Tail held high, Brokentail’s tiny sister pattered forward into the circle to stand beside him. “I give you a life for love of kin,” she mewed, the wisdom in her voice startling Yellowfang as it came from so small a body. “And as Clan leader, remember that every Clan cat is your kin.”
Brokentail had to bend his head to receive the life from the young kit. As their noses touched a spasm of agony shook him, and he closed his eyes, jerking his head aside as if for a heartbeat he had seen something he could not bear.
The seventh cat was a stranger to Yellowfang, a small brown tabby with a depth of gentleness in her eyes. “I give you a life for clear sight,” she meowed. “Brokentail, know yourself and your destiny, but know too that destiny can be changed if you choose the right path.”
Again Brokentail staggered as he received the new life. Yellowfang thought he looked exhausted. Yet throughout he hadn’t uttered the slightest sound of pain, not even a whimper.
The eighth cat, a plump black-and-white tom, had also given a life to Raggedstar. He padded up to Brokentail and spoke swiftly. “I give you a life for strength. This is the time you and your Clan will stand or fall. You need to be stronger than ever.”
What do they mean? Yellowfang wondered. So many of the cats had spoken of a divided path for ShadowClan, a time when decisions must be made about the destiny of all the cats. What are Brokentail’s choices, and will he make the right ones?
This time, when Brokentail received the life, he seemed to revive, as if the strength the tom had promised was already flowing into his limbs and his heart. With the end of the ceremony in sight, Yellowfang began to breathe more easily.
All this while, Sagewhisker had stood silently in the circle of cats, her gaze fixed on Brokentail. Now she stepped forward to give him his last life. “Brokentail, I give you a life for compassion. Use it to shelter the weakest in your Clan, the kits and elders and the sick. Use it to show mercy to your enemies and to choose the path your paw steps will follow.”
Yellowfang watched the spasm of pain rippling through Brokentail as Sagewhisker gave him his ninth life. For a moment she was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stay on his paws.
But the discomfort passed. As the nine cats acclaimed him by his new name, Brokenstar stood strong and proud again, his eyes gleaming as he heard the yowls rise up to the stars.
“Brokenstar! Brokenstar!”
As the yowling died away, he dipped his head. “My ancestors, I thank you,” he meowed solemnly. “I promise that I will make ShadowClan the strongest and most feared that it has ever been.”
The StarClan warriors began to fade, their outlines shimmering faintly with starlight until they vanished, leaving Yellowfang and Brokenstar alone in the bleak marshes.
Brokenstar turned to Yellowfang. “It is time to return,” he announced. His voice dropped to a savage snarl, and he lashed his tail. “It is time for vengeance!”
Dusk was falling by the time Yellowfang and Brokenstar returned to camp. Brokenstar raced across to the Clanrock and summoned the Clan together. “Let all cats join here beneath the Clanrock for a meeting!”
Yellowfang was surprised that he had left out the words “old enough to catch their own prey,” but guessed that he had forgotten. He’s new to this. He’ll get the words right when he’s had more practice.
Newtspeck emerged from the nursery with Littlekit, Wetkit, and Brownkit scampering around her feet. Featherstorm followed, but there was no sign of Mosskit, Volekit, or Dawnkit.
Brokenstar gazed down at Featherstorm with a disapproving expression. “Where are your kits? Fetch them at once!”
“But they’ve just gone to sleep!” Featherstorm protested. “And it’s very cold out here. Besides, they’re not old enough to catch their own prey and usually—”
Brokenstar cut her off. “Are they part of ShadowClan?” he growled. “Then get them!”
So he does want the kits here, Yellowfang thought. Why?
Featherstorm hesitated, anger clear in her eyes, but she could not hold Brokenstar’s gaze. She retreated into the nursery and reappeared a few heartbeats later, guiding her kits in front of her. All three stumbled sleepily into the open and collapsed into a bundle of fur close to their mother. Brokenstar gave Featherstorm a curt nod.
“I will not rest until WindClan has been punished, and until ShadowClan is feared by every cat in the forest,” he announced to his Clan. His voice rose to a roar. “They will bow down before us! From now on warriors will only fight and train for battle. Hunting is of little importance, and cats will have to find food where they can.”
