Warriors: Power Of Three 4 - Eclipse (12 page)

Mousefur was pacing outside the elders’ den. “WindClan have changed so much since Tallstar was leader,” she meowed wistfully.

Firestar was standing on Highledge with Brackenfur at his side, still panting after his dash through the forest. “There’ll be extra patrols,” he reassured his Clan, “including a predawn patrol to protect our prey.”

His voice was steady, but Jaypaw could feel waves of anxiety pulsing from him, bouncing off the walls of the hollow like distant thunder.

WindClan! Jaypaw bristled. They might be struggling to feed their Clan, but stealing was the cowardly solution. Onestar was a leader of warriors. How could he make thieves of his Clan?

He padded back to his den, relieved to find that Leafpool was gone. She must have left the camp to search for herbs. He wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t asked him to join her. Since their argument, they had spoken only when necessary. Why did she have to be so obsessed with making Cinderpaw a warrior? She was just being stubborn. And Cinderpaw still lay in the den, a constant reminder of their quarrel.

As he nosed his way in through the brambles, a voice called weakly to him from inside.

“Can you fetch me some water?”

Cinderpaw hadn’t even tried to leave her nest since she’d been brought in. Not even when Firestar had summoned the Clan to share the news about WindClan’s prey-stealing.

“You can drink from the pool yourself,” he mewed crossly.

There was a moment’s silence, then, “Please!”

How could she beg like that? She was almost a warrior! Jaypaw padded to her nest and leaned in till he felt his whiskers brush hers. “Your leg’s going to be fine,” he snapped. “But only if you use it!”

“But what if it isn’t?” Cinderpaw mewed pitifully.

As she spoke, Jaypaw’s mind filled with a violent swirl of images and noise. His heart seemed to pitch in his chest like a leaf tossed on waves. He was standing on a thin strip of grass, a Thunderpath as wide as the lake stretching in front of him. A roar filled his ears, and he crouched in terror as a silver monster hurtled by, so close its wind flattened his fur.

Another roared in the opposite direction. His eyes stung with their choking scent as monster after monster howled by.

Suddenly one broke from its path, careering toward him.

He struggled to flee, but his paws wouldn’t grip the slippery grass. Then a lightning bolt of pain pierced his leg and the world turned black.

He blinked open his eyes. Brightness flooded his gaze, sharper than sunlight. Ferns sprang around him, and the ground was soft with fragrant grass. He was lying in a glade, the clear blue sky glittering through the leaves overhead.

Squinting, he recognized Bluestar and Yellowfang muttering together near the entrance to a narrow tunnel. Every now and then one of them would steal an anxious glance toward him.

A dull pain throbbed in his leg and when he tried to move, it felt limp and lifeless.

“You’re doing really well.” Firestar was leaning over him, his face framed with soft fur like that of a much younger cat.

His green eyes were round with grief. “No, you’ll never be a warrior,” he whispered suddenly. “I’m sorry.”

This is Cinderpelt’s memory! Jaypaw fought the pain that seemed to crack his heart. Despair and panic clawed his belly. I’ve lost everything. Everything!

“Jaypaw!” Cinderpaw’s worried mew jolted Jaypaw back to the present.

“I thought you didn’t know . . .” Jaypaw breathed, trying to scrabble back to his own reality.

“Know what?” Cinderpaw sounded puzzled.

“Cinderpelt . . .” Jaypaw began unsteadily. He paused, feeling Cinderpaw’s whiskers brush his paws.

“She was the medicine cat before Leafpool, right?” she prompted.

“What’s going on?” Leafpool burst into the den. “What are you talking about?”

Jaypaw turned, battered by the storm of fear and anger flooding from his mentor. “She knows about Cinderpelt,” he breathed.

The moss in Cinderpaw’s nest rustled. “Knows what?”

But Jaypaw hardly heard the apprentice. He could feel Leafpool’s hot breath on his face.

“She does not know,” she hissed. “She must never know, understand?”

He flattened his ears, drawing back. “But . . . but . . . she remembered!” he stammered.

Leafpool shouldered past him. “Don’t worry, Cinderpaw,”

she soothed. “Jaypaw was just wondering if Cinderpelt might have tried a different remedy for your leg.”

Liar! Jaypaw flushed hot with anger. Why was she so determined to keep this secret?

Leafpool’s tail swished over her patient’s pelt.

“I knew you couldn’t make it better.” Cinderpaw’s mew was barely more than a whisper. “I’m never going to be a warrior, am I?”

“You need to rest,” Leafpool told her. “Your ears feel hot.”

