River, page 8
Flamepaw was so touched by her words that for several heartbeats he couldn’t speak. At last, he touched his nose to hers. “Thank you, Sorrelstripe.”
“Don’t thank me,” his foster mother mewed. “Prove it to me instead.”
Suddenly full of resolution, Flamepaw drew himself up straight. “I will!” he promised. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you proud of me.”
Chapter 8
The sun was going down over the RiverClan camp as the Clan waited for Reedwhisker and his hunting patrol to return. Every cat had found some reason to be in the clearing; Frostpaw could taste the nervous anticipation in the air, and feel her heart thumping against her rib cage. Her pelt tingled with expectation, yet she dreaded the moment when Reedwhisker would hear the terrible news.
Beside her, Mothwing was standing, thoughts swimming like minnows in her amber eyes. She had agreed to be the cat who would announce Mistystar’s death to the Clan leader’s son.
The mingled scents of cats and prey announced the return of the hunting party. A buzz of excitement and apprehension ran through the assembled cats, as if a swarm of bees had suddenly descended on the clearing. Frostpaw watched as the warriors straggled in through the clumps of hazel and bramble that surrounded the camp. Podlight was in the lead, followed by Fognose, Splashtail, and then Curlfeather. Frostpaw waited a few heartbeats, expecting to see Reedwhisker bringing up the rear, but he didn’t appear. The other four cats were dragging in an enormous amount of prey, but the Clan deputy wasn’t with them.
Mothwing stepped forward. “Where’s Reedwhisker?” she demanded bluntly.
Podlight halted, flicking his tail as he dropped the two voles he was carrying. “Nice to see you too, Mothwing,” he meowed, amusement in his eyes. “Isn’t Reedwhisker here with you?”
Mothwing shook her head, while a confused muttering rose from the Clan. Frostpaw’s pads prickled with a sudden sense that something was wrong.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Fognose meowed. “Have you noticed all the prey we brought home? It was a fantastic day’s hunting!”
Mothwing let her gaze travel slowly over the patrol. “There’s terrible news,” she announced. “Mistystar is dead.”
The amusement fled from Podlight’s eyes and he stared at Mothwing in disbelief. “How?” he asked eventually. “Surely she wasn’t on her last life!”
“It was sudden,” Mothwing explained, “and I don’t believe she felt much pain. But this was her last life. She has joined StarClan now; Frostpaw spoke to Willowshine, who welcomed Mistystar into their hunting grounds.”
The four cats of the patrol stood looking at each other in stunned silence for a few moments. Frostpaw thought that her mother looked particularly shocked, her eyes wide and disbelieving. It was she who spoke at last. “She was a great leader.”
Her gaze rested for a moment on Frostpaw, warm and sympathetic, as if asking whether she was okay. Frostpaw gave her a tiny nod.
“Mistystar was amazing,” Curlfeather went on, her whiskers drooping sadly. “Remember how she pulled the Clan back together after Darktail almost destroyed us?”
“And after that she was so brave, to go into the Dark Forest to defeat Ashfur,” Podlight mewed, his voice full of awe. “She must have known she was on her last life then.”
“She sacrificed so much for her Clan,” Splashtail declared.
Murmurs of the same awe rose from the assembled cats as they joined in with memories of Mistystar, huddling together as if they felt the loss of their leader like a cold wind sweeping through the Clan.
Finally Mothwing interrupted. “About Reedwhisker . . . He’s needed urgently. He will need to go to the Moonpool soon, to claim his nine lives and become Reedstar.”
Podlight shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t know where he went. We lost track of him; I thought he’d just wandered off, chasing a rabbit or something.”
“That’s right,” Curlfeather meowed. “We tried looking for him—we followed his scent trail, but there was rain last night, and the ground is too wet to hold a scent. In the end we thought he would be waiting for us back here in camp.”
“Well, he isn’t here,” Mallownose stated.
Nightsky blinked anxiously. “Do you think we should be worried?” she asked.
