Long Shadows

Chapter 19

Lionblaze woke to the sound of coughing. For a moment he burrowed deeper into the moss, trying to remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep. His dreams were filled with Tigerstar, taunting him about his power, sneering at him for being revolted by the sight of Heatherpaw’s blood-soaked body. And when he wasn’t asleep, the warriors’ den was filled with choking, spluttering cats battling greencough. Then he stiffened. The sick cats had all gone to the Twoleg nest with Firestar! There shouldn’t be any coughing now.

Raising his head, Lionblaze saw Spiderleg in his nest a couple of tail-lengths away, his body shaken by another fit of coughing.

Oh, no! Firestar’s idea hasn’t worked.

“Spiderleg,” he meowed, “you’d better get along to Leafpool. She’ll give you something for the cough, and then you can join the others in the Twoleg nest.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the older warrior snapped. “I’ve just got a bit of moss in my throat, that’s all.”

Even in the dim light of the warriors’ den, Lionblaze could see that Spiderleg’s eyes were glazed with fever. “I don’t think so.”

At the same moment Brambleclaw raised his head from his nest nearer the center of the den. “Spiderleg, you’re ill. You know how fast the sickness spreads. Go and see Leafpool now.

Lionblaze, go with him.”

“Sure.” Lionblaze hauled himself out of his nest and gave his pelt a quick grooming.

Spiderleg rose to his paws with an exaggerated sigh that ended in another bout of coughing. He pushed his way into the clearing, and Lionblaze followed, padding a few paw steps behind him as they headed for the medicine cats’ den. The chill of dawn still lay over the camp, and shadows crowded thickly around the sides of the hollow. A moisture-laden breeze held the promise of rain later.

Before they reached the den, Daisy came bounding over from the nursery. “Spiderleg, what’s the matter?” she fretted.

“Are you ill?”

“I’m fine. I just wish—” More coughing interrupted Spiderleg. “I just wish every cat would stop fussing,” he finished when he could speak again.

Daisy’s eyes grew wide with dismay. “You are ill!”

“Don’t worry, Daisy.” Lionblaze brushed his muzzle against the cream-colored she-cat’s shoulder. “I’m taking him to Leafpool now.”

He and Spiderleg headed off again, leaving Daisy to watch them after them, her eyes filled with anxiety.

Inside the den, Leafpool and Jaypaw were already awake.

“This is the last of the tansy,” Leafpool was mewing. “You’d better see if you can find more, and take it straight to the Twoleg nest. Remember to put it on the flat stone outside the entrance.”

“Okay.” Jaypaw turned to go, then halted as he realized that Spiderleg and Lionblaze were there. “What now?” he asked.

Spiderleg answered with another fit of coughing.

“No!” For a heartbeat Lionblaze saw fear flicker in Leafpool’s eyes. Then she was the quietly efficient medicine cat again. “Spiderleg, eat this tansy. It’ll soothe your throat. Jaypaw, bring some more back here as well.”

Jaypaw gave her a brief nod, whisked past the bramble screen, and vanished.

While Spiderleg was chewing up the tansy, grumbling under his breath, Daisy poked her head into the den. “Can

I come in?” she asked Leafpool, her words muffled by the plump vole she was carrying.

Leafpool looked uncertain; the fewer cats around Spiderleg the better. Then she nodded. “Of course, Daisy. What is it?”

Daisy dropped the vole at Spiderleg’s paws. “I brought you this. I thought you could do with a good meal before you go to the Twoleg nest.”

“Well, you needn’t have bothered,” Spiderleg meowed ungraciously. “I’m not hungry.”

Daisy took a step back, her neck fur bristling. “I chose it specially!”

Spiderleg didn’t reply, just swiped his tongue round his jaws for the last of the tansy juices.

“Our kits are worried about you, too,” Daisy went on. Her voice grew sharper. “It’s a wonder they remember you, because you never come to visit them.”

Spiderleg shrugged. “It’s not that I’m not interested… I just know that you’ll do a great job of raising them without me.”

