Yellowfang had already prepared the herbs she would need: chervil root and a juniper berry, folded up in a couple of nettle leaves. She had hidden the leaf wrap in her nest, so no cats who came into the den would spot it. Now Yellowfang dug the herbs out of the moss and headed for the mouth of the den. Sagewhisker was still asleep in her nest, and Yellowfang didn’t wake her as she stumbled into the clearing.
Night covered the forest. A few stars showed through gaps in the clouds, but there was no moon. Yellowfang was grateful for the darkness. She could just spot Blizzardwing on guard beside the camp entrance, because of his pale pelt, but she knew that she could slink out unnoticed past the dirtplace.
Powerful ripples of pain passed through Yellowfang’s belly as she skirted the dirtplace and headed through the trees. She had picked out the place where her kits would be born a few sunrises before: a dead tree across the border in the unknown forest. There the border patrols wouldn’t be able to scent her, or come upon her unexpectedly.
Whatever happens after this, she thought, I have to stay focused on my duties as a medicine cat. Nothing else matters. The Clan will always need me more than my kits.
As Yellowfang crept into the hollow of the dead tree, she knew her kits were ready to be born. The hollow was full of dead leaves and there was a smell of toadstools and something rotting. Not even Raggedpelt would find her here.
All Yellowfang wanted was for the birth to be over. But she felt as if she was lying in that dead tree for days. Everything hurt—her whole body, down to the tips of her fur and the ends of her claws. She told herself that she was a medicine cat, able to take care of herself, but she was too weak to do anything, even eat the herbs she’d brought. Finally, after a long night of darkness and anguish, there were three small bundles next to her on the pile of leaves. Two of them were squirming; one was completely still. Yellowfang prodded it with her paw, trying to hide from herself what she knew very well. The kit had been born dead. Her eyes would never open.
Yellowfang dragged the other two, a tom and a she-cat, toward her. With all the strength she could manage she began to lick them, trying to warm them and wake them up. The tom let out an angry wail the minute she touched him; the other only whimpered slightly and jerked her paws.
I can see the tom is going to be a fighter. He had his father’s dark tabby pelt, with a broad, flat face and a tiny tail bent in the middle like a broken branch. His lungs were so powerful, Yellowfang was surprised his wails didn’t bring the entire Clan running to find them. He battered his sister with his paws every time he moved, but she barely reacted.
Another dreadful certainty began to gather inside Yellowfang. She tried as long as she could, licking and licking the weak she-kit, but her breathing only got shallower and shallower, until finally it stopped altogether. Her tail twitched once and was still. Yellowfang buried her nose in the tiny scrap of fur, feeling grief crash down on her. It was a clear sign from StarClan.
These are the kits I saw in the pool, when I was in StarClan with Silverflame. But they should never have been born.
Pulling herself out of her grief, Yellowfang turned her attention to her only surviving kit, and saw the expression on his small, flat face. He was new to the world—couldn’t see, could barely crawl to her belly to feed. And yet his face was already twisted with strong emotion …
Rage? Hatred? I’ve never seen such a look on any cat, let alone a newborn kit.
Fear flooded through Yellowfang, making her shiver with cold. Maybe this kit wasn’t meant to survive either, she thought. A kit born with so much anger in him could only mean trouble for the Clan. Her fear surged higher as she remembered her dream, and the dire warning spoken by the black StarClan cat. Is this the cat who will bring fire and blood to the forest?
But then he squirmed over to Yellowfang and pressed his face into her fur. He’s so small, so helpless. He needs me!
Desperately she told herself that he was only a little kit, after all—her kit, and the son of Raggedpelt, the cat she loved. Yellowfang licked the top of his head and he let out a small purr. Her heart seemed to expand to fill her whole chest. How can I believe that any kit should not have been born?
Leaving the tiny tom in the hollow tree, Yellowfang buried his sisters in the unknown forest, digging deep into the soil so that no cat or fox or badger would ever sniff them out. Then she returned to her one living kit.
“Silverflame told me to trust my own instincts and make my own choices,” she whispered to the tiny tom, bending to lick his head. “And I choose that you will grow up in the Clan as a warrior without knowing who your mother is.” She heaved a deep sigh. “That will be best for both of us, little one.”
