Yellowfang felt a pang of guilt. Every night her dreams were full of blood and darkness, demonstrating over and over that what Brokenstar was doing was absolutely wrong. But there was no guidance from StarClan, not even an appearance from Silverflame to promise that all would be well in the end. Whatever Yellowfang did, it was up to her alone. I have to stop him! she thought. I am his medicine cat; he must listen to me!
Just then, Russetfur came panting up. “Yellowfang!” she gasped. “Runningnose sent me to find you! Brightflower’s kits are coming!”
Yellowfang sprang to her paws and raced back to the camp. But when she reached the nursery, she found Brightflower already curled around two furry little scraps, while Runningnose looked on with satisfaction.
“Oh, they’re beautiful!” Yellowfang exclaimed, with a nod of approval for Runningnose. “Have you named them yet?”
Brightflower looked up from licking a tiny tortoiseshell she-cat. “This is Marigoldkit,” she purred, “and the little gray tom is Mintkit. Kits, this is Yellowfang. She’s your big sister.”
Both kits looked strong and healthy, suckling at Brightflower’s belly with their eyes tightly shut and their soft paws kneading rhythmically. A stab of pain struck Yellowfang as she pictured her own daughters, who had gone to StarClan before they had a chance at life. She bent her head and touched each tiny head gently with her nose. “Hello, kits,” she murmured. “Welcome to ShadowClan.”
“You would have been a great mother,” Brightflower whispered.
Yellowfang tensed. “Never!” she hissed. “This is my life now.”
Then she saw Marigoldkit pummeling at her mother with tiny paws, and love and longing swept over her again. “They’re perfect!” she breathed.
The noise of cats returning to the camp intruded on the blissful silence inside the nursery. Yellowfang raised her head. “Is that news of the battle?”
She scrambled out of the nursery to see Flintfang emerging from the entrance with a crooked black-and-white shape dangling from his jaws.
“Oh, no!” Yellowfang yowled. “Badgerpaw!”
She raced across to Flintfang, meeting him in the center of the clearing. The gray tom laid his burden down and smoothed the fur on his apprentice’s head with one paw. The warrior’s eyes were glazed as if he still saw the blood and terror of the battle.
“He fought like a lion,” Flintfang meowed hoarsely, turning his shocked gaze on Yellowfang. “He should not have died because he should not have been fighting! I will never train kits again. It’s wrong, and it brings shame to our Clan.”
Yellowfang crouched down beside Badgerpaw’s puny body, licking him to clean away the blood and filth of battle. “You will go to StarClan, Badgerpaw,” she murmured between the strong strokes of her tongue. “You will shine so brightly, I promise you.”
“He’s not Badgerpaw anymore,” Flintfang gently corrected her. “I gave him his warrior name before he died. I hope that’s okay. He’s called Badgerfang now.”
A surge of compassion swelled up in Yellowfang for this bewildered, grieving warrior. “It’s a great name,” she told him, “and he earned it. You’re right. This has to stop.” She finished her licking and stood up. “I must tell Fernshade what happened.”
“I’ll tell her,” Flintfang mewed bravely. “I owe her that much, and I can assure her that her son died like a true warrior.”
As