“Why?” Daisy challenged him. “Because I’ve raised kits on my own before? But that wasn’t my choice, Spiderleg, as you know very well.”

Lionblaze exchanged an embarrassed glance with Leafpool; he wished he could leave the den, but the two quarreling cats were blocking the entrance. Leafpool was listening with a strange look in her eyes that Lionblaze couldn’t interpret.

“Every kit is different,” Daisy went on. “And every kit deserves to know its father. You’re missing out, Spiderleg, and if you’re not careful it will be too late, and your own kits won’t know who you are!”

Not waiting for a reply, she spun around and stalked out of the den.

“She-cats!” Spiderleg exclaimed.

He turned to leave, but Leafpool slipped past him and blocked his way out. “Kits are a precious gift, Spiderleg,” she mewed quietly. “You should take every chance you can to be a good father. It’s even better than being a mentor.”

“How would you know?” Spiderleg demanded.

Leafpool just gazed at him, her amber eyes clear and calm.

“Sorry,” Spiderleg muttered after a heartbeat. “It’s just… I never planned to have kits with Daisy. I feel useless and clumsy around them. And I feel every cat is judging me because I’m not closer to Daisy. It didn’t work out, that’s all.”

“That’s not the point,” Leafpool replied. “Your kits still have a mother and a father, even if you and Daisy aren’t mates anymore. You’re punishing the kits by not being a better father.

They won’t judge you because they don’t know any different.

But in the end, they’re the only things that matter.”

“I don’t know what to do!” Spiderleg protested. “I can’t—”

Another outbreak of coughing cut off what he was about to say.

“Then learn!” Leafpool’s amber eyes blazed. “You’ve seen

Brambleclaw and Graystripe and Dustpelt around their kits.

I can’t believe you don’t see how important this is! You should cherish your kits with every breath you take.”

As she spoke, Lionblaze felt a surge of warmth toward Brambleclaw. He was a great father, always ready to listen or to help if his kits had a problem. He’d spent a lot of time with the three kits, because Squirrelflight went back to being a warrior so quickly. Lionblaze trusted him completely; he couldn’t imagine a better father. If Spiderleg’s not careful, he thought, he and the kits are going to end up like Crowfeather and Breezepelt. They don’t even like each other!

“Lionblaze.” Leafpool had obviously realized that he was there, listening to every word she and Spiderleg were saying.

“You can go now. Thanks for helping.”

Lionblaze dipped his head, and slipped past Spiderleg into the clearing. As he left, he heard Leafpool meow, “Before you go to the Twoleg nest, you will eat that vole. You need to keep your strength up if you’re going to get better.”

As he left Leafpool’s den, Lionblaze spotted Brambleclaw choosing a squirrel from the fresh-kill pile. Squirrelflight padded up, and her mate dropped the fresh-kill at her paws.

“This is for you,” he meowed. “I know how much you love young squirrel.”

“So do you,” Squirrelflight purred, touching her nose to his ear. “Let’s share it.”

Brambleclaw hesitated. “Okay, but you have as much as you want. The whole Clan wants you to get strong again.”

The two cats settled down side by side to share the squirrel.

A surge of warmth spread through Lionblaze as he watched them. Thank StarClan our parents are so close.

“Hey, Lionblaze!” Brambleclaw lifted his head from the squirrel. “Now that you’ve dealt with Spiderleg, what about a hunting patrol? Ashfur is waiting for you. The mice aren’t going to line up and come running into camp, you know.”

“Sure!” Lionblaze waved his tail and bounded across the clearing toward Ashfur. Yes, he loved his father, even if he was a bossy old furball!

Lionblaze padded along the old Twoleg path with a squirrel and two mice dangling from his jaws. It was his turn to take fresh-kill to the tree trunk outside the Twoleg nest. A thin drizzle was falling, misting on his pelt and turning the path to mud.