Moss rustled as she fussed with Cinderpaw’s nest. “Jaypaw?”

she called over her shoulder. “Bring Cinderpaw some water, please.”

Jaypaw stomped to the pool, picked a wad of moss from the pile kept beside it, and dipped it into the cold water. If she spoils her like this, of course her leg’ll never get better. Leafpool was wrong about everything! He dropped the soaking moss beside Cinderpaw’s nest and padded out of the den.

Frustration with Leafpool tangled with the vision of monsters and the echo of pain in his leg. He stood beside the bramble patch and breathed deeply, hoping the fresh air would clear his thoughts.

“Jaypaw?” Leafpool’s mew surprised him.

“I thought you’d still be fussing over your patient,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry I was short with you,” Leafpool apologized. “But she mustn’t find out.”

“Why not?” Jaypaw demanded.

“Because it isn’t fair.” Leafpool sat down heavily. “She can’t be influenced by her last life; don’t you see?”

“But you’re inf luenced by it,” Jaypaw argued. “Are you really treating her the same way you’d treat Poppypaw or Honeypaw? Every time you go near her, your thoughts are filled with Cinderpelt.”

Even as he spoke, he glimpsed memories flashing through Leafpool’s mind: of a badger forcing its way into the nursery and snapping at Cinderpelt as she stood in front of Sorreltail’s newborn kits. “You’re doing it now!” he accused. “It’s not your fault Cinderpelt died.”

“But it is!” Leafpool’s mew was thick with grief. “If I hadn’t left the Clan . . .”

Fog instantly shrouded her thoughts, shutting Jaypaw out.

“You mustn’t keep doing that!” she snapped. “It’s not fair!”

“I can’t help it,” Jaypaw told her. “It just happens.”

“Nothing ever ‘just happens’ with you, Jaypaw,” she mewed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jaypaw could feel Leafpool struggling to push away her anger.

“Nothing,” she mewed. Weariness suddenly seemed to engulf her. “StarClan sent Cinderpelt back to live the life she always wanted. As a warrior of ThunderClan. I just wanted to make sure that it happened.”

“Then why are you letting her lie in her nest like a cripple?”

“I don’t want her to suffer any more.”

“You’ve given up on her,” Jaypaw accused. “She’s too scared to move, and you’re too scared to let her!”

“That’s not true,” Leafpool hissed.

“Really?” Jaypaw lashed his tail. “Then why don’t you go in there and tell her to get her own water next time?”

“Because I don’t know if that would help her or harm her.”

Jaypaw could hardly believe his ears. How could his mentor have lost so much faith in her own judgment? “You’ve examined her leg! You know it’s just her muscles that are hurt!”

“But I was wrong last time,” Leafpool pointed out. “I said she was ready for her assessment and I was wrong.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve failed her, and I’ve failed StarClan.”

Frustration welled in Jaypaw’s belly. “Do you always give up so easily?” he growled. “I thought this mattered to you, but maybe it doesn’t matter enough!”

Without waiting for her reply, he turned and padded across the clearing. He wanted to get out of the hollow and as far away from Leafpool as possible. He pushed his way through the thorn tunnel.

Birchfall was guarding the entrance. “Hey, Jaypaw. Do you want someone to go with you?”

“No!” Jaypaw headed into the trees.

Following the scent and direction of the breeze, he headed for the lake. The air felt cool and damp, with a chill that hadn’t left it since the recent rains. He picked his way through the woods, following a path he knew well. Emerging from the trees, he padded down the slope toward the beach. Wind ruffled the water, which sounded surprisingly close. Perhaps the damp air carried the sound more easily. Jaypaw stepped down off the bank, his paws sinking into the shingle. He padded forward.

Splash!

His paw plunged into water, not deep, but enough to make him leap back, trembling. Since his fall into the lake as a kit, he was terrified of water. He scrambled up the bank, heart thumping. The lake must have risen from all the rain.

My stick! Alarmed, he skirted the edge of the lake, keeping to the grassy bank until he reached the line of trees edging the shore. Weaving among the trunks, he tried to guess which one held the stick in its roots. Sniffing carefully, he recognized with a burst of relief the rowan where he’d wedged it.

He scrambled onto a thick root and leaned over the edge. The water was lapping the bank. He dug his hind claws into the bark, reached a forepaw down into the water, and felt for his stick.

It’s not there! He flapped his paw in the space beneath the root. With panic rising in his throat, he leaned farther out, planting his other forepaw on the muddy bank so water lapped his claws as he dangled over the edge. Reaching as far as he could, he splashed his paw in the lake, feeling desperately for the sleek piece of wood. The waves licked his muzzle, making him splutter.

