Эрин Хантер - Code of the Clans

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?

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.

-

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.

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 mouse-brained pride that made each