“I’m a patient cat, ’n so is she,” Eclan replied.
‘She? He works for Jade?’
“Thank you. Now I have a meeting to prepare for, so you may leave now,” Aspen said.
“C-can I, uh, go too?” Ember asked.
“Yes, leave. Go patrol. And while you’re at it, escort him out. He won’t hurt you.”
Cloud stood and pinned back his ears. “Wait, how do you know that? What did he tell you? Sir, you can’t just send my daughter away with a rogue.”
Aspen placed a paw in the dust in front of him. “That’s not important. I gave an order, and I expect it to be followed through. Remember your place, Cloud. Your insubordination is beginning to wear on me.” He turned to Ember. “Be careful out there.”
Ember stepped back. ‘Oh, so now I don’t actually have a choice, and I’m stuck with Eclan. That’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.’
“Th-thank you, sir?” She turned to face the northern entrance. Her stomach grew tighter. More silver appeared in the back of her mind. “Come on, Eclan. Let’s get you to the border, I guess. You aren’t too upset about me kicking you into the creek, right?”
Eclan chuffed and loped over to her. “I don’t hold grudges, kitten. I just do my job.”
‘A rogue with a job that might not be mercenary or assassin. That’s interesting. Maybe he’s just a messenger or something like that. As long as he doesn’t hurt me, I guess it doesn’t really matter. Now come on, Em. You’ve got your own job to do.’
She sucked in a deep breath, and together they left the Glade.
Chapter 2
Ember
Ember slunk through the woods toward the Glade. Her ears swiveled to catch any sound within range. As Aspen had foretold, Eclan had left the territory without resistance or complaint. He hadn’t even spoken to her during the walk out. He’d simply crossed the creek without once looking back, and after he’d left, the day had been quiet, too quiet for comfort in the solitude.
‘Come on, Ember. You’re almost done. Almost done.’ Her mind played the thoughts on loop as she walked, and silver swarmed with them.
The sun hid behind the Western Mountain, casting a dreary purple shadow on the world around her. Sunlight caught the tip of the Eastern Mountain, setting it ablaze with golden light. A soft mist crept up from the Lowlands, making the forest look ‘fuzzy,’ as Hyrees would say. Wind pushed against her side. Her long-dried fur blocked it, or at least most of it. She bit her tongue. Rotting leaves crunched beneath her paws. Every now and then, a bird chirped or fluttered around in the trees or underbrush.
Her eyes and nose stung from the cold. She coughed twice. With every step, her shoulder throbbed a little more, but every step brought her a little closer to safety—to home.
‘Why am I doing this? Why did I think this was a good idea. I should’ve just accepted Dad’s offer. Almost no one crosses the northern border anyway.’
Leaves rustled. A twig snapped. Ember’s ears perked up.
‘Oh tahg, what now?’
Her heart pounded, pumping a burst of adrenaline through her system. She lowered herself into a fighting stance and sniffed the air. An involuntary chuff escaped her throat as she straightened up. A flash of white and tan leaped out at her. Ember stepped out of the way. The cat tripped over its own paws, then tumbled onto a pile of leaves. The silver in her mind disappeared altogether. Maple orange replaced it.
“Ow,” the cat moaned. “Border guard down. How dare you defeat me, you wildcat!”
Ember smiled. “I didn’t touch you, Kivy. I think you defeated yourself this time.”
“Okay, fine, point made,” Kivyress said. She rolled onto her stomach. “But remember when we used to play that? You were always the outsider for some reason.”
“Eh, I’m always the outsider,” Ember replied, her voice emotionless.
Kivyress jumped to her paws and padded over to Ember. Despite being born a winter apart, they were already almost eye-level. Kivyress was only a few clawlengths shorter. “No, you’re not. You’re the historian in training. You’re going to be a high-rank, like Dad. The first molly high-rank too. There’s nothing outsider about that.”
She batted at Ember’s side. Ember winced as her sister’s paw hit the wounds on her shoulder.
Kivyress stepped back. “Oh! Sorry about that. I didn’t realize you got cut there. Ouch, that looks painful. What happened?”