“It’s a bit early for that. But Reedwhisker is a responsible warrior,” Mothwing muttered, half to herself. “He wouldn’t just wander off.” Frostpaw saw panic flash across her mentor’s eyes, though within a heartbeat she drew herself up, clearly struggling to stay calm. “No,” she declared. “Podlight is probably right. Most likely he got distracted chasing some prey and followed it into a ravine that he’s having trouble getting out of, or he got lost.”
Really? Frostpaw couldn’t suppress her doubts. When he knows our territory so well? Though she hoped Mothwing was right, she began to believe something might have happened to Reedwhisker. Maybe he had had an accident, or run into a fox or badger. But I can’t say so. That will just make every cat more worried.
“The light is fading,” Mothwing continued, standing straighter with apparent confidence. “We need to send out search parties now if we’re to have any hope of finding him tonight.”
“Yes, we must find him soon,” Curlfeather pointed out.
“It’s the worst possible time for this to happen,” Duskfur stated, ruffling her pelt.
“What was he thinking?” Owlnose grumbled. “He was supposed to be leading the patrol, not wandering off like some daft apprentice!”
Some cat spoke from the back of the crowd, their voice hollow with anxiety. “What if we never find him?”
“Of course we’ll find him,” Curlfeather mewed briskly. “We have to. Or else . . .” She let her voice trail off.
Frostpaw saw Mothwing wince, though she said nothing. But the medicine cat did not need to speak for Frostpaw to understand what her mother meant. Or else RiverClan will be without a leader. And then what would happen? Has this ever happened before?
“Mothwing, are you going to choose the search parties?” Curlfeather asked.
For a moment Mothwing hesitated. Frostpaw saw her glancing around, and suddenly realized that there was no obvious cat who should make the decision. Was it Mothwing’s place as a medicine cat to do that, or should it be a senior warrior?
Then the golden tabby she-cat gave her pelt a shake. “Yes, thank you, Curlfeather. Owlnose, Havenpelt, Lizardtail, you can lead. Take whichever cats you want with you. Podlight, you and your patrol don’t need to go out again, but organize a guard here, in case there’s trouble we don’t know about.”
“We’ll make sure the camp is safe,” Curlfeather promised.
“What should we do if we run into a ShadowClan or WindClan border patrol?” Owlnose asked as the cats split up into groups. “Should we mention . . . ?”
“Not yet,” Mothwing mewed decisively. “The last thing we need is the other Clans tangling their paws in our business. But if Reedwhisker is still missing in the morning, we’ll have no choice.”
The camp seemed desolate once the search parties had left. The hunting patrol added their catch to the fresh-kill pile, making it as huge as Frostpaw had ever seen it, but no cat could do more than pick halfheartedly at the prey.
“We must prepare for Mistystar’s vigil,” Mothwing declared.
Frostpaw felt exhausted at the very thought. The shock of Reedwhisker’s disappearance had driven the thought of the Clan’s farewell to their leader out of her mind.
“It won’t be difficult to pay tribute to Mistystar,” Shimmerpelt mewed. “She was such an important cat to us here in RiverClan. She did so much for so many. . . .”
A choking sound came from Mothwing’s throat. Spinning around, she fled across the clearing and disappeared in the direction of her den.
“She must be really exhausted,” Frostpaw murmured to her mother. “She tried to save Mistystar, and then she had to be strong for the rest of the Clan. I guess, now that the patrols are out, she can’t hide her grief anymore.”
Curlfeather shook her head, letting out a sigh of sorrow and compassion. “Mothwing and Mistystar were close for a very long time,” she mewed. “Maybe closer still since they resolved their quarrel over the rebels, and Mothwing returned from ShadowClan.”
Fognose nodded agreement. “How will we ever manage without Mistystar? She led our Clan through such difficult times.”
“Reedwhisker will be a good leader,” Podlight declared sadly. “But it won’t be the same.”
As her Clanmates continued to discuss the loss of Mistystar, Frostpaw rose slowly to her paws. At her mother’s questioning look, she murmured, “I should go help Mothwing.”
Frostpaw dipped her head to the rest of the cats, then headed out of the clearing and leaped down onto the stretch of pebbles between the stream and the medicine cats’ den. Brushing aside the hanging vegetation that covered the entrance, she saw Mothwing curled deeply into her nest, her paws and tail over her face. Deep shudders coursed through her body.
