Dovewing tipped her head to one side and looked at him thoughtfully. “If it were me,” she mewed softly, “I’d tell the truth.” She held his gaze, and Shadowsight wondered for a moment if she was going to ask him why he wanted to know. But she didn’t. Instead she curled deeper into her nest. “You can never go wrong by telling the truth.”
Shadowsight’s pelt prickled uneasily. She was right. He had to tell the truth. The other medicine cats should know about the codebreakers. But how could he risk his mother’s safety? His heart ached as he watched Dovewing close her eyes once more. She had no idea that telling the truth might mean trouble for her. He just hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as Tigerstar feared.
Chapter 7
Rootpaw opened his eyes. Morning sunshine streamed through the woven branches of the apprentices’ den. He lifted his head, alarm jabbing his belly as he saw that Needlepaw’s and Wrenpaw’s nests were already empty. I’m late. He scrambled up. Where was Dewspring? Lately his mentor had been waking him each morning, sticking his head into the apprentices’ den just after dawn to hurry Rootpaw out of his nest. Needlepaw and Wrenpaw had teased Rootpaw about his new habit of oversleeping, telling him that leaf-bare hibernation was over, but Rootpaw ignored them. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been getting to sleep until close to dawn, worried that Bramblestar’s ghost might be lurking nearby.
In the two days since the Gathering, Rootpaw hadn’t had the chance to talk with the medicine cats. The ghost had been appearing more regularly, hanging around the edges of the camp, trying desperately to catch Rootpaw’s eye. Rootpaw had steadfastly ignored it, but that hadn’t driven it away. Last night it had approached him while he’d been eating a thrush beside Needlepaw. Pressing its muzzle close to Rootpaw’s ear, it had demanded to be heard.
“You can see me!” it had growled. “Stop pretending you can’t. I need help!”
Rootpaw had kept his eyes on his thrush. Go away! Did the ghost really expect him to answer when he was surrounded by his Clanmates? They’d think he was crazy. He’d carried on eating, pretending he couldn’t hear, but the ghost kept pestering.
“I need to find out what’s going on,” it had pressed. “Some cat addressed the Gathering pretending to be me! Are there two of me now? Is StarClan going to make a new one of me every time I die?”
Why is it just me who can see this ghost? Rootpaw’s pelt had prickled irritably along his spine. I’m a warrior apprentice, not a medicine cat. Go bother some other cat! he’d wanted to yowl at the ghost, but Needlepaw was already glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
“You’re being weird again,” she’d mewed.
Rootpaw had shifted self-consciously. “How?”
“Your pelt keeps prickling, and you get this look.” She demonstrated, widening her eyes and glancing around furtively. “Like you’re in trouble and you’re about to be found out.”
“You’re imagining it.” He’d tried to wave Bramblestar’s ghost away with his tail.
Needlepaw had looked at him for a moment longer, then retuned to her shrew.
Now, as birds sang their morning chorus, Rootpaw glanced around the den. The ghost wasn’t here. Good. He hurried outside. Bright sunshine sparkled on the dewy clearing while his Clanmates stretched and chatted, their breath billowing in the damp air. Rootpaw scanned the camp for his mentor.
“Are you looking for Dewspring?” Hawkwing called to him from beside the prey pile.
“I’m supposed to meet him for training,” Rootpaw told him.
“He’s in the medicine den.” Hawkwing nodded toward the dogwood. “He’s strained a paw.”
Rootpaw nodded his thanks to the SkyClan deputy and wandered to the bush where warriors had hollowed out a shallow dip to form a wide, shady den. Anxiety bristled through his fur, and it wasn’t just that he was worried Dewspring might be badly hurt. But this might also be his chance to ask a medicine cat about the ghost.
He ducked inside and saw his mentor lying beside a nest. Fidgetflake had swathed his paw in comfrey and was dripping water from a ball of moss onto the dressing, while Frecklewish sorted herbs at the back of the den.
Dewspring looked up as Rootpaw padded in. “Don’t worry,” he told him before he could speak. “I just landed badly while we were hunting yesterday. I thought the pain would ease after a night’s sleep, but it swelled instead.”
Rootpaw padded to his side. “Will it be okay?”
“I hope so.” Dewspring glanced at Fidgetflake.
The medicine cat blinked back. “If you rest it today, it’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
“Rootpaw has his assessment soon,” Dewspring told Fidgetflake. “He won’t want to miss any training.”
“I could go out with Wrenpaw or Needlepaw today,” Rootpaw offered.
“They left at dawn,” Dewspring told him. “They’re hunting on the lakeshore.”
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?