Chapter Text
The minnows were quiet.
This, Salmonstripe knew, did not bode well.
“What's taking so long?” Reedbloom pressed himself against the stones, fur fluffed and ears pinned flat. He looked so small and pitiful in the smothering darkness, pupils blown wide as the Moonfish. Salmonstripe felt the overwhelming urge to tease him for it.
“Patience," he said instead. Ironic that it was a trait they both lacked. “Her time is different from ours. She'll come when She's ready.”
Reedbloom's whiskers flared. “Do you smell that?”
How could he not?
“Smell what?” Salmonstripe lifted a hind paw, lazily scratching behind his ear.
“ThunderClan.”
Their earthy stench was coiling around them. No doubt they were watching. Again. Obsessive, much? He could feel their eyes from the shadows, digging beneath his pelt like the teeth of a flea. Reedbloom twitched. Tried to look. Salmonstripe swept his tail over the small tom's back.
“Don't.”
“They're right behind us, aren't they? They're watching. I can feel them. They —”
“I know.”
“What if —"
“They're looking for a reason. Any reason. If you look, that will be reason enough.”
A sound broke in Reedbloom's throat, soft and pitiful, not unlike the dying choke of prey.
Salmonstripe puffed out his chest and lifted his head high. He mustered every last scrap of false bravado he could find. It didn't really matter where his confidence came from, whether it was genuine or fake; all that really mattered was that others bought into the lie.
“We are RiverClan cats on RiverClan territory,” he said loudly. “Let them watch.”
The River chose that moment to make Her debut.
A minnow flashed beneath the water's surface. Its silver scales sparked with a spell that summoned their full attention. Suddenly, the ThunderClan agitators seemed far away. Insignificant. She'd come at last. Fashionably late, which was … unusual, but since when were Rivers ever known for their predictability?
The minnow disappeared, and another took its place. Then another. And another. Until finally the River was alive with a comfortingly familiar dance. Their scales were a brilliant silver, and they breached the surface in dazzling flashes as they played. The force of their combined splashing was enough to spray water over his paws.
“It's time.” Salmonstripe stepped into the shallows. Tentatively, Reedbloom followed.
He could feel the harsh pull of the current around his legs. A sharp and beckoning tug. The River was playful tonight. Which also meant She was dangerous. The minnows parted around him as he waded in, some flicking their tails in his direction at the rude interruption. Stones dislodged beneath his paws. A few minnows leapt and sailed over his head. They crashed into the water with a rippling splash and wasted no time in rejoining the dance.
“There's so many,” said Reedbloom, in awe. “Ah, no, stop, that tickles! Um, Salmonstripe – I think they're nibbling on my paws!"
“Yes, they like to do that. Don't worry. They can't eat you."
A single minnow poked its head above the water. Beady black eyes captured their reflections.
“What now?” Reedbloom asked, shaking a few minnows free from the sensitive fur between his toes.
“Now,” said Salmonstripe, “we Read.”
There was a sacred art to River Reading. Most RiverClan cats knew the basics. It was crucial, after all, that a cat could translate the swell of a current or understand what the River meant when She coughed up dead fish along the shoreline. (Spoiler alert – that particular omen was never a good sign.) Fluency, however, was reserved for Riverspeakers.
Reedbloom was still learning. Though eighteen moons old, he'd only been Salmonstripe's apprentice for one. Tonight was his first official Rivermeet, where he could practice the art of Minnow Reading. It was incredibly simple when compared to Ripple Reading or Splash Reading – learning to divine the ripples and waves came much later on in an apprentice's journey.
Salmonstripe, by contrast, had been a Riverspeaker for nearly thirty moons now. The River's esoteric language had become second to his own.
It started with the usual. First, the minnows showed him the weather. Stormy. Violent. With periods of dark gray skies. And sure enough, he could smell the rain in the air, a staticky scent that set the fur on his back standing on end. For the next few days, hunting was guaranteed to be rough, especially near the River. They would have to temporarily source their prey elsewhere. This was disappointing, but not wholly unexpected for Leaf-Fall.
