A Warrior's Spirit Page 10

  I guess the first thing I should do is hunt, he thought. If he was going to wander alone, he needed to take care of himself. He sniffed carefully at the ground: a trace of vole, a light scent of shrew . . . and his own scent from last night, leading straight back to the Sisters’ camp.

  He hesitated for a moment. Did he really have to be all alone? Surely, he could take care of himself closer to all the cats he knew. The land he wandered could be near the Sisters, he supposed, just as easily as it could be far from them. Making up his mind, he followed his own scent, his paws feeling lighter. He had walked farther than he’d thought last night; the sun was high in the sky by the time he could hear the voices of the Sisters.

  “Petal, don’t forget to cover up the dirtplace!”

  “I’m just going to spread out the old bedding.”

  They’re leaving, Earth realized. He recognized what they were doing—destroying the signs that they’d lived there so that no predator would track them to a new camp.

  Scrambling up a nearby pine tree, he looked down through its thick needles onto the clearing. He’d been right—the Sisters were hurrying around, burying the remains of the prey-hole and making sure the dens where they’d slept held no sign of them.

  It’s like they couldn’t wait to get rid of me, Earth thought. He knew that wasn’t true, but his belly felt hollow with grief. Couldn’t they have waited, just a few days, to make sure he was okay?

  Finished with their tasks, the Sisters gathered around Moonlight. With a wave of relief, Earth saw Ice among them. She looked thin and frail, leaning against their mother, but she was standing on her own paws. He wanted to run to her, to speak to her one last time, but he could imagine the look of disapproval on Moonlight’s face, and he stayed where he was. Good-bye, Ice, he thought. I hope you’ll be okay.

  Moonlight bent to nuzzle Ice gently, then straightened up and led the Sisters out of the camp and into the forest, heading away from Earth. He watched until they were out of sight.

  Good-bye, he thought again. Good-bye, every cat. He felt as if something with sharp claws were tearing its way out of his chest. I guess now I’m really alone.

  Chapter 5

  Evening was falling as Earth padded back to his new den, a shrew dangling from his mouth. His current home was within view of the Sisters’ old camp. I haven’t left my kithood behind at all, he thought, guiltily hunching his shoulders. He’d done the opposite of what a tom was supposed to do.

  At least I’m managing all right as a hunter, he thought, crouching down at the entrance to his den. Remembering Hawk’s lessons had been easier than he’d imagined. When he hunted alone, every sound his prey made was practically deafening. He bit into the shrew, trying to enjoy the crunch of its bones.

  Without company, though, his meal seemed tasteless. And he wasn’t used to eating a whole piece of prey by himself. With the Sisters, he’d always had some cat to share it with. As he took one more reluctant bite, he looked toward the camp, imagining Sunrise and Ice play-fighting by the nursery. Snow pacing the edges of the camp, keeping a sharp eye out for predators. Hawk and Petal, carrying in prey. Moonlight building a new nest for her den. Stream napping in the sunlight . . .

  Stream. His appetite left all at once. Earth let the shrew drop into the dirt and batted it away.

  The sky was getting darker, pale stars beginning to appear. A gust of wind made the pine branches above Earth’s head creak, and he shivered. He still wasn’t sleeping well. At night he lay awake in his den, listening tensely to every snap of a branch or hoot of a low-flying owl.

  He hadn’t met any rogues, and no ancestor spirits had come to guide him. At this point, he was so tired of being lonely that he almost would have welcomed either one.

  I should be able to see spirits, Earth thought, shifting on his haunches. A ball of resentment burned hotter and hotter inside him. If the Sisters hadn’t sent him away so early, he would be able to see them. And he wouldn’t be afraid, not if he were ready to see spirits, ready to be on his own.

  Why did Moonlight have to stick so closely to tradition? She’d told him of one tom she knew who had been unlucky. What proof was that? She wouldn’t have sent Ice or Sunrise away because of one thing that had happened in the distant past. Why did the rules have to be different for toms?