He paused, but the Clan was silent; Yellowfang thought that shock—and perhaps a little fear—had closed their jaws as they exchanged uncertain glances.
“Meanwhile,” Brokenstar went on, “it is time for me to choose a deputy. I say these words before the spirits of my ancestors, that they may hear and approve my choice. Blackfoot will be the next deputy of ShadowClan.”
The big white warrior rose from his pace and walked to the Clanrock. His black paw looked like a shadow in the moonlight and his eyes shone with pride. “Brokenstar, your choice honors me,” he meowed. “I’ll do my best to serve you and our Clan well.”
Yellowfang felt the Clan relax around her. Blackfoot was popular. He hasn’t had an apprentice, but then, we haven’t had any kits ready to give him.
“Now,” Brokenstar went on, “I need an apprentice. Mosskit, step forward.”
“Wait!” Yellowfang, broke in. “He’s not old enough.”
“Quiet!” Brokenstar’s voice cut across mutters of agreement from other cats. “I am the leader and this is my decision.”
Featherstorm, clearly reluctant, prodded Mosskit awake. He was a big, healthy kit, but even so, Yellowfang knew he wasn’t ready to be an apprentice. He stepped forward, glancing around him uncertainly.
“From this time on,” Brokenstar announced, “you will be known as Mosspaw. I will be your mentor.” He jumped down from the Clanrock to touch noses with the little cat, who looked startled.
“That’s not fair!” Volekit complained, gazing at his brother with undisguised envy.
“That’s right!” Dawnkit agreed. “We’re just as old as he is!”
“I promise you will be made apprentices as soon as you’re as tall as your brother,” Brokenstar mewed. “Blackfoot will be your mentor, Dawnkit, and Clawface can have Volekit.”
At once Volekit arched his back and stood on his toes, as if he was trying to grow taller right away.
“Stop that!” Featherstorm snapped. “Your brother is too young to be an apprentice, and so are you.”
“But it’s a great honor,” Blackfoot assured her. “You should be proud.”
Newtspeck said nothing, just drew her kits closer to her with her tail.
Though some of the cats were still looking worried, Yellowfang could see that most of them thought it was a good idea.
“We don’t have any apprentices just now,” Wolfstep commented. “And we need to start training young cats.”
Flintfang nodded. “Mosspaw is big and strong. He’ll be fine.”
Runningnose padded up to Yellowfang and spoke into her ear. “I guess we’d better stock up on marigold for scratches.” His voice sounded concerned but resigned. “You’re looking troubled, but don’t be,” he went on. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see!” He paused, then added, “WindClan is going to regret killing Raggedstar, that’s for sure.”
CHAPTER 37
Fernshade lay stretched out on the floor of the nursery. A powerful ripple passed along her swollen belly, and she bit down hard on the stick Runningnose had brought to stifle her shriek of agony. Yellowfang blocked the she-cat’s pain so that she could concentrate and ran her paw over Fernshade’s belly. She could only feel one kit inside, but it was a big one, and it was stubbornly refusing to be born.
A lively ball of fur bounced against Yellowfang’s shoulder. “Is the kit here yet?” Volekit squeaked. “I want to
see!”
Yellowfang bit back a sharp retort. It was difficult enough delivering this stubborn kit without the other five and their mothers watching her every move. The nursery is so full I can hardly move a whisker!
“All of you kits, out of here!” she hissed. “Go over to the apprentices’ den and play with Mosspaw.”
“Aw, we want to say hi to the new kit,” Dawnkit protested, disappointed.
“And you can,” Runningnose promised from his place beside Fernshade’s head. “Just not yet. I’ll call you when it’s time.”
There was a brief moment of squealing as the five kits bundled out of the den.
“I’ll go keep an eye on them,” Featherstorm muttered.
When she and the kits had gone, Yellowfang had room to breathe. She watched another spasm of pain pass through Fernshade. “You’re doing very well,” she praised her. “It won’t be long now.”
Her gaze met Runningnose’s and she saw her own worry reflected in his eyes. Fernshade was exhausted, and there was no sign that the kit inside her was making any progress.