Giving him a last lick, Yellowfang slunk back through the undergrowth, her fur matted and stinking of toadstools, the tom kit dangling from her mouth. Aware of how many questions would be asked, she stopped to clean herself in a pool near the entrance. By the time she and her kit entered the camp, no cat would have been able to guess the ordeal she had been through.
Raggedpelt spotted her the moment she pushed through the brambles. He barely even looked at her; his eyes were all for the kit, and they were full of hope and excitement. He came bounding across the clearing to follow Yellowfang into the nursery. Lizardstripe was there tending to her own two kits, born a few days earlier. Her pale brown tabby fur and white underbelly seemed to glow in the darkness of the nursery den. She looked at Yellowfang with narrow, unfriendly eyes. Yellowfang had never really liked or trusted Lizardstripe, but she had no choice. Lizardstripe was the only nursing queen at the moment.
Yellowfang dropped the kit at Lizardstripe’s paws and he let out a furious shriek.
“What,” growled Lizardstripe, “is that?”
“It’s a kit,” Yellowfang replied.
“It’s my kit,” Raggedstar added proudly, shouldering his way into the den.
“Oh, yes?” Lizardstripe mewed. “What a miracle. If I’d known toms could have kits, I would have made Mudclaw have these brats of mine himself.”
Raggedpelt ignored her. Yellowfang thought that the space seemed to get smaller with him in it, as if he drew all the air into himself. She wanted to press herself into his fur and tell him everything she’d been through and about the two tiny bodies in the forest. The effort of holding back left her shaking inside, but Raggedpelt still wasn’t looking at her.
He crouched and sniffed at his son. The kit tried to lift his head, and then swiped his paw through the air, connecting with Raggedpelt’s nose. The tabby tom jerked his head back in surprise.
“Look at that!” he cried delightedly. “He’s a little warrior already!”
Lizardstripe’s amber gaze was making Yellowfang uncomfortable. “His mother wishes to keep her identity secret,” Yellowfang meowed. “She cannot care for this kit, and she hopes that you will take him in for her.”
Lizardstripe lashed her tail. “What kind of mouse-brained nonsense is that?” she snapped. “Why should I have to put up with another mewling lump of fur? I didn’t ask for these kits either, but you don’t see me dumping them on some other cat. It’s not my job to take care of every unwanted kit in the Clan.”
Raggedpelt snarled, and Lizardstripe shrank back in her nest. “He is not unwanted,” Raggedstar hissed. “He is my son, and I will always claim him as my own. You are being given a great honor, you unworthy cat. Who wouldn’t want to be mother to the Clan deputy’s son—and perhaps the future leader of the Clan himself?”
Lizardstripe hissed softly. But she knew better than to argue with Raggedpelt. Yellowfang thought that perhaps she saw the wisdom of his words. As the queen responsible for Raggedpelt’s son—even if the Clan knew she wasn’t his real mother—Lizardstripe would be a significant cat within the Clan.
“All right, fine,” she spat ungraciously. “Give him to me.”
As Lizardstripe nestled her son into the curve of her belly, Yellowfang felt a strong pang of unease. What kind of life will he have, with an am
bitious queen like Lizardstripe raising him? Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?
“His name is Brokenkit,” she meowed, her voice faltering. Lizardstripe nodded, stretching out a paw to touch the bend in his tail. That was where every cat would think his name came from. But Yellowfang knew the truth. She named her son for the feeling in her chest as she left him there, as if her heart were cleaving in two, as if her life had broken down the middle.
Yellowfang staggered back to the medicine cats’ den and curled up in her nest. Everything within her ached, far beyond the reach of any herbs.
Sagewhisker turned from hanging cobwebs on the thorns. “Is it over?”
Yellowfang raised her head a little and nodded. “Yes. It’s over.” All over.
Sagewhisker returned to the herb store and fetched a leaf, nudging it toward her.
“Parsley?” Yellowfang asked.
The medicine cat nodded. “It will dry up your milk. You should take one leaf every day.” As Yellowfang licked up the leaf, she added, “You did the right thing.”
