Cry of the Ocelot

by Maya Grace

  Then something tugged at the back of her chestplate. Ella came up out of the water flailing and hollering. “Gran, no!”

  But it wasn’t Gran who had pulled Ella back out. It was Taiga. Now the wolf was growling, tugging at Ella’s leggings, trying to drag her back onto shore.

  “Stop!” Ella cried. “Let me go!”

  But the wolf wouldn’t. And he won.

  Ella tumbled back onto dry ground, with her wet wolf pressing his body against hers so that she wouldn’t try to get back up.

  Then Rowan let out a happy whoop, and waved at Ella and Gran from a few yards away.

  “Jack’s okay!” she cried. “He left us a sign. He didn’t go into the water!”

  She pointed toward a potion bottle resting on a rock.

  Ella wrung out her shirt and hurried toward the bottle, her water-logged boots squishing with every step.

  The bottle was empty, but the cork was definitely Jack’s. She could see the “J” etched onto its side, like a reassuring smile. And that bottle was pointing toward a trail.

  “What a clever boy!” said Gran. “He knew we would come for him, and he marked a path for us.”

  Ella wouldn’t believe it—not until Taiga sniffed the ground near the stone and took off running toward the trail.

  Then her knees nearly gave way with relief. And though she was dripping wet from head to toe, a wave of warmth passed through her.

  Jack hadn’t drowned. Jack was okay. Jack was okay!

  * * *

  Ella knew they had entered the jungle before anyone said so. The trees were thick with vines and clusters of cocoa beans. Grasses grew taller, bushes grew thicker, and a damp heaviness hung in the air.

  Beneath their feet, Jack’s scent was tougher to track. Ella could tell, because Taiga led them in circles, around and around a small jungle pond.

  More water, she realized, wondering again if Jack had gone in.

  Then she had another thought. Maybe he hadn’t gone swimming. Maybe he’d gone fishing!

  “Jack was circling the pond too,” she announced. “Looking for the perfect place to cast his line!”

  The thought made her smile. It meant Jack had come this far. And hopefully he had found food.

  Not far from the pond, Gran spotted something else. She called Rowan and Ella over to take a look.

  “What is it?” asked Ella, peering through the vines at a cluster of twigs, leaves, and branches.

  “Shelter,” said Gran. “Your cousin knew enough to build himself a shelter for protection.”

  It’s sure not much of one, Ella thought to herself. If she blew hard, she was pretty sure those branches would topple over. “How do you know it was his?” she asked.

  Gran pointed to the vines wrapped around the tree overhead. A potion bottle, with a cork marked “J,” was tucked tenderly into the net of vines.

  Ella smiled. Then she peered into what looked like the front door. She half expected to find Jack in there, curled up asleep, with his stomach full of fish. But the shelter was empty.

  She slid the potion bottle from the web of vines and tucked it into her backpack. Ella didn’t want to leave any piece of Jack behind—not a single one.

  As a breeze rippled through the branches overhead, she shivered. Her clothes had finally dried, but she couldn’t help remembering the witch, the sound of glass breaking, and the witch’s satisfied cackle as she disappeared back into her hut.

  What mobs would they face here in the jungle?

  When Gran answered, Ella realized she’d asked the question out loud. “Spiders, skeletons, creepers, zombies. Be prepared for anything,” said Gran. She shaded her eyes and looked up, as if a spider might be poised overhead, ready to drop down.

  “And ocelots?” asked Rowan.

  The question jogged Ella’s memory. An ocelot might be hurt, Jack had written in his note. But how did he know? Had an ocelot called to him?

  “Ocelots too,” said Gran thoughtfully. “But that’s a critter, not a mob. If you see one, just stand still—it won’t hurt you.”

  Ella’s eyes slid across the bushes, searching for the spotted yellow coat of a wild cat. Was one watching them now? Would she see its green eyes staring at her? Or catch the flick of its tail in the brush of the jungle? Would it growl at her?

  When a loud hiss rose from the bushes, Ella jumped backward.

  And began to run.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ella!” cried Rowan. “Stop!”

