by Erin Hunter
Brackenfoot sighed. Yes, all kits had to be protected whichever Clan they came from, but this kit was still on its own territory! Couldn’t they wait for a ThunderClan patrol to come to the rescue?
Clearly not. Hollyflower was advancing on the fox, putting herself between it and the kit. Protecting another Clan’s kit was one thing; saving your denmate from being savaged was another.
Side by side, Brackenfoot and Archeye pelted across the hot black stone, screeching a battle cry. The fox jumped back and growled, baring long pointed fangs.
“You don’t scare us!” Hollyflower yowled. She lashed out with her claws unsheathed and drew her paw back clogged with reddish hair. The fox snapped at her, its breath foul as crow-food.
Brackenfoot reared up onto his hind legs and swiped with both front paws, catching the fox on its ears. At the same time, Archeye ducked low and ran at its snout, striking as he shot past. The fox shook its head, scattering scarlet drops from its muzzle.
“Go, warriors, go!” squealed the ThunderClan kit. Brackenfoot had almost forgotten it was there. He aimed one more blow at the fox before dropping to all four paws and springing backward, out of range of the cracking jaws. The fox snarled once more, then turned tail and vanished into the undergrowth.
“Wow! You were great!” called the kit. “The way you sliced his nose! And swiped his ears! I wish I could fight like that!” the kit continued.
Brackenfoot padded forward. “What’s your name?”
The kit gazed up at him with huge amber eyes. “Tigerkit,” he mewed.
“Well, Tigerkit, one day you will be able to fight like us, if you listen to your mentor and train really hard. But you shouldn’t even be out of your camp. What if we hadn’t seen you? That fox would have made fresh-kill out of you!”
“But he didn’t!” Tigerkit gloated, bouncing on his toes. “Because you saved me!”
Brackenfoot realized there was no talking sense to this mouse-brained tuft of fur. “Just be more careful from now on,” he growled. Then, nodding to his Clanmates, he led them back across the Thunderpath.
The kit watched them go, stretching his neck to keep them in sight. “May StarClan walk your path!” he squeaked. “Thanks for rescuing me! ShadowClan will always be my friends! One day I’ll help you, too!”
CODE THIRTEEN
THE WORD OF THE CLAN LEADER IS THE WARRIOR CODE.
Not every article of the warrior code is born out of wisdom, and it might seem that this one came from a dangerous lapse of judgment in all Clan leaders. Even so, this piece of code has survived unchallenged all these moons. Why? In reality, leaders take advice from their medicine cat and senior warriors—one cat alone rarely makes a decision. And the best warriors have never been afraid to challenge their leader, even at the risk of breaking the code. But come what may, the leader has to bear responsibility for what happens, and such a heavy burden deserves our respect. The code guarantees it.
Darkstar’s Law
Raincloud held her breath as Darkstar heaved himself onto the Great Rock. The SkyClan leader was nearing the end of his ninth life and looked painfully frail as he scrabbled with his hind legs to boost himself up. Vinestar, the ThunderClan leader, came over and helped him by sinking his teeth into Darkstar’s scruff and hauling him the last tail-length. Darkstar was too breathless to thank him, and lay on his side, panting, while the fifth leader, Yellowstar of ShadowClan, jumped up.
The SkyClan leader had been a strong and well-respected warrior for all his lives. Raincloud had been his deputy for many moons and dreaded the day she would have to watch him slip away from his Clan forever.
She stood with the other deputies at the base of the Great Rock and faced the cats who had come to the Gathering.
The RiverClan leader, Talonstar, began with a report of Twolegs staying in the fields on the far side of their territory; they came every greenleaf and didn’t even seem to know the cats were there, but this time some of them had brought dogs, which had come dangerously close to the camp. Talonstar assured the other Clans that his warriors had chased them off with their tails between their legs.
Birchstar of WindClan announced a new litter of kits and two new warriors, then Yellowstar described an old, mangy fox that had been causing trouble on the edge of ShadowClan’s territory because it didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. Then Vinestar took his place on the edge of the rock.
