The Forgotten Warrior

  Before he had taken half a dozen pawsteps into the clearing, Bumblestripe’s scent washed over him as the young tom bounded up. “I was coming to see you,” Bumblestripe blurted out. “I’m really worried about Dovewing.”

  “Why? What’s the matter? Her scratches have healed, haven’t they?”

  “It’s not that. She keeps having bad dreams—she had another one last night. She woke up screeching, and she was muttering about giant birds and snow.”

  Jayfeather struggled to suppress a stab of impatience. I know how bad it must have been, watching Swoop carried off by the eagle. But Dovewing has to be stronger than this.

  “How do you know about it?” he asked Bumblestripe.

  “There’s a leak in the warriors’ den right above my nest,” the young tom replied. “And there’s no more room in there, so I thought I’d spend a few nights in the apprentices’ den with Dovewing and Ivypool. And every night Dovewing has these awful dreams. Are there any herbs that can help her?”

  Jayfeather picked up waves of deep anxiety rolling off Bumblestripe. “There are no herbs that can take away memories,” he meowed. “You just have to learn to live with them.” Don’t we all? he added silently.

  “But—” Bumblestripe began.

  Brambleclaw’s voice rang out across the clearing, cutting across his protest. “Hey, Bumblestripe! You’re supposed to be on hunting patrol. Sorreltail’s waiting.”

  “Okay!” Bumblestripe called back. “Coming! Bye, Jayfeather!” He bounded away.

  Jayfeather headed toward the apprentices’ den, where Dovewing and Ivypool were sleeping since the warriors’ den was so crowded, only to halt when he realized that Brambleclaw had gotten there ahead of him.

  “Ivypool, Dovewing, wake up!” the ThunderClan deputy yowled, sticking his head into the den. “You’ve overslept again.”

  Jayfeather heard muffled mews of protest; a couple of heartbeats later the two she-cats staggered into the open.

  “You look dreadful!” Brambleclaw meowed, annoyance in his tone. “I’ve never seen such messy fur! Have you been hunting at night?”

  Though Jayfeather couldn’t see them, his twitching nose picked up dusty, ruffled fur, and he could sense echoes of fear coming from both cats. He knew very well why their sleep had been disturbed. Bumblestripe had just told him about Dovewing’s troubled dreams, while each night Ivypool was visiting the Dark Forest, training with the cats who had been spurned by StarClan.

  I wish she’d tell me more about what happens there, Jayfeather thought. But no—she just says that she’ll let me know when there’s anything important to report.

  “Why don’t I check them out in my den?” he suggested to Brambleclaw, hoping for the chance to get some information out of the two she-cats in private. “Maybe they’re coming down with something . . .”

  Jayfeather’s voice trailed off as he realized that no cat was listening to him. As he was speaking, the swift patter of paws announced the arrival of Whitewing.

  “Brambleclaw, don’t get angry with them!” she meowed. “They’re working so hard, now that we don’t have any apprentices.” She paused, then added, “I’ll help them with their duties today.”

  “I need you to go on border patrol,” Brambleclaw told her.

  “And I need to stay here with my daughters,” Whitewing retorted. “Some other cat can go on border patrol instead of me.”

  Brambleclaw gave a disapproving sniff. “Fine,” he muttered, and stalked away.

  “Now, tidy yourselves up,” Whitewing went on, rasping her tongue busily over Ivypool’s ears.

  “Get off me!” Ivypool protested. “I’m not a kit!”

  “You’ll always be my kit,” Whitewing told her, turning to give the same brisk licks to Dovewing, who jumped back and exclaimed, “Stop! I’m a warrior! I can do my own fur!”

  “Then prove it. We need to fetch moss for the elders’ bedding,” Whitewing went on as her daughters gave themselves a quick grooming. “And for StarClan’s sake make sure there are no thorns in Purdy’s, or we’ll never hear the end of it. Come on!”

  She bustled them toward the camp entrance, but before they reached the thorn tunnel Firestar appeared at the head of the dawn patrol. Jayfeather’s nose was flooded with the scents of his Clanmates. Brambleclaw bounded across the clearing to meet them, with Dustpelt, Cloudtail, and Brightheart hard on his paws. Foxleap raised his head from the fresh-kill pile, a mouse dangling from his jaws, while Berrynose strode importantly up to the patrol, followed more slowly by Leafpool and Squirrelflight.