“Feel here,” Yellowfang murmured to Runningnose, placing her paw on Fernshade’s belly. “I think her kit is the wrong way around.”
Runningnose reached out his front paw, then nodded. “You’re right. What do we do now?”
“Massage her belly just there,” Yellowfang instructed, “and I’ll give the kit a push like this …”
For a moment nothing happened, except that Fernshade bit down on her stick again, her eyes dull and glazed with pain. Then the kit gave a great heave inside her. The stick splintered in Fernshade’s jaws, and a small black-and-white shape slid out of her onto the soft moss.
“Yes!” Yellowfang gave an exultant yowl. “Well done, Fernshade!”
“It’s a fine, handsome tom,” Runningnose announced.
The exhausted queen curled around her son, her eyes full of love as she began to lick his fur and guide him toward her belly so he could suckle.
“His face is striped just like a badger,” Yellowfang observed.
“Then that’s his name,” Fernshade murmured. “Badgerkit.”
Worn out, but full of joy at the successful birth, Yellowfang rose to her paws and climbed out of the nursery.
Outside, Wolfstep was pacing back and forth; he whipped around as soon as Yellowfang emerged. “Well?” he demanded.
“You have a son,” Yellowfang told him, seeing delight spring up in Wolfstep’s eyes. “You can go in, but be careful. Fernshade is very weak.”
She followed Wolfstep back in, noting with approval how gentle he was as he settled down beside his mate and licked her ear.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Fernshade whispered, pressing her muzzle against Wolfstep’s shoulder. “His name is Badgerkit.”
“He’s the most beautiful kit in the forest,” Wolfstep responded, looking down at his son with love and pride in his eyes. “And that’s a really good name.”
Watching them, Yellowfang felt a warm thrill of satisfaction. “This is the best part of being a medicine cat,” she told Runningnose. “Breathing new life into the Clan.” And we haven’t seen enough of it lately.
Since Brokenstar had become leader, the Clan had seemed to be a dark place. Yellowfang felt as though she spent all her time now treating wounds and overseeing burials. Stonetooth had died peacefully in his sleep; Yellowfang was glad that he hadn’t had to witness the battles Brokenstar had led his warriors into. Vengeance had been taken on WindClan more times than Yellowfang could count, with stolen rabbits regularly appearing on the ShadowClan fresh-kill pile. A hint of ThunderClan scent on the wrong side of the border near Fourtrees had led Brokenstar to extend patrols beyond the Thunderpath until warriors returned with tufts of ThunderClan fur caught in their claws and the scent of their rivals’ blood on their pelts. It seemed as if ShadowClan was at war with every cat, and amid all this turmoil the birth of new kits felt even more precious.
Leaving the new family together, Yellowfang slipped out of the nursery to see light growing in the sky, the trees outlined against a bright morning. Yellowfang took in a deep breath and arched her back in a long stretch.
“You’re exhausted,” Runningnose commented, emerging from the nursery behind her. “Why don’t you go back to the den and sleep? I’ll fetch some wet moss for Fernshade.”
Yellowfang opened her jaws to protest, then realized that she was so tired she could scarcely hold her head up. “Okay, thanks,” she mumbled, and headed for her nest.
She hardly seemed to have slept for a heartbeat when she was awoken by a small nose prodding her in her side. “Excuse me, Yellowfang,” a voice squeaked. “I’m hurting.”
Yellowfang opened her eyes to see Brownkit standing in front of her, holding up one paw. “Is it a thorn?” She yawned as she scrambled out of her nest. “Let me look.”
But however carefully Yellowfang searched, she couldn’t find a thorn in the tiny paw. Letting down her defenses, she tracked Brownkit’s pain and realized that it came from his shoulder. Somehow he had wrenched it.
“How did this happen?” she asked him. “What have you been up to?”
“Brokenstar let all the kits go with Mosspaw to the training area, to give Fernshade some peace and quiet,” Brownkit explained. His eyes glowed at the memory. “It was great! We learned some battle moves; watch this—ouch!” He broke off with a gasp of pain as he tried to swipe with his injured leg.
“You’re too young to leave the camp, let alone start training,” Yellowfang growled as she went to look for some daisy leaves to treat the sprain.