“We have three new litters of kits and four new warriors,” he announced with a flick of his long gray tail. “We thank StarClan for making the prey in ThunderClan run well this season, and we hope we can continue to feed ourselves in leaf-fall and leaf-bare.”
He glanced sideways at Darkstar, whose head was hanging down with his eyes closed. Raincloud wondered if he had missed the thorn-sharp edge to Vinestar’s report. ThunderClan patrols had been spotted more and more frequently on the boundary that they shared with SkyClan: not just border patrols, but hunting patrols, too. Raincloud suspected that, with so many new mouths to feed, they were starting to look beyond their territory for sources of fresh-kill.
Talonstar nudged Darkstar and the old tom’s head jerked upright. Darkstar padded to the edge of the Great Rock. His milky yellow eyes gazed down at the cats in the hollow.
“Cats of all Clans,” Darkstar began in a voice as thin as a whisker; the cats in the hollow fell silent, and Raincloud relaxed. “I, too, have an announcement. I wish to give part of SkyClan’s territory to ThunderClan, to feed their new kits.”
Raincloud stared at her Clan leader in disbelief. All along the line of SkyClan cats, fur bristled and cats whispered to one another in alarm. Raincloud glanced at Twigtail, the medicine cat, who shook his head and looked as stunned as she felt.
Darkstar raised his head and, outlined in moonlight, it was suddenly possible to see him as the great warrior he had once been. “ThunderClan may have the stretch of territory on our border as far as the silver birch on the riverbank on one side and the yellow Twoleg nest on the other. May these hunting grounds be as good to them as they have been to us!”
Raincloud jumped to her feet. She couldn’t listen in silence any longer. “Darkstar, are you sure?” she pleaded. She hated that all the other Clans would see her challenge her own leader, but she didn’t know what else she could do. Darkstar was handing nearly a quarter of SkyClan to their neighbors! Was he so terrified of conflict that he wanted to make peace with Vinestar before the borders were threatened?
Raincloud felt all the eyes from the watching cats burn into her pelt. Ignoring the gasps of shock, she jumped onto the rock and put her face close to Darkstar’s. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Don’t you trust your warriors to defend our territory? No Clan has ever given away part of its hunting grounds before!”
Darkstar pulled away from her, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “ThunderClan has more mouths to feed than we do. SkyClan can always extend on its other boundaries.”
“No, we can’t!” Raincloud twitched her tail in exasperation. “Twoleg nests block us on one side and the treecutplace on the other. And the warrior code says that we must protect our borders at all times!”
Darkstar looked at her, and she was unnerved by the strength in his yellow gaze. He stood up, and the cats below fell silent as if they were waiting for the next lightning strike he would drop among them.
“Forgive my insolent deputy,” he rasped. “She does not understand what it means to be truly loyal to her Clan. Vinestar, the land is yours. My warriors will set new border marks tomorrow.”
Vinestar dipped his head. His eyes were narrowed and full of questions, but he didn’t challenge the generous offer.
Raincloud looked desperately up at the sky. Was StarClan really going to let this happen? But the full moon floated on, a perfect shining disk. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. Their warrior ancestors could not have made it clearer that Darkstar could do as he wished with the territory that belonged to his Clan.
Her tail drooping, Raincloud turned to
leave the Great Rock. It would be up to her to send out patrols to change the boundaries and shrink SkyClan’s hunting grounds.
“Wait!” Darkstar ordered. Raincloud stopped and looked around.
“I want you to be my witness to a new law for the warrior code,” the SkyClan leader rasped. His eyes were gleaming now but not quite focused. Raincloud felt her pelt stand on end. Had her leader gone mad, right in the middle of a Gathering?
“No other leader should have to face such insubordination in front of the other Clans,” Darkstar announced. “I propose a law that the word of a leader is the warrior code. What we say must never be challenged. StarClan gave us the power to lead; StarClan would wish it to be so.”
Oh, no. That can’t be made part of the warrior code. Leaders are cats, first and foremost, good and bad or a mixture of both. Raincloud realized her mouth had dropped open and she was shaking her head. She forced herself to stay still, and closed her mouth in case she said something that made Darkstar even angrier. She didn’t care about being punished herself, but it suddenly felt as if she was all her Clan had left.