“I fought with a rogue this morning. That was, uhm, an experience. So, where’s Mom? Did you escape her again?”
Kivyress laughed. “Yeah. She was training me and Farlight for a while. Then Lupine came, and he took Farlight back for his private commander lessons. After that, Mom and I played a game of ‘where’s Kivy.’ I think I won. Then I found you. Anyways, while we’re asking about parent locations, where’s Dad?”
“Last time I saw him, he was at the Glade, talking with Commander Aspen again.”
“Important meeting business, right. Oh, hey, it looks like Mom found me after all.”
A reddish-brown cat trotted toward them. A blaze of white ran up her muzzle and down her neck. She pushed her way through a tangle of dead leaves, then stopped in front of them.
“Kivy, we were supposed to be hunting for rabbits, not you,” she said.
Kivyress looked away. “I know. Sorry, Mom.”
“Then why did I spend half the day—” She glanced at Ember. Her wildflower-yellow eyes widened. “What happened to your shoulder? And where’s Cloud? Is he back at the Glade again?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ember rubbed her paw against a patch of dirt. “I got into a fight with a rogue. It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine.”
Her mother, Songbird, examined the wound on her shoulder. As she did, a red bird landed on a branch overhead and chirped a few times, bringing the forest back to life for a moment. Then it flew away toward the Lowlands.
“He let you come out here, all alone, with a wound like this?” she asked. “You didn’t even get it cleaned.”
Ember grimaced. Her tail thrashed. “It’s a long story, but Dad didn’t exactly have a say in it.”
“It might get infected now,” Songbird mewed.
“Silentstream was the only healer available. Then Commander Aspen sent me to bring the rogue out, so at that point I couldn’t get it cleaned, even if I wanted to.”
Her tail twitched. “Oh. Er, I see. That’s . . . Uhm, I’ll admit that’s a little strange for the commander, but whatever he was thinking, we should get you back to the Glade. Both of you.”
“Oh, hey, there they are,” a voice said from behind them.
Two ruddy agouti tomcats walked toward them along the time-worn border trail. The gathering mist shrouded their shadowy figures, but she could recognize them from anywhere.
“Hyrees!” Ember smiled. She ran to greet the one in the lead: a plump young cat with sage-colored eyes. They touched noses. She rubbed her muzzle against his shoulder and breathed in his familiar scent. ‘Finally. It’s about time you showed up.’
Wren, the older tom, stopped beside them. His fur was a darker orangy-red, and three deep-seated scars crossed his right eye, which had blued over many winters before. “Is everythin’ okay over ’ere?” Wren asked in a thick Eastern accent. His oddly pronounced vowels and lilting, almost melodic way of speaking never ceased to fascinate her.
Ember pressed herself closer to Hyrees and sighed with contentment. As she did, the maple oranges of family burned brighter in her thoughts.
“We’re fine, Wren,” Songbird replied, “thank you for checking on us.”
He nodded his head once. “Not a problem, ma’am.”
Hyrees licked Ember’s forehead and flicked back his ears. “So, how are you doing?”
Hyrees, being born in the West, had never picked up his father’s accent. Accent or no accent, however, he was Hyrees, and that was good enough for Ember.
Ember chuffed. She pulled away from his warmth and paced in a loose circle. “I’m continuing t
o do by continuing to live. How about you? You look alive too, which is always nice.”
He smiled and gave her a squinty-eyed look. “Heh. I’m doing fine. But no, really, what happened to . . .”
“My shoulder,” Ember finished for him. “Rogue. I’m fine. Doesn’t matter.”
‘Will everyone please stop asking about my shoulder? It’s a scratch. I’m aware I have a scratch. And I’m a border guard, so it can’t be too hard to figure out where it came from.’
“You’re doing it again,” Hyrees said.
She stopped pacing and looked up at him. “Doing what?”
“Making weird faces.”
“I’ve never made a face before, much less a weird one. Unless you’re talking about my only face, in which case I can’t help if it’s weird.”
Kivyress giggled.
