by Erin Hunter
Chapter 10
Jaypaw heard the brambles swish. “Hollypaw’s gone?” He blinked.
Hollypaw had only been in the den a few moments.
“She must’ve remembered something she had to do.”
Cinderpaw sighed.
“Oh.” Jaypaw went back to wrapping his marigold and horsetail poultices in leaves, preparing for a battle that might never happen. Why hadn’t StarClan warned him? It was not like they were shy about interrupting his dreams.
Suddenly, he felt his pelt begin to warm under Cinderpaw’s gaze. She was staring at him, her mind tingling with curiosity. Irritation made his claws itch. How long was she going to stay here? She was obviously bored and Jaypaw missed the peace and privacy of the empty medicine den. He turned and faced her. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“No.” Cinderpaw sounded oddly thoughtful. “I just think I had a dream about you, and you could see.”
Jaypaw’s ears twitched. She remembered her dream! How much? The camp in the ravine? Being Cinderpelt? He waited for sparks of alarm to flash from Leafpool’s pelt, but the medicine cat was busy soaking horsetail stems in the pool, her
mind focused on her task.
Jaypaw padded forward. “What was I doing in your dream?” he asked casually.
“I don’t remember. I was just surprised you could see.”
Cinderpaw fidgeted in her nest.
“Where were we?”
Cinderpaw hesitated. “Some bit of the forest, I think. You were following me and . . . ”
“And what?” Jaypaw leaned close to her.
“I don’t remember.”
Jaypaw flicked his tail. What would happen if Cinderpaw worked out she had been Cinderpelt? Surely all the old medicine cat’s memories must be buried somewhere in the apprentice’s mind?
“Time for Cinderpaw’s medicine,” Leafpool called from the pool.
“Okay.” Excitement sparked in Jaypaw’s belly. This could be his chance to find out if any trace of Cinderpelt remained.
He darted to the back of the cave, ignoring the comfrey that would help Cinderpaw’s bones to heal, and picked up some of the sweet-smelling mallow leaves instead. The mallow would do nothing but soothe her belly. If any of Cinderpelt’s knowledge lingered inside her, she would know it was the wrong medicine and say something.
“Here you are,” he announced, dropping the mallow leaves in her nest.
“These smell nice,” Cinderpaw mewed.
“It’s mallow,” Jaypaw told her. He nudged them closer.
Great for broken bones.” He searched her mind for any doubt, but nothing stirred except gratitude.
“Thanks, Jaypaw.”
“What are you doing?” Leafpool whisked past and snatched the mallow leaves away. He felt suspicion pricking in the medicine cat’s pelt as she brushed against him. “You should be giving her comfrey.”
“I must have picked up the wrong leaves,” Jaypaw lied.
“Be more careful next time.” Irritation flashed from Leafpool. She didn’t believe him. Had she guessed he had been testing Cinderpaw? “Get back to making poultices,” she snapped. Her voice softened as she spoke to Cinderpaw.
“Sorry, Cinderpaw. It’s not like Jaypaw to be so distracted.”
Jaypaw padded mutinously away to the back of the den. It was so unfair! Leafpool had no patience with him these days, and yet she put up with Cinderpaw’s boredom and fidgeting with unending kindness. He flicked his tail petulantly at the stems soaking in the pool. “Is that horsetail ready yet?” He knew full well that they’d need soaking overnight for the juices to be fully restored.
“Of course not!” she meowed. “Use the ones I soaked yesterday!”
“Okay!” He hooked a soggy stem from a nearby pile and began to gnaw crossly at one end.
Leafpool padded over to join him. Comfrey scent filled the air as she collected a few leaves for Cinderpaw. “What’s the matter with you?” she hissed.
“What’s the matter with you?” he snapped back.
“I’m not the one giving Cinder paw the wrong medicine.”
“I only wanted to see if she would know the difference.”
“She’s Cinder paw, not Cinderpelt!”
“But there must be something there.”
“If there is, it’s not up to us to find it!” Jaypaw felt Leafpool’s breath on his cheek. “We have to let Cinderpaw find her own destiny!”
“What’s wrong with helping her along? Surely Cinderpaw deserves to know that she’s been sent back by StarClan to be a warrior.”
“If StarClan wants her to know, they’ll tell her,” Leafpool mewed.
