A Warrior's Spirit Page 9

  Hawk’s tail twitched dismissively. “Don’t be silly,” she told him. “Furze’s kit won’t be ready to wander for moons. His eyes only opened yesterday.” Nudging him with her shoulder, she added, “You’re six moons old now and you’re a smart cat, Earth. You’ll be fine.”

  “I guess.” Earth shifted his paws uneasily. Maybe Hawk was right, but he doubted it.

  “Come on,” Hawk meowed, looking around. “Let’s go out to the long grass. We can hunt together.”

  A little way beyond the pine forest was a long stretch of open land where grass rippled in the breeze. Earth scented the air, his heart lightening a little.

  Hawk tasted the air, too, her mouth open. “This clearing is full of voles and mice. I’ll go that way,” she decided, gesturing with her tail, “and you pick a scent trail to follow. If you spot a vole, try to drive it toward me.”

  As she disappeared through the grass, Earth crouched low, his belly to the ground. Dutifully, he sniffed around. I probably won’t catch anything. There was a strong smell of vole and he tracked it, listening to see if he could hear a tiny heartbeat. There was a tangle of dry, dead grass near the roots of the growing plants, the perfect place for prey to hide. He crept forward, one slow paw step after another.

  His nose twitched. There was another scent, getting stronger.

  Cats, he realized. Strangers.

  Earth jerked his head up. Rogues!

  A thin gray tom was prowling toward him. Earth tensed, then caught another scent. A brown tabby she-cat was crouched on Earth’s other side, her tail slashing furiously.

  “This is our territory,” the tom snarled. “Get out.”

  Earth froze. What was he supposed to do now? Moonlight always said that cats who claimed territory were foolish—the land belonged to every cat. But Moonlight wasn’t here.

  “We’re just passing through,” he mumbled, tucking his tail tightly around his legs.

  The tom prowled forward, growling. “We don’t want strangers on our territory.”

  “We’ll teach you to stay away,” the she-cat added, drawing close to his other side.

  Earth turned his head to look at her and a sharp hot pain slashed across his ears. The tom had clawed him. Earth’s legs trembled. He couldn’t run; he couldn’t fight. The she-cat hissed and swiped at his shoulder, a stinging blow. Earth wailed in terror.

  “Hey!” Hawk ran through the grass and leaped at the she-cat, knocking her away. “Leave him alone!”

  Earth gave a gasp of relief. Hawk would save him. Hawk and the tabby she-cat grappled on the ground, rolling over and over. With a howl of fury, the gray tom threw himself into the fight. Horrified, Earth watched him dig his claws into Hawk’s side as the brown tabby kicked and slashed at her from below. Hawk was bigger than either of them, and she was a good fighter, but so were both these cats, and she was outnumbered.

  Earth tried to remember what he’d learned about fighting. Since Stream and Haze had died, the Sisters had been so busy, but Tempest and Snow had both trained him on techniques for battling another cat. Do I leap? Or is it better to go low? He couldn’t remember anything. He couldn’t move.

  With a heave, the brown she-cat rolled out from beneath Hawk, and Hawk fell heavily onto her side, yowling in pain.

  Earth made a huge effort and broke free from his stillness. Squeezing his eyes shut, he barreled forward. He had to help her.

  His head bashed into the gray rogue’s side, and he heard a grunt and the other cat falling backward. Earth opened his eyes as Hawk leaped to her paws.

  “Run!” she shouted, and Earth ran. He could hear Hawk behind him, and then she was beside him, slowing her long stride so that they ran together. The rogues were snarling threats and warnings behind them.

  “Don’t come back here!” the tom yowled, and the tabby added, “There’s more of us! Stay off our territory!”

  As they came in sight of the Sisters’ current camp, Earth was gasping for breath. Hawk slowed to a walk. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.” Earth noticed a stream of blood running down Hawk’s hind leg. “Are you hurt?”

  Hawk grimaced and bent to give the leg a quick lick. “That tabby had sharp claws,” she meowed.

