Midnight Page 2

  Brambleclaw twitched his ears to hear how disrespectfully the white warrior spoke about the Clan leader. Then he reminded himself that this was Cloudtail, Firestar’s kin and former apprentice, well known for his barbed tongue and ready scorn. His impudent talk didn’t stop him from being a loyal warrior to his Clan.

  Cloudtail gave his long-furred white coat a shake and slipped out of the den, flicking the end of his tail at Brambleclaw in a friendly way to take the sting out of his words as he went by.

  “Come on, you lot,” meowed Greystripe. “It’s time you were moving.” He picked his way through the moss on the floor of the den to prod Ashfur awake. “Hunting patrols will be going out soon. Brackenfur is organising them.”

  “Right,” Brambleclaw mewed. His vision of Bluestar was fading, though her ominous message echoed in his ears. Could it really be true that there was a new prophecy from StarClan? It seemed fairly unlikely. For a start, Brambleclaw could not imagine why she would choose to give it to him, of all the cats in ThunderClan. Medicine cats frequently received signs from StarClan, and ThunderClan’s leader, Firestar, had often been guided by his dreams. But they were not for ordinary warriors. Trying to blame his wild imaginings on too much fresh-kill the night before, Brambleclaw gave his shoulder one last lick and followed Cloudtail out through the trailing branches.

  The sun was barely up above the hedge of thorns that surrounded the camp, but the day was already warm. Sunlight lay like honey on the bare earth in the centre of the clearing. Sorrelpaw, the oldest of the apprentices, lay stretched out beside the ferns that sheltered the apprentices’ den, sharing tongues with her den mates Spiderpaw and Shrewpaw.

  Cloudtail had gone over to the nettle patch where the warriors ate and was already gulping down a starling. Brambleclaw noticed that the pile of fresh-kill was very low; as Greystripe had said, the Clan needed to hunt right away. He was about to go and join the white warrior when Sorrelpaw sprang up and came bounding across the clearing towards him.

  “It’s today!” she announced excitedly.

  Brambleclaw blinked. “What is?”

  “My warrior ceremony!” With a little mrrow of happiness, the tortoiseshell she-cat hurled herself at Brambleclaw; the unexpected attack bowled him over and they wrestled together on the dusty ground, just as they used to when they were kits together in the nursery.

  Sorrelpaw’s hind paws battered Brambleclaw in the belly, and he thanked StarClan that her claws were sheathed. There was no doubt that she would make a strong and dangerous warrior, one that every cat would respect.

  “All right, all right, that’s enough.” Brambleclaw cuffed Sorrelpaw gently over one ear and scrambled up. “If you’re going to be a warrior, you’ll have to stop behaving like a kit.”

  “A kit?” Sorrelpaw meowed indignantly. She sat in front of him, her fur sticking up in clumps and covered with dust. “Me? Never! I’ve waited a long time for this, Brambleclaw.”

  “I know. You deserve it.”

  Sorrelpaw had ventured too close to the Thunderpath while she was chasing a squirrel in newleaf. A Twoleg monster had struck her a glancing blow, injuring her shoulder. While she lay in Cinderpelt’s den for three long, uncomfortable moons, under the gentle care of the medicine cat, her brothers, Sootfur and Rainwhisker, had become warriors. Sorrelpaw had been determined to follow them as soon as Cinderpelt declared her fit enough to begin training again; Brambleclaw had watched how hard she had worked with her mentor, Sandstorm, until her shoulder was as good as new. She had never shown any bitterness at being forced to train for several moons longer than the usual apprenticeship. She really deserved her warrior ceremony.

  “I’ve just taken fresh-kill to Ferncloud,” she meowed to Brambleclaw. “Her kits are beautiful! Have you seen them yet?”

  “No, not yet,” Brambleclaw replied. Ferncloud’s second litter of kits had been born only the day before.

  “Go now,” Sorrelpaw urged him. “You’ve just enough time before we hunt.” She sprang up and danced a few steps sideways, as if all her energy had to go somewhere.