Where is it? Had the lake taken it back? He might never see it again!

Something hard bumped his muzzle. Something floating on the waves. He sniffed, coughing as water shot up his nose.

But he recognized his stick at once. Flailing with his paw, he tried to drag the stick closer, but it bobbed out of reach each time he tried to hook it with a claw. Why was it so smooth?

Why couldn’t it have bark for him to grip? Fear and frustration stormed in his chest.

“What in the name of StarClan are you doing?” Teeth grasped his tail, and Jaypaw was jerked backward onto the top of the bank.

It was Firestar.

“I was just . . .” Jaypaw searched for the right words.

How could he explain his need for the stick? But it might be f loating out of reach while he stood here trying to tell Firestar. “I have to have that stick!” He prayed that the desperation in his mew would be enough. Hope f lashed in his heart as Firestar brushed past him to peer over the edge of the bank.

“What? That smooth stick floating near the bank?”

“Yes!” Jaypaw almost wailed.

“It won’t sink, you know,” Firestar informed him. “Wood doesn’t. Will it matter if it does?”

Jaypaw took a deep breath. “Yes,” he mewed. “It matters very much . . . to me.” He fought to keep calm as Firestar’s curious gaze warmed his pelt.

“Okay,” Firestar meowed, after what seemed like moons.

“I’ll get it.”

The ThunderClan leader’s claws scratched the tree roots as he leaned out and fished in the water. Jaypaw could hear splashing and Firestar’s grunt as he grasped something in his jaws.

He’s got it!

The stick scraped against the muddy bank as Firestar heaved it out and dropped it onto dry land.

“Thank you!” Jaypaw sighed, pressing his paw to the wet wood.

“Do you want me to carry it back to camp for you?” Firestar puffed.

“No!” The word blurted out before Jaypaw could think.

This was his secret. The fur along his spine rippled at the thought of Leafpool asking questions, of his Clanmates staring at his stick, seeing what he could not see, touching what was his.

“Well, it’s safe now,” Firestar meowed. He leaned closer to the stick. “It’s got some unusual scratches on it. Did you put them there?”

“No,” Jaypaw answered honestly, his pelt burning. He curled his claws, hoping Firestar wouldn’t ask any more questions.

“Come on,” Firestar meowed. “Let’s head back.”

Thank you, StarClan! Jaypaw rolled the stick to the nearest stubby bush and pushed it close to the trunk, wedging one end under a gnarled root. He didn’t think the water would ever rise this high, but even if it did, the stick shouldn’t float away again. Good-bye, he whispered before turning and following his Clan leader up the grassy slope that led to the forest.

As they entered the trees, Jaypaw tried to pick up Firestar’s thoughts. He wanted to know what the ThunderClan leader truly felt about him, knowing the prophecy. But, like Leafpool’s mind when she was on her guard, Firestar’s thoughts were clouded and impossible to read.

“How’s Cinderpaw?” Firestar asked. There was worry in his voice. Jaypaw remembered his vision: Firestar had been the one to tell Cinderpelt she’d never be a warrior. He felt a rush of pity for his leader. Cinderpaw’s latest injury must have scratched old wounds.

“She’ll be okay, won’t she?” Firestar pressed.

Jaypaw answered cautiously. “She’s in a lot of pain. It’s hard to tell how bad the injury is.” He didn’t want to contradict anything Leafpool might have said to Firestar.

“That name must bring bad luck,” Firestar murmured, half to himself. Jaypaw had to fight the urge to tell him that Cinderpaw didn’t just share Cinderpelt’s name, but her spirit.

They walked in silence to the hollow, and, as they entered the camp, Leafpool trotted up, breathless. “Are you okay?” she asked Jaypaw.

“He’s fine,” Firestar told her. “I met him in the woods and we walked back together.”

Jaypaw was grateful that Firestar hadn’t mentioned the stick.

“Come fetch some mouse bile with me,” Leafpool ordered Jaypaw. “Daisy has a tick.”

As Jaypaw headed for the medicine cat den, Leafpool padded beside him, not speaking. Was she still angry after their quarrel? He tried to read her thoughts, but his own kept inter-fering. He pictured the stick floating in the water. It hadn’t sunk. According to Firestar, it couldn’t sink. Jaypaw had always thought of water as a treacherous creature, sucking whatever it touched to its freezing depths. It had tried to swallow him when he was a kit. But it hadn’t sucked the stick down. It had held it. Kept it on the surface, next to the air.