“Reedbloom. Report.”
“Yes, Salmonstripe, sir! Um … I – I think She's saying we're in for some bad weather. Storms and … and poor hunting?”
“Good,” said Salmonstripe, impressed. “Though your translation needs work. It's lacking … flavor. The River has a very distinct voice, I'll have you know, and it's our job to articulate that. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Dramatically clearing his throat, Salmonstripe began: “A storm prowls on the horizon. Soon, the rain will come, and you know the saying well – when the Moonfish cries, the River screams. In the Oversea, lightning hides within shadows, stalks among clouds, creeps up and up along the horizon line, waiting for the perfect opportunity to … pounce!” He whacked his tail across Reedbloom's back, and the poor tom nearly leaped out of his skin in fright. “Hunt far, far away from Her waters, lest you want to become Devoured. Like that, see?”
“That was, uh … very ...”
“Poetic?” Salmonstripe licked his paw in a false show of modesty. “I know. It's a gift.”
“I was right, though!" Reedbloom was practically glowing with pride, a truly unusual sight to behold. "I read the minnows just like you said I would! You weren't lying, Salmonstripe. It's not hard at all!”
Salmonstripe dismissively waved his paw. “More or less. She's not done yet. Pay attention.”
The image splintered. The minnows split apart. They circled aimlessly, eyes glazed, as if the River had momentarily lost Her grasp upon them. But then purpose defined their movement again. They twined together, tiny fins flapping. So many individual bodies knitted into one driven entity, like bees surging inside a hive. Piece by piece, each minnow found its place until the shape they formed was undeniably clear.
A badger.
Even the stripes, though fragmented by the ceaselessly swimming fish, were incredibly well-defined.
Minnow Reading never failed to impress.
Salmonstripe was pleased that the messages tonight were fairly simple. Reedbloom deserved the confidence boost. “Translation? And don't forget to include the drama this time.”
Silence met him in response.
Salmonstripe whipped his tail impatiently, which stirred the water behind him into a bubbly froth. “Reedbloom?”
Reedbloom stared straight down at the mass of minnows. The fur on the back of his neck was prickling up into fine points. The badger almost seemed to blink at him.
“No,” he said, and his voice cracked around the word, as if it were a painful thorn lodged in his throat.
“What? Oh, don't tell me you're afraid of a badger? They're practically harmless, so long as you keep your distance. The River's warning us to be on guard. That's all. Perhaps one recently came lumbering out of ThunderClan's neck of the woods and crossed Her into our territory.” He raised his voice, if only to spite the onlookers behind him. “Then all we need to do is shepherd it back home.”
“Salmonstripe. Look.”
Beneath the badger was RiverClan Camp.
It was a stunningly precise recreation. A few minnows had buried their heads in the sand; their tails waving in the current mimicked the thick reeds that hemmed in RiverClan's home. Others tried their best approximation of blobby cat shapes caught in languid movement or lazing upon rocks. The minnows were usually remarkably detailed in their images, but this was on a whole other level; Salmonstripe had never seen anything quite like it. “How fascinating,” he purred. “It's us!”
The River's messages usually pertained to the weather, or wandering animals that had passed through Her water, or strange, cryptic depictions of Twoleg-made objects that dwelled beyond a cat's comprehension. Minnow Reading was, after all, merely an echo of Her memory. The job of a Riverspeaker was to simply listen and interpret, even if Her words held little relevance.
The River belonged to all. RiverClan was only one of many who relied upon it for survival.
“Hm. Interesting. I wonder if -”
The badger snapped apart. An explosion of writhing bodies. Salmonstripe jerked back, the sudden wrench of his bones almost as alarming as the hundreds of fish that now swarmed around his legs. Beady black eyes and flailing fins and heaving gills. Their movement was erratic, no longer defined by any purpose beyond sheer panic. Several threw themselves out of the water and onto the rocks to die. The slap of their bodies against hard stone made Salmonstripe's ears fold flat.