“I support the new law!” Vinestar declared.
There’s a surprise. Raincloud waited for one of the leaders to point out how ridiculous this was, that there was more than one cat in each Clan with a worthwhile opinion, but the other three cats stepped forward in turn to agree with Vinestar. Yellowstar’s eyes were troubled, and Talonstar’s deputy stared hard at the RiverClan leader as if challenging the wisdom of his decision, but the law was accepted. The word of a Clan leader was now to be treated as if it was part of the warrior code.
As if sensing that several cats in the hollow were about to protest, Vinestar quickly announced that the Gathering was over and leaped down from the Great Rock. His Clanmates swarmed around him as he led them up the slope and out of the hollow. The other leaders followed, leaving Darkstar to dismount last of all, his stiff joints creaking. He paused as he went past Raincloud, who was still sitting in the shadows at the edge of the rock.
“You may continue to serve as my deputy,” he croaked. “But never challenge me like that again. The borders will change at dawn.”
He sprang down to the ground and beckoned the SkyClan cats with his tail. They headed out of the hollow, still muttering to one another. One or two glanced anxiously back at Raincloud, as if they thought she might have been exiled for arguing with Darkstar at the Gathering. No. Just humiliated. But Raincloud knew she wouldn’t leave. SkyClan deserved better than that. Better than Darkstar, even.
She stayed on the rock until the shadows had stopped rustling with departing cats. She stared up at the moon, still expressionless and cloud-free. Did you really want this, StarClan? she wailed silently. What happens when a leader comes who wants to change everything? Turn the Clans against one another, wipe out all the values we have ever lived by?
What will you do then?
An Empty Prayer: Cloudstar Speaks
Few cats know of the fifth Clan that once lived in the forest. SkyClan cats were the highest jumpers and lived among the tall trees where they snatched birds from the branches. But long ago, SkyClan was driven out of its territory by Twoleg monsters, and then driven out of the forest by the remaining four Clans, erased from Clan memory by a legacy of guilt. Come with me, to SkyClan in its new territory, under new skies, far from the forest.
The gorge is so quiet when night falls. It makes my Clan uneasy; they are used to hearing the rustle of branches and the call of birds above them—not just endless sky splashed with stars, more than I ever imagined there would be when we lived in the forest. I wonder if any of our warrior ancestors can see us. And if they could, would they listen? I know those cold fragments of light in the sky are not my warrior ancestors. StarClan stopped watching over us long ago, as soon as the Twolegs attacked our territory with tree-eating monsters, churning up the ground to build their nests of hard red stone.
My poor Clan. Was I right to bring them here, so far from their home? Perhaps we should have fought to stay in the forest, mustered the last remains of our strength to take on ThunderClan or WindClan and steal some of their territory. Not ShadowClan or RiverClan, though: We would never have developed a taste for frogs or fish, however hungry we were.
We traveled far to come here, and I want this to be a home to us as much as the forest was for all those countless moons. We have caves for shelter, fresh water to drink, and there’s prey enough if we are patient and learn to stalk in the open rather than through branches high above the ground. Yesterday Buzzardtail and Mousefang brought back a squirrel, so there must be trees close by. Maybe tomorrow I will explore beyond the cliffs. I have to: My Clan should not know more about our new territory than I do.
But I am so tired. I ask only for a place to sleep that is sheltered from the wind and rain, and a mouthful of prey. Maybe not even that: Do I really want to live for moons in this strange place carved out of sand? Everything is different without Birdflight. When I sleep, my dreams are dark and empty, and whatever I eat tastes of nothing.
I brought my Clan to a place where I thought they could live, but it seems that isn’t enough. These stars are as unfamiliar to them as they are to me, so I am their only link to the way we used to live. The word of the Clan leader is the warrior code. So they watch me and wait for me to tell them that everything will be all right, that SkyClan will rise once more to be strong and proud, rulers of their territory.
