Midnight

by Erin Hunter

  Leafpaw could see the speaker, a smoky black tom, sitting a few foxlengths away, but she did not recognise him.

  “That’s Blackclaw,” Feathertail murmured into her ear. “He’s loyal to the Clan, but . . .” She trailed off, obviously unwilling to say anything bad about her Clan mate.

  Mistyfoot turned and fixed Blackclaw with a clear blue stare. “You forget the times when RiverClan has needed help from other Clans,” she meowed. “If they had not helped us then, we would not be here today.” To Leopardstar she added, “I say we should allow this. We have water to spare.”

  The clearing fell silent as the cats waited for Leopardstar to make her decision. “Very well, Tallstar,” she meowed at last. “Your Clan may enter our territory to drink from the river just below the Twoleg bridge. But you will come no further, and you do not have leave to take prey.”

  Tallstar bowed his head, and Leafpaw heard the relief in his voice as he replied, “Leopardstar, RiverClan has our thanks, from the oldest elder to the youngest kit. You have saved our Clan.”

  “The drought will not last forever, and you will have water in your territory soon. We will discuss this again at the next Gathering,” Leopardstar meowed.

  “I’m sure they will,” Greystripe muttered darkly. “If I know Leopardstar, she’ll make WindClan pay for that water somehow.”

  “Let us hope that StarClan have sent rain by then,” Tallstar meowed, stepping back to let Leopardstar address the Gathering.

  Leafpaw’s interest quickened as she wondered if they were about to hear what had been troubling Mistyfoot earlier, but at first the RiverClan leader’s news was unremarkable: a litter of kits had been born, and Twolegs had left rubbish by the river, attracting rats that had been killed by Blackclaw and Stormfur. Greystripe looked ready to burst with pride when his son was praised, while Stormfur scuffed the ground with his paws, his ears flat with embarrassment.

  At last Leopardstar meowed, “Some of you have met our apprentices Hawkpaw and Mothpaw. They are now warriors, and will be known as Hawkfrost and Mothwing.”

  The cats around Leafpaw craned their necks to see the warriors the RiverClan leader had named; Leafpaw turned to look too, but she could not distinguish them among the throng. The traditional welcoming murmur for all new warriors broke out at the announcement, but to Leafpaw’s surprise it was mingled with a few disconcerting growls, which she realised were coming from RiverClan cats.

  Leopardstar glared down from the rock and stilled the noise with a flick of her tail. “Do I hear protests?” she spat out angrily. “Very well, I will tell you everything, to stop rumours flying once and for all.

  “Six moons ago, at the beginning of newleaf, a rogue cat came to RiverClan, with her two surviving kits. Her name was Sasha, and the birth of her kits had weakened her so much that she needed help with hunting and caring for them. For a time she thought of joining the Clan, and we would have welcomed her as a warrior, but in the end she decided the warrior code was not the way of life for her. She left us, but her kits chose to stay.”

  A flood of protest surged up from the cats around the rock. One voice rose clear above the yowling. “Rogue cats? Taken into a Clan? Has RiverClan gone mad?”

  Greystripe shot a questioning glance at Mistyfoot, who shrugged.

  “They are good warriors,” she murmured defensively.

  Leopardstar made no attempt to quiet the clamour, only staring stonily down until it died away. “They are strong young cats and they have learned their warrior skills well,” she meowed when she could make herself heard. “They have sworn to defend their Clan at the cost of their lives, just as all of you have sworn.” With a glance at Blackstar, she added, “Were not some of ShadowClan’s warriors rogues once?” Before he could reply, her gaze swivelled to Firestar. “And if a kittypet can become Clan leader, why should rogues not be welcome as warriors?”

  “She has a point there,” Greystripe admitted.

  Firestar dipped his head toward Leopardstar. “True,” he mewed. “I will be glad to see these cats fulfil their promise as loyal members of their Clan.”

  Leopardstar nodded in reply; his words had clearly appeased her.

  “Is that what was worrying you, Mistyfoot?” Greystripe asked. “It’s no big deal, if they’ve settled down well.”

  “I know.” Mistyfoot sighed. “And I know I’m the last cat to criticise any warrior for being born outside the Clan, but . . .”