  It was the laughter in her voice that made Ella pause. Rowan didn’t sound frightened. She sounded … amused.

  Slowly, with Taiga glued to her side, Ella followed the trail back toward Gran and Rowan. She searched the bushes for the hissing mob, but saw nothing. “Where’s the creeper?” she asked.

  “Here,” said Gran softly. She pointed up, to a low-hanging tree limb. But it wasn’t a creeper sitting on the branch. It was a bright red parrot.

  As Gran looked up, the parrot looked down. And then, as if Gran had extended an invitation, the parrot flapped its wings and flew down to Gran’s shoulder. When she turned to face the bird, it pecked gently at her nose, like a kiss. Then it bobbed its head, doing a little dance.

  Ella giggled—and clamped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to scare the bird away!

  Then she remembered. “I heard a creeper,” she said. “I know I did!” She looked again at the bushes, watching for any sign of movement.

  “You heard a parrot imitating a creeper,” said Gran, grinning.

  As her shoulders shook with laughter, the bird hung on tight. And then, as if to prove Gran’s point, he let out a low hiss. Two hisses, in fact. Then he pointed his beak toward a bush and bobbed his head, hissing again.

  Ella’s gaze drifted toward the bush. Maybe he’s not only imitating a creeper, she thought. Maybe he’s warning us of one!

  Sure enough, a deadly hiss emerged from the bush.

  The bird squawked, flapped its wings, and took off for the trees.

  “Creeper!” cried Rowan, grabbing her bow.

  Taiga took off toward the bush, ready to take on the creeper himself.

  “No!” cried Ella. “Come back!”

  Just as the wolf-dog reached the foliage, the creeper blew. Gunpowder floated down like snowflakes. And Taiga tumbled backward.

  Ella ran to him, stroking his fur. “Are you hurt, buddy?” she cried.

  He whimpered, but he raised his head and gave her a wet lick. Then he climbed to his feet, tucking his tail between his legs.

  When he trotted over to Gran, as if trying to get away from the bush that had just exploded, Ella knew he was okay.

  “Oh, buddy,” she said. “You can’t get that close to a creeper. You have to let Rowan take care of those mobs with her bow and arrow. Okay?”

  He licked his snout, as if embarrassed at his own mistake.

  Then Ella remembered the parrot. Where had it gone? As she looked up, into the tangled branches over Gran’s head, Ella sucked in her breath. The tree canopy was dotted with splotches of color—reds, blues, greens, and grays. And those “splotches” were moving.

  Parrots! A whole flock of them seemed to have settled into the tree.

  They chirped and chattered, gazing down at Gran. Were they curious about her? Or adoring her, the way Taiga looked at Ella sometimes?

  Rowan’s jaw dropped too. “What’s going on?” she asked, pointing.

  Gran shrugged, but she was smiling. “It seems as if I’ve made a few friends.”

  Something about her smile made Ella wonder: Is Gran talking to these birds, the way she can talk to horses? Did she call them here?

  Gran wouldn’t say so. But as they walked on through the jungle, Ella heard the rustle in the branches behind them. The parrots were following!

  Taiga paced the trail below, barking up at the birds.

  “No, Taiga—find Jack’s scent,” Ella told him. “Where’s Jack?”

  Her wolf-dog obeyed, dropping his nose back down to t
he ground. But once again, the trail stopped at water. When they reached a jungle stream, Taiga barked. And sat down.

  Ella did, too, dropping her face into her hands. She couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, Jack had entered a body of water—and gotten into trouble.

  “Why would he walk straight into a river?” she finally asked Gran.

  Gran’s face tightened. “Maybe he was fending off a mob,” she said. “Going into the water might have been the smartest thing Jack could do. Mobs can’t spawn in water. And most mobs take damage from water, right?”

  Ella nodded. Gran had a point there. But little boys can take damage from water too, she thought to herself.

  Rowan paced alongside the river, looking every bit as nervous as Ella felt.

  “Jack mentioned a jungle temple in his note,” Rowan said. “So where is the temple? Where do we find one?” She threw up her hands, as if she’d just asked a question that no one in the Overworld could answer.