But this is not our territory. This is an empty gorge, a tunnel through orange rock with the sky for its roof. Our ancestors are no longer with us—if they ever were at all. Our fresh-kill pile used to whisper with the sound of plump, thick-feathered birds; now we eat mice and rabbits, when we are swift enough to catch them.
I hear my cats wailing like kits in the dead of night, wishing they could go back to the forest. But there is nothing left for us there. This is our home now. We will learn to catch prey and defend our borders against whatever other cats live near here. We do not need our warrior ancestors, or the other Clans, to tell us what to do. My cats trusted me enough to follow me here; I cannot let them down. Birdflight would never have wanted that.
As long as I am here, SkyClan will survive.
The word of the Clan leader is the warrior code.
CODE FOURTEEN
AN HONORABLE WARRIOR DOES NOT NEED TO KILL OTHER CATS TO WIN HIS OR HER BATTLES, UNLESS THEY ARE OUTSIDE THE WARRIOR CODE OR IT IS NECESSARY FOR SELF-DEFENSE.
I know you kittypets think we are fierce, bloodthirsty creatures who line our nests with the fur of our enemies, but we are not. Battles with cats who do not live in Clans are far more likely to result in death, because those cats often have no sense of the honor in a victory without bloodshed. Now you are about to discover what bitter experience taught—that the way of the warrior does not have to be steeped in blood.
The Medicine Cats Decide
Mossheart finished chewing the marigold leaves to a pulp and spat them carefully onto a leaf. “These should help the infection,” she told the mottled gray tom lying awkwardly on his side. The jagged cut smelled of crow-food and looked yellow around the edges, and the skin surrounding it was tender and inflamed.
“If I ever catch that mangy WindClan cat who did it, I’ll rip out his throat,” Smoketalon muttered through clenched teeth.
Mossheart shook her head. “Then his Clan will lose a warrior and swear vengeance on ShadowClan, and it will go on forever. Back and forth, shedding blood on one side of the border or the other, until the stars grow old.”
“We have to defend our boundaries!” Smoketalon hissed. “The warrior code says so.”
Mossheart sighed. The border skirmishes between ShadowClan and its neighbor WindClan had grown more and more violent in recent moons, with warriors from both sides darting across the Thunderpath on raids. Neither Clan was short of food, and it wasn’t as if WindClan had developed a taste for frogs or ShadowClan had gained the swiftness needed to catch rabbits. It was nothing but mous
e-brained pride that made each Clan refuse to be the first to stop. A WindClan warrior had died last moon, and a ShadowClan she-cat had been lamed and would never be able to hunt or fight for her Clan again.
Mossheart finished packing the wound with juicy green pulp and laid cobwebs on top in an attempt to hold the edges of the cut together and keep the poultice in place. “Don’t move until I tell you,” she warned Smoketalon. She pushed some dry moss under his head to make him more comfortable, then padded out of her den to clear her head of the bitter marigold scent.
Several of her Clanmates were standing on the far side of the clearing, staring into the trees with their ears pricked. A white she-cat, her belly round with kits, turned to look at Mossheart. “They’re fighting again,” she meowed. “Listen.”
Oh, StarClan, no!
Mossheart padded forward to stand beside Lilyfur. Mossheart’s pelt felt strangely hot and sticky, and there was a sour scent in her nose. She looked down. Her dark tortoiseshell fur was drenched in scarlet blood that ran down her legs and dripped onto the ground. Mossheart opened her mouth to cry out and choked on a thick, salty clot. Retching, she spat it out.
“Mossheart? Are you all right?”
Mossheart opened her eyes. Lilyfur was bending over her, and Mossheart’s fur was healthy and clean.
“Have you got a furball stuck in your throat?”
“No. I …” Mossheart straightened up. The only taste in her mouth was marigold juice. Faint sounds of battle drifted on the breeze: yowls and thuds as cats hit the ground, the rip of claws through fur. So much blood …
Mossheart bolted toward the noise.
“Wait!” Lilyfur called. “Where are you going?”
“We have to stop the battle!” Mossheart screeched without slowing down. Her vision must have been a message from StarClan that the cats in the forest were in danger of drowning in bloodshed.