“Am not!” Brownkit squeaked. “I’m nearly three moons old, like Mosspaw when he became Brokenstar’s apprentice. You should see him fighting now! He’s awesome!”
“I’m sure he is, but no more training for you!” Yellowfang warned him.
“You’re not the leader of the Clan!” Brownkit retorted. “Brokenstar is! And if he says I can train, then I will!”
Yellowfang didn’t speak, just prepared the poultice for Brownkit, plastering it on securely with cobweb. “Now go rest in the nursery,” she told him, “and see me again tomorrow.”
As the kit left he passed Runningnose in the entrance to the den. “Fernshade and Badgerkit are doing well,” he told Yellowfang. “She seems to have plenty of milk, thank StarClan!”
Yellowfang acknowledged his news with a nod. “I’m going to speak to Brokenstar,” she meowed. “Apparently he took the kits training this morning.”
Runningnose blinked. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” he pointed out. “It’s good for them to get some exercise away from the nursery, especially when Fernshade needs to rest.”
“Not if they get injured!” Yellowfang retorted. She headed into the clearing, aiming for the leader’s den among the oak roots, but before she reached it Brokenstar appeared and leaped up onto the Clanrock, yowling a summons.
ShadowClan warriors began pushing their way out of their den to gather around the rock. Blackfoot sat at the base, his ears pricked. Flintfang and Tangleburr came to join him. Glancing around at her Clanmates, Yellowfang thought how hungry and skinny they all looked, and nearly every warrior bore a new scar from one border skirmish or another.
Rowanberry and Nutwhisker bounded over to Yellowfang. “What’s this all about?” Nutwhisker mewed.
Yellowfang shrugged. “I have no idea.”
The elders emerged at the entrance to their den, and all the kits—even Brownkit, hobbling bravely on three paws—scrambled out of the nursery and clustered together at the front of the crowd. Their whiskers quivered with anticipation; Yellowfang guessed that they were all hoping to be made apprentices.
“Where is Fernshade?” Brokenstar demanded.
Runningnose, who was sitting beside Yellowfang, rose to his paws and dipped his head politely to his Clan leader. “She’s asleep, Brokenstar,” he meowed. “We shouldn’t wake her.”
Brokenstar hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Cats of S
hadowClan,” he began. “You have fought well in our recent battles. Our Clan has scored victories in ThunderClan and WindClan, and even defeated some kittypets foolish enough to stray into the forest from Twolegplace. But I think the Clan can still be stronger,” he went on, his eyes gleaming.
Blackfoot sprang up from his place at the foot of the Clanrock. “What about battle training every day?” he suggested. “That would really sharpen our skills.”
And how do you suppose we’re going to fill our bellies, mouse-brain? Yellowfang thought.
“We could patrol at sunhigh as well as dawn and evening,” Russetfur suggested. “Let ThunderClan and WindClan know that we’re always watching.”
“We could even put a permanent patrol across the Thunderpath,” Deerfoot added.
Yellowfang exchanged a glance with Runningnose, and saw her own doubts reflected in his eyes. We don’t have enough time or cats to do all this!
Brokenstar looked at all the cats gathered around the Clanrock, and his gaze rested longest on the elders. “Even our elders have a role to play,” Brokenstar announced, his gaze still firmly fixed on the old cats, who were beginning to look uneasy.
Great StarClan! Yellowfang thought. He’s not going to ask them to train young cats, is he? Or hunt? That’s not fair!
Brokenstar drew one paw over the rock. “I know they would do anything to make us stronger and more powerful. And with that in mind, I have decided that they can best help their Clan by leaving the camp.”
A stunned silence followed. Then yowls of protest rose up from all over the clearing. “You can’t do that!” Rowanberry called out. “It’s against the warrior code!”
“Yes, they’ve earned their place with us,” Wolfstep declared.
For a moment, Yellowfang refused to believe what she was hearing. The elders were just as shocked, turning to one another with looks of indignation and growing fear.
“The elders are no use for fighting or hunting or having kits,” Brokenstar explained, dismissing the cats’ protests with a wave of his tail. “So they can’t take up precious room or prey. They must go.”