  “You do know that Mistyfoot’s mother was your old leader, Bluestar?” Feathertail whispered to Leafpaw.

  Leafpaw nodded.

  “But Leopardstar hasn’t told you everything,” Mistyfoot went on. The blue-grey warrior broke off as Leopardstar began to speak again.

  “Mothwing has chosen a special place within our Clan,” she explained. “Mudfur, our medicine cat, is growing old, and the time has come for him to take an apprentice.”

  This time her voice was drowned completely by the howls of protest. The three other leaders on top of the Great Rock drew together for an anxious conference. Tallstar was clearly unwilling to speak out after Leopardstar had agreed to give him access to the river, and in the end it was Blackstar who replied. “I’m ready to admit that a rogue can learn enough of our code to become a warrior,” he rasped. “But a medicine cat? What do rogues know of StarClan? Will StarClan even accept her?”

  “That’s what’s bothering me,” Mistyfoot muttered to Greystripe.

  Leafpaw felt a tingle spread through her fur. She remembered her own conviction, back when she had been little more than a kit, that it was right for her to heal and comfort her Clan mates, and to interpret the signs of StarClan for them. Had Mothwing felt the same? Leafpaw wondered. Could she have felt the same, if she was not Clan-born? Even Yellowfang, the medicine cat before Cinderpelt, had been forest-born, though ThunderClan had not been the Clan of her birth.

  Voices all around the clearing echoed Blackstar’s questions. At the base of the rock an old brown tom heaved himself to his paws and waited for quiet; it was Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat.

  As the noise died down, he raised his voice. “Mothwing is a talented young cat,” he meowed. “But because she was born a rogue, I am waiting for a sign from StarClan that she is the right medicine cat for RiverClan. Once I have received that sign, I will take her to Mothermouth at the half-moon time. If I act without the blessing of StarClan, then you can all complain—but not until then.” He flopped back down again, his whiskers twitching irritably.

  The crowd had parted so that Leafpaw could make out the young cat crouched beside him. She was startlingly beautiful, with glowing amber eyes in a triangular face, and a long golden pelt with rippling tabby stripes.

  “Is that Mothwing?” she whispered to Feathertail.

  “That’s right.” Feathertail gave Leafpaw’s ear a quick lick. “When the leaders have finished I’ll take you to meet her, if you like. She’s quite friendly, once you get to know her.”

  Leafpaw nodded eagerly. She was sure that Mudfur would soon receive the sign that Mothwing could be accepted. There were no other medicine cat apprentices in the forest, and she looked forward to making friends with another one—someone she could talk to about her training and all the mysteries of StarClan that were slowly being revealed to her.

  The protests had died down after Mudfur’s speech, and as Leopardstar had no more to say Tallstar brought the meeting to an end.

  Feathertail leaped to her paws. “Come on, before we all have to leave.”

  As Leafpaw followed the RiverClan warrior across the clearing, she felt sympathy already for Mothwing. Judging by the response of the other cats tonight, it was easy to imagine the hard path that lay ahead of her before she would be fully accepted by her Clan.

  As the Gathering drew to a close and the cats began to separate into their own Clans, Brambleclaw looked around for his sister, Tawnypelt. He had not seen her, and wondered if she had not been chosen to come this time.

  He saw Firestar halt
in front of a young tabby tom who was sitting near Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat.

  “Congratulations, Hawkfrost,” Firestar meowed. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine warrior.”

  So that’s Hawkfrost, Brambleclaw thought with interest, pricking up his ears. The rogue-born RiverClan cat.

  “Thank you, Firestar,” the new warrior replied. “I’ll do my best to serve my Clan.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Firestar touched Hawkfrost on the shoulder with the tip of his tail in a gesture of encouragement. “Pay no attention to all the fuss. It’ll all be forgotten in a moon.”

  He walked on, and Hawkfrost raised his head to look after him. Brambleclaw couldn’t quite suppress a shiver when he glimpsed the tom’s eyes, an eerie ice blue that seemed to stare through the ThunderClan leader as if he were made of smoke.

  “Great StarClan!” he murmured aloud. “I wouldn’t like to meet him in battle.”

  “Meet who?”

  Brambleclaw spun around to see Tawnypelt standing behind him. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Answering her question, he added, “Hawkfrost. He looks dangerous.”