  The parrots twittered overhead. There was a great fluttering of wings, and then a bright red feather drifted down from the branches. Gran plucked it off the ground and stuck it behind her ear.

  “I think I know where to find the temple,” she said with a secret smile. “Follow me.”

  * * *

  They walked upstream for what felt like hours. Ella’s feet throbbed with each step, blistering within the boots that only a short while ago had been filled with swamp water.

  The sun was up now, though Ella could barely see it through the thick canopy of the jungle—and through the flock of parrots that hovered overhead, like a patchwork tent or brightly colored umbrella.

  Gran took long, steady strides. She knew exactly where she was going, with that red feather tucked behind her ear.

  The parrots told her where to find the temple, Ella realized. She was sure of it now!

  But for some reason, Gran wouldn’t speak of it. Maybe she’d learned not to during the Uprising, when the villagers had turned against her because of her special gift. Because she—along with Ella, Jack, and Rowan’s parents—had led great armies of animals against the hostile mobs that were spawning across the Overworld.

  So why weren’t the villagers grateful? Ella wanted to know. Grateful to Gran for saving them? Anger formed in the pit of her chest, like a mob spawner filled with flames.

  But as they rounded a bend in the stream and jogged down a short hill, Ella saw something that extinguished those flames—like a bucket of cold water.

  What she saw was a village—a jungle village—made up entirely of tree houses built high above the jungle floor.

  Only these weren’t crude shelters like what Jack had built. These were real homes, with two or three floors. With windows and doors. With rope bridges strung between them like inviting walkways.

  Vine ladders led down to the ground below. Ella hurried toward the nearest one. She could hardly wait to climb up—to see what the jungle village looked like from above!

  “Ella!”

  Gran’s voice was sharp as an arrow.

  When Ella turned to face her, she saw something etched into Gran’s face. She saw fear. But why?

  “Why can’t we just take a look?” pleaded Rowan.

  Gran shook her head. “I told you. We’re staying out of villages. We don’t have time.”

  Ella caught Rowan’s eye, and saw the question mark there.

  What was Gran so afraid of?

  And how could they avoid the village? The only way around it was to cross the stream, which was more like a roaring river now. Ella watched Gran’s eyes flicker first to the river, and then to the village, and then back again.

  Moments passed in silence, except for the parrots twittering overhead. Were they talking to Gran? Was she listening anymore?

  Then Ella heard a low growl.

  Taiga stiffened beside her, his nose pointed toward the base of the nearest tree. When she felt the fur rise on his back, she jumped up.

  “What?” she whispered, reaching for her sword.

  She saw a flash of movement, a streak of spotted fur.

  Then an ocelot sprang out from behind the jungle tree.

  CHAPTER 7

  The cat landed on a boulder beside the river’s edge. Taiga tore after her, his claws scrabbling against the boulder. He barked wildly, trying to reach her, while the ocelot growled and swiped at him from up above.

  “Ella, get ahold of your wolf!” Gran hollered. “Taiga, sit!”

  It wasn’t until Ella said it that Taiga obeyed—and even then, he let out a terrible whine.

  But Ella kept ahold of him, just as Gran had said. Just long enough for the ocelot to stop growling and to settle onto the boulder, safely above.

  Gran spoke softly, taking slow steps toward the cat. Was she talking to her?

  If she was, the animal wasn’t listening. Her eyes were still locked with Taiga’s. The two were at a stand-still, and Ella wasn’t sure which animal would win.

  “Who has fish?” Gran asked, waving her behind her. “Find some for me, quickly.”

  Both girls dropped to their knees and unzippered their packs. Ella found a loaf of bread, which was much smaller now than when they had started. And a bag of apples from the trees that grew outside Gran’s mansion.

  As she caught a whiff of the red apples, Ella suddenly felt homesick. She closed her eyes and imagined that they were all back at Gran’s right now—even Jack. That he was out fishing in the courtyard, without a care in the world.

  But we’re not, Ella remembered. We’re in the middle of the jungle, with a wild ocelot—and no jungle temple in sight.

  Rowan pulled a wrapped package from her bag. “Dried fish!” she called out. She reached into the package and broke off a hunk.