“So you’re happy to leave it in the paws of StarClan.”
“Of course!” She sounded shocked. “And so should you.”
Jaypaw went back to chewing. The stem’s bitter juice made his whiskers twitch. Why was Leafpool so totally in awe of her ancestors? He’d met them; they seemed no different from cats who were still alive. Did Leafpool really think that dying made a dumb cat wise? They could walk in other cats’
dreams, but so could he. That didn’t mean he knew the answer to everything.
“Jaypaw!” Cinderpaw’s mew rang around the den.
Jaypaw blinked open his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Cinderpaw sounded wide awake. Jaypaw lifted his muzzle and sniffed. It smelled as though dawn had only just arrived. Couldn’t she sleep a little longer? Or at least let him sleep a little longer?
“Leafpool’s gone to check on Foxkit,” she mewed. “I thought we could have a game while she’s gone.”
Jaypaw struggled to his paws, yawning. He could feel the lively energy coming off Cinderpaw in waves.
“I wish I could move my leg,” she complained. “I feel fine apart from that.”
“You have to keep it still if you want it to mend properly,”
Jaypaw told her.
“I know, I know.” Cinderpaw sighed. “But I’m so bored!”
Jaypaw felt a wave of sympathy for her. Newleaf had set the forest atwitter and the scent of fresh life called out like a friend begging to play. Something whistled through the air and bounced softly off his shoulder. A moss ball.
“Okay,” he conceded. “But you’re not allowed to move from your nest. I’ll throw it to you.”
“But you can’t see me.”
“Yes,” Jaypaw agreed. “But since you never shut up I can always hear exactly where you are.” He hooked the moss ball up with his paw and lobbed it at her.
Her nest scrunched as she stretched to catch it.
I must throw it lower next time.
The moss ball hissed through the air once more. Judging its distance exactly, Jaypaw leaped and dived, rolling over as he caught it.
“Wow!” Cinderpaw purred. “Impressive.” She was suddenly still. “What’s it like?”
Jaypaw tipped his head to one side. “What’s what like?”
“Being blind.”
“What does it feel like being able to see?”
“I don’t know, I guess it feels normal.”
“Well, being blind feels normal to me.”
“But isn’t it hard not being able to tell where everything is?”
“But I can tell.” Jaypaw appreciated Cinderpaw’s honesty; most other cats acted like if they didn’t talk about his lack of sight, he’d forget he was any different. “Everything smells or makes a sound, and sometimes I get a”—he searched for the right word—“a sense of things.”
“So you never get frustrated?”
“Only when I get treated like I’m different,” Jaypaw replied. “I don’t feel any different, so it’s really annoying when anyone makes a fuss about my blindness. It’s like they feel sorry for me when there’s nothing to feel sorry about.”
He flicked the ball into the air, then swiped it toward Cinderpaw. Her nest rustled under her.
“What in StarClan?” Leafpool’s furious mew sounded at the entrance. She darted acr
oss the den and whisked the moss ball into the pool, then rounded on Jaypaw. “What are you doing, making her stretch up like that?”
“It was my idea!” Cinderpaw mewed at once.
Leafpool ignored her. “You should have known better!”
Jaypaw bristled. “I told her not to move from her nest.”
“That’s not good enough! Her leg must heal properly!” Leafpool’s mew dropped to a whisper. “She must train as a warrior this time.”
“Why must she?” Anger exploded in Jaypaw’s chest. “Why would it be such a disaster if she had to take a different path?
I had to!”
Leafpool froze for a moment, then slowly replied, “You are blind.”
Jaypaw’s rage fell away. Did Leafpool think he was a lost cause? Did she only fight to save the cats who could be saved?
He turned away from her, too wretched to say anything.
Leafpool hurried away to Cinderpaw’s nest and began fussing with her cobweb binding.
Jaypaw padded out of the den. He could hear the Clan, busy in the clearing. Graystripe and Millie chatted to each other as they wove the roof of the new den into place. Lionpaw was chasing Foxkit and Icekit around the nursery. Ferncloud was sharing tongues with Dustpelt below Highledge.
I’m more than just a blind medicine cat! Jaypaw flexed his claws.
I’ll show them!
The brambles swished behind him.
“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.