  Tawnypelt shrugged. “So are you dangerous. I’m dangerous. It’s what warriors are for. This whole full-moon thing could be broken by the slash of a claw—and has been before.”

  Brambleclaw nodded. “True. So how are you, Tawnypelt? How’s life in ShadowClan?”

  “Pretty good.” Tawnypelt hesitated, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Look, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.” Brambleclaw sat down and pricked his ears expectantly. “The other night I had this weird dream. . . .”

  “What?” He couldn’t bite back the exclamation, and Tawnypelt’s green eyes flew wide with alarm. “No, go on,” he meowed, forcing himself to be calm. “Tell me about the dream.”

  “I was in a clearing in the forest,” Tawnypelt explained, “but I didn’t recognise exactly where it was. There was a cat sitting on a rock—a black cat; I think it was Nightstar. You know, ShadowClan’s leader before our father? I . . . I guess if StarClan were going to send a cat to ShadowClan, it wouldn’t be Tigerstar.”

  “What did he say to you?” Brambleclaw asked hoarsely, already knowing what his sister’s answer would be.

  “He told me that there was some great trouble coming to the forest, and a new prophecy had to be fulfilled. I had been chosen to meet with three other cats at the new moon, and listen to what midnight would tell us.”

  Brambleclaw stared at her, his fur crawling with ice.

  “What’s the matter?” Tawnypelt asked. “Why are you looking like that?”

  “Because I had exactly the same dream, except that the cat who spoke to me was Bluestar.”

  Tawnypelt blinked and her brother saw a shiver pass through her tortoiseshell fur. At last she meowed, “Have you told any other cat about your dream?”

  Brambleclaw shook his head. “I didn’t know what to make of it. To be honest, I thought it was due to something I ate. I mean, why would StarClan send a vision like that to me, instead of to Firestar or Cinderpelt?”

  “I thought the same,” his sister agreed. “And I expected the other three cats to be from ShadowClan, so when no other cat mentioned it . . .”

  “I know, me too. I thought they would be from ThunderClan. But it looks as if we were wrong.”

  Brambleclaw glanced around the clearing. The Gathering was thinning out as cats began to leave, and in spite of the protests over Hawkfrost and Mothwing the general mood was good-humoured. No other cats looked as if they had received doom-laden dreams. What possible trouble could be coming—and if it did, what could he and Tawnypelt do about it?

  “What do you think we should do now?” Tawnypelt echoed his thoughts.

  “If the dream was true, then two other cats should have had it,” Brambleclaw replied. “It makes sense that there would be one from each of the other two Clans. We should try to find out who.”

  “Oh, yes.” Tawnypelt sounded scornful. “Are you going to walk into WindClan or RiverClan territory and ask every cat if they had a weird dream? I’m not. They would think we were mad, if they didn’t claw our ears off first.”

  “What do you suggest, then?”

  “We’re all supposed to meet at the new moon,” Tawnypelt mewed thoughtfully. “Nightstar didn’t say where, but it must be here at Fourtrees. There isn’t anywhere else where cats from four different Clans can get together.”

  “So you think we should come here at the new moon?”

  “Unless you can think of a better idea.”

  Brambleclaw shook his head. “I only hope the other cats do the same. If . . . if the dream is real, of course.”

  He broke off as he heard a cat calling his name, and turned to see Firestar standing a short distance away, with the other ThunderClan cats gathered around him. “It’s time to go,” Firestar said.

  “Coming!” Turning back to Tawnypelt he meowed urgently, “At the new moon, then. Say nothing to any cat. And trust StarClan the others will come.”

  Tawnypelt nodded and slipped into the bushes, following her Clan mates. Brambleclaw hurried over to join Firestar, hoping that his shock and fear did not show on his face. He had tried to forget his dream, but if Tawnypelt had dreamed it as well, he had no choice but to take it seriously. Trouble was coming, and he did not know what to do about it, nor understand how midnight could tell him anything.

  Oh, StarClan, he mewed silently. I hope you know what you’re doing!

  CHAPTER 4

  Brambleclaw emerged from the warriors’ den and glanced around the clearing. Another quarter moon had passed, and still there was no rain. Over all the forest, the air was hot and heavy. The streams near the camp had dried up, so the Clan had to travel to the stream that flowed past Fourtrees when they needed water. Luckily it ran deep through the rocky soil, and flowed even in the driest greenleaf.