Hyrees huffed. “No, I mean, sometimes when we aren’t talking, you’ll start going through a bunch of different expressions. It’s almost like you’re having a very passionate one-sided conversation about something.”
‘And this is important why?’ Ember tilted her head. “Oh. Astute observation.”
“Come on, moggies, let’s get ourselves back to the Glade. It’s gettin’ late,” Wren said.
“He’s right,” Songbird said. “Daylight is fading. We really should get going.”
Ember’s stomach growled. She pranced toward her mother. “Then let’s go. I’m starting to feel meat-pink.”
Songbird pinned back her ears. She shook her head slightly. Ember scrunched up her nose, trying to figure out what she was saying.
“Colors,” Songbird whispered.
‘Oh.’ Ember coughed. “Uhm, er, I meant I’m hungry.”
It had taken a lot of courage for her, as a kitten, to explain to her parents the colors she felt through her emotions. It was a hard thing to explain, especially to cats who couldn’t imagine being able to feel with colors. After she told them, however, they’d instructed her not to tell anyone else. They’d said it might get her into trouble, but they never specified what kind or why. The three other cats she’d told didn’t seem to mind.
Kivyress pranced down the mountain slope. “Come on!”
Ember sighed and moved to follow her. They all walked together through the haze and toward the Glade. Hyrees placed himself beside Ember.
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “It’s getting worse.”
She hesitated mid-step. Her body tensed. “What? A-are you sure?”
“Yes. And I mean noticeably worse,” he replied.
‘Oh no. It really is going to happen, isn’t it? But why to you, of all cats?’
He looked at her and grimaced. The centers of his pupils were a faded blue, like toned-down versions of Wren’s injury. “Your face is just a smudge now. I want to see it like I saw it as a kitten. I think I remember how you look, but I’m not sure.”
She nuzzled his cheek. “At least you can use your imagination.”
“Yeah, but at this rate, I probably won’t be able to see anything by next spring,” he said. “Not even color. Which is why I’m thinking about leaving the guards.”
Ember flinched. His mention of springtime sent a shiver up her spine, but she tried to ignore it. The bright pink and silver in her mind made it harder. She glanced at him. ‘Wait, leaving?’
“If I can’t see,” he continued, “I won’t be able to fight well enough to be any kind of help. It’s already hard enough as is, and at that point, I’d just be in the way.”
She bit her tongue. “So what will you do?”
He stared the ground. “I don’t know yet. I’ve been thinking about it a lot today. I may become a clayworker. I can apprentice under Fledge now, while I can still sort of see. Then, when I lose my vision all the way, I’ll already know what to do and I can just feel my way around the job. What do you think?”
“It’ll work, but is it something you actually want to do?”
“I . . . don’t know. I do know that I don’t want to be a blind border guard.”
Ember flattened her ears. ‘What if we could trade eyes? Trade them for a mooncycle or two. Not forever. Maybe we could change them out every mooncycle. That would work. Well, it wouldn’t actually work, but in this hypothetical scenario it would be the best solution. Or, we could each trade one eye. That might be better. Then we’d all be like Wren.’
Ember chuffed, picturing her, Hyrees, and Wren with matching eyes. She shook her head. ‘That’s not funny, Ember. He’s going blind. Now is not the time to laugh.’
Instead, she tried to imagine how the world looked to him, and would look by the time the forest turned green again. If he was right, he might never see the color green again, or at least not the green of sunshine through a million tiny leaves. Just a giant green smudge, or possibly nothing at all.
She shivered. ‘What does nothing look like? Does it have a color? Is it darkness? Or would darkness still be something? I can’t see from behind my head. Would it be that kind of nothing, where there’s just nothing at all?’
“What is it? What are you thinking about?”
Ember looked up at him. “How you’re the bravest cat I know,” she whispered. “I was trying to imagine what the world would look like without any detail, then what it would look like without any light or colors at all. It’s . . . well, it’s terrifying. And yet here you are, calmly making plans.”
“Calm?” he asked. “Well, I certainly don’t feel calm. Or brave.” He chuffed. “At least I look like I know what I’m doing. But thanks for being quiet about it.”
