COUNTING THE RED STARS / saltstar's final life

[+ JAMIE]

A week after the Gathering. Blood moon disturbance, delaying his already delayed trip. Trip finally made on a stomach empty from throwing up grass and full from traveling herbs. A departure at twilight. An arrival in the early hours of the morning. Sun still hiding, fog still swirling. Saltstar's pace had been relentless. Punishing. If his stomach hurt: there was no sign.

Other cats paused at the entrance to the moonstone. Stopped outside Highstones. Prepared themselves for what was to come, mentally. Physically. Grooming themselves like it made a difference to StarClan. Opening their mind like it made them more acceptable. Saltstar did none of this. He kept driving forward, pace unflagging. No sooner was he at Highstones than he was through it. No sooner had he reached the entrance to the Moonstone than he was walking straight into the tunnel. Even with the hundreds of cats who passed here before it was still a tight fit for Saltstar's broad shoulders, heavyset frame. An uncomfortable squeezing, a moist dampness, but the white light of the moonstone reflected off Saltstar's unblinking eyes and turned them pearl-like. No sooner had he entered than he was through. And no sooner was he through than he was lying down. Wet nose, cold stone. Iciness like being plunged into the winter river. Sluggish blood, slowed heartbeats. Shut eyes, and he willed himself to sleep.

His first life: his father. Entirely forgotten but found again by process of elimination. There were only two male cats that could look so much like Saltstar. His brother was still alive. "With this life I give you relentlessness. Use it well to lead ThunderClan in its journey forward, no matter how challenging it may be."

The first trip eight cats appeared. A quick count, a quicker assessment. A slower understanding but when he reached realization, anger began to smolder and smoke. It burned through StarClan's mumbled hesitancies. Cut through their fake appeasements like a hot knife. Saw straight to the heart and the heart was ugly: Saltstar would not be receiving all nine of his lives. Not tonight. Not not ever, one of his ancestors was quick to amend. Someday. When the final giver thinks you ready. But the gesture was enough. The loss was enough. Ready? Saltstar had been ready since the day he received his warrior name. He had been ready since Cedarstar failed to appoint him as deputy. Ready since Rainstar had.

His second life: his mother. Dead from illness within days of giving birth. Whole in death, a beautiful she-cat at her prime. Troubled eyes. Proud. "With this life I give you compassion, so that you will live the lives of not just yourself, but of all the members of your Clan."

Saltstar did not speak the entire ceremony. Not after the first few probing questions. Not after he realized that the leadership longed for was not going to be his. Not like he had envisioned, where he was absolute. He was too angry to form words. Too filled with fury to run the risk of opening his mouth. A final slap in the face. A symbolism that meant more than a symbol. A mouth of blood from biting his tongue, from clenching his teeth so tightly together. (When he woke: he found he'd scored ravines in the earth where his claws had scratched the ground.)

His third life: an old leader. White-furred. Stately. Gold eyes. Distant voice. "With this life I give you reserve. Use it to temper your decisions and your instincts, to check yourself when no one else will and make your decisions accordingly."

The ceremony had ended in unspectacular fanfare. Parents lingered but Saltstar didn't: he was pulling himself from the dream as soon as they finished calling his name. Took the time to compose himself before he came from the Moonstone. The ceremony had been short anyways. Would do no good for Smokedancer to see how unsettled he was. How irrationally storm-filled his chest. Saltstar tore the ground until he was calm. Ran his claws through the rubble. Lashed and paced until he wrestled his fury down. Suffocated the fire until only embers remained.

His fourth life: another leader, a she-cat. Black-furred twin to her predecessor. Gold eyes, clear voice. "With this life I give you perspective. Use it so that you will always understand what there is to lose, and what there is to gain."

When he emerged he was calm. Enough to pass inspection. Enough to act like nothing had happened. Inside it was like an eerie wake. An emptiness not felt since that week after his brother left and his aunt died. Saltstar, navigating that same darkness. Avoiding the same stray pit-fires. Only difference: he was better at hiding it this time. Hardly no effect on his day-to-day. No effect at all on his interactions. Night brought the missing itch of a life. A gap where no gap should be. A final puzzle piece, absent. Saltstar could fall forever into the hole where it was not.

His fifth life: an ancestor. Father's side, perhaps father-of-father. Saltstar did not know. "With this life I give you certainty, so that in the end you will do whatever needs to be done."