Yellowfang didn’t reply. All she could think of was her tiny son, now suckling at Lizardstripe’s belly. She yearned for him, yet she couldn’t help feeling afraid as she remembered the rage in his face when he had first been born. She couldn’t ignore her fears that he was the kit that the black cat had mentioned in his terrible prophecy. But Yellowfang hoped that by surrendering him, by giving him away to another cat, she had averted whatever doom her dream had foretold.
“The future will be different now,” she hissed to StarClan as she closed her eyes. “Brokenkit is no longer my son.”
CHAPTER 26
“I’ll visit Lizardstripe,” Sagewhisker announced the following dawn. “You can go out and collect moss. There should be plenty, with all this rain!”
Her deliberate cheerfulness didn’t lift Yellowfang’s spirits. She suspected that Sagewhisker was keeping her out of the nursery so that she couldn’t see Brokenkit.
As Yellowfang headed across the clearing to gather moss, Brightflower fell in beside her. “Where were you yesterday morning? I looked for you and no cat knew where you were,” she fretted. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
Yellowfang ached to confide in her mother, but she knew how impossible that was. “Oh, it was just medicine cat stuff,” she mewed vaguely. “And I’m fine, just a bit tired.”
To her relief, Brightflower looked reassured. “I’m so proud that you’re a medicine cat!” she exclaimed. “I have some news for you,” she added after a moment. “Nutwhisker has been spending a lot of time with Fernpaw recently, even though she’s not his apprentice. I really hope he’s ready to settle down with a mate. It will be so wonderful for him to father a litter of kits!”
“Great,” Yellowfang meowed, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”
She padded into the forest, trying to clear the scent of the camp from her head. She felt dazed, sore, and lost without the kits at her belly. My dear daughters, I will always grieve for you. And for you, my son. It was even more painful to think of Brokenkit, knowing that he was alive, but not with her.
Sighing, Yellowfang began collecting moss from under pieces of bark and around the roots of trees, making a pile of it beside a path ready to take back to camp later. As she worked, she drew closer to the training area. Through the trees she could see all five apprentices practicing battle moves.
“Nightpaw, don’t be such a weakling.” Foxheart’s voice rang out shrilly. “Come on, I’ve shown you how to do that move before!”
“Yeah, it’s no fun fighting with you,” Flintpaw added.
Nightpaw’s only response was a fit of coughing. Hearing it, Yellowfang dropped her moss and bounded through the trees until she reached the edge of the clearing.
“Enough!” she ordered. “Nightpaw is sick.”
Foxheart turned to glare at her. “You should keep out of the training area,” she snapped. “You’re only a medicine cat.”
“This isn’t training,” Yellowfang retorted. “It’s illness. I’m taking Nightpaw back to the camp.”
Foxheart let out a hiss of annoyance. But there’s nothing she can do to stop me, Yellowfang thought with satisfaction.
Nightpaw recovered from his coughing fit and trotted over to her. Before he left, his brother Clawpaw touched his nose to the small apprentice’s ear. “Get well soon!” he mewed.
Yellowfang gave him a nod of approval. Clawpaw was a sturdy young cat, inclined to be a bit too rough, but always kind to his weaker brother.
Nightpaw’s cough eased as he and Yellowfang made their way back to camp. Passing her pile of moss, Yellowfang paused to collect a bundle.
“I can carry some of that for you,” Nightpaw piped up.
Yellowfang shook her head. “No, you need to rest.”
“I’ll be fine, honestly,” Nightpaw insisted. “Please. I’d like to help.”
Yellowfang hesitated for a heartbeat and then gave in. Between them, they managed to carry about half what she had collected, and made their way companionably back to the camp. Once in the medicine den, Yellowfang checked Nightpaw from nose to tail-tip. She could hear wheezing in his chest, but his eyes were bright, his gums red, and his heartbeat steady. There was no sign of fever.
“Well, you’re a puzzle,” she mewed at last. “You haven’t got whitecough or greencough, but I don’t know—Sagewhisker?” she called as the old medicine cat came into the den. “Will you have a look at Nightpaw? He was coughing, but there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him.”
Sagewhisker examined Nightpaw, then shook her head. “Very odd,” she commented. “Nightpaw, do you think you might have a furball?”
“No,” the apprentice replied. “I’m sure I don’t. Anyway, my pelt’s so short that I don’t get furballs.”