  Molekit and Cherrykit burst out of the nursery, scampered out into the clearing, and hurled themselves at Berrynose’s paws, tripping him.

  “Careful!” he murmured, recovering his balance and sweeping his tail around the two excited kits.

  Berrynose can be a real pain in the tail, Jayfeather pondered. How come he’s such a good father?

  “Is ShadowClan attacking?” Molekit squeaked. “Can we go and fight?”

  “I’ve learned a really good move!” Cherrykit exclaimed, pouncing on a leaf and shredding it with her tiny claws.

  “Of course you can’t fight!” Poppyfrost panted as she caught up to her kits. “You’re not even apprentices yet!”

  Brambleclaw skirted the kits and halted in front of his Clan leader. “Any news?” he asked.

  “No, everything’s quiet,” Firestar responded as Jayfeather padded over to listen. “It looks as if all the Clans are at peace with one another.”

  “Right,” Thornclaw agreed; the tabby tom had followed Firestar into the camp. “There was no evidence that either WindClan or ShadowClan had been anywhere near the borders, except to renew the scent markers.”

  “That’s good news!” Brightheart exclaimed.

  Jayfeather wasn’t so sure. He knew that the Clans were keeping to themselves because of the deep divisions within StarClan along Clan boundaries. All the warrior ancestors were warning every cat to stay apart from the other Clans, to trust none but their Clanmates, and prepare for something dreadful that lay in the future like storm clouds on the horizon.

  At least ThunderClan has the three cats mentioned in the prophecy, Jayfeather thought. There will be three, kin of your kin, with the power of the stars in their paws. Me, Lionblaze, and Dovewing, all in the same Clan. That must make us safer, right?

  He flexed his paws. After his sleepless night they didn’t feel particularly powerful, but at least they would carry him as far as the patch of marigold above the hollow. Then he remembered the other prophecy, from the Tribe of Endless Hunting barely half a moon before. For a moment Jayfeather was plunged back to that dark, windswept mountaintop, surrounded by dead cats who fixed their luminous eyes on him. Once again he seemed to hear the whispers of a long, long line of Stonetellers.

  The end of the stars draws near. Three must become four to challenge the darkness that lasts forever.

  Rousing from the trance, Jayfeather was once more aware of the sounds and scents of the camp around him.

  How are we going to recognize the fourth cat? We had enough problems finding the first three. And this new prophecy says nothing about Firestar’s kin. Jayfeather bit back a hiss of frustration. It could be any cat from the Clans!

  Chapter 2

  Ivypool followed Whitewing until they stopped beside a tiny stream, not far from the camp. Leaves clustered thickly on the trees and the newleaf grass was long and lush, cool for Ivypool’s tired paws. Thank StarClan! She puffed out a breath of relief. Every hair on my pelt is aching.

  The night before, she had taken part in a tough training session with Sunstrike and Redwillow. Hawkfrost had been supervising, not letting up until all three cats bore the marks of their opponents’ claws. Now Ivypool felt as if her body were nothing but a huge bruise, and one ear was still ringing from a well-aimed blow.

  Glancing at her sister, Ivypool saw that she looked just as exhausted. Jayfeather should never have taken Dovewing to the mountains, she thought with a stab
of anger. It could have been her that the eagle carried off, and she’s too important to the Clan to risk losing.

  “Let’s rest for a bit,” Whitewing suggested, more sympathetic now. “You can have a drink and finish grooming.”

  Ivypool could hear anxiety in her mother’s voice. I know she cares about us, even though she’s concerned that we’re falling behind with our duties.

  “No, we’re fine,” Dovewing meowed, straightening her shoulders and raising her head in an effort to look alert. “We should keep going. There’s a good moss place a bit farther on.”

  “You’re both a long way from fine,” Whitewing pointed out. After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “I know there’s something troubling you. I’m not going to ask what it is, if you don’t want to tell me. But remember that I’m your mother. Nothing you say could ever shock me or make me love you less.”

  Ivypool twitched her ears. I bet I could prove you wrong.