“What's wrong?” Reedbloom scrambled out of the River, spine arched to an almost impossible height.
“I don't know, I -”
RiverClan Camp remained undisturbed. The minnows there almost looked like they were in a trance. Eyes open. Bodies frozen. Only their tails still moved to the flow of the current, which was becoming sharper, more aggressive, in its playful tugging.
The remaining minnows that had made up the badger swirled near the surface in despair. Beads of blood gathered by the sensitive flesh of their gills. Then something seemed to possess them. A kind of feral hunger he'd never seen in such a gentle fish before.
They cast their empty eyes down onto the minnows who formed RiverClan Camp.
And they dived.
It was carnage. There was no other word for it. The RiverClan minnows stood no chance. Their attackers swarmed around them, scales flashing, toothless mouths agape. They picked, and they pulled, and they picked, and they pulled, and the RiverClan minnows didn't swim, didn't fight back, merely accepted it by turning onto their sides and floating belly-up. Blood clouded the water in a thin, foggy burst. When it cleared, swept away by the eager current's pull, all that remained were their skeletons. Flesh impossibly stripped clean as if by a crow.
Salmonstripe finally found the strength within himself to look away.
Reedbloom crouched on Sunningrocks, claws unsheathed, chest heaving. The dying bodies of several minnows lay beside him. Their little mouths gasped at the air with a violence that betrayed their incredible will to live. Salmonstripe gently brushed what he could back into the water. He hoped he wasn't too late, but with the way they sank, lifeless, to the sandy graveyard below, he didn't have high hopes.
“What was that?” said Reedbloom helplessly, as Salmonstripe joined him on the rocks. “I thought you said Minnow Reading was for the weather, or … or for animals just passing through. That wasn't any of those things. That was -”
“A warning. And one we ought to pay close attention to.”
Salmonstripe, for once, didn't have all the answers.
Though he already had a theory.
The River usually favored the art of subtlety. Not tonight, it seemed.
“I'll think on it,” he said, shaking the water from his fur. “Come. We should return to Camp. Everyone needs to know.”
Something split from the shadows. Sleek and white with narrow, intelligent eyes. “Not before we give our guests a proper ThunderClan welcome.” Two other cats stalked out from the undergrowth, a stocky tabby tom and a thin gray she-cat. Whitewhisker, Scuttlebark, and Birdplume. Salmonstripe cursed himself for being so complacent.
“Careful. Step too close, and you'll be RiverClan's guests.” Salmonstripe looked carefully at where they were placing their paws. They had yet to leave the treeline, but they were toeing awfully close to the Sunningrocks border. “Apologies, I must have missed the news. As far as I can tell, Sunningrocks is still the rightful territory of RiverClan.”
“It was ours,” Whitewhisker snarled. “Many moons ago.”
“Was does not equate to now, you silly duck. Now we RiverClanners sun ourselves on these wonderful rocks as much as we please.” Salmonstripe arched out his back and made a show of kneading at the stone. He could practically feel the ThunderClan cats’ eyes dilating to thin, angry slits, their gaze like a fiery brand pressing into his fur.
“Salmonstripe,” Reedbloom whispered, “don't provoke them.”
“You'd do well to listen to your friend,” the she-cat, Birdplume, said. Her voice was as soft and smooth as honey. “I'm afraid two medicine cats against three warriors doesn't bode well for your odds. A little respect goes a long way.”
"Hear that, Reedbloom?" Salmonstripe couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice. "They think we're medicine cats. Who are you calling a medicine cat, anyway? I don't see any here. I thought that role was reserved for cats who'd prefer to dispense lectures rather than remedies. No, we're Riverspeakers. Creatively distinct. Medicine cats! Please. Don't make me laugh, I'll crack a rib."