“You really should tell them,” she said. “Your dad, your brother; they care about you. They deserve to know.”
“I know, I know. I just don’t know how, okay? I’ll try to figure out something.”
They kept walking through the woods, side by side. While talking, they’d fallen behind. Up ahead, Songbird and Wren chatted about the day’s events and what kinds of meats would be available during the meeting feast. Kivyress tried to join the conversation every now and then, but they kept speaking over her. Eventually she gave up and fell back to walk with Ember and Hyrees.
“They really like talking about turkey, I guess,” she mewed.
Ember looked around at the forest. Soft purple shadows and the gentle blues of mist painted the woods. The delicate beauty of moss and leaves beneath their paws covered the ground with intricate detail. Blue-green fungi blossomed like flowers from rotting logs. Bark clung to the living trees, making the most precious and random of all patterns. She sighed, realizing he probably couldn’t see most of it.
“Ember? Emm-ber. Are you in there?”
Hyrees’s voice jerked her out of her thoughts. Her stomach growled again. As if in response, Hyrees’s stomach growled louder and longer.
He laughed. “I’m such a show-off, aren’t I? Now, where were we before you zoned out and my stomach so rudely interrupted?”
Ember nodded to the forest behind them. “Back there.”
Hyrees chuckled. “Oh, that’s right, we were discussing what I should do with myself.”
‘What does—oh, you meant where we were in the conversation. Okay. Makes sense. Stupid, fluffhead, Ember. Think! Think before you say anything. Anything at all.’ She groaned softly. Her insides sank like stones, and her face burned as blue and white lights seared into her thoughts. ‘Stop being a fluffhead.’
Ember sighed and shook herself off. ‘Sleep. I need sleep. Everything will be better tomorrow. Better once you get some sleep. Need sleep. Just need to forget for a little while. Put everything back in line. Nice, even perspective.’
“Are you okay?” Hyrees asked as they neared the Glade.
“I’m okay enough.”
He looked away, head low. “So what should I do?”
“Do like I said: tell someone who might actually be able to help. It’s not a good idea to keep a life-changing development a secret from your own family. Especially not your brother. He is the future commander, a
fter all. And really, it’s only a matter of time before it becomes obvious. I can already see the blue, if I look hard enough.”
“Farlight doesn’t even know?” Kivyress asked.
Hyrees sighed. “No, he doesn’t, and I know I need to tell them, but once they know, almost everyone in the colony’s going to know. It’s hard enough being one of the only half-Eastern cats in the valley, and even harder being the only fat one. If cats found out I’m going blind too, that’d be it for me.”
“But it’s the only way to get help,” Ember replied. Faint shimmers of cyan and fang yellow appeared in her mind as hints of panic and anger nipped at her chest.
Hyrees hung his head. “No one can cure blindness, Ember.”
They approached the Glade and padded toward the western entrance. Ember yawned, then shuddered as a strong gust of wind ruffled her fur.
“You know, you could just tell Fern,” she said. “She doesn’t mind keeping secrets. She knows about my colors, and hasn’t told anyone. Who knows? She may even surprise you with some kind of cure.”
“No,” he growled. “I’m not ready yet. Stop trying to make me do something I’m not ready to do. I’ll tell who I want to tell when I want to tell them. End of story.”
She shrunk away from him and shivered again as they entered the Glade. Unlike the gentle, ambient lull of that morning, the spacious, rocky clearing now bustled with life and noise. Cats surrounded both fire pits. All around, Westerners lounged, or sat, or groomed themselves or their kin. Two young trainees, about four mooncycles old, sat in the History Tree with Whitehaze, the senior historian. Ember’s eyes narrowed. An iridescent, oily shimmer appeared in her mind’s eye.
‘Better not scratch those marks, little creatures of mass destruction.’
Whitehaze nodded to her as they walked past. The breeze, now blowing from the north, riffled his long, greyish fur. Ember recognized his greeting and nodded in reply.
“Look, sorry I growled at you,” Hyrees said. He wrinkled his muzzle. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
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