“Mothwing?” Frostpaw mewed gently. There was no response from the medicine cat. Padding into the den, Frostpaw laid a paw on her mentor’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she continued. “I know you were close to her.”
“I can’t believe that I’ll never speak to her again.” Mothwing’s voice was stifled; she didn’t move or look up at Frostpaw. “We lost so much time while I stayed with ShadowClan. Maybe I was too proud.”
“Mistystar was proud, too.” Frostpaw settled down beside the nest, her pelt brushing Mothwing’s. “But she admitted that it was wrong to fight on Ashfur’s side. And I know she understood why you stayed away,” she mewed.
Mothwing let out a long sigh and turned her head to look sideways at Frostpaw. “Do you think Mistystar would be ready to talk to me?” she asked. “Could you check on her in StarClan?”
“I’m not sure it works like that,” Frostpaw replied. It felt strange, having to explain this to her mentor, when she had only just been made an apprentice. Who is there to explain things to me? “From what I understand, StarClan cats communicate with us, not the other way around. You don’t get to choose who you speak to.”
“But you could try.” Mothwing’s amber gaze burned with eagerness. “I don’t know how it works. I’ve always been shut off from StarClan—or I cut myself off. But . . . couldn’t you try, Frostpaw?”
Frostpaw wasn’t at all sure that it would work; she had only made contact with StarClan twice. And even then she hadn’t been able to talk with the spirit cat. But she cared about her mentor, so desperately grief-stricken, and she wanted to ease her pain. “Of course,” she responded.
Please, StarClan, don’t let me fail, she prayed. That would only hurt Mothwing more.
She stretched out her paws, laid them on Mothwing’s, and closed her eyes, trying to remember what she had done to ease Mistystar’s passage into StarClan. Please, she thought, trying to cast her mind up through unmeasurable distance to the stars. Please, Mistystar . . .
For a long time Frostpaw could see nothing, only surging gray mist. Little memories of the day flickered through her mind: Mistystar falling; Curlfeather warning that they would have to find Reedwhisker soon; the huge fresh-kill pile.
Then a voice sounded in her head. We must move on.
Frostpaw’s heart began to beat faster as she recognized Mistystar’s voice, ringing out as clearly as when the leader would summon her Clan to a meeting. Focusing to remember every detail of Mistystar’s face, she caught a sudden flash of her ice-blue eyes.
Mistystar! she thought fiercely. Is that you? Are you all right?
But the blue flash had vanished. Over and over again Frostpaw tried to recover it, the silence growing heavier as she waited anxiously for the contact to be renewed. But she could see nothing except the swirling gray fog. Now even her memories had left her; she had to accept that for now it was over.
At last Frostpaw opened her eyes to see Mothwing gazing hopefully at her.
“Did you see anything?” the medicine cat asked.
Frostpaw nodded. “I did,” she replied softly. “Mistystar told me that we must move on.”
Mothwing drew in a wondering breath. “I knew she would speak to us,” she murmured. “She knows that I will miss her terribly. . . . But she’s right. We must all move on.” She stretched out a paw and laid it on Frostpaw’s. “Thank you,” she mewed. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Frostpaw still felt weak with grief from the day’s terrible events, but warmth spread through her at Mothwing’s words.
I helped my mentor, and my Clan.
Chapter 9
Sunbeam bounded across the camp, her paws itching to be on the move. At last she had been released from the medicine cats’ den and allowed to go back to her warrior duties, and for the first time in days she would be able to join a hunting patrol. She could almost taste the warmth of the prey that she would catch.
Tawnypelt was gathering her patrol together outside the warriors’ den. Scorchfur and Whorlpelt were with her; Sunbeam’s paw steps slowed when she realized that the fourth cat was Lightleap.
Anxiety surged through Sunbeam, her enthusiasm ebbing, as she remembered how Tigerstar had spoken to her the day before about her part in the accident when Lightleap fell from the tree. He hadn’t given her a punishment, but he had blamed her for going along with Lightleap’s lie. “Watch your step,” he had warned her. “Because I’ll be watching you.”