Reedbloom glared up at him, clearly unamused. Salmonstripe couldn't fathom why. Apprentices have no sense of humor these days, he thought wryly.
The tabby, Scuttlebark, peeled back his lips to reveal a nasty set of fangs. “You might not remember it, river kit, but your elders do. I do. That stinking river of yours? That's the real border. Just as StarClan intended.”
“Yes, well, thankfully, I don't put much faith in your stars.”
“Ah, but rivers?” Whitewhisker laughed. “Now that's a different story. A heretical story, some might say.”
“Heretical indeed,” said Salmonstripe boredly.
Birdplume smiled. It was a cold, emotionless shape that fell flat across her muzzle. She pushed in front of Whitewhisker, her eyes fixed on Reedbloom. Salmonstripe instinctively stepped protectively over him. “Now, now, toms. No need for fighting. Look at that poor mite. With a face like that, you'd think he's seen the Dark Forest!”
“What did you see?” Scuttlebark growled.
“It's very rude to ask those kinds of questions, you know. Do ThunderClan medicine cats share their visions with just about anyone who asks? I'd have thought they would practice being a tad more discreet.”
Birdplume padded closer. She was right on the border's edge now. Salmonstripe's muscles bunched in anticipation.
“We only want to help,” she said, with a scarily convincing sincerity. “Swimming in rivers all day, speaking to fish – all that water must've gone to your head! Let us clear out your ears. Let us tell you about the stars.”
“Reedbloom.”
It was no use. Reedbloom was petrified. He pressed himself like a flatfish against the rocks, muttering something about minnows and badgers and the end to it all. Salmonstripe flexed his claws. He'd have to be ruthless if they were both going to escape with their whiskers intact. Sorry, buddy. No hard feelings.
The sky growled. Rumbled. The river churned. Dark clouds split apart, and a slice of silver moonlight fell upon them.
The Moonfish was watching.
Birdplume put one paw across the border. “Come. The truth will keep you warm. Far better than these rocks ever could.”
Whitewhisker snarled. “Now, Scuttlebark!”
Scuttlebark lunged.
"You really should've learned how to swim," said Salmonstripe.
He grasped Reedbloom's scruff, tasted the slight metallic hint of blood, an honest mistake. With a harsh yank, Salmonstripe threw him. His yowl cracked the air like thunder from the Oversea.
The River churned, a sickeningly delighted gurgle.
Salmonstripe took a deep breath. And leaped in after him.
The sky chose that moment to split apart. Lightning cooked the air to a hot sizzle. Rain lashed down with fierce claws. The storm had come, just as the River had said it would.
A heartbeat. Two.
“Oh, my brave little W̶̘̍́i̷̧͝l̷̺̀̓l̷̲̚o̸̻͊w̴̨̐͘k̶̟̎i̶̹̗͋t̸̨̳̋.”
He could feel the impact in his teeth.
"Salmonpaw. Are you ready for the River to bequeath to you your full name, beneath the eye of the Moonfish?”
He tried to breathe. All that came out was a flurry of bubbles.
“Please. Please, Salmonstripe. Don't go. I need you.”
Salmonstripe was blinded. He couldn't tell up from down, left from right. The water dug into his eyes and slid down his throat and turned every sound to distorted liquid. Paws churning, he kicked out with his hind legs. There was an ache in his lungs that was no doubt brought on by the violent force of his impact.
Air. He needed air. A big, long gulp of it. Before … before …
Salmonstripe tried not to think about what happened to cats who drowned in the River. It was an unpleasant thought, and it only served to make his lungs burn even hotter.
Still, the thought came unbidden. Six words, heavy as rock.
YOU ARE GOING TO BE DEVOURED.
He could feel the River's teeth around his throat. Squeezing. Squeezing.
No.
RiverClan needed him. Sunnycloud needed him.