  Brambleclaw set off for the nursery, which was hidden in the depths of a bramble thicket near the centre of the camp. He squeezed through the narrow entrance, wincing as thorns scraped against his broad shoulders. Inside it was warm and quiet. Ferncloud was lying on her side in a deep nest of moss. Her green eyes glowed as she gazed at the three tiny kits curled up snugly in the curve of her body: one was pale grey like her, the other two brown tabbies like their father, Dustpelt. He was in the nursery too, crouched beside Ferncloud with his paws tucked under him, occasionally rasping his tongue affectionately over her ear.

  “Hi, there, Brambleclaw,” he meowed as the younger warrior appeared. “Come to see the new kits?” He looked ready to burst with pride, quite different from his usual prickly, detached air.

  “They’re beautiful,” Brambleclaw mewed, touching noses with Ferncloud in greeting. “Have you chosen names for them yet?”

  Ferncloud shook her head, blinking drowsily up at him. “Not yet.”

  “There’s time enough for that.” Goldenflower, the oldest ThunderClan queen and Brambleclaw’s own mother, spoke from her mossy bed. She had no kits of her own to nurse, but she had decided to stay in the nursery and share the care of the new arrivals instead of taking up her warrior duties again; she was nearing the time when she would go to join the elders in their den, and was the first to admit that her hearing and eyesight were no longer sharp enough to keep up with the best hunting patrols. “They’re strong, healthy kits, that’s what matters, and Ferncloud has plenty of milk.”

  Brambleclaw respectfully dipped his head to her. “She’s lucky to have you to help look after them.”

  “Well, I didn’t do too bad a job with you,” Goldenflower purred proudly.

  “There’s something you could do for me,” Dustpelt meowed to Brambleclaw as he was leaving.

  “Sure, if I can.”

  “Keep an eye on Squirrelpaw, would you? I want to spend a day or two with Ferncloud, while the kits are still so small, but Squirrelpaw shouldn’t be left without a mentor for too long.”

  Squirrelpaw! Brambleclaw groaned inwardly. Firestar’s daughter, eight moons old, recently apprenticed—and the biggest nuisance in ThunderClan.

  “It’ll be good practice for when you have an apprentice of your own,” Dustpelt added, as if he sensed his Clan mate’s reluctance.

  Brambleclaw knew that Dustpelt was right. He hoped that Firestar would choose him to be a mentor before much longer, with an apprentice of his own to train in the warrior code, but he also hoped that his apprentice would not be some smart-aleck ginger she-cat who thought she knew it all. He was well aware that Squirrelpaw would not take kindly to orders coming from him.

  “OK, Dustpelt,” he meowed. “I’ll do my best.”

  When Brambleclaw emerged from the nursery he saw that more cats had appeared in the clearing. Brightheart, a pretty white she-cat with ginger patches on her fur like fallen leaves, had just chosen a piece of fresh-kill from the remains of the pile and was taking it across to where Cloudtail still sat by the nettle patch. The uninjured side of her face was turned to Brambleclaw, so that he could almost forget the disfiguring wounds she had received when the dog pack roamed the forest. One side of her face was seamed with scars, and her ear had been shredded; there was only a gouge mark where her eye should be. Even though she survived the vicious attack, the Clan had feared that she would never be a warrior. It was Cloudtail who had trained with her and worked out ways of making up for her blindness on that side, even turning it into a strength, so that now she could fight and hunt as well as any cat.

  Cloudtail greeted her with a flick of his tail and she sat beside him to eat.

  “Brambleclaw! There you are!”

  Brambleclaw turned and saw a long-legged ginger warrior heading toward him from the direction of the warriors’ den. He padded over to meet him. “Hi, Brackenfur. Greystripe said you’re organising hunting pa
trols.”

  “That’s right,” Brackenfur meowed. “Will you go out with Squirrelpaw this morning, please?”

  He angled his ears toward the apprentices’ den, and Brambleclaw noticed for the first time that Squirrelpaw was half-concealed in the shade of the ferns. She sat tall, her tail curled around her paws, her green eyes following a bright-winged butterfly. When Brackenfur beckoned her with his tail, she got up and strolled across the clearing, her tail straight up and her dark ginger fur gleaming in the sunlight.

  “Hunting patrol,” Brackenfur explained briefly. “Dustpelt is busy, so you can go with Brambleclaw. Can you find another cat to go with you?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off toward Sandstorm and Sorrelpaw.

