“Ready?” Robinwing called, and the other cats nodded. Taking a deep breath, he jumped over a wave and landed up to his chin in icy cold water. He flailed his legs, pulling himself toward the middle of the river. On either side of him, other warriors did the same, their necks strained to keep their muzzles above the surface.
A red-brown shape bobbed on the other side of a wave. Robinwing held his breath as the wave swept over his head, then struck out toward the shape. It was Squirrelfur. His eyes were closed and he looked exhausted as he battled to stay afloat.
“Don’t struggle,” Robinwing panted before biting deep into
Squirrelfur’s scruff. At once, he felt his tail being tugged, and he was pulled back toward the shore, dragging Squirrelfur with him.
Maplewhisker was standing belly-deep at the edge of the river; she grabbed Squirrelfur’s scruff on the other side and nodded to Robinwing that she had a firm hold on him. Robinwing plunged back into the river.
One more warrior and two apprentices soon stood shivering on the bank, with Rubblepaw glaring sideways at them as if he held them responsible for his mentor risking his life to save them.
“You’ve done enough,” Maplewhisker urged Robinwing as he crouched on the stones, coughing up river water. He shook his head.
“I have to fetch Mothpelt,” he gulped. The leader was still clinging to the crossing stone, watching silent and wide-eyed as his Clanmates were rescued from the angry river. Robinwing knew he would be too cold and exhausted to make it back to the shore without help.
“Promise me one thing,” he meowed. Maplewhisker looked puzzled. “Promise me you’ll be the new leader of SkyClan.”
“I can’t do that!” Maplewhisker protested.
“You have to. And with the support of your Clanmates, you will,” Robinwing told her. He flicked his tail at the cats around them, staggering onto dry ground with grateful glances at their deputy for organizing the rescue patrol.
“I’ll support you,” Spiderpelt offered.
“And me,” Rubblepaw put in.
“Our Clanmates aren’t mouse-brained,” Robinwing murmured. “They respected you as their deputy, and they’ll respect you as our leader. And they’ll respect Mothpelt as a warrior.”
Maplewhisker looked once more at her sodden Clanmates, then nodded. “And I’m not mouse-brained enough to think that my Clan doesn’t need me. If Mothpelt agrees, then I’ll lead
SkyClan.”
“In that case, we’d better fetch him,” Robinwing meowed. He glanced at Spiderpelt and Rubblepaw. “Ready?”
“Lead on,” Spiderpelt meowed, and Robinwing plunged back into the waves. SkyClan would be safe under Maplestar’s leadership. And Robinwing would suggest that a new rule be introduced to the warrior code: that deputies replaced leaders when they lost their ninth life, as the cats most used to leadership and dealing with rival Clans.
Too Late for Regrets: Tallstar Explains
In StarClan there is plenty of time for fallen leaders to think over the decisions they made when they ruled their living Clanmates, and there is no escaping judgment as they watch over the consequences.
Listen as Tallstar, the fallen WindClan leader, talks to Bluestar about one such decision, still hoping that it was the right one.
Bluestar? May I speak with you, my friend? My thoughts trouble me and keep me from sleeping.
You think I made a mistake, don’t you? You may shake your head, but I can tell by your eyes that you’re afraid of what I have done. Would you have let Mudclaw take over your Clan? Why?
Because it was the only way to fulfill the warrior code and the expectations of all your Clanmates? But my vision, Bluestar, I cannot forget my vision. I dreamed of a hillside stained with blood, of cats
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wailing for their kits and of warriors who had to watch their life drain out onto the grass. I could not tell who was fighting whom, just that every cat in WindClan had suffered a loss from an unjust battle. And looking down on it all from the crest of the hill was Mudclaw—Mudstar, now, leader of WindClan—because I had let him remain as my deputy. How could I let that happen?
I know my Clanmates assumed my reasoning was muddled because my final life was slipping away. Even your Clanmates
Firestar and Brambleclaw looked at me with pity as they pretended to support my change of heart. I didn’t have enough breath, enough words left to explain what I had just seen behind my closed eyes. I died knowing that my Clan might hate me for changing everything so late—and knowing that I had no choice.
Onewhisker would have been as good a deputy as Mudclaw, and he will make a great leader.
I know you think that I’m an arrogant old cat who has made everything much, much worse by giving my Clan a leader they were not prepared for. But it was the only way to save them!
I know that WindClan will be safe under Onewhisker. He will have to prove his strength one day; every leader does. And if I was wrong, if I should have let Mudclaw succeed me because he was my deputy first, then it’s too late. What’s done is done.
I didn’t come to StarClan to regret my last decision as leader of WindClan. Whatever happens, it cannot be worse than the fate
WindClan would have suffered if Mudclaw had remained.
-
Code Nine
AFTER THE DEATH OR RETIREMENT
OF THE DEPUTY, THE NEW DEPUTY MUST BE
CHOSEN BEFORE MOONHIGH.
It may seem callous to cats like you that a new deputy is named over the body of the old one. Would you prefer to grieve for one cat before passing your loyalties to another?
As you are about to see, dwelling in the past is not a luxury warrior cats have; we must face the future.
The time for mourning will come.
A Sign from StarClan
Redscar studied the spluttering, hunched cat in front of him and shook his head. “You can’t go to the Moonstone today, Brightwhisker. You wouldn’t make it as far as the Thunderpath.”
Brightwhisker paused to gulp in air, then protested, “But I have to go! I have to receive my nine lives and my new name from StarClan!”
“StarClan will be perfectly aware of how sick you are,” Redscar pointed out. “They won’t want you to exhaust yourself so soon.
Your Clan needs you whole and well. They have already accepted you as their leader.”
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The brown-and-white she-cat’s eyes clouded. “They mourn for Snowstar as much as I do. I wish I was still his deputy.”
“Snowstar will be mourned for many moons, but that can’t stop us from doing our duty. And yours,” Redscar added, “is to get rid of this whitecough so you can be fit and strong to lead your Clan.”
“Are you sure it’s whitecough? Could it be greencough, like Snowstar had?”
“It’s whitecough, definitely,” Redscar meowed. “Now, lie down and rest.”
“But I need to appoint a deputy, too,” Brightwhisker protested, lapsing into a fit of coughing.
“It can wait until you can do it without coughing in his or her face. I’ll bring you some tansy to soothe your chest and a poppy seed to help you sleep.”
When he returned, Brightwhisker was curled in her nest, her flank rising and falling evenly. She didn’t stir, so he decided not to wake her. He left the tansy leaves and the poppy seed beside a clump of moss soaked with water. Stretching the stiffness from his legs one paw at a time, he picked his way across the rutted, half-frozen clearing and headed for his nest of crow feathers and dry bracken. Darkness claimed him as soon as he closed his eyes.