Two sunrises before, when Spiderleg had started coughing, the hopes of every cat in the Clan had plummeted, afraid that Firestar’s plan would come to nothing after all. But since then, no other cat had fallen ill. Lionblaze had begun to wonder if they had started to win the battle after all. He didn’t know much about the sick cats in the Twoleg nest except that all of them, even Millie, were still alive.

Everything was quiet as the walls of the Twoleg nest appeared through the trees. Lionblaze brushed through the wet grass to leave his prey in the hollow trunk. The trunk wasn’t empty as he had expected. A few pieces of fresh-kill, turning soggy from the rain, still lay at the bottom. The scent of cats around the tree stump was stale and faint.

Icy water, far colder than the rain, seemed to trickle down

Lionblaze’s spine. Why aren’t the sick cats eating? Are they all too weak to fetch the prey?

With one paw he scraped the old prey—rapidly turning to crow-food—out of the tree trunk, and replaced it with the fresh, pushing his catch farther back into the hollow to keep it dry. Then he hesitated, looking around. He was meant to continue hunting, but he couldn’t leave until he found out why the cats in the Twoleg nest hadn’t collected all their fresh-kill.

Slowly he padded toward the entrance to the den. Leafpool and Firestar had both forbidden the hunters to go any closer than the tree trunk, but Lionblaze told himself that this was an emergency, and both would want him to break the rules.

As he approached an eerie wailing rose from the Twoleg nest, the cry of a cat in deep distress.

Lionblaze stopped dead. “What’s happening?” he called out, hating the way his voice shook. Courage, he told himself fiercely.

For a heartbeat there was no response. Then Lionblaze leaped back as Cloudtail’s face loomed in front of him in the entrance, his white fur startling in the gloom.

“Firestar is dying,” the warrior rasped.

Lionblaze clenched his teeth on a wail of despair. Forgetting to be wary of the sickness, he brushed past Cloudtail and entered the nest.

Firestar was lying in a den on the far side. Most of the sick cats were sitting around him in a ragged circle; Brightheart and Honeyfern were bending over him, holding scraps of soaked moss to his lips. Lionblaze pushed through the line of cats and looked down at his Clan leader. Firestar’s breath was coming in hoarse gasps, his sides heaving with the effort of sucking in air. A stench of something more than sickness hung in the air.

As Lionblaze gazed at him, horrified, Brightheart looked up. “Firestar is losing a life,” she mewed gently.

Taking a step back, Lionblaze stood alongside the other sick cats and watched in silence as their leader struggled to breathe. Gradually the heaving of Firestar’s flanks slowed down; his breathing grew shallower, then stopped. His eyes closed and he lay still.

Lionblaze saw the faintest outline of a f lame-colored cat rise from Firestar’s body and pad away, to be lost in the shadows in one corner of the den.

Is that what it’s like to lose a life? he wondered. How many does Firestar have left? What if that was his last one?

It seemed as if he stood beside his leader’s body for countless moons, or perhaps it was no more than a heartbeat. Then he saw Firestar’s sides give a convulsive heave. Bright green eyes blinked open, struggling to focus.

“Firestar.” Brightheart’s tone was soft as she bent over him again. “You’re back with us.”

Lionblaze felt his mouth drop open. Firestar really had died and come back!

Cloudtail padded up with a fresh bundle of soaked moss, which he gave to his mate. Brightheart held the moss to Firestar’s lips. “Drink this,” she murmured. “And then get some rest.”

“Go and fetch him some fresh-kill,” Cloudtail ordered Lionblaze. “He needs to keep his strength up.”

Lionblaze ran outside again, and came back with one of the freshly killed mice. By the time he returned, Firestar was sitting up, a confused look in his eyes that gradually died away.

“Thanks,” he murmured as Lionblaze dropped the mouse beside him. “But you shouldn’t be in here. You could catch the sickness.”

Lionblaze’s pelt stood on end. Firestar had come back, but he needed to leave the nest right away. If he stayed, how long would it be before the dreadful sickness killed him again?