  Earth cringed. “I’m sorry, I should have helped sooner. I just . . . froze.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Hawk told him. Leading the way into camp, she headed straight for the hollow where they had stored some healing herbs. Earth’s belly felt hot with guilt as he noticed she was limping.

  He trailed after her. “Can I help?”

  “No, I think I can get it myself.” Hawk sat and began to chew some chervil to put on her wound. Earth watched, feeling useless.

  Moonlight came over, her gaze worried. “What happened?” she asked. Hawk, her mouth full of chervil, shrugged, and Moonlight turned to Earth.

  Earth stared at his paws, his whole body burning with guilt now. “We were hunting, and two rogues attacked us,” he mewed softly. “I froze, I couldn’t fight, and Hawk had to fight them alone. She protected me.”

  Bristling, Moonlight looked stern. “You’re six moons old; you should be able to protect yourself. A good Sister could have died looking after you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Earth whispered.

  When he met Moonlight’s eyes, he felt like she was looking straight into his thoughts. “You’ll be going on your wander in just a few days,” she told him. “You will have to take care of yourself. You will take care of yourself.”

  Do you really think I’m ready? Earth dug his claws into the ground. How could the Sisters believe he was prepared to wander?

  He wanted to hiss at her, to make her see how not prepared he was. But his mouth was too dry to speak. Instead he watched her walk away.

  “She’s working to protect every cat,” Hawk mewed gently, looking up from licking the chervil onto her leg wound. “She doesn’t mean to be cruel.”

  Moonlight wants to protect every cat, Earth thought. I couldn’t even protect myself. At least he wouldn’t be a danger to the Sisters anymore, once he was gone.

  As the sun rose on the morning of the day when Earth would set out on his wander, Ice was whimpering in the sick den. From outside the den, Earth listened to his sister’s pained little whine, his heart clenching.

  “Is she going to be okay?” he asked Moonlight as she stepped out of the den.

  “I hope so,” Moonlight told him, her face tight with worry. “I think she’s just eaten some bad prey. But if she doesn’t feel better soon, I might take her to a Twopaw den to see if we can have them help her.”

  Earth shifted his paws nervously. “Twopaws? Really?”

  “Some of them are softhearted, and they have their uses,” Moonlight mewed crisply. “Never forget that the Sisters’ ancestors once lived with Twopaws.” She shook her pelt slightly, as if shaking away the idea. “But I hope it won’t be necessary. Fetch some fresh moss for Ice’s nest? What she really needs is sleep.”

  “Of course,” Earth replied. He knew where the softest moss grew, down on the banks of the little stream at the edge of camp.

  As he carefully scraped moss off the rocks by the stream, choosing the freshest and thickest-looking pieces, his fur tingled with anxiety. He’d been trying not to think about it, but today was the day.

  Today he would leave the Sisters forever.

  Ice had been so sick lately that concern for her had pushed the thought of leaving to the very back of Earth’s mind. Since she had first begun retching miserably in the nursery, she’d been feverish and nauseous, confused and glassy-eyed and calling out for their mother. Moonlight had stayed by her side, and the other Sisters had taken over Moonlight’s duties, doing all the things Moonlight usually did to keep their camp running smoothly.

  With Moonlight preoccupied with Ice, and Hawk resting her injured leg, no cat had taken over Earth’s training. I’m not ready, he thought. He knew he’d freeze again if he had to fight. His hunting was okay, he supposed,
if he could concentrate—but he didn’t feel confident about that, either.

  He couldn’t see spirits. How can I travel without spirits to guide my steps?

  And he kept trying to meditate, to speak to the land the way the Sisters had told him, but there was no connection. He heard nothing. How can I protect the land without a connection to it?

  Picking up the moss to carry back to Moonlight, Earth made up his mind. He would talk, calmly and reasonably, to Moonlight about it. She’d see that he couldn’t leave yet.

  “Thank you, Earth,” Moonlight meowed when he reached her. “That’ll make Ice’s bed nice and comfortable.”

  Earth dropped the moss in front of her and, as she bent to pick it up, cleared his throat.

  “What is it?” Moonlight asked, looking up.

