highrock.”

  The patrol turned away from the camp entrance and padded after Willowpelt, back toward the Highrock. The rest of the Clan began to leave their dry nests, grumbling about the rain. Tigerclaw leaped onto the rock beside Bluestar, his face grim.

  They’re going to make me take him back, thought Fireheart. His breath began to come in shallow gasps. Darker thoughts pushed their way into Fireheart’s mind. What if Bluestar asks Tigerclaw to abandon him in the forest? He’ll never survive. Oh, StarClan, what am I going to say to Princess?

  When all the cats were settled, Bluestar spoke. “Cats of ThunderClan, no cat can deny that we need warriors. We have lost one cat to greencough already, and there are many moons until newleaf. Cinderpaw has been gravely injured, and she will never be a warrior. As Graystripe rightly pointed out…”

  Fireheart heard Dustpaw whispering nearby, “Graystripe’s turning into a kittypet himself these days!” He turned his head sharply, but a warning hiss from one of the elders silenced Dustpaw before Fireheart could say anything.

  “As Graystripe pointed out,” Bluestar repeated, “this kittypet carries Fireheart’s blood. There is every chance the kit will make a fine warrior.” Some of the Clan glanced at Fireheart, who had barely heard Bluestar’s compliment. Hope was surging in his chest, making him dizzy.

  Bluestar paused for a moment to survey the cats in front of her. “I have decided we will take this kit into the Clan,” she declared.

  No cat made a sound. Fireheart wanted to yowl his thanks to StarClan, but he held his tongue. He took his first deep breath since sunhigh. His own kin was going to be part of ThunderClan!

  “Brindleface has offered to nurse it,” Bluestar went on, “so Fireheart will take on the duty of providing for her.” The Clan leader met Fireheart’s eyes, but he couldn’t read her expression. “Finally, the kit should have a name. It shall be known as Cloudkit.”

  “Will there be a naming ceremony?” Mousefur called from the crowd.

  Fireheart looked eagerly up at the Highrock. Would his sister’s kit be granted this privilege, as he had been when the Clan had formally accepted him?

  Bluestar looked down at Mousefur, her eyes cold. “No,” she answered.

  CHAPTER 22

  The days leading up to the next full moon dragged by slowly for Fireheart. It already seemed ages since the last Gathering. Rain clouds had kept the moon covered the last time, and the Clans had stayed away from Fourtrees. Meanwhile patrol after patrol reported scenting RiverClan warriors at Sunningrocks, and ShadowClan scent had been discovered again by the Owl Tree.

  When he wasn’t hunting or patrolling, Fireheart divided his time between Cloudkit, Cinderpaw, and Brackenpaw. Even though Graystripe had resumed his role as Brackenpaw’s mentor, Fireheart soon began to notice the young apprentice at loose ends from time to time, his mentor nowhere in sight. “Hunting,” was all Brackenpaw would say when Fireheart asked where Graystripe had gone.

  “Why didn’t you go with him?” meowed Fireheart.

  “He said I could go tomorrow.”

  Fireheart felt the usual prickle of anger at Graystripe’s stubbornness, but he shrugged it away. He’d given up trying to make Graystripe see sense—they’d hardly spoken since Fireheart had brought Cloudkit into the camp—but he made an effort to take Brackenpaw out whenever Graystripe went missing, just to keep the apprentice out of sight. Fireheart knew that Tigerclaw wouldn’t accept Brackenpaw’s answers so easily.

  Finally the full moon appeared in a cloudless sky. Fireheart came back from hunting early. He passed the fallen oak, deserted now that Swiftpaw and Speckletail’s kit had recovered. He dropped his catch on the pile and headed toward Yellowfang’s den to visit Cinderpaw. Even the threat of greencough had left the camp, for now. Only Cinderpaw remained with the medicine cat.

  As Fireheart padded through the tunnel he could see the small gray she-cat in the clearing ahead. She was helping Yellowfang prepare some herbs. Fireheart winced as he watched Cinderpaw limp heavily toward the split rock with a mouthful of dried leaves.

  “Fireheart!” Cinderpaw spat out the herbs and turned to greet him as he emerged from the tunnel. “I could only just scent you through these disgusting things!”

  “Those disgusting things helped cure your leg!” growled Yellowfang.

  “Well, you should have used more,” retorted Cinderpaw, but Fireheart was relieved to see she had a mischievous glint in her eye. “Look at this!�
�� She twitched her twisted hind leg. “I can hardly reach my claws to wash them.”

  “Perhaps I should give you a few more exercises to loosen it up,” meowed Yellowfang.

  “No, thanks!” mewed Cinderpaw quickly. “They hurt!”

  “They’re meant to hurt! It shows they’re working.” The old medicine cat turned to Fireheart. “Perhaps you’ll have more luck persuading her to do them. I’m going into the forest to dig up some comfrey roots.”

  “I’ll try,” Fireheart promised as Yellowfang padded past him.

  “You’ll know if she’s doing them right,” the medicine cat called over her shoulder, “because she’ll complain!”

  Cinderpaw limped over to Fireheart and touched her nose to his. “Thanks for coming to see me.” She sat down and grimaced as she tucked her bad leg under her.

  “I like coming to see you,” Fireheart purred. “I miss our training sessions.” He regretted his words as soon as he’d uttered them.

  A wistful look clouded Cinderpaw’s eyes. “Me too,” she meowed. “When do you think I’ll be able to start again?”

  Fireheart stared at her, his heart sinking. Clearly Yellowfang hadn’t told her yet that she would never be a warrior. “Perhaps if we try some of your exercises, it’ll help,” he meowed evasively.

  “Okay,” mewed Cinderpaw. “But just a few.”

  She lay on her side and stretched out her leg till her face was twisted with pain. Slowly, her teeth clenched, she began to move it backward and forward.

  “You’re doing really well,” Fireheart meowed, hiding the sorrow that lay like a rock in his stomach.

  Cinderpaw let her leg drop and lay still for a moment; then she pushed herself up. Fireheart watched her quietly as she shook her head. “I’m never going to be a warrior, am I?”

  Fireheart couldn’t lie to her. “No,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He stretched his muzzle toward her and licked her head. After a few moments, she gave a long sigh and lay down again.