Sunnycloud. Right. Yes.
He held onto her face. Remembered the silly flop of her ears, and the lopsided way she would tilt her head when faced with a confusing situation. She did that a lot around him; he had a tendency to ramble on and on about all kinds of inane and pointless things, much to the exhausted chagrin of his Clanmates. But she would nod along all the same, sharing in his enthusiasm for no other reason than because she loved him.
They must've swam together in their past life. Perhaps even been hatched from the same spawn. There was no other explanation for the familial fondness he felt towards her, despite not being littermates in their current one.
He felt the teeth around his throat unclench. A brief and dizzying relief. Not willing to waste his chance, he gave one final kick out with his hind legs.
One paw broke the surface. Then another.
And finally, he breached.
“Reedbloom!”
His cry was swallowed by the storm.
The current was mercilessly strong. It tossed him around like injured prey trapped between a kitten's paws. The River liked to play with Her food. It was said that the harder you struggled, the more fun She found you. There was little Salmonstripe could do but fight against his instincts and relinquish control. He went limp as a corpse, focused on keeping his head afloat. With the rain lashing from above and the waves pushing and pulling him side to side, all sense of direction was lost, whipped away in screaming wind.
He didn't even realize he'd made it to the other side until a slippery, muddy slope hit him straight in the nose. A mercy. She must've gotten bored with him. He despised the idea of being considered 'boring,' but in this instance, Salmonstripe knew to count his blessings. Claws scrabbling, Salmonstripe dragged himself up onto the bank and looked out across the churning water. Lightning lit the sky again, illuminating three cats standing atop Sunningrocks and casting their long shadows across the River.
And there, paws kicking, nearly to the other side, was Reedbloom.
Salmonstripe reached down to help. The poor tom mewled in protest, but went limp as a kitten when Salmonstripe's teeth sank into his scruff. He made sure to be more gentle this time. As he pulled him up onto solid ground, another burst of lightning turned the world white, and suddenly the cats on Sunningrocks were gone.
“Are you alright?”
Reedbloom stumbled to his paws. He opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was bile. After a few moments of retching and heaving, he managed a mild glare.
“You threw me,” his apprentice meowed weakly.
“I saved your life,” Salmonstripe corrected. “You were as stiff as a dead rabbit. Those ThunderClan brutes would've made bedding out of your pelt.”
"And you provoked them."
"Yes, well, fair enough. Can't argue that."
Reedbloom tried to take a step forward, but his legs gave out, and he collapsed. Shivering, he curled into a ball and closed his eyes against the whipping rain.
Guilt pierced Salmonstripe's heart. He'd pushed him too far.
After a moment's hesitation, he settled around the tom and began to groom him. Though a sheltered den would be ideal, he doubted either of them had the strength to return to Camp in their current sorry state. They'd just have to brave the storm and return in the morning.
"You did well today. We couldn't have anticipated ... all of that." Dispensing praise didn't come naturally to Salmonstripe - he found his delivery was consistently awkward and bordering on insincere - but he did his best to push through and give it anyway. "I know things have been hard, but give yourself a few more moons, and you'll be the second-best Riverspeaker in the entire world!"
"I thought we were the only two Riverspeakers in the world."
"The only two that we know of," Salmonstripe corrected. "Of course, it goes without saying that I'll always be the best. But I don't choose my proteges carelessly. There's untapped potential in you, I can smell it. We just need to find a way to dredge it all out."
Reedbloom tried to hide it, but Salmonstripe didn't miss the small smile on his muzzle. They lay together for a while like that, sharing what little body heat they could, and breathing in the wet, rain-bitten air.
“Salmonstripe?” Reedbloom's voice was faint. He sounded close to sleep.
“What is it?” Salmonstripe answered softly.
“I think I know what the River was trying to tell us.”
Salmonstripe looked back across to Sunningrocks.
“Yes. Yes, Reedbloom, I think I do, too.”