  Squirrelpaw yawned and stretched. “Well,” she meowed. “Where shall we go?”

  “I thought Sunningrocks,” Brambleclaw began. “Then we can—”

  “Sunningrocks?” Squirrelpaw interrupted, her eyes stretching wide in disbelief. “Are you mouse-brained? On a day as hot as this, all the prey will be hiding down cracks. We won’t catch so much as a whisker.”

  “It’s still early,” Brambleclaw replied crossly. “The prey will be out for a while yet.”

  Squirrelpaw let out a heavy sigh. “Honestly, Brambleclaw, you always think you know better than anyone else.”

  “Well, I am a warrior,” Brambleclaw pointed out, and knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say.

  Squirrelpaw bowed her head in deep and exaggerated respect. “Yes, O Great One,” she meowed. “I shall do exactly what you say. And when we come back empty-pawed, maybe you’ll admit that I was right.”

  “Well, then,” Brambleclaw mewed, “if you’re so clever, where do you think we should hunt?”

  “Up toward Fourtrees, by the stream,” Squirrelpaw replied promptly. “That’s a much better place.”

  Brambleclaw was even more annoyed when he realised that she might be right. In spite of the endless hot days that had lasted all greenleaf, the stream there still ran cool and deep, with thick clumps of reeds where prey could hide. He hesitated, wondering how he could change his mind without losing face in front of the apprentice.

  “Squirrelpaw.” A new voice rescued him, and Brambleclaw realised that Sandstorm, Squirrelpaw’s mother, had padded over to join them. “Stop ruffling Brambleclaw’s fur. You chatter as much as a nest of jackdaws.” Her annoyed green gaze turned on Brambleclaw and she added, “And you’re just as bad. The pair of you are always squabbling; you can’t be trusted to hunt together if you can’t even get out of the clearing without scaring half the prey between here and Fourtrees.”

  “Sorry,” Brambleclaw muttered, embarrassment sweeping through his fur from ears to tail-tip.

  “You’re a warrior; you should know better. Go and ask Cloudtail if you can hunt with him. And as for you,” Sandstorm meowed to her daughter, “you can come and hunt with me and Sorrelpaw. Brackenfur won’t mind. And you’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll know the reason why.”

  Without looking back, she headed straight for the gorse tunnel that led out of the camp. Squirrelpaw stood still for a moment, a sulky look in her green eyes, and scuffed the ground with her forepaws.

  Sorrelpaw came up and gave her a friendly nudge. “Come on,” she urged. “This is my last hunt as an apprentice. Let’s make it a good one.”

  Reluctantly Squirrelpaw nodded, and the two cats set off together after Sandstorm; the dark ginger apprentice shot a last glare at Brambleclaw as she passed him.

  Brambleclaw shrugged. Squirrelpaw would get more experienced mentoring from Sandstorm than she would from him, so he wasn’t letting Dustpelt down even though the warrior had asked him to keep an eye on her. And he wouldn’t have to listen all morning to her annoying chatter, so he wasn’t sure why he felt slightly disappointed at being set on a different patrol.

  Pushing off the feeling, he bounded over to the nettle patch where Cloudtail and Brightheart were finishing their prey. Their single kit, Whitepaw, had just padded across to join them; as Brambleclaw came up he heard her say, “Are you going hunting? Please can I come with you?”

  Cloudtail flicked his tail. “No.” Whitepaw had begun to look disappointed when he added, “Brackenfur said he’d take you. He is your mentor, after all.”

  “He told me he’s really proud of you,” Brightheart purred.

  Whitepaw brightened up. “Great! I’ll go find him.”

  Cloudtail gave her an affectionate cuff over the ear with one paw before she dashed off, her tail waving excitedly.

  Brambleclaw hoped that didn’t mean that Cloudtail and Brightheart wanted to go out alone. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.

  “Sure, you can come,” Cloudtail replied. He jumped up and nodded to Brightheart, then the three cats trotted together across the clearing towards the gorse tunnel.

