Warriors: Power Of Three 2 - Dark River (15 page)

“We need to fetch herbs.” Leafpool’s mew was matter-of-fact, as though nothing had passed between them. He searched her mind for some lingering anger or guilt, but her thoughts seemed to be carefully shielded. “The marigolds should be flowering by the lakeshore,” she went on as she led him out of camp.

Jaypaw didn’t speak. He sulked in silence as they trekked up the slope and over the ridge. As they emerged from the trees, a chilly wind cut through his fur. It smelled of rain.

Leafpool headed down the grassy slope to the shore. “I can see some.” She veered into the wind.

Jaypaw narrowed his eyes as it blasted his face. This was a pointless journey. “You know we’ve already got a pile of marigold in the den, don’t you?”

Leafpool slowed her pace to match his. “If there is to be a battle, we must be prepared,” she told him. “Our first duty is to heal the Clan.” Jaypaw felt her willing him to speak. “Don’t you think?” She sounded anxious.

Grudgingly, he let himself be drawn into conversation.

“Yes,” he conceded. “But what about sharing with StarClan?

That’s part of our duty too. Why didn’t they warn us a battle was coming?”

“StarClan doesn’t always tell us everything that’s going to happen.”

“Do we just have to wait until we’re told?” Jaypaw bristled with frustration. “We can walk among them in our dreams.

Surely we can find out for ourselves?”

“Are you questioning the wisdom of StarClan?”

Jaypaw bit back his reply—that he couldn’t figure out why being dead made StarClan so wise.

“There’s more to being a medicine cat than sharing with StarClan,” Leafpool went on. “You still don’t know every herb, for example.” She halted and sniffed loudly. “What’s this one?”

Jaypaw tasted the air. A sharp tang bathed his tongue. He reached down and touched small soft leaves. Tight flower buds bounced against his nose.

“Do you recognize that?” Leafpool prompted.

“Feverfew,” Jaypaw mewed. “Good for aches, especially headaches.” He turned away, adding, “But it’s no good to us now because the flower won’t be out for another moon.”

Why was she treating him like a mouse-brained idiot? How many times did he have to prove himself?

Another scent caught his attention. Something tastier than feverfew. He dropped into a hunting crouch. The grass ahead was shivering and he could hear a tiny snuffling. The image of a vole formed in his mind; he could see it as clearly as if he were dreaming. It was trembling.

Quick as a flash, Jaypaw shot forward, diving through the grass, paws outstretched. The vole darted sideways, but Jaypaw veered and cut off its escape route. It careered into his paws and he hooked it easily, killing it with a sharp nip. Padding back to Leafpool, he dangled his catch under her nose.

“Very good,” she meowed.

He flung it at her paws, the morning’s frustrations suddenly swamping him. “Now do you believe that I don’t need eyes to see?”

He waited for anger to flash from her, for her sharp rebuke to sting his ears. Instead, he felt her tail sweep his flank, gentle as a breeze. “Oh, Jaypaw,” she sighed. “I have always believed in you.”

Emotion swelled from her, sentimental and oppressive, filling his mind like a sticky cloud. Taken aback, he edged away and darted down onto the shore. Ahead, a stream was babbling as it flowed out of the forest and into the lake. This was where Mousepaw had lost the squirrel. And it was where he had found the stick. He hadn’t realized that they had come this far around the lake.

His paws tingled with excitement.

The stick.

He picked his way over the shore, careful not to trip on the twigs and Twoleg rubbish washed up by the lake. A large drop of rain landed between his shoulder blades. He shook it off, ducking as another hit his nose. He could smell the stick now, its strange scent calling to him like a kit mewling for its mother. He hurried to where he had left it tucked behind the tree root and dragged it out onto the shore. He wanted to run his paws over it again, feel the scars in its smooth surface. His pads felt warm as they stroked it, his heart suddenly as full as a well-fed belly.

“Is that the same old stick you found last time?” Leafpool had caught up to him.

Jaypaw nodded.

“Why are you so interested in it?” Leafpool was puzzled.

“It feels important!” He rested both paws on the wood, as smooth as spider’s silk. A gentle murmuring filled his mind, like softly lapping waves. His paws traced the etching on the wood. They lingered on the uncrossed marks, and he felt sadness spike into his pads. These marks are untold stories.

Rain was spattering on the leaves overhead and splashed in great drops onto his back.