  Gran took a step or two backward, just enough to reach the fish. Then she slowly held it out toward the ocelot.

  The spotted cat lifted its head from the rock and sniffed. Her nose and whiskers twitched. But she wouldn’t come to Gran—no matter how much Gran tried to coax her.

  Instead, she got up from the rock and started to pace. She let out a pitiful cry, and then she climbed down the rocks.

  Taiga strained at Ella’s side, wanting to break free. But Ella wouldn’t let him.

  As the ocelot leaped off the last rock, Ella noticed something sticking out of her side.

  Was it a bone? A piece of wood? No.

  It’s an arrow! Ella suddenly realized. A broken arrow—as if the cat had been wounded and then had healed, with the arrow still embedded in its side.

  “It’s hurt!” cried Ella. She tried to show Gran, but the ocelot turned away too quickly.

  Then Ella remembered Jack’s note. An ocelot might be hurt. “It’s Jack’s ocelot!” she cried, causing Taiga to start barking all over again.

  Rowan’s eyes widened—she remembered the note too.

  “It’s Jack’s ocelot,” said Gran, nodding, as if everything suddenly made sense. “That’s why she wouldn’t let me tame her. She already belongs to someone else.”

  Ella pictured Jack, taming the ocelot with a piece of fish, maybe even the salmon he had been fishing for back at Gran’s pond. I scolded him for that, she remembered. But was he fishing for his ocelot? Had the cat already called to him for help?

  “Come back,” she whispered to the ocelot, wishing she could remove the arrow and heal the beautiful animal.

  But the ocelot wouldn’t come back. Instead, she took a few steps in the other direction—toward the jungle village. Then she turned and let out a pitiful mew, as if she wanted them to follow.

  “She’s leading us to Jack,” said Ella. “We have to follow her!”

  But following her would mean walking straight into the village. Would Gran go?

  The cat cried out three times, each more gut-wrenching than the first. But Gran stood firmly beside the river, until the parrots began to squawk overhead. Then finally, Gran took a stilted step forward, as if she’d had to uproot her foot from the earth.


  “Let’s go,” she said to the girls. “Let’s go find Jack.”

  But her face was white as snow.

  * * *

  The ocelot led them beneath the jungle village, around tree trunks and beneath vine ladders.

  All the while, Ella kept one hand on Taiga’s scruff—and her eyes trained up. What a magical place! When she heard giggling, she glanced over her shoulder—and saw a villager child swinging from a rope.

  But where were all the grown-ups?

  The cat led them onward, toward what looked like a village well. There, Ella saw some sort of market. A farmer pushed a cart full of cocoa beans. Another displayed fresh fish on a log table.

  “Maybe Jack was here,” said Rowan. “Maybe he made a trade!”

  Ella waited for Gran to approach one of the farmers. But when she turned around, she saw that her grandmother was practically hidden behind a mass of vines.

  Luckily, Rowan wasn’t afraid to speak to grown-ups. “We’re looking for a boy,” she said to the cocoa bean farmer. “About this high, with dark hair, wearing a red sweatshirt.”

  Dark messy hair, Ella wanted to add, but she suddenly couldn’t find her voice.

  The farmer nodded. “He was here,” he said. “Trading fish for a map, I think. Check with the cartographer, if you’d like.” He pointed toward the library.

  Rowan thanked him and hurried toward the library. Ella followed, but Gran stayed hidden in the trees. As Ella glanced back, she saw that Gran’s flock of parrots had grown. Birds of every color clustered overhead—so many of them that the villagers had begun to notice.

  The fisherman quickly covered his fish, as if he feared the birds would eat them. Then he called out to Ella. “Hey, girl,” he called. “You, there! Come here.”

  Ella fought the urge to run.

  When he called out again in his gruff voice, Taiga growled—and Gran was suddenly by Ella’s side.

  “What do you want with the girl?” she asked sharply.

  The fisherman’s face darkened. But when he turned toward Gran, his jaw dropped open.

  Gran’s parrots had flown out of the tree. They perched along the well, on the farmer’s cart, and on the ground beside Gran’s feet—anywhere to be close to her.