  Earth swallowed hard. “I don’t think I’m ready to wander,” he blurted out. “I can’t—”

  “You are ready,” his mother interrupted. “You have to be.”

  “I’m not a good fighter,” Earth argued. “I haven’t seen the spirits.” He hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t be sent away yet? If I could stay with the Sisters just one more moon . . .”

  Moonlight sat down, looking serious. “That’s not the way things are,” she told him. “We’ve learned that it’s bad luck for a tom to stay past his sixth moon, bad for the Sisters and bad for the tom.”

  “But—” Earth began to object.

  “Once, when I was young, a tom who was afraid to leave the Sisters was allowed to stay a few moons longer,” Moonlight went on, her eyes shining with sorrow. “Cloud, who led us then, thought it would do no harm. But that icetime was the hardest the Sisters had ever faced. Fierce snow drenched our fur. Frozen earth broke our claws. There was no prey, and Sisters died. And in the leafrise, when the tom left, he was weak and vulnerable, too used to the Sisters protecting him. He ended up choosing to go to Twopaws to be their everkit.”

  A cold shudder went down Earth’s spine. “I don’t want that to happen to me,” he meowed. He knew toms sometimes did choose to live in the nests of the Twopaws—long ago, all the ancestors of the Sisters had—but it just felt wrong to him. He didn’t want them touching him with their long furless paws.

  “No,” Moonlight agreed with a comforting purr. She bent to press her cheek against his. “It won’t happen to you. You’re a smart and resourceful cat. But you must go out into the world and become the tom you’re meant to be.”

  “I guess,” Earth conceded, as Moonlight pulled away again. “But I don’t like the idea of being on my own. Look what happened when Hawk and I ran into those rogues. What if I go onto another cat’s territory again? When I’m alone?”

  Moonlight’s tail twitched. “You have to give yourself more credit,” she told him. “You’re going to be a strong, capable cat, I can see it. You’re a lot like your father, you know, and he was a cat well suited to the world.”

  Earth felt a stab of interest. Moonlight had never said much about his father. But right now he needed to make her see how he felt. “I don’t feel like I’m going to be that kind of cat,” he admitted.

  A faint, fretful mew came from the sick den behind them, and Moonlight got to her paws. “Earth, it’s going to be fine. But I don’t have time to talk about what kind of cat you might be in the future. Not when I have a sick cat to take care of right now.”

  “Okay,” Earth muttered. He watched her head back into the sick den, a terrible ache in his chest. I wish she loved me like she loves my sisters, he thought bitterly. Moonlight seemed all too ready for him to leave.

  Strong and capable, he thought, staring down at his small yellow paws. No matter what Moonlight said, he didn’t feel strong and capable at all.

  Chapter 4

  The Claw Stars were pointing toward the setting sun. It was time.

  Earth followed Moonlight toward a low hill at the edge of the pine forest, where they could see the sky. His paws felt heavy and stiff, and there was an anxious ache in his belly. I don’t want to do this.

  When they stopped, the she-cats gathered around Earth, just as they’d done for Chestnut and Snail two moons before. All except Ice, who was still in the sick den.

  Earth glanced longingly back over his shoulder toward the camp. I should have said good-bye. Was he ever going to see his sister again? What if she died of this illness, and he never knew? Shivering at the thought, Earth wanted to run back to camp, to share tongues with Ice one last time. But it was too late now.

  Moonlight pressed her nose gently against Earth’s cheek. “I will miss you, my son,” she meowed softly. “I wish you happiness.”

  Earth shut his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of his mother. Don’t make me go. He wanted to yowl it, but who would listen?

  Sunrise nudged her nose against his cheek, and her meow was rough with sorrow. “I don’t want you to leave,” she whispered, and Earth pressed his face to hers, unable to speak for a moment.

  “Tell Ice good-bye for me,” he whispered back at last.

  His sister stepped away and, one by one, each of the Sisters approached him, touched her nose or cheek to his, and murmured a few last words.

  “You’ll be fine,” Hawk murmured reassuringly. “Follow the scents and you’ll find plenty of prey.”

