MIDNIGHT

Warriors

The New Prophecy

MIDNIGHT

ERIN

HUNTER

COPYRIGHT

HarperCollins Children’s Books An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2011

First published in the USA by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2005

Copyright © Working Partners Limited 2005

Series created by Working Partners Limited.

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Source ISBN: 9780007419227

Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2014 ISBN: 9780007551040

Version: 2019-04-08

DEDICATION

For Chris, Janet, and Louisa Haslum Special thanks to Cherith Baldry

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Allegiances

Maps

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Keep Reading

Also by Author

About the Publisher

MAPS

PROLOGUE

Night 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, wherever the stars may lead them.”

CHAPTER 1

Leaves rustled as the young tabby cat slid through a gap between two bushes, his jaws wide open to drink in the scent of prey. On this warm night in late greenleaf, the forest was full of the scuffles of tiny creatures. Movements twitched endlessly at the edge of his vision, but when he turned his head he could see nothing but thick clumps of fern and bramble, dappled with moonlight.

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.

“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 patrols.”

“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.