Return took a long time. Comparatively: the decision to return was made quite quickly. Saltstar would not let StarClan keep his final life from him. It was a matter of honor. Curiosity. A level-headed clarity that this could not be born. Even if a month later he had realized the life was nothing but that. Unnecessary, unneeded. His ability to lead remained unflawed. The qualities he had been bestowed were spoken words. The Clan flourished and Saltstar with them. In weeks he had built the foundation for restructure. In months he laid the groundwork for success. Deliberate retentions of some predecessor's policies. Deliberate undoings of everything else. Saltstar was no less for the life he was missing. He told himself this and the itch receded. Lessened. But remained.

His sixth life: an elder. Roseheart. One of the cats who had helped take care of his aunt. Kind to Saltstar. Gentle. He looked at her the most fondly. Only good memories, as much as they could be. "With this life I give you honor. Use it to guide the Clan as I know you can. To fulfill your promises and to make your word your vow."

Who would the final life be? Insomnia from imagining. Insomnia from possibility. Most of Saltstar's life-givers he had not known. Losing parents early did that to you. Having healthy friends compounded. Another leader? A deputy? The medicine cat that was his ancestor was a surprise. Relatives Saltstar did not even know about. Did not care to learn about. Too much experience with having family members dictate his life. (Or was it the other way around?) Baggage was baggage and baggage was discarded. There was one possibility. Of course. One cat whose absence was notable. Profound. One cat who had a reason to withhold a life. But it seemed impossible. Cruel. Unthinkable. And so he dismissed it. But not before he considered it as reality. In the end? It was good he did.

His seventh life: a tiny tom-cat. Apprentice-sized. Fiery, fierce. Gray-furred. Red-souled. Dragged Saltstar's head down, claws in cheek. Hissed the words into his ear. "With this life I give you mercy. Use it on others as you would want it used upon yourself."

"Mapletail," he said when she emerged. Head high. Spine proud. Face regal like it had never been. Expression full of hatred. A mirror to Sandbird's. Once upon a time. He stood his ground. Let her approach. Angry and vibrant and strong. She really looked nothing like him. Maybe in the eyes. Maybe in the way she stood, wide-legged and planted. Nothing else. Hazel eyes. Brown and white fur. Mouth a sharp line. She said in voice like shattering glass: "Saltgrass."

His eighth life: a medicine cat. A lookalike to his mother, with more chestnut. She did not approach immediately. Regarded him gravely. Like she could see through his pelt to his rage. "I was watching the day you were born," she mewed. "I saw you born, and your brother. I walked my granddaughter to StarClan and grieved with her for leaving you motherless. I welcomed your father when he arrived. I traveled with your brother until he vanished from my sight. I stayed with you the nights when no one would. The life I give to you now has two sides. I give you family and I give you remembrance. Do not forget them."

They watched each other. A long time. A matter of seconds. His eyes stayed on the scarlet line across her throat. A line to keep. A death to relive. Her eyes: his face. Would they fight? Would there be a battle? Saltstar's mind whirred. Endless possibilities, probabilities. Discarded and considered. Discarded and considered. Mapletail's voice a buzzsaw when it cut through. "In another world I would finish what I started." Straightforward. Flat with hate. No room for doubt what was meant. "In this one I'll give you life."

And Saltstar doubted if he was ready.

---

relentlessness • compassion • reserve • perspective • certainty • honor • mercy • remembrance • [redacted]

[+ JAMIE]

"It took me a long time to decide what life to give you, Saltgrass." Mapletail's voice: clear and casual. Mapletail's eyes: clear and cold. Saltstar had seen hate. Had felt it. Had received it. But that was nothing compared to this. That was like the warm glow of embers. This was the harsh bitter chill of a falling star on a winter's night. The environment reflected it: in the empty cold space where they stood, frost began to form on starry ground. It froze Saltstar's paws in place. Or perhaps that was an excuse. Either way, he could not move.

"Should I give you something nice? Gentle? Forgiving?" Mapletail continued. "Forgiveness. Should I give you that? But I'm not your mother, as you made very clear to me. I decided I won't waste my goodwill on you like your mother did. She still believes in you, Saltgrass. That's why she gave you compassion. In fact everyone who came forward tonight believes in you. And many more besides. In spite of everything you've done."

The frost melted where she paced. An uneven circle around him. Not perfect. Angry. "So I thought maybe I should give you guilt. Guilt to recognize what you destroy. Guilt to give you remorse. Guilt to inject some empathy into that cold-hearted brittle soul of yours. But then I realized you've never felt guilt in all those hard-edged moons you've been alive. Why would you start now? Why would you take anything except the life I gave you? You'd ignore the guilt and take the rest. You bastard."

