Fire And Ice

He raced back toward the stash of fresh-kill he’d left beneath the oak tree. Halfway home, the scent of a fresh Twoleg trail stopped him in his tracks, reminding him of Princess. He wondered whether there was time to follow the trail back to Twolegplace. He wanted to know if she had kitted yet. But Princess would probably be safely tucked up in her Twoleg nest by now, and the Clan needed fresh-kill. With an uneasy twinge, Fireheart realized that Graystripe wasn’t the only one with divided loyalties.

Rain began to drip from the end of his whiskers. He shook the drops away and bounded on toward his horde of fresh-kill.

The camp was silent by the time he arrived, the cats sheltering in their dens. Fireheart crossed the muddy clearing and dropped his catch on the pile. Taking a piece for himself, he trotted toward the warriors’ den. There was no way he was eating outside tonight.

He pushed his head inside the den. Graystripe was dozing, to Fireheart’s relief. He might actually get better if he wasn’t charging through the forest, looking for Silverstream.

“Yellowfang hasn’t taken any fresh-kill yet.” Whitestorm’s meow sounded from the shadows. “She’s been too busy. I think she would appreciate that mouse you’re carrying.”

Fireheart nodded and backed out again. If Yellowfang was too busy to fetch food, it must mean the sickness in the camp was getting worse. Fireheart raced across the clearing, stopping only to pick up another mouse before hurrying through the fern tunnel.

A tabby kit lay in a nest of moss in the bracken at the edge of the clearing. Yellowfang crouched beside it, trying to persuade it to eat some herbs. The kit snuffled pitifully, blinking up at her with streaming eyes and nose. Fireheart realized this must be the kit with whitecough.

Yellowfang turned when she heard Fireheart arrive. “Is that for me?” she meowed, looking at the mice hanging from Fireheart’s mouth. He nodded and dropped them on the ground. “Thanks. Now that you’re here, why don’t you see if you can persuade this kit to take his medicine?” She padded over to the mice, moving stiffly from her old shoulder injury, and began to gnaw on one hungrily.

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.