  Earth huffed and glared at the darkening forest around him. Everything had changed because Stream had died. And now he couldn’t even see his friend’s spirit, because Moonlight had made him wander before he had learned to see ghosts.

  There was another crackle in the branches above him, and Earth flinched. If only Stream were with me . . .

  Maybe he should try again. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see Stream’s spirit badly enough back in camp, because he’d been too scared. But now . . .

  Earth looked around at the empty forest. “Stream,” he called. What had Moonlight said, when she’d called to the spirits? He thought back, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Stream, if you’d like to visit me, I’d be glad to speak to you again.” That didn’t seem like enough. “Stream,” he went on, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to die. That was such a terrible storm, but I thought we would make it through together. But I lived and you died. I wish that hadn’t happened.”

  The wind blew through the branches again. A pinecone, caught by the sudden gust, rolled past Earth’s den. It reminded him of batting pinecones all over camp with Stream, Sunrise, Ice, and Haze. “I miss you,” he added, his meow hoarse. “I’m so sorry you’re dead, and if you want to come and keep me company, or just say hello, I’d really like that.”

  Earth waited, eyes wide and ears pricked for any sign of Stream. But silence spread through his little section of woods. He couldn’t even hear the wind blowing anymore. He listened tensely, expecting something to happen any moment.

  Something moved in the tree over his head and Earth looked up, his heart pounding hard.

  Only a squirrel. Too high to chase, the squirrel ran across its branch and leaped to another tree, farther away from Earth.

  Earth dropped his head onto his paws. He couldn’t do it. He would never meet an ancestor spirit, never see Stream again.

  Or . . .

  What if the wind crackling through the pines or the cone rolling past his den had been sent by Stream? Signs from his friend that he wasn’t really gone?

  Earth’s pelt prickled with excitement as he pushed away his feelings of failure. Maybe I just communicate with the spirits differently than the Sisters do, he thought. After all, who said ghosts appeared the same way to all cats?

  He listened again, harder, and squinted his eyes to peer into the darkness, hoping to see that pinecone again. “Stream, send me a sign,” he whispered.

  But nothing happened.

  His hope dwindling, Earth sighed and, ducking his head, crawled into the makeshift den he’d made beneath the bracken. He needed to sleep if he was going to be able to hunt again tomorrow. Maybe he’d be able to reach Stream another day. If the Sisters were right, he would.

  Maybe.

  The next morning, Earth padded through the undergrowth on the other side of the Sisters’ old camp, his mouth open to taste the air. There was a rustling in the bushes, and he caught the scent of a vole. Tensing, he lowered his belly close to the ground and began to slink forward, listening for the quick beat of the vole’s heart.

  Wait. Catching a new scent, Earth straightened up abruptly, no longer interested in the vole. Those are cats. He glanced around warily, thinking of rogues, before he realized how familiar the scents were and sniffed harder.

  Sunrise. Furze. Hawk. Tempest. Moonlight. Ice. Earth’s chest ached. He’d found the scents the Sisters had left as they’d moved camp. It had been several days, but it hadn’t rained in that time, and their trail was still clear.

  They headed toward the hill, Earth thought, nose to the ground. He’d known that, of course; he’d seen them leave. Following the trail, Earth headed uphill. At the top, he could tell they’d s
topped for a little while. They must have been letting Ice rest, he thought. Yes, there was a spot where her scent was stronger. She had probably lain down here, he thought, sniffing. But then they’d continued downhill, Ice walking near the center of the group. At least she was strong enough to keep going. He went on, tracking the scent.

  The sun had passed its midpoint when Earth finally admitted to himself: I’m following them, and I’m going to find them.

  He knew it was a terrible idea. If he caught up with the Sisters, they might be angry. They might even attack him. They sent me away on my wander. Toms aren’t supposed to be with the Sisters once they’re grown-up.

  But he wasn’t grown-up, was he? Moonlight had been so stubborn, she hadn’t been able to admit that he wasn’t ready to be on his own.