“Then maybe you just swallowed a seed, or something,” Sagewhisker concluded. “I don’t think you need any herbs. Just be sure to drink plenty of water.”
“I will, Sagewhisker. Thanks!” The apprentice turned to Yellowfang. “I feel fine now. I’ll collect the rest of that moss.”
When he had gone, Sagewhisker guided Yellowfang to her nest. “You need to rest for a while,” she mewed. “Are you feeling okay?”
“How is Brokenkit?” Yellowfang asked, reluctantly settling down into the moss.
There was a guarded look in Sagewhisker’s eyes as she replied. “He’s fine. He’s feeding well and already as strong as his new littermates.”
Something in the old cat’s voice suggested she was holding back. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” Yellowfang demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Sagewhisker sighed. “Lizardstripe doesn’t seem entirely happy with the extra mouth to feed.”
Yellowfang snorted. “Lizardstripe didn’t want kits in the first place!”
Sagewhisker nodded. “I know, but it’s too bad. That’s the duty of a queen.”
“Some queens shouldn’t have kits,” Yellowfang muttered. Inside, she was desperately worried about her son. I can’t bear that he might feel unwanted and unloved!
Sagewhisker seemed to guess what she was thinking. “Yellowfang, you have to stay away from the nursery. Brokenkit needs to have a chance to bond with Lizardstripe.”
Yellowfang took a short nap while Sagewhisker went out into the forest to search for herbs. She had just returned when Yellowfang awoke.
“I found more juniper berries,” she meowed cheerfully. “And a whole clump of borage leaves in a sheltered spot. I’d given up hope of more of those before newleaf. They’ll come in handy if Lizardstripe doesn’t have enough milk.”
Yellowfang rose from her nest to help Sagewhisker sort the herbs, discarding the leaves that were too shriveled to be of any use. She was still involved in the task when Foxheart burst into the den. Her fur was bristling and her eyes hot with anger.
“Why do you have the apprentices running errands for the medicine cat
s?” she snarled.
Yellowfang saw that Nightpaw was trailing behind his mentor with his mouth full of moss.
“Nightpaw was feeling well enough to help me,” Yellowfang meowed. “Why is that a problem?”
“You should have sent him back to training!” Foxheart snapped. “Just stay out of warrior business in future!” She whipped around and stalked out of the den.
Nightpaw dropped the moss onto the pile, gave Yellowfang an apologetic shrug, and trotted after his mentor. Seething with fury, Yellowfang clawed up the moss and tossed it toward the hollow where it was kept. Her aim was poor but she didn’t care. I’d like to claw that she-cat’s face, she’s so full of herself!
“Easy.” Sagewhisker rested her tail-tip on Yellowfang’s shoulder. “Go get a piece of fresh-kill and calm down.”
Yellowfang flung a last ball of moss after the rest and stomped out of the den. Across the clearing, Foxheart was talking to Raggedpelt, with a lot of bristling and tail-waving. Complaining about me, I suppose, Yellowfang thought as both cats cast glances toward her.
Trying to ignore them, she padded over to the meager fresh-kill pile and chose a shrew. As she ate, Rowanberry appeared beside her. “Have you heard about that extra kit in the nursery?” her sister asked excitedly.
“Yes, I heard,” Yellowfang replied brusquely.
“Every cat thinks he’s Foxheart’s,” Rowanberry murmured into her ear. “Look at her with Raggedpelt. They’re very close.”
Another stab of fury pierced Yellowfang. She wanted to yowl, No! Brokenkit is mine! But she made herself keep quiet and go on eating shrew.
“What sort of cat would give up her own kit?” Rowanberry went on, sounding scandalized.
“A cat who’s set on becoming deputy when Raggedpelt is leader?” Ashheart suggested, padding up with Frogtail. “Foxheart has always been ambitious. She probably thinks having a kit would let another cat steal her chance.” She turned to her Clanmate. “What do you think, Frogtail?”
“I don’t listen to gossip,” Frogtail responded. “If the kit is Foxheart’s, so what? It’ll be an apprentice before long, and have a mentor to take the place of its parents.” He gave his tail a flick. “If I were a she-cat, I wouldn’t want to be stuck in the nursery either.”