  Petal nosed his ear gently. “I believe that Stream will go with you,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

  Pain shot through Earth’s chest; he couldn’t answer her. Everything would be different if Stream were with me.

  When every cat had said her good-bye, Moonlight came forward again and bowed her head to Earth. “This is the beginning of your adventure,” she meowed. “Our love goes with you as you set off on your endless wander. Be an honorable cat, and the land will guide your paws. You are a guardian of the land now. You must listen to what it tells you.”

  Earth knew what he was supposed to say—I will—but the words seemed to be stuck. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t meow. How can I listen to what the land tells me? I can’t hear it!

  There was a long pause. All the cats were watching him. Furze and Snow glanced at each other, looking worried.

  Moonlight stepped closer to murmur into his ear, “Be strong. Don’t worry—if your courage wavers, an ancestor will help you to safety.”

  Not me. They won’t help me. Earth’s mouth was dry. He’d still never seen a spirit. And, despite everything Moonlight had told him, the idea of a dead cat watching him seemed scary.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’m ready,” he croaked, his voice small and dry. He sounded completely unconvincing to his own ears, but Moonlight purred in approval.

  “Walk through the night without looking back,” she continued. “At dawn, you will have left your kithood behind you and become a true tom. May the ancestors who walk the land find you and give you guidance.”

  Earth jerked his head into a nod, turned toward where the Claw Stars hung in the sky, and began to walk. His paws felt heavy at first, but he made an effort and walked faster, feeling the eyes of the Sisters on his back.

  Remembering how excited and proud Chestnut and Snail had seemed as they left, he raised his tail high, trying to look unafraid. He didn’t want them to remember him as a coward. Would they watch him until he was out of sight? He desperately wanted to turn and look back, to see if the mothers and sisters were still watching, to see if they looked sorry to see him go. He steeled himself and kept walking.

  But it was so dark. The sun had set now. Underbrush crackled nearby, and Earth glanced around, his pelt prickling with apprehension. A spirit? He didn’t see anything.

  He must be out of sight of the Sisters by now. Earth stopped for a moment. Crickets chirped steadily in the bushes around him, and he heard the deep croak of a frog in the distance. A breeze ruffled his fur. He sensed nothing threatening nearby, but suddenly Earth’s heart was pounding as hard as a rabbit’s, and he crouched low to the ground, as if to hide.

  It’s just that I’ve never been out alo
ne at night before, he reassured himself. Everything’s okay.

  The world seemed bigger and emptier than anything ever had, and Earth was alone. He began to walk again, one paw after another. Where was he supposed to stop to make camp? How was he going to know if it was a good spot? Moonlight had always chosen the Sisters’ camps. This is so stupid, he thought. Why do toms have to start their wander at night? Who thought up that dumb rule? Night makes everything more difficult.

  Earth thought of turning back—things would be better closer to camp, wouldn’t they?—but remembered what Moonlight had said. Walk through the night without looking back. Gritting his teeth, he kept going.

  A sudden rumble made him jump; then bright light flashed in his eyes. Lightning!

  Earth yowled in terror. But the light swung past and something huge and dark growled as it rushed away.

  A monster. Earth tried to catch his breath and calm his pounding heart. I must be right by a Thunderpath.

  He stood stock-still, his paws sinking into mud. There could be anything out here, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

  After a few deep breaths, he made up his mind and scrambled under a bush. I’ll stay here tonight. So what if he was still close to the Sisters’ camp? No Sister could say he was wandering wrong, because which of them really knew what a tom did on his wander? He might not have walked through the whole night, but he hadn’t turned back.

  Earth curled into a tight ball and squeezed his eyes shut. He missed the warmth of his sisters beside him. He missed the sounds of the Sisters.

  “Ancestor spirits, if you’re out there, watch over me,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t see you, but I hope I’m not alone.”

  He listened, straining his ears, but there was no response.

  When dawn broke over the forest, Earth stretched and shook his pelt, cold and stiff from sleeping by himself. He could see the Thunderpath through the trees now, so he turned his back on it and walked into the forest.