  But she kept quiet, happy to sit in the long, cool grass and relax as Whitewing helped groom her pelt with long, rhythmic strokes of her tongue. It felt good to be taken care of for once after her visits to the Dark Forest, where she couldn’t trust any cat, and always had to be on her guard.

  “I had a bad dream last night,” Dovewing confessed, twisting her neck to get at a clump of matted fur on her shoulder. “I thought I was back in the mountains. Swoop was being carried away by the eagle.”

  “You should try not to think about it,” Whitewing mewed gently, turning to Dovewing and helping her to tease out the clump with swift rasping licks. “You know that eagles never come to the lake.”

  And if they did, Ivypool thought, Dovewing would hear them before any other cat.

  Whitewing finished grooming Dovewing and rose to her paws, arching her back in a long stretch. Ivypool got up, too, ready to move on. Then she noticed that Dovewing was still sitting by the stream, shaking her head and pawing at her ear as if there was something lodged inside it.

  Glancing at Whitewing, who was looking the other way, Ivypool leaned over to murmur quietly to her sister, “Are you okay? Are your senses still not working?”

  “No . . . I still can’t hear properly!” Dovewing’s blue eyes were stricken. “I mean, I can hear you and Whitewing and what’s around us, but I can’t hear any farther than that. It’s all just noise and shrieking and the sound of the wind.”

  Ivypool touched her nose to her sister’s shoulder. “It must be because you heard so much when you were in the mountains,” she meowed. “You said it was much louder when you crossed the ridge above WindClan. Maybe it will get better soon.”

  “I keep hoping that,” Dovewing muttered. “But it’s been a moon. I feel like I’m useless to the Clan.”

  “No way!” Ivypool shook her head. “Don’t think like that!”

  Dovewing sighed. “But it’s like being deaf.”

  “No, it’s like being normal,” Ivypool told her. “You—”

  She broke off as Whitewing turned around. “It’s time we got moving,” she called. “We have that moss to collect, and then I want to do some hunting for the elders.”

  She bounded off toward the lake. Ivypool exchanged a glance with Dovewing, and they both followed. They had just reached the gnarled oak whose roots were covered in thick green moss when Ivypool spotted a flicker of movement in the trees nearby. Her neck fur began to rise and she braced her muscles, ready to attack an intruder, then relaxed as she realized it was Jayfeather. She was still surprised by how confidently the blind medicine cat wove through the undergrowth.

  Whitewing had paused, gazing through the trees at Jayfeather. “He shouldn’t be out by himself,” she murmured. “Ivypool, go see if he needs any help.”

  Ivypool hesitated. She didn’t want to be alone with Jayfeather; she knew he had been waiting for the chance to interrogate her about the Dark Forest.

  “Go on!” Whitewing flicked her tail toward Jayfeather. “He might be a bit moody, but you know he’ll be glad to have your help.”

  And hedgehogs might fly! Ivypool thought as she padded after the medicine cat.

  “Good luck!” Dovewing whispered after her.

  Ivypool quickened her pace, following Jayfeather’s thin tabby shape as he rounded a patch of nettles. “Hi,” she meowed as she caught up to him. “Whitewing sent me to see if you need any help.”

  Jayfeather twitched one ear as if a fly had landed on it. “No,” he replied curtly.

  Great! I can get back to moss collecting! But then Ivypool realized that Whitewing would never let her get away with that. “At least let me tag along,” she persisted. “Or I’ll just be sent straight back to you.”

  Jayfeather shrugged. “Okay. But don’t even think of trying to guide me. I was finding my way through this forest before you were kitted. I’m just going to collect some marigold leaves from the top of the hollow,” he added as Ivypool fell in beside him. “There are some good clumps on the slope above the highest part of the cliff, where the trees have thinned out and sunlight reaches the ground.”

  Ivypool was surprised that the medicine cat could describe the spot so well when he had never seen it. She padded beside him over rough ground along the curve of the cliff, where stones poked out of the earth and roots snaked out as if trying to trip them. Soon they reached the edge, and Ivypool looked down into the hollow. She shuddered as she remembered her vision of blood and fighting cats, and wondered again if it had been an omen of the destruction of her Clan.

