The Silent Thaw Page 8

  Normally, Rootpaw’s heart would have sunk at the idea of being stuck in camp all day, dodging Bramblestar’s ghost. But today it lifted. “I could help out around here.” He looked hopefully at Fidgetflake. If Bramblestar’s ghost bothered him in the medicine den, Fidgetflake or Frecklewish might see it. They were used to seeing dead cats. And if they could see Bramblestar, then the ghost wouldn’t be Rootpaw’s problem anymore.

  Fidgetflake dropped the moss and patted the comfrey around Dewspring’s paw. “I’m going out to gather herbs soon,” he told Rootpaw. “Want to help me?”

  “Okay.” Rootpaw blinked at him eagerly. It would give him time to talk to the medicine cat alone.

  Dewspring settled onto his belly and laid his injured paw gently on the ground. “You might as well make yourself useful,” he meowed.

  Rootpaw looked hopefully at Fidgetflake. “Should we go now?” If they left at once, the apparition might not know where he went.

  Fidgetflake purred. “If you like.” He nodded to Frecklewish. “I’m going to gather horsetail. Is there anything else we need?”

  “See if the marigold is sprouting,” she told him. “We’re running a little low.”

  Outside camp Rootpaw led the way uphill, slipping between boulders and only pausing when he reached the top. He gazed across the rolling hills, relieved to be free for a while from Bramblestar’s ghost. Stretches of snow still lay in shadows between the hills, but around them green fields unfurled beneath a bright blue sky, and trees flung up their branches in an emerald haze.

  Fidgetflake stopped beside him and pointed his nose toward the valley below. A stream sparkled at the bottom. “There’s horsetail down there,” he told Rootpaw, heading downhill.

  Rootpaw followed, relishing the breeze in his pelt. It was chilly, despite the sunshine, and he could see his breath. Prey-scent touched his nose, and he wished he were hunting with Dewspring instead of gathering herbs. But this was his chance to find out if Bramblestar’s ghost was unusual. He knew it was different for medicine cats because they saw StarClan cats, not ghosts who hadn’t found their way to StarClan like the ones Tree saw. But Bramblestar was nearly a StarClan cat; perhaps he already was a StarClan cat and just didn’t know it. Whatever—Fidgetflake must have some useful advice.

  He caught up to Fidgetflake as the black-and-white tom nosed his way into a patch of horsetail and began to reach up and snap the tips with his teeth. Rootpaw copied him, wincing as bitter sap bathed his tongue. He spat it out. “What’s it like, talking to dead cats?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He had no intention of telling Fidgetflake about seeing Bramblestar’s ghost. But the medicine cat might know the answers to Bramblestar’s questions. Was it possible to be dead and alive at the same time?

  “Why do you ask?” Fidgetflake glanced at him as he snapped a fresh stem. He dropped it on the ground. “’Paws aren’t usually interested in dead cats.”

  “I was just wondering.” Rootpaw shrugged. “Do you see dead cats out here in the forest, like Tree does?”

  “We only see StarClan cats,” Fidgetflake explained. “They appear to us in visions. Tree sees cats who are left behind in the forest.” He paused, tipping his head. “At least I think he does.”

  “So spirits wandering in the forest are never StarClan cats?” Rootpaw pressed. Couldn’t Bramblestar get to StarClan? Was he stuck?

  “StarClan cats usually stay in their own hunting grounds,” Fidgetflake told him. “There’s no reason to come back to the forest. They can share with us at the Moonpool.”

  So why had Bramblestar come back? Rootpaw’s tail twitched uneasily. “If one did come back to the forest, would you speak to it?”

  “Of course.” Fidgetflake had stopped picking horsetail. He was staring at Rootpaw curiously.

  Rootpaw reached up for another stem. He quickly snapped off the tip with his teeth and laid it with the others, avoiding Fidgetflake’s eye.

  “You’re not thinking of becoming a medicine cat, are you?” Fidgetflake blinked at him.

  “No,” Rootpaw told him quickly. “I was just talking about ghosts at the Gathering,” he lied. “Some of the other apprentices were interested. One said they’d seen the ghost of a Clan cat.”

  Fidgetflake pricked his ears. “When?”

  “I don’t know.” Rootpaw’s heart quickened. He didn’t want Fidgetflake asking too many questions. “Ages ago. He said . . . he said he saw the ghost of a cat who was still alive.”

