Snowstar narrowed his eyes. “You’re their medicine cat. They will listen to you, if you use the right words.” The beech trees were looking paler now, blurring against the white clouds. Snowstar was fading, too. “Go now, Redscar,” he called. “Appoint Flowerstem as the new leader of ShadowClan!”
Redscar blinked and he was back in his nest with a crow feather tickling his ear. He shook his head irritably. The Clan was in turmoil.
They must think their warrior ancestors had given up on them.
No words, but maybe an action?
He padded into the clearing. The camp was quiet and deserted, apart from the bodies of Mossfire and Jumpfoot lying in the shelter of some dry bracken. He slipped out of the camp and trotted to a place where an oak tree grew on ground that was less marshy than the rest of the territory. Mossfire and Jumpfoot would be buried near here. At the foot of the tree, sheltered from the wind, grew a bunch of delicate white flowers, the color of snow and the shape of raindrops.
Checking there were no cats around, he nipped one of the snowdrops off at the base of its stalk. Laying it on the ground, he pulled off the smooth white petals, leaving just the stem. Then he curled it up and pushed it into a clump of moss that he dug up from underneath a tree root. Picking up the moss in his teeth, he headed back for the camp. No cat would question a medicine cat fetching moss; it was used for bedding as well as to carry water.
When he returned to the camp, there were more cats around.
The hunting patrols had come back with a fair haul of fresh-kill, and pale sunlight had tempted their Clanmates out to eat. Redscar
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nodded to one or two as he crossed the clearing. As he passed the fallen log used by the leaders to address the Clan, he relaxed his grip on the moss and felt the snowdrop stalk spring out. Quick as lightning, he dropped the moss and kicked it with his paw so that it rolled underneath a hawthorn, out of sight.
“Look!” he cried, gazing down at the pale green stem lying at his paws. It was as slim as a whisker, still quivering from where it had uncurled. “Did any cat bring this into the camp?”
His Clanmates gathered around. “It’s a snowdrop stalk. They only grow by the oak tree, right?” meowed one of the apprentices.
Redscar lifted his head and faced them. His paws were shaking but he sank his claws into the earth to keep them still.
“It’s a sign from StarClan,” he announced. “They want us to know their choice for the new ShadowClan leader.”
“Who?” gasped a she-cat plump with kits.
Redscar touched the stalk with his paw. “Flowerstem.”
There was a gasp, then murmurs of agreement.
The ginger-and-white she-cat was pushed to the front of the cats. She looked dazed. “I don’t know what to say,” she began.
“Just say you will lead us, as StarClan wishes,” meowed Redscar.
Flowerstem looked down at the snowdrop stalk, then over her shoulder at her motionless sister. “To honor Mossfire’s memory and Jumpfoot’s, yes, I will.” She dipped her head as joyful yowls rose around her.
Maybe StarClan had needed Redscar’s help to send this sign, but it was what Snowstar wanted. And he would tell Flowerstar to choose her deputy before the moon reached its height, in front of the bodies of her fallen Clanmates, and Brightwhisker, so that their spirits could hear and approve her choice.
“Thank you, Snowstar,” he whispered.
-
Code Ten
A GATHERING OF ALL CLANS IS HELD AT
THE FULL MOON DURING A TRUCE THAT LASTS
FOR THE NIGHT. THERE SHALL BE NO FIGHTING
AMONG CLANS AT THIS TIME.
Even though the Gatherings started with the very beginning of the warrior code, the full-moon truce did not become part of the code until much later. Now the truce is respected by every cat, whether it is because they value the chance to exchange news in peace with their close neighbors, or because they are afraid of what their warrior ancestors might do if they break the code. Come with me to Fourtrees long ago, when the ancestors first looked down on the full-moon gathering and bound the Clan cats to the full-moon truce.
The Vanishing Moon
The four giant oaks cast thick shadows across the moon-washed clearing as Finchstar crouched at the top of the slope.
Behind him, his Clanmates waited, the air clouded with their breath. Several cats dotted the hollow already, circling to keep warm as they exchanged cautious greetings with warriors from rival Clans.
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“Come on, ThunderClan!” Finchstar called. He stood up and began to run down the slope, stretching his tail up so his Clanmates could follow.
“Good,” muttered Daisyheart, his deputy, as she bounded beside him. “If I’d stayed still much longer I’d have turned into an icicle.”
Frost crackled under Finchstar’s paws as he jumped onto the flat stretch of grass. Two WindClan elders nodded to him and a
RiverClan warrior called a greeting as he wove his way through the cats to the Great Rock.
“How’s the prey running, Finchstar?” SkyClan’s leader, Hawkstar, asked as he leaped onto the top of the smooth silver boulder.
“Fast,” he replied. “It doesn’t like being out in this weather any more than we do!”
“Our rabbits run so quickly, they’re nothing but muscle and bone when we catch them,” Dovestar, the WindClan leader, put in. “So tough to chew!”
The RiverClan leader, Reedstar, said nothing. He was sitting on the far side of the rock, as far from Hawkstar as he could get without falling off. Their Clans had been at war over a strip of shoreline for almost three seasons; one battle had led to the death of SkyClan’s former leader, Dewstar, and his Clanmates were far from forgiving their rivals across the water.
Finchstar looked down at the clearing. “ShadowClan not here yet? It’s not like Ripplestar to be late.”
Dovestar lifted his haunches off the stone and settled down again with his tail curled up. “I’ll stick to this rock if we don’t start soon. It’s colder than ice.”
Reedstar shifted, sending his shadow flickering over the edge of the boulder, crisp in the moonlight. “Maybe the frost has delayed them?”
The tip of Hawkstar’s tail twitched. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured. “My pelt’s been itching all day.”
“Fleas,” muttered Reedstar.
Finchstar glared at him. It was full moon, the one night they were supposed to put their rivalry aside and share news for the good of all the Clans.
There was a hiss like wind at the edge of the clearing. Finchstar pricked his ears and stared into the moon shadows. Was that a branch waving in the breeze, or something more?
Why does Fourtrees suddenly feel unsafe?
“ShadowClan! Attack!”
The shadows exploded, spitting and yowling. The cats in the clearing whirled to face them, but before they could brace themselves, ShadowClan warriors fell on them, claws and fangs bared. Within a heartbeat, the hollow thrashed and rippled like a river full of salmon. The leaders of the Clans stood on the edge of Great Rock, staring down in horror. Then Reedstar leaped down, quickly followed by Hawkstar and Dovestar. Finchstar heard them screech orders to their senior warriors, splitting them into battle groups to defend the elders and apprentices who had come to the Gathering.
A ginger-and-white face flashed up at Finchstar from the turmoil at the foot of the rock.
“Help us, Finchstar!” Daisyheart wailed, before she whipped around to claw a ShadowClan warrior over his ears.