  Then Jayfeather swung away from the cliff top and followed a steeper trail that led through dense brambles. Ivypool had to press herself close to the ground to avoid the tendrils that reached out over the path. She was so busy concentrating on crouching down that she almost bumped into Jayfeather’s hindquarters when he halted with a hiss of disgust.

  Ivypool realized that the medicine cat was caught on a bramble tendril, the thorns snagged in his pelt. She reached out a paw to pull the stem off, then stopped herself. He’d claw me worse than the brambles if I tried to help him!

  Awkwardly Jayfeather lifted one paw and groped for the end of the bramble, muttering under his breath. After a moment he managed to free himself, though there was a tuft of tabby fur left on the thorns as he crept forward again. When another tendril raked its thorns along his side, he didn’t even pause, just pulled himself away and went on.

  Ivypool was glad when they emerged into a small clearing. She flexed her muscles, letting the hot sun soak into her fur, and her jaws watered at the strong smell of rabbits.

  “This is the place,” Jayfeather meowed, “but I can’t smell any marigold with this reek of rabbit.”

  Padding farther into the clearing, Ivypool looked around for the plants. But all she could see were clumps of nibbled stalks and a scattering of leaves, already shriveling in the sun.

  “Oh, no!” she hissed.

  “What’s the matter?” Jayfeather demanded.

  “There’s no marigold here,” Ivypool told him. “Something has eaten it all. It must have been the rabbits—I can see their droppings here, too.”

  Jayfeather was already stalking up to the ruined plants, thrusting his nose deep into the remains of the clumps and sniffing at the hard, dark droppings. “This is a disaster,” he spat. “I’ve tried to grow marigold with my other plants beside the old Twoleg nest, but they only grow well up here in the sun.”

  Ivypool walked slowly around the clearing in case there were any plants the rabbits had missed. She couldn’t see any, but suddenly the scent of marigold, strong and sweet, wafted over her. She halted, puzzled.

  That smells like a lot of plants. So why can’t I see them?

  With her jaws parted to taste the air, Ivypool followed the scent. It led to a beech tree at the edge of the clearing; the scent was pouring down from the branches.

  “Plants growing in a tree?” she murmured. “That’s mouse-brained!”

  But Ivypool couldn’t deny what her nose was telling her. Still confused, she scramble
d up the tree until she reached the first branch. Crouching there, claws digging into the bark, she stared at the shallow hollow formed where the branch joined the trunk. It was filled with rainwater, and several marigold plants had been placed there, with their roots in the water so that they stayed fresh and alive.

  “Jayfeather!” she called excitedly. “I’ve found marigold!”

  Jayfeather looked around as if he couldn’t figure out where her voice was coming from, then bounded over to the foot of her tree. “Plants up a tree?” His voice was sharp with annoyance. “If this is a joke, I’ll—”

  “It’s not a joke,” Ivypool assured him, describing the scoop of water with the plants carefully arranged there. “I’ll drop them down to you.”

  “This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever come across,” Jayfeather went on, as Ivypool picked up the plants one by one and dropped them to the ground. “How in the name of StarClan did they get up there?”

  “Maybe the rabbits carried them up to keep them for later?” Ivypool guessed.

  “When have you ever seen a rabbit climbing a tree?” Jayfeather asked in a scathing voice, making a bundle of the plants by his front paws. “Squirrels hoard nuts,” he added thoughtfully. “Maybe this is one of their stores.”

  When have you ever seen a squirrel eating marigold? Ivypool didn’t dare ask the question aloud. “It’s a mystery,” she meowed, dropping the last plant and scrambling back down the tree.

  Jayfeather divided the marigold plants into two bunches so he and Ivypool could carry them back to camp. Then he padded across the clearing and took a final sniff of the ruined patch. “We ought to find a way to protect the plants so that they’ll grow back,” he mumbled around his mouthful.

  Ivypool wondered how they could do that. Building a thorn barrier around the patch would be a huge task, and anyway it wouldn’t be much good to keep rabbits out. They hardly stayed away from the wood just because there were bramble thickets in the way.

  “Maybe we could bring the scent of fox up here,” she suggested. “That would scare the rabbits away.”