“We should get back,” Leafpool decided.

“What about the stick?”

Thunder rolled in the distance. Wind whipped in off the lake, buffeting and pushing like a bad-tempered badger.

“We must get back to camp.” Leafpool sounded worried. “I can see the storm clouds coming. We shouldn’t be out in this.”

Jaypaw’s fur bristled. He felt lightning prickle in the air. A blast of wind pushed him sideways, knocking him away from the stick.

“Come on!” Leafpool urged.

Waves were pounding the shore now, beaten in by the rising wind.

“What about the stick?” Jaypaw called.

But Leafpool was already hurrying away. “Come on!” she ordered.

There was no time to drag it back to the safety of the root.

The wind was tearing at his fur, blowing back his ears. Pelting rain stung his eyes. Ducking down, Jaypaw darted after his mentor and raced back to the safety of the camp.

The rain had stopped but the wind still roared above the hollow.

Jaypaw lay in his nest and listened to the forest creaking high above the medicine den. The leaves swished like waves upon a shore. But Jaypaw hardly heard them. His ears were filled with whispering. His claws itched as he imagined the earthy scent of the stick. He rolled over in his nest and flattened his ears, but the whispering still breathed in his ears.

He stretched out and pummeled restlessly at the moss underneath him.

“Why don’t you go for a walk?” Leafpool murmured from her nest. “Before your fidgeting wakes Cinderpaw as well.”

“Okay.” Jaypaw sat up. His paws ached to be outside. He wanted to touch the stick once more.

He pushed his way through the brambles. Outside, the wind was stirring up the restless scents of newleaf so that the whole forest seemed to be swaying and fidgeting with impatience. Instinctively, Jaypaw knew that the sky was clear and the moon was shining. He could feel its cold light wash his pelt. As he headed for the camp entrance, the thorn barrier quivered.

“Jaypaw?”

Lionpaw was squeezing though the dirtplace tunnel.

“Hi, Lionpaw,” Jaypaw greeted him curiously. His brother’s pelt pricked with guilt and alarm. And it smelled of the wind.

He’s been out in the forest!

“I was just making dirt.” Lionpaw was lying.

Jaypaw narrowed his eyes. Does every cat in the Clan have secrets?

“I was just going out.” He sensed weariness in his brother’s paws and decided to test him. “Will you come with me?”

“If you want,” Lionpaw mewed warily.

He feels too guilty to refuse.

Birchfall hailed them from the camp entrance. “Who’s there?”

“Only us,” Jaypaw called back. He padded toward the thorn tunnel. “We’re just going out into the forest.”

Birchfall purred. “A midnight adventure,” he meowed.

“That reminds me of my apprentice days.” He sounded wistful, even though he’d been a warrior for only a few moons.

Jaypaw didn’t say anything; Birchfall always liked to pretend he was vastly wise and experienced compared with appren-tices but Jaypaw hadn’t forgotten the fuss he’d made over getting a thorn in his paw.

The warrior stepped aside, and Jaypaw felt the wind whisk down the tunnel. He beckoned to Lionpaw with his tail.

“Coming?”

Lionpaw followed Jaypaw through the barrier.

“Watch out for foxes!” Birchfall called after them.

Jaypaw shivered. The memory of the fox springing from the undergrowth while he and Brightheart trekked through the forest made his belly tighten.

“Don’t worry,” Lionpaw reassured him. “I can handle foxes now.”

They padded up the slope and onto the ridge.

“Where are we going?” Lionpaw asked.

“The lake.”

Lionpaw made no comment. No interest sparked from his pelt. Jaypaw could feel a dark cloud hovering in his brother’s mind, absorbing every other thought like quicksand. He tried reaching into it but felt nothing but uncertainty.

As they left the trees and headed down the grassy slope, the wind whipped at Jaypaw’s ears and whiskers. He lashed his tail, excited by the stormy weather and the thought of touching the stick once more. He could smell the lake now and pictured it—a vast Moonpool, ruffled and reflecting a shattered moon.

The scents of RiverClan, WindClan, and ShadowClan clashed and mingled on the breeze. Was there really going to be a battle?

“Do you think WindClan is planning to invade us?” he mewed.

Lionpaw pressed against him, steering him around a rabbit hole. “It wouldn’t make sense.” Jaypaw thought he heard hope in his brother’s mew. “It’s RiverClan they should be worried about, not us.”

