Эрин Хантер – MIDNIGHT (страница 2)
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.
“
“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. “
“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. “
“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, wherever the stars may lead them.”
Suddenly he stepped out into a wide clearing and gazed around in confusion. He could not remember being in this part of the forest before. Smooth-cropped grass, glowing silver in a cold wash of moonlight, stretched in front of him as far as a softly rounded rock where another cat was sitting. Starlight sparkled in her fur, and her eyes were two small moons.
The young tabby’s bewilderment increased as he recognised her. “Bluestar?” he meowed, his voice shrill with disbelief.
He had been an apprentice when the great leader of ThunderClan had died, four seasons ago, leaping into the gorge with a pack of blood-hungry dogs after her. Like all her Clan, he had grieved for her and honoured her for the way she had given up her life to save them. He had never thought to see her again, and he realised for the first time that he must be dreaming.
“Come closer, young warrior,” Bluestar meowed. “I have a message for you.”
Shivering with awe, the tabby tom crept across the shining stretch of turf until he crouched below the rock and could look up into Bluestar’s eyes.
“I’m listening, Bluestar,” he mewed.
“A time of trouble is coming to the forest,” she told him. “A new prophecy must be fulfilled if the Clans are to survive. You have been chosen to meet with three other cats at the new moon, and you must listen to what midnight tells you.”
“What do you mean?” The young cat felt a prickle of dread, cold as snowmelt, creep down his spine. “What kind of trouble? And how can midnight tell us anything?”
“All will be made clear to you,” Bluestar replied.
Her voice faded, echoing strangely as if she were speaking from a cavern far beneath the earth. The moonlight also began to grow dim, leaving thick black shadows to creep out of the trees around them.
“No, wait!” the tabby cat cried out. “Don’t go!”
He let out a terrified yowl, thrashing his paws and tail, as darkness rose up and engulfed him. Something poked him in the side and his eyes flew open to see Greystripe, the ThunderClan deputy, standing over him with one paw raised to prod him again. He was scuffling among the moss in the warriors’ den, with the golden sunlight leaking through the branches above his head.
“Brambleclaw, you crazy furball!” the deputy meowed. “What’s all the noise about? You’ll scare off all the prey from here to Fourtrees.”
“Sorry.” Brambleclaw sat up and began picking scraps of moss from his dark fur. “I was just dreaming.”
“Dreaming!” grunted a new voice.
Brambleclaw turned his head to see the white warrior Cloudtail heave himself out of a mossy nest nearby and give a long stretch. “Honestly, you’re as bad as Firestar,” Cloudtail went on. “When he slept in here he was always muttering and twitching in his sleep. A cat couldn’t get a good night’s rest for all the prey in the forest.”
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.