  Just before he headed into the close-growing thorns, Brambleclaw glanced over his shoulder at the quiet activity going on in the camp. Every cat looked well fed, sleek furred, and confident that their territory was safe. Bluestar’s message came back to echo in his mind. Could it be true that some great trouble was coming upon the forest? Brambleclaw felt his fur prickle with foreboding. He decided that he would not tell any cat about the dream. That seemed like the only way he could convince himself that it meant nothing, and there was no new prophecy coming to disrupt life in the forest as they knew it.

  The sun was setting in a ball of fire, turning the tops of the trees to flame and sending long shadows across the clearing. Brambleclaw stretched and sighed with satisfaction. He was tired after the long day’s hunting, but his stomach was comfortably full. All the Clan had fed too, and there was an ample pile of fresh-kill. Greenleaf had been longer and hotter than any cat could remember, but the forest was still full of prey, and there was plenty of water in the stream close to Fourtrees.

  A good day, Brambleclaw thought contentedly. This is how life should be.

  The rest of the Clan was beginning to slip out into the clearing and gather around the Highrock, and Brambleclaw realised it was time for Sorrelpaw’s warrior ceremony. He padded closer to the Highrock and sat down close to Ferncloud’s brother, Ashfur, who gave him a friendly nod. Greystripe was already sitting at the base of the rock, looking as proud as if his own apprentice were about to be made a warrior. Greystripe had fathered two kits, but they had grown up in RiverClan, where their mother had been born. He had no kits in ThunderClan, but liked to keep an eye on the progress of all the young cats.

  As Brambleclaw watched, the deputy was joined by Cinderpelt, the medicine cat, and her apprentice, Leafpaw, Squirrelpaw’s sister. She looked nothing like Squirrelpaw; she was smaller and slighter, with pale tabby fur and a white chest and paws. The sisters were not much alike in character either. When Leafpaw sat down and tipped her head to one side to listen to what her mentor and the deputy were saying to each other, Brambleclaw wondered, not for the first time, how she managed to be so quiet and attentive when her sister Squirrelpaw never stopped talking.

  At last Firestar, the Clan leader, appeared from his den at the other side of the Highrock. He was a strong, lithe warrior, his pelt blazing like flame in the light of the setting sun. After pausing for a word with Greystripe, he bunched his muscles and leaped to the top of the Highrock, from where he could look down on the Clan.

  “Cats of ThunderClan!” he announced. “Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

  Most of the cats were there already, but as Firestar’s voice echoed around the clearing the last of the Clan members slid out from their dens and trotted over to join the others.

  Last of all came Sorrelpaw with her mentor, Sandstorm. Her tortoiseshell fur was freshly groomed, her white chest and paws shining like snow. Her amber eyes gleamed with pride and suppressed excitement as she paced across the clearing. Beside her, Sandstorm looked just as proud; Brambleclaw knew how much the ginger she-cat ha
d suffered when she had seen her apprentice lying injured on the Thunderpath. They had both needed courage and perseverance to reach this ceremony.

  Firestar sprang down from the Highrock to meet the apprentice and her mentor. “Sandstorm,” he began, using the formal words that had been handed down through all the Clans, “are you satisfied that this apprentice is ready to become a warrior of ThunderClan?”

  Sandstorm inclined her head. “She will be a warrior the Clan can be proud of,” she replied.

  Firestar raised his eyes to where the first stars of Silverpelt were beginning to appear in the evening sky. “I, Firestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon this apprentice.” The Clan was hushed as his voice rang out across the clearing. “She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn.” He turned to Sorrelpaw, locking his gaze with hers. “Sorrelpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

  Remembering how he had felt at this moment in his own warrior ceremony, Brambleclaw watched Sorrelpaw’s whole body quiver with anticipation as she lifted her chin and replied clearly, “I do.”

  “Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior name. Sorrelpaw, from this moment you will be known as Sorreltail. StarClan honours your courage and your patience, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

  Stepping forwards, Firestar rested his muzzle on top of Sorreltail’s head. In return she gave his shoulder a respectful lick before backing away.

  The rest of the warriors gathered around her, welcoming her and calling her by her new name. “Sorreltail! Sorreltail!” Her brothers, Sootfur and Rainwhisker, were among the first, their eyes gleaming with pride that their sister had finally joined them as a warrior.

  Firestar waited until the noise had died down. “Sorreltail, according to tradition you must keep vigil in silence tonight, and watch over the camp.”