“But what about the squirrel-hunting?”

“Why shouldn’t they hunt squirrels? The woods belong to them on that side of the gully.” Lionpaw sounded more like a warrior than an apprentice; as though he knew something Jaypaw didn’t.

As their paws crunched on the pebbles around the edge of the lake, Lionpaw hesitated. “Why are we here?”

“I left something here,” Jaypaw explained. “I need to drag it into the trees. I want to keep it safe from the lake.”

“What?”

“A stick.”

“A stick?”

“Yes!” Jaypaw sniffed the air, hoping to detect its scent. “It has markings on it.” His tail pricked with anxiety as he smelled nothing but windblown water. “I left it here.”

“What does it look like?”

“No bark,” Jaypaw mewed. “Just smooth wood. With lines scratched into it.”

“Okay,” Lionpaw mewed. “You check where you left it. I’ll search the top of the shore in case the wind’s carried it up there.”

Jaypaw hurried to the place where he had abandoned the stick. His heart began to pound. He was certain it was gone, and not just because he couldn’t scent it. There was a dark emptiness in his chest that told him the stick was no longer here.

He was right.

The pebbles were bare.

Fighting the fear that jabbed his belly, Jaypaw zigzagged over the shore, sniffing at the pebbles, trying to trace where the stick had gone. Why had he let the storm chase him away?

He should have made sure the stick was safe before he ran home like a fox-hearted coward!

“Have you found it?” Lionpaw’s mew was muffled by the wind.

“No!” Jaypaw felt panic rising in his chest. He couldn’t have lost it.

“Is this it?” Lionpaw called suddenly.

Jaypaw charged toward his brother. He tripped over a piece of driftwood, bruising his paw, but he ignored the pain and limped desperately toward Lionpaw.

He knew even before he reached it that it was not the stick. “Where are the scratches?” he snapped. “I told you, it has scratches!”

“Okay, okay!” Lionpaw flashed with resentment. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I have to find it.” Jaypaw wandered away, stumbling over the pebbles and debris. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He felt as if he had let someone down, though he had no idea how or who. His paw was throbbing now but he didn’t care. Had the lake reclaimed the stick?

He headed down the beach until water lapped his paws and paddled into the shallows. He had to find the stick. Cold water rippled against his belly fur. It dragged at his paws as he waded deeper. He remembered falling from the cliff, sinking, floundering beneath the waves. Crowfeather had saved him then, but the fear of the lake had stayed with him. It screamed at him now, warning him to turn back.

Jaypaw!

A voice rang in his head. Something tugged his fur, drawing him farther out. The waves lapped over his spine and he lifted his chin to keep it dry.

This way!

With each paw step he had to reach down farther to feel the pebbles. But he had to find the branch.

Suddenly, his paw knocked something beneath the water.

That’s it!

Taking a great gulp of air, he ducked his head beneath the waves and grabbed the end of the branch in his teeth.

Tugging desperately, he began to drag it up the beach. He let go and took another gulp of air before diving again to grab the branch. He dug his paws into the pebbles, scrabbling to get a grip. The stick was so heavy! He pulled and pulled, his lungs bursting as he tried to drag it out of the water.

Suddenly, it moved more easily. Almost weightless, the stick began to float toward the shore; Jaypaw only needed to guide it with his teeth. Relief surged in his paws as his head finally broke the surface. He gasped and coughed, still grip-ping the stick in his teeth, water dripping from his whiskers.

He had reached the shallows.

“What in StarClan were you doing?” The branch slapped down in the water as Lionpaw let go of the other end. “I saw you disappear under the water and I thought you were trying to drown yourself. Then I realized you were dragging this! I don’t know how you thought you were going to get it out on your own.”

The water lapped around the stick. Jaypaw ran his paw over it, searching out the scratches. He wished the stick was not so big, that he could take it back to camp with him.

“Look,” he breathed, running his paw over the marks.

“You half drown yourself in the middle of the night for a stick with claw marks on it!” Water sprayed from Lionpaw as he shook himself. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m not,” Jaypaw snapped hotly. “It’s important.”

Thank you, Jaypaw. We’ll be remembered as long as you guard us.

“Come on,” he mewed. “Let’s get this tucked under a root and get back to camp.”

“For StarClan’s sake!” Ashfur bounded from the ferns and glared angrily at Lionpaw. “How did you miss it?”