MIDNIGHT. Эрин Хантер
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lay upon the forest. There was no moon, but the stars of Silverpelt shed their frosty glitter over the trees. At the bottom of a rocky hollow, a pool reflected the starshine. The air was heavy with the scents of late greenleaf.
Wind sighed softly through the trees and ruffled the quiet surface of the pool. At the top of the hollow, the fronds of bracken parted to reveal a cat; her bluish grey fur glimmered as she stepped delicately from rock to rock, down to the water’s edge.
Sitting on a flat stone that jutted out over the pool, she raised her head to look around. As if at a signal, more cats began to appear, slipping into the hollow from every direction. They padded down to sit as close to the water as they could, until the lower slopes were filled with lithe shapes gazing down into the pool.
The cat who had appeared first rose to her paws. “A new prophecy has come!” she meowed. “A doom that will change everything has been foretold in the stars.”
On the opposite side of the pool, another cat bowed his tawny, bracken-coloured head. “I have seen this too. There will be doubt, and a great challenge,” he agreed.
“Darkness, air, water, and sky will come together, and shake the forest to its roots,” the first cat went on. “Nothing will be as it is now, nor as it has been before.”
“A great storm is coming,” meowed another voice, and the word storm was taken up, repeated and passed around the circle until it seemed that thunder rumbled through the ranks of watching cats.
As the murmur died away a lean cat with a glossy black pelt spoke from near the water’s edge. “Can nothing change what is about to happen? Not even the courage and spirit of the greatest warrior?”
“The doom will come,” the blue-grey cat replied. “But if the Clans meet it like warriors, they may survive.” Lifting her head, she let her luminous gaze travel around the hollow. “You have all seen what must befall,” she meowed. “And you know what must be done. Four cats must be chosen to hold the fate of their Clans in their paws. Are you ready to make your choices before all of StarClan?”
As she finished speaking, the surface of the pool shivered, though there was no wind to disturb it, then was still again.
The bracken-coloured tom rose to his paws, starlight turning the fur on his broad shoulders to silver. “I will begin,” he meowed. He glanced sideways to meet the gaze of a light-coloured tabby with a twisted jaw. “Crookedstar, do I have your permission to speak for RiverClan?” The tabby bowed his head in agreement, and the first cat went on, “Then I invite you all to see and approve my choice.”
He stared down into the water, as motionless as the rocks around him. A pale grey blur appeared on the surface of the pool, and all the cats craned forward to see it more clearly.
“That one?” murmured the blue-grey cat, staring at the shape in the water. “Are you sure, Oakheart?”
The tip of the bracken-coloured tom’s tail flicked back and forth. “I thought that choice would please you, Bluestar,” he meowed, amusement in his tone. “Do you not think she was well mentored?”
“She was excellently mentored.” Bluestar’s neck fur rose as if he had said something to challenge her, then lay flat again. “Does the rest of StarClan agree?” she asked.
A murmur of assent rose from the watching cats, and the pale grey shape thinned and vanished from the water, leaving it clear and empty again.
Now the black cat stood up and padded to the very edge of the pool. “Here is my choice,” he announced. “See and approve it.”
This time the shape in the pool was tawny-coloured and lean, with strong, well-muscled shoulders. Bluestar gazed down at the image for some moments before nodding. “She has strength and courage,” she agreed.
“But Nightstar—does she have loyalty?” called another cat.
The black cat’s head whipped around and his claws dug into the ground in front of him. “Are you calling her disloyal?”
“If I do, there’s reason for it.” The answer was shot back. “She was not born in ShadowClan, was she?”
“Then that could make her a good choice,” Bluestar meowed calmly. “If the Clans cannot work together now, they will all be destroyed. Maybe it will take cats with a paw in two Clans to understand what has to be done.” She paused for a moment, but no other objections were forthcoming. “Do StarClan approve?”
There was some hesitation, but it was not too long before soft meows of agreement came from all the assembled cats. The surface of the pool rippled briefly, and when it stilled again the tawny shape had gone.
Another black cat got up and approached the water’s edge, limping on one stubby, twisted paw. “My turn, I think,” he rasped. “See and approve my choice.”
The grey-black shape that formed in the pool was hard to see against the reflection of the night sky, and the cats peered at it for some time before anyone spoke.
“What?” the bracken-coloured cat exclaimed at last. “That’s an apprentice!”
“I had noticed, thank you, Oakheart,” the black tom meowed dryly.
“Deadfoot, you can’t send an apprentice into danger such as this,” another cat called from the back of the crowd.
“Apprentice he may be,” Deadfoot retorted, “but he has courage and skill to match many warriors. One day he might make a fine leader of WindClan.”
“One day is not now,” Bluestar pointed out. “And the qualities of a leader are not necessarily those that the Clans need to save them now. Do you wish to make another choice?”
Deadfoot’s tail lashed furiously and his neck fur bristled as he glared at Bluestar. “This is my choice,” he insisted. “Do you—or any other cat—dare to say he is not worthy?”
“What do you say?” Her gaze went around the circle. “Do StarClan approve? Remember that every Clan will be lost if one of our chosen cats should weaken or fail.”
Instead of a murmur of approval, the cats muttered at each other in small groups, casting uneasy glances at the shape in the pool and at the cat beside it. Deadfoot stared back with fury in his eyes, his fur fluffed up so that he looked twice his size. He was obviously ready to take on any cat who challenged him.
At length the muttering died away and Bluestar asked once again, “Does the Clan approve?” The assent came, but it was low and reluctant, and a few cats did not speak at all. Deadfoot let out an ill-tempered growl as he turned and limped back to his place.
When the water was clear again Oakheart meowed, “You have not yet made your choice for ThunderClan, Bluestar.”
“No—but I am ready now,” she replied. “See and approve my choice.” She gazed down proudly as a dark tabby shape formed in the depths of the pool.
Oakheart stared at it, and stretched his jaws wide in a soundless mew of laughter. “That one! Bluestar, you never cease to surprise me.”
“Why?” Bluestar’s tone showed she was nettled. “He is a noble young cat, fit for the challenges this prophecy will bring.”
Oakheart’s ears twitched. “Did I say he was not?”
Bluestar held his gaze, not looking at the other cats as she demanded, “Does the Clan approve?” When the agreement came, strong and certain, she gave Oakheart a contemptuous flick of her tail and looked away.
“Cats of StarClan,” she meowed, raising her voice. “Your choices have been made. Soon the journey must begin, to meet the terrible storm that will be released on the forest. Go to your Clans, and make sure each cat is ready.”
She paused, and her eyes blazed with a fierce silver light. “We can choose a warrior to save each Clan, but beyond that we cannot help them. May the spirits of all our warrior ancestors go with these cats,