That’s so unfair! she fumed to herself. I didn’t do anything wrong, and yet I’ve still ended up in trouble.
But even more than the memory of the scolding from the Clan leader, Sunbeam was worried about the way Lightleap didn’t want to be her friend anymore. How can I concentrate on patrolling if she’s still so hostile?
Tawnypelt led her patrol toward the lake in the direction of the greenleaf Twolegplace at the border with RiverClan. The scents of the camp had not entirely faded before Sunbeam noticed that Lightleap had fallen to the back of the group, walking listlessly with her head down and her tail drooping.
Slackening her pace, Sunbeam let the rest of the patrol draw a little way ahead so that she could pad alongside Lightleap. If she’ll just let me explain why I told Shadowsight, she’ll understand that I was only trying to help. Maybe then we can be real friends again.
“Lightleap, I have to talk to you,” she began. “I never meant to get you into trouble. I told Shadowsight because—”
“Yes, you told Shadowsight,” Lightleap hissed, turning her head to glare at Sunbeam. “When you promised not to tell any cat. I trusted you!”
“I’m sorry, but I only wanted to help,” Sunbeam defended herself. “I know how unhappy you are, Lightleap. But, honestly, no cat blames you for not going into the Dark Forest. I wouldn’t have dared to set paw in there, not for all the mice in the forest. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t want to talk about the Dark Forest,” Lightleap interrupted, her lips drawn back in a snarl. “And I certainly don’t want to talk to you.”
“But I just want to be friends. . . .”
Sunbeam let her voice trail off as Lightleap picked up speed to catch up with the main patrol. When she was about to reach them, she seemed to realize that she didn’t want to be with them, either; she veered away to one side, so that she was still walking alone.
Sunbeam felt an ache in her chest, as if a massive paw were pressing down on her heart. Lightleap doesn’t even want to speak to me! Then she heard a tiny shriek, cut off as one of her Clanmates caught a mouse. Sunbeam realized that ever since she’d left camp, her thoughts had been full of Lightleap; she hadn’t even tried to taste the air or listen for prey. I’ll mess up this whole patrol if I’m not careful.
Raising her head, Sunbeam called out to Tawnypelt, “I’m going to try down here!” She gestured with her tail to a place where the undergrowth was massed more thickly.
“Okay!” Tawnypelt called back.
Sunbeam followed a narrow grassy track through banks of fern, keeping her ears pricked and stopping to taste the air every few paw steps. Soon she came to a dip where she could crouch unseen beneath the arching fronds and wait for prey. But even now she couldn’t concentrate on the scents and tiny movements all around her.
Will Lightleap ever get over this and be my friend again? What if she doesn’t?
Distracted by her dark thoughts, Sunbeam didn’t notice the squirrel that scampered past her until its tail almost flicked the end of her nose. She charged out of the ferns, grabbing for the squirrel with her forepaws, but she was far too late. She gave chase as her prey headed for the nearest tree, but it raced up the trunk while she was still a couple of fox-lengths behind, and halted above her head, on a branch Sunbeam could tell was far too thin to bear her weight.
“Fox dung!” she snarled, glaring up at the squirrel. “Okay, you got lucky this time. But watch out, that’s all!”
Missing what should have been an easy catch made Sunbeam feel even worse. I’ve got to snap out of this and start behaving like a warrior!
As she turned away, determined to put aside her worries and concentrate on hunting, Sunbeam heard a yowl of rage somewhere far ahead of her, as if a cat had been suddenly surprised by an enemy. It was followed—faintly, because of the distance—by the wet growl of a fighting cat.
Sunbeam froze, angling her ears in the direction of the sounds. She heard nothing more; cautiously, she began to head toward the noise, keeping to the shelter of the ferns or the shadows cast by tree trunks as she wove her way among the trees.
Her heart beating unpleasantly, Sunbeam tried to think who might be fighting on ShadowClan territory. We don’t have any enemies right now. Ever since Bramblestar’s return from the Dark Forest, and the defeat of Ashfur, there had been peace among the Clans. So this must be rogues.