  Ever since the Gathering Brambleclaw’s sleep had been disturbed, and when he woke each morning he struggled with the foreboding that something terrible had happened to the camp during the night. But everything seemed as peaceful as it had been the day before. This morning, Whitepaw and Shrewpaw were practicing their fighting moves outside the apprentices’ den. Mousefur emerged from the gorse tunnel with a squirrel clamped in her jaws, followed by her apprentice, Spiderpaw, and Rainwhisker, who also carried fresh-kill. Firestar and Greystripe were talking together at the base of the Highrock, with Squirrelpaw and Dustpelt listening close by.

  Firestar beckoned Brambleclaw over with his tail. “Are you up for an extra patrol?” he asked. “I want to check the border with ShadowClan, in case they get the idea of coming across here to find water.”

  “But Blackstar said that his Clan has all the water they need,” Brambleclaw reminded him.

  Firestar’s ears twitched. “True. But we don’t necessarily believe what Clan leaders say at a Gathering. Besides, I’ve never trusted Blackstar. If he thinks we have richer prey in our territory, he’ll send warriors in to help themselves, for sure.”

  Greystripe growled agreement. “ShadowClan have been quiet for too many moons. If you ask me, it’s about time they started making trouble.”

  “I just thought—” Brambleclaw stopped, embarrassed to be seen objecting to his leader’s order, and amazed that he could see a possibility Firestar didn’t seem to have considered.

  “Go on,” Firestar prompted.

  Brambleclaw took a deep breath. He couldn’t get out of this now, in spite of the green glare that Squirrelpaw was giving him for daring to disagree with her father. “I just think that if there is trouble, it’s more likely to come from WindClan,” he ventured. “If their territory is as dry as Tallstar said, then they’re bound to be short of prey.”

  “WindClan!” Squirrelpaw burst out. “Brambleclaw, are you completely mouse-brained? RiverClan gave WindClan permission to drink at the river, so if they steal prey from anywhere they’ll steal it from Riv
erClan.”

  “And that strip of RiverClan territory is really narrow between the river and our border,” Brambleclaw retorted. “If WindClan do hunt, the prey could easily cross into our territory.”

  “You think you’re so clever!” Squirrelpaw sprang to her paws, her fur bristling. “Firestar ordered you to check the ShadowClan border, so you should do what you’re told.”

  “Of course, you’ve never disobeyed a warrior, have you?” Dustpelt put in dryly.

  Squirrelpaw ignored her mentor. “ShadowClan have always caused trouble,” she persisted. “But we’re friends with WindClan now.”

  Brambleclaw found himself getting angrier and angrier. Of course he didn’t want to question Firestar’s authority. Firestar was the hero who had saved the forest from the terrible ambitions of Tigerstar and the rogue cats who followed him. There would never be another cat like him. Yet Brambleclaw really believed that ThunderClan should take a possible threat from WindClan seriously. He would have liked to discuss it properly with Firestar, but that was impossible when Squirrelpaw insisted on arguing with everything he said.

  “You’re the one who thinks she knows it all,” he spat, taking a step toward her. “Will you just listen for one moment?”

  He ducked to avoid her paw as she lashed at him, claws unsheathed, and his last scrap of self-control deserted him. Falling into a crouch, he got ready to spring at her, his tail twitching back and forth. If Squirrelpaw wanted a fight, she could have one!

  But before either of the young cats could attack, Firestar pushed in between them. “That’s enough!” he snarled.

  Brambleclaw froze in dismay. Straightening up, he gave his chest an anxious lick and murmured, “Sorry, Firestar.”

  Squirrelpaw stayed silent, giving him a mutinous glare, until Dustpelt prompted her. “Well?”

  “Sorry,” Squirrelpaw muttered, and instantly spoiled her apology by adding, “But he’s still a mouse-brain.”

  “Actually, I think he’s got a point, don’t you?” Dustpelt meowed to Firestar. “I agree that ShadowClan have always been trouble and always will be, but if WindClan happen to spot a juicy vole or a squirrel on our side of the border, don’t you think they might be tempted?”