Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

“Are you sure that will work?” Crowfeather asked. “Some cats are so determined to believe Breezepelt is guilty, Nightcloud herself could appear to all of them to tell them the truth, and they’d still have doubts,” he finished harshly, remembering how unfairly some of his Clanmates had treated Breezepelt. I treated him unfairly, too.

“Of course.” Kestrelflight twitched his whiskers. “The Great Battle has made life hard for all of us, and we all recover in our own way. Different cats make up different stories to explain what happened. But Breezepelt is still among us, and he wants to be a loyal WindClan cat, so his name must be cleared.” His eyes narrowed. “No WindClan cat will accuse me of lying—or at least they’d better not.”

“Thank you,” Crowfeather responded, impressed by the discovery of the young medicine cat’s more formidable side, and beginning to feel hopeful. It was reassuring, too, that another cat could feel the same way he did, and wanted to help. Maybe I have one friend, at least. And maybe for once we can take some good news back to our Clan.

When Crowfeather and Kestrelflight reached the last rocky slope up to the Moonpool, the other medicine cats were just ahead of them. As he scrambled up the rocks, Crowfeather was acutely conscious of the group of them staring down at him.

“What are you doing here?” Jayfeather demanded, glaring at Crowfeather as the two WindClan cats reached the row of bushes that edged the hollow of the Moonpool. “This place isn’t for warriors.”

“I’m not the first warrior to come here,” Crowfeather retorted, guessing that Jayfeather was angry with him for convincing him to lead Bramblestar into Onestar’s unjustified attack.

“And the others had good reason,” Jayfeather snapped. “What’s yours?”

Crowfeather felt awkward as he searched for an answer. He didn’t want to admit that Onestar had made an error in judgment. “Does it matter?” he asked eventually, wishing he could have a conversation with one of his sons without getting into an argument.

He wondered, too, what was the right way to be a loyal WindClan warrior. Do I just obey Onestar, as he seems to think, or do I speak up when I think he’s wrong?

“No, it really doesn’t,” Leafpool murmured in response to Crowfeather’s question, resting the tip of her tail lightly on Jayfeather’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re wasting moonlight.”

“Well, he’s not coming down to the pool,” Willowshine of RiverClan put in, giving Crowfeather a hostile stare. She was alone, Crowfeather noticed; for some reason Mothwing hadn’t come with her. “I’ll claw your pelt off if you try.”

Huh! Like you could! Crowfeather thought.

Littlecloud of ShadowClan shook his head testily. “We’re medicine cats,” he told Willowshine. “We don’t claw pelts. But she’s right,” he added to Crowfeather. “You stay here, outside the hollow.”

“Fine,” Crowfeather snapped. “I have no interest in your little get-together, so you can all relax. I’d rather be home sleeping, believe me.”

With a last huff of annoyance, Jayfeather turned and stalked up to the bushes, his scrawny frame slipping easily between the branches. Leafpool gave Crowfeather a sympathetic look as she followed, and Crowfeather dipped his head in return, no longer trying to explain. Leafpool always understood me.

Kestrelflight was the last of the cats to push his way through. “I won’t forget,” he promised Crowfeather before he disappeared.

Left alone, Crowfeather settled himself in the shelter of the bushes, his paws tucked under him while he looked out across the moon-washed landscape. He could see the dips and swells of the moor, and far away in the distance a dark mass that must be the forest. Behind him he could hear the soft splashing of a waterfall, and imagined the starlit cascade falling endlessly into the Moonpool. After a short while, he slept.

Once again he was in the tunnels, following Ashfoot, who whisked around the corners ahead of him in a swirl of pale light.

“What are you trying to tell me now ?” he called after her. “Are you really here, or am I just dreaming?”

But Ashfoot didn’t reply. This time she led him out of the darkness and through a forest filled with translucent dawn mist. Dew-laden grass brushed at Crowfeather’s pelt and soaked it as he trod in his mother’s paw steps.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked Ashfoot.

His mother did not reply. Instead she halted at the top of a shallow dip in the ground, and waved Crowfeather on with a swish of her tail. Looking down into the hollow, Crowfeather recognized the pool at the bottom, surrounded by ferns, where he had found Nightcloud’s blood and her scent, almost overwhelmed by the reek of fox.

Horrified, Crowfeather turned back toward Ashfoot. “Why?”

But his mother had disappeared. Reluctantly, every step an effort, Crowfeather padded down toward the edge of the pool. Before he reached it, the fern fronds stirred slightly, and he saw that a cat was lying among them. A black she-cat, with blood pulsing from a wound in her side . . .

“Nightcloud . . . ,” he whispered.

Nightcloud raised her head to look at him, fury glaring from her eyes. “Don’t you see me?” she hissed. “Don’t you?”

Crowfeather jerked into wakefulness. His legs were shaking and his heart was pounding as if it was going to burst out of his chest. What does it mean? he asked himself. He heard an echo of Nightcloud’s words in his mind, and desperately tried to hold on to her fading image. Grief stabbed at him as they slipped away from him like water through his paws. Have I missed something?

The sound of paw steps and the murmuring voices of cats came from behind the barrier of bushes. Crowfeather sprang to his paws and gave his pelt a shake, desperate not to show how distraught he was. If I had to explain myself to Jayfeather . . .

His ThunderClan son was the first cat to emerge from the bushes. He swept one sightless glance across Crowfeather and then ignored him, leaping sure-pawed down the rocky slope. Leafpool followed, giving a polite dip of her head to Crowfeather, with Willowshine and Littlecloud after her.

Kestrelflight was the last to emerge. As soon as Crowfeather saw him, he knew that something had happened. The medicine cat was bristling with excitement, and his eyes shone like small moons.

“Did you find her?” Crowfeather demanded, stepping up to him.

Kestrelflight paused, checking that the other medicine cats were on their way home, well out of earshot. “Ashfoot or Nightcloud?” he asked.

“Either. Both.” But Ashfoot couldn’t be in StarClan, he reminded himself. She was just with me, here.

“Well, I didn’t see Ashfoot . . .” Kestrelflight was drawing out his news, almost teasingly. “But I found Barkface. And he said that Nightcloud isn’t anywhere in StarClan. That means that there must be hope for her!”

Crowfeather stared at him, briefly confused. He wondered, could Nightcloud be with Ashfoot, trapped between here and StarClan? Could she, too, be trying to tell him something? But then he realized that if that were true, Ashfoot would have told him long before. He had given up on Nightcloud too easily. She asked me, “Don’t you see me?” Is this what she meant?

Crowfeather’s grief gave way to a great surge of hope and optimism, like a massive wave carrying him away.

She’s alive!

CHAPTER 18

The sun was rising, shining palely through a thin covering of cloud, when Crowfeather staggered back into camp, exhausted after his trek across the moor and the excitement of discovering that Nightcloud might be alive.