She had never been this clear-minded before. Had never been so eloquent. Sometimes, during her periods of lucidity: he could recall, dimly, that they used to talk. Interesting conversations even. But she always strayed from the point. Became distracted. When she remembered her sister, she cried. This was often. She would crush Saltpaw to her chest until he could barely breathe. Soak the top of his head with her tears. Repeat how much she loved him and Sandbird. Repeat how much she had loved their parents. Repeat how she would take care of them. Would do her best. Saltpaw bore it, the way he bore everything. When he was old enough and stronger he would push down her paws as she approached. Dodge the suffocating hug. Pat her into calmness and give her herbs.

Mapletail's mouth quirked. Like she knew what he was thinking. Maybe she did: Saltgrass did not know how this place worked. He was exposed. Vulnerable. She could reach into his head and his heart and take out whatever she wanted. "Then I thought what about pity? That would be fitting. You pitied me for all those moons. I knew what you were doing, you know. Not all the time. But enough. I even knew what Sandbird was doing. I couldn't say anything. Couldn't defend myself."

Saltgrass found his voice. "You were senile." he said. Croaked. Like ice splinters forcing their way out of a dry throat.

"That excuses nothing," Mapletail snapped. A pause. And then, unexpected: a softening. "I know what I did to you too. To you and Sandbird both. What I did was not me and was me at the same time. I am sorry for what I put you through."

"Too little." said Saltstar. "Too late."

"I know. I'm not giving you an apology for a life." Sharp laughter. "What I did I cannot take back. How it affected you I cannot change. The hurt I put into the world I cannot erase. But you can. The question is, will you?" She studied him. "ThunderClan is destined for great things. Under you? Maybe. I hope so. I really hope so. But it will never work if you spend the rest of your life taking out the anger you have for me on everybody else. Your brother never understood this. Never will: he's not built for it. But you? Will you understand?"

Saltstar said nothing.

"What I am trying to say is don't let it define you, Saltgrass. Hindsight is 20/20. I don't want you to have to learn this the way that I did."

"I'm not. I won't. My life is proof of this."

"Is it?" For a moment Mapletail looked sad. Then she moved and Saltstar knew: it must have been a trick of the light. "So I considered pity. But you would never want pity. Then I thought about loss. But you are thick-headed and stubborn as a mule. Loss to you is like water is to a duck. Then I thought perspective. But Ravenstar beat me to it. So what did that leave me? I thought about it for days."

It was too cold. He was too tired. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Mapletail had not changed as much in death as he thought. As she clearly liked to think. "I'm not here for moral lessons or your ramblings," Saltstar snapped. "Get to the point."

Mapletail bared her teeth. Hissed. "Fine." She was in front of him suddenly: then she was leaping. Bowling him over. Landing hard with her paws pinning him down. He was shocked by her strength. She should not have overpowered him. Should not be able to keep him pinned down. He willed himself to rise. Shake her off. But his strength was gone. His muscles were made of cement. A sudden fearful detail: this close, he saw that Mapletail did not breathe.

"This is your final life. Your ninth life." She unsheathed her claws. Lifted them to his neck. Slashed once. He watched the scar across her throat open, felt one opening across his own. It was a simple feeling: the ghostly unzipping of flesh. Barely noticeable. It did not hurt like he thought it would. The real shock was the warmth of his blood colliding with the cold of the air. Like jumping into the ice cold river. Like falling into snow. The coldness at his neck and then the warming of his pelt and skin as his blood trickled from his throat to the ground: and her blood, dripping down above him. But he was not afraid. Somehow. He was not afraid.

"With this life I give you death," she said. "But not the death you gave to me: the one I wish you gave. I give you a peaceful death. A quiet death. A pain-free death. If in war: a quick death. An easy death. A guiltless death. If alone: a gentle death. A death eased of loneliness. A dignified death. A fearless death."

Her words: growing fainter. Her face: fading. Saltstar's eyes closed, slowly. His breathing slowed, gradually. His body went weak. Supple. The pressure on his throat and chest was easing. He was being surrounded by an ocean of quiet. Of softness. Of peace. From far above, Mapletail's voice.

"I hope that you'll deserve it."

Saltgrass died.

And in the cave of the Moonstone, dawn beginning to light the stone in shades of glowing pink, throat throbbing and mouth dry and very, very cold: Saltstar woke up.

---

relentlessness • compassion • reserve • perspective • certainty • honor • mercy • remembrance • death

---

"he lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
and then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
no one believed. they listened at his heart.
little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
no more to build on there. and they, since they
were not the one dead, turned to their affairs."

- out, out—, robert frost