  Now he’d tried living alone for a while, and it had been awful. He was scared all the time, and cold, and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go far from familiar territory. He was so lonely. Maybe if he talked to Moonlight now, she’d see the truth. He couldn’t see any spirits, so he had no cat to guide him—he must need more training. Maybe he’d be able to convince them to take him back, just for a little while. Surely, they’d missed him. They were his kin.

  And he really, really wanted to see them all again.

  He kept walking, following the Sisters’ scent.

  There was growling in the distance and, as Earth got closer, the sharp smell of monsters. A Thunderpath. The Sisters’ scent trail was leading straight toward it.

  As he came out of the undergrowth onto the short grass at the side of the Thunderpath, Earth’s stomach sank in dismay. Monsters sped by as if they were chasing one another, growling steadily, their blank eyes passing over him as they went around a curve. He’d never seen so many monsters at once before. Their foul smell was chokingly thick, and Earth crouched closer to the ground, breathing hard, hoping the monsters were too focused on one another to notice him.

  He sniffed the ground carefully. Maybe Moonlight had turned and led the Sisters away from this terrible place. It was hard to make out the Sisters’ scent among the thick, foul smells. But when he finally found the trail, it headed straight toward the Thunderpath. His heart sank.

  I can do this. Earth gritted his teeth and glared at the monsters. He’d crossed Thunderpaths before, a few times, with the rest of the Sisters. He could do it again.

  He had never crossed one so crowded with monsters. But the general idea must be the same. Earth waited for a space between the monsters, trying to remember exactly what Moonlight had done when they’d crossed.

  At last there was a moment with no monsters in sight, although he could still hear them growling, not far away.

  “Straight ahead, as fast as you can,” Earth muttered. “Don’t stop for anything.” That was what Moonlight had told them. Ears flattened, body low to the ground, Earth began to run.

  He was halfway across when the growling got louder and louder, closer and closer. He glanced up and caught his breath, his paws skidding on the rough black surface of the Thunderpath. A monster was bearing down on him.

  It howled, a loud, deep noise rising above its steady growl, and Earth yowled back, panicked, and ran faster than he’d ever realized he could. The world was blurry around him, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the thumping of his heart and the pounding of his paws.

  His paws hit the short grass, so much softer than the Thunderpath, and he staggered a few steps before collapsing. The monster howled again, once, and for a heartbeat Earth saw the strange hairless form of a Twopaw inside as the monster dashed past him. A rush of air ruffled his fur.

  Earth tried not to think about how close he’d been to being squashed under the monster’s fat black paws. He lay on the grass, exhausted, and panted.

  After a little while, he slowly got to his paws again and began to search for the Sisters’ scent. Finally, he found it—heading in a straight line away from the Thunderpath. Earth breathed a sigh of relief.

  He was going to find them. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t send him away again. He hoped not. Not when he’d been through so much already.

  Chapter 6

  By the next morning, the scents that Earth was following had changed. The signs of the Sisters were fresher, and as he sniffed his way past a large oak tree, Earth smelled that here the trails of scent led in all directions, crossing and recrossing. Just as he realized that, he came out of the trees onto a wide-open moor. Long grass blew across level ground, broken here and there only by scrubby, low-growing bushes. The scent of the Sisters was even stronger out here. He wasn’t following the Sisters’ journey anymore; he had found their new camp.

  Instinctively, Earth’s ears flattened and he crouched lower. I don’t want them to see me. It would have been better if their camp were among trees, so that he could hide in the branches and watch them unobserved before he decided whether to approach. What if they think I’m attacking them? What if they attack me? He had never heard of a tom returning from his wander.

  Sliding out his claws, Earth ripped at the ground in frustration. He’d come all this way, and now he was afraid to face the Sisters again. Why didn’t they want him? Just because he was a tom? They were his kin!

  With a lash of his tail, Earth turned away from the moor and took a few steps back under the trees. What was the point of looking for his kin, if they were just going to send him away again, or maybe even drive him away with their claws and teeth? He would leave on his own before they had a chance to tell him to go.

  He took another step, then turned back toward the moor. I’ve come too far to leave now. They might turn him away, but he couldn’t be so close and not try to talk to them. Maybe they wouldn’t let him stay, maybe they’d be angry—but at least, for a little while, he wouldn’t be alone.

  Holding his head high, Earth strode out onto the moor. He knew the kind of camp Moonlight always picked, and he was sure that the Sisters must have made their dens beneath some of the small thornbushes growing here and there among the grass. Spotting a likely group of bushes—several growing close together—he headed toward them.

  “Hey!” A fierce yowl came from behind him, and Earth spun around.

  Ice was glaring at him, fur bristling along her back. When she saw his face, though, her expression changed from anger to shock. “Earth?” she asked, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

  Earth sucked in his breath. Ice looked healthy, her fur shiny and her eyes bright. Whatever was about to happen now, he was glad to see her well. “You’re all right,” he purred.

  Ice looked pleased. “I was so sick when you left that we didn’t get to say good-bye,” she meowed. “Is that why you’re here? To see me again?”

  “Sort of.” Earth sat down on the grass with a sigh. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to see every cat.” There was a tug of hope in his chest. It was good that he’d run into Ice, alone, first. At least she would listen to him. She might even talk to Moonlight for him.

  “What’s going on?” Ice glanced around as if checking that they were alone, then sat beside him. She curled her tail neatly over her paws, her face serious. “You know you’re supposed to be off wandering. Mother told me that if we ever saw you again, it would be by chance and probably not for a long, long time. It hasn’t even been a moon yet!”

  “I can’t do it.” The words burst out of Earth as if he’d been saving them up the whole time he’d been on his wander. “I tried, but I’m so lonely. It’s scary on my own, and nothing feels right.” He hung his head.

  Ice’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Earth,” she told him. “Maybe you should try wandering in a different direction? You might meet other toms. They all must be out there somewhere.”

  “How do you know?” Earth mewed sharply. “The Sisters don’t know what happens to the toms when they leave. They could all be dead, or everkits. And the Sisters don’t care.”

  “We do care,” Ice protested, dropping her gaz
e to the ground. “But this is the way it is.”

  “I don’t understand why.” Earth hunched his shoulders and his voice came out as a whisper. “I want to come back to the Sisters.” His whole body was tense. Maybe Ice would help him. Maybe he could come back.

  But Ice was shaking her head sadly. “Earth, you know the rules. No tom can live with the Sisters. You have to wander and guard the land.”

  “I know.” Earth felt small and miserable. He had known, hadn’t he? If even his own littermate felt this way, none of the Sisters would want him to stay. The Sisters would never let him be one of them again.

  “Is it really so awful?” Ice asked tentatively. “Maybe I could . . .” She hesitated.

  “You can’t do anything,” Earth told her. Part of him wanted to beg her to talk to Moonlight, but he knew nothing was going to change. If Ice spent her time trying to fix things for him, she wouldn’t be working for the Sisters. They needed her to hunt and patrol and teach the younger kits, like all the Sisters did. If she was worrying about him instead, it would hurt every Sister.

  He swallowed hard and went on. “It’s fine. You’re right—I don’t belong here anymore. But I wanted to see you.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Ice leaned forward as if to nuzzle his cheek, then pulled back. She doesn’t want the other Sisters to scent me on her, Earth realized, his tail drooping. “You will be all right, really, won’t you?” she asked hopefully.

  “Of course I will.” Earth knew he was lying. He stood up, lifting his head high. “I guess we won’t see each other again,” he meowed.

  He started to turn away as Ice answered, “I hope that’s not true.” Her voice trembled.

  Earth couldn’t bring himself to reply. He looked straight ahead and walked quickly away. As he got farther from Ice, he began to run.

  I can never go back.

  By the time the sun set, Earth was far away from the Sisters’ camp. He’d run and run after leaving Ice, run until he was breathless and sore-pawed. When he’d finally come to a stop, there hadn’t been time to find a good den for the night. Instead he twisted and turned, roots jabbing into his sides as he tried to sleep in a narrow hollow at the foot of an alder tree.