  Fidgetflake looked disappointed. “It sounds like he was making it up. A living cat can’t have a ghost.”

  Rootpaw’s heart sank. “So it’s impossible, right?”

  “Totally.”

  Rootpaw frowned. He wasn’t ready to give up entirely. There was another question that had been nagging him since Bramblestar’s ghost had appeared. Why had the apparition chosen him and not a cat from his own Clan? “Do you ever speak to StarClan cats who aren’t from SkyClan?”

  “We do now that we live beside the lake,” Fidgetflake told him. “We had our own StarClan beside the gorge. But now we see all our ancestors, and once a cat is in StarClan, they talk to any cat they like.”

  “So it’s okay for dead cats to speak to cats from other Clans.”

  “Of course.”

  Rootpaw felt a glimmer of relief. At least something about this was normal.

  Fidgetflake went on. “It doesn’t matter which Clan a warrior comes from,” he mewed. “Or if they come from StarClan at all. If a dead cat has a message to pass on, we must listen to it and do our best to honor their wishes.”

  Am I supposed to honor Bramblestar’s wishes? Rootpaw shifted uneasily. He wasn’t even sure what they were.

  The horsetail shivered a few tail-lengths away. Rootpaw jerked his muzzle around to see what was moving there.

  “Hey!” Tree pushed through the stems toward them. His paws were wet and water dripped from his belly. “I was seeing if it’s possible to catch fish in the stream.”

  “Any luck?” Fidgetflake asked.

  “No.” Tree stopped as he reached them. “Fish are too slippery. I can’t hold on to one even with my claws out. RiverClan must have burrs on their paws. I can’t see how else they can catch them.” He blinked at Rootpaw. “Where’s Dewspring?”

  “He’s sprained a paw.”

  “No training today?” Tree’s gaze rounded.

  “No,” Rootpaw told him. “I’m helping Frecklewish gather herbs instead.”

  “I thought your assessment was coming up.” Tree looked worried.

  “It is, but I’ll be okay,” Rootpaw reassured him.

  “Come with me,” Tree mewed cheerily. “I can teach you some of my hunting skills.”

  Rootpaw hesitated. His father’s skills would be strange. “I’m not sure Dewspring wants me learning new skills somewhere else.”

  “Nonsense.” Tree swished his tail. “You can’t have too many skills.” He glanced at the pile of horsetail stems Rootpaw had gathered. “If you can learn how to gather herbs, you can learn a few of my hunting tricks.”

  Rootpaw’s tail drooped.

  “Can I take him away?” Tree asked Fidgetflake.

  “Of course.” Fidgetflake dipped his head to Rootpaw. “Thanks for the help.”

  “No problem.” Rootpaw followed his father as Tree led the way across the meadow to an alder grove. Perhaps it was better to leave the medicine cat in peace. If he asked any more questions, Fidgetflake might start to get suspicious.

  Tree padded among the pale trunks and stopped. “Have I shown you how to be a bush?”

  “‘Be a bush’?” Rootpaw stared at his father. He loved him very much, but did he have to be weird about everything?

  “If you’re a bush, prey doesn’t know you’re there,” Tree told him.

  “But I’m a cat.” Rootpaw blinked at him, confused.

  “You can pretend to be a bush.” Tree crouched and rolled, one way, then the other, until his fur was flecked with leaf litter. He got to his
paws. “The first thing you have to do is smell like a bush.” He nodded toward the patch he’d rolled in. “Try it.”

  Reluctantly, Rootpaw rolled in the leaf litter until he could feel his fur itching with it. He got to his paws, resisting the urge to shake his pelt out.

  “We need to find a shady place where we can hide.” Tree led Rootpaw between the trees until they reached a spot where a sprawling bramble spilled between the alders. He crouched beside it, hunching down in its shadow. “Now we just sit quietly until the prey comes,” he whispered.

  Rootpaw ducked and squeezed in beside him. “Wouldn’t it be quicker to find a prey trail and track it?”

  “Sometimes it’s better to let prey come to you.” Tree’s litter-specked pelt brushed Rootpaw’s as he shifted to get more comfortable. “Warriors insist on making everything harder than it should be.”