Firestar took a bite of the mouse, glancing around while he chewed and swallowed it. “It’s okay,” he meowed, meeting the worried gazes of his Clanmates. “Everything’s fine now.”

“No, it’s not,” Brightheart mewed sharply. “You’re still weak, even if you haven’t got greencough anymore. What if you lose another life? You should go back to the camp and let Leafpool look after you.”

Firestar shook his head. “There’s nothing that Leafpool can do for me there that she can’t do while I’m here. I’ll stay with you all.”

A murmur of respect rose from the cats around him.

Rosekit padded forward to the edge of Firestar’s nest. “Are you going to keep dying and coming back again?” she asked curiously.

“I hope not,” Firestar replied, while Honeyfern shooed Rosekit back into the nursery area.

“I knew you’d insist on staying,” Brightheart murmured, touching her nose to Firestar’s ear.

Firestar blinked at her. “I am not the cat with the most to lose,” he replied, his green gaze drifting toward the nest where Millie lay.

Lionblaze turned to look at the gray she-cat. She looked even thinner and more pitiful than when she had left the camp three sunrises before. She was lying sprawled on one side, her sides barely rising and falling with each faint breath.

Briarkit nuzzled into her belly, trying to feed and letting out pitiful mewling noises when she couldn’t find any milk.

Honeyfern bent over her, gently nudging her away with one paw. “Come on,” she comforted the tiny kit. “I’ll find you a mouse to eat. They’re very tasty.”

“Don’t want mouse.” Briarkit’s voice was hoarse. “I want milk.” Her voice rose to a feeble wail. “I want my mother!”

Lionblaze turned away, unable to watch. Around him, the sick cats were stumbling back to their own nests, heads and tails drooping in defeat.

How long before they’re all dead like Firestar? And none of them have nine lives.

Guilt swamped him. He knew that he had the power to help his Clanmates—the power to do anything, he reminded himself—but he had refused to use it.

“I’m going,” he told Cloudtail roughly, desperate to get out of the nest and as far from the sickness as possible. “I’ll tell

Brambleclaw about Firestar losing a life, and I’ll be back soon with more fresh-kill.”

“It’s not fresh-kill we need,” Cloudtail pointed out. “It’s catmint.”

“And the will of StarClan that we survive,” Brightheart added.

Their words echoed in Lionblaze’s ears as he ran back to the hollow, hardly feeling the stone path under his paws. StarClan did want the sick cats to survive. Otherwise they wouldn’t have sent Jaypaw the dream where he found the catmint.

“Even if it wasn’t StarClan who sent him the dream,” Lionblaze argued with himself, “the three of us have been given our powers for a reason. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps this is the start of the prophecy.”

When he pushed through the tunnel into the camp, he couldn’t see Brambleclaw. Checking the warriors’ den, he found it empty, but as he emerged he spotted the Clan deputy coming out of the tunnel with his jaws full of fresh-kill. Sandstorm and Berrynose followed him; Lionblaze met them by the fresh-kill pile where they dropped their prey.

“There’s news,” he meowed abruptly. “Firestar has lost a life.”

“No!” Sandstorm’s green eyes widened. She spun around as if she was going to dash out of the camp, but Brambleclaw laid his tail gently over her shoulders.

“You can’t help him,” he murmured.

Sandstorm sat down, her head bowed. “I know.” Her voice was so low Lionblaze could scarcely hear it. “But it’s hard.”

“Did you see Firestar die?” Berrynose meowed, his eyes wide. “What was it like?”

Lionblaze glared at him, and didn’t bother to answer. As he padded away, he heard Brambleclaw’s voice raised scathingly.

“I might expect a question like that from a kit, Berrynose, but not from a warrior, especially one that I mentored.”

Forgetting the annoying cream-colored warrior, Lionblaze brushed past the brambles into the medicine cats’ den. To his relief, Leafpool wasn’t there, only Jaypaw, pawing through a pitiful collection of thin, shriveled herbs.

Jaypaw whipped around. “What do you want?”

Lionblaze bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he meowed. “I will go to WindClan.”