  Rootpaw bristled. Why did Tree have to criticize Clan cats all the time? “They just want to be the best warriors they can be. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “Nothing.” Tree purred. “But it’s nice just to sit around with another cat while you’re pretending to be a bush.” He glanced at Rootpaw. “It’s a good excuse to talk.”

  Does he know something? Rootpaw wondered, dread tingling in his belly. Is that why Tree brought me here? To talk? He glanced suspiciously at his father. “What about?”

  “Leaving the Clans.”

  Alarm pricked in Rootpaw’s pelt. “But . . . I’m about to become a warrior,” he mewed. “I’ve been training for moons.” Tree had talked about leaving the forest after the last Gathering when Bramblestar had suggested that cats should start accusing one another of crimes that could get them expelled. He’d been worried that it was the sort of rule Darktail would have made. Rootpaw had heard all about Darktail and the Kin and how they had taken over ShadowClan first, then the other Clans, and killed and starved any warrior who’d stood in their way. Tree had said that it would be safer to live as rogues than to live with Clans who behaved like rogues.

  Tree gazed thoughtfully into the distance. “I’m not saying we have to leave now. But this Gathering wasn’t any better than the last one. I don’t think Bramblestar is going to let go of this codebreaking issue any time soon. The Clans are changing, and I think that you, Needlepaw, Violetshine, and I need to be prepared to walk our own path if we have to.”

  Rootpaw frowned. Bramblestar’s ghost would leave him alone if he left the Clan. That would be good. But was it worth becoming a rogue? “I think we should stick it out. Isn’t that what being a warrior is all about?”

  “Maybe, but I’m not sure staying would be good for any of us.” Tree glanced at Rootpaw anxiously. “Why did you run away after the Gathering? It’s not like you.”

  Rootpaw felt hot. “I saw something that startled me, that’s all.”

  “What startled you?” Tree’s gaze darkened.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Rootpaw wished his father would stop questioning him. What could he say? That he’d seen a ghost? What if Tree was proud that he shared the same weirdness?

  Tree shifted beside him. “If there’s anything you’re worried about, you can always talk to me,” he mewed softly.

  “I know.” Rootpaw felt a flood of affection for his father. He wasn’t like other Clan cats, but he never hid how much he loved Rootpaw, Needlepaw, and Violetshine. Rootpaw felt suddenly lucky to have him. He wished he could tell him about Bramblestar’s ghost. But how would it help? His heart lurched as a pelt shimmered among the alders. He recognized the ghostly fur. Bramblestar had found him and was pacing between the trees a few tail-lengths away. At least the ghost isn’t trying to get my attention. Rootpaw watched Bramblestar out of the corner of his eye as the ThunderClan leader paused and seemed to taste the air. Perhaps my bush disguise worked, he thought. Perhaps it can’t see me. Disappointment pierced his chest as Bramblestar stiffened, his eyes brightening as he caught sight of Rootpaw. Mouse dung!

  “Did you learn anything from Fidgetflake?” Bramblestar padded nearer and stared at Rootpaw eagerly. “Do you know who the other Bramblestar is yet?”

  Rootpaw blinked back at the ghost helplessly. Did it really expect him to speak? Are you blind? Tree’s sitting right next to me! Rootpaw stiffened as an idea flashed in his mind. Would Tree be able to see the apparition here? “Look,” he mewed loudly, nudging Tree with a paw. A bird was hopping along the branch above Bramblestar’s head. “Should we catch it?”

  As Tree stared thoughtfully at the bird, Rootpaw willed him to notice the ghost standing underneath.

  “It looks jumpy,” Tree mewed. “It’ll fly away the moment it sees us move.”

  Rootpaw’s heart sank. His father still couldn’t see Bramblestar’s ghost. Why not? Frustration welled in his chest. If you can see ghosts, why not this one?

  Tree got to his paws and shook the leaf litter from his pelt. He blinked at Rootpaw. “Would you think about leaving the Clans if things get worse?”

  Rootpaw shrugged, feeling Bramblestar’s gaze on his pelt. “I don’t know. I want to be a warrior.”

  “Think about it,” Tree told him. “I know it’s complicated, but with every Gathering, I can’t help feeling more sure it would be for the best. I don’t like where Bramblestar is leading the Clans. If he pushes this codebreaker talk much further, I think we ought to go.”

  Rootpaw saw Bramblestar’s ghost shift uneasily. He wanted to tell his father everything. Tree might know a way to get rid of the apparition. He hesitated. But if Tree knew there were two Bramblestars causing trouble, would he insist on leaving straight away? Rootpaw couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t ready to give up his chance to become a SkyClan warrior. He would have to make this ghost go away by himself. He looked into his father’s eyes. “It will work out,” he mewed earnestly. “I know it will. The Clans won’t let anything really bad happen.”

  Tree narrowed his gaze. “I hope so,” he mewed darkly. “But I’ve seen more of life than you. Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want.” He brushed leaf litter from Rootpaw’s pelt with his tail. “Are you coming back to camp?”

  “I’ll stay here and practice some hunting moves,” Rootpaw told him. He was going to talk to the ghost. The time had come, and even if he couldn’t answer its questions, he could find out what it wanted and, like Fidgetflake had told him, try to figure out a way to honor its wishes. He blinked at his father. “I want to be ready for my assessment.”

  “See you later.” Tree touched his nose to Rootpaw’s ear, his breath billowing in the chilly air, then headed between the trees.

  The ghost turned its head to watch the yellow tom disappear, then slumped onto the ground. Resting its chin on its forepaws, it stared blankly at Rootpaw. “I don’t know what’s happening,” it murmured. “But if warriors are thinking about leaving the Clans already, it can’t be good.”

  Rootpaw stared at Bramblestar. Was he giving up? “You must have some idea what’s going on.”

  Bramblestar started in surprise. This was the first time Rootpaw had addressed him. “I’m just as confused as you are,” the ghost confessed.

  Rootpaw frowned, thinking. “Perhaps you just need to go back to StarClan.”

  “I don’t know how,” Bramblestar told him. “I haven’t seen a single StarClan cat since I died. I’m stuck in the forest.”

  “Why can’t you go back to your body?”

  “There’s some other cat in it, or haven’t you noticed?”

  “Who?” Rootpaw began to pace.

  “I don’t know.”

  Rootpaw stared at the ghost cat. “Do you think I can do something about it?” he asked. “Because I can’t. I’m not a medicine cat. I’m not even a warrior yet. I don’t even know why you keep following me. There must be another cat who can help you.”

  “I’ve tried to find one,” Bramblestar told him. “But you’re the only cat who can see me.”

  Rootpaw sat down. “Why me?”

  Bramblestar shrugged. “Perhaps you�
��re the only one who can help me.”

  “But how?” Rootpaw huffed, exasperated. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  Bramblestar sat up. “You have to get a message to Squirrelflight.”

  “Me?” Rootpaw cringed. Squirrelflight was ThunderClan deputy. Even if he could find his way through ThunderClan territory and speak to her, she wasn’t going to listen to a SkyClan apprentice, especially if he tried to tell her that he had a message from Bramblestar’s ghost. “How?”

  Bramblestar stared at him, giving a sharp mew. “Find a way.”

  If a dead cat has a message to pass on, we must listen to it and do our best to honor their wishes. As he remembered Fidgetflake’s words, a shiver raced along Rootpaw’s spine. Bramblestar was asking the impossible.

  He closed his eyes. You want to be a warrior, he told himself sternly. Then do what Bramblestar says and find a way.

  Chapter 8

  A cold wind swirled around the hollow, and pigeon-gray clouds hung heavily above the camp. Bristlefrost fluffed her fur out to keep herself warm as she tugged a young bramble shoot that was creeping toward the elders’ den. Prickles jabbed her paws, and she leaned down to bite through the young stem where it disappeared into the camp wall. She picked the stem up gingerly between her teeth and carried it to the pile she had made. Finleap and Stormcloud were clearing brambles farther along the wall.

  Bristlefrost had organized the dawn patrols, but Squirrelflight had gone back to deciding the patrols for the rest of the day—without telling Bramblestar. So Bristlefrost was busying herself, along with her Clanmates, tidying the camp while she waited for the ThunderClan deputy to emerge from her den. Lionblaze and Spotfur were clearing dusty bedding and old leaves from the nursery while Daisy wove fresh bracken into the roof. Ivypool and Fernsong stripped withered strands of bracken from the walls of the warriors’ den, and Thornclaw and Blossomfall looked for gaps that needed patching in the sides of the apprentices’ den.

  Pride warmed Bristlefrost’s pelt. StarClan would be pleased to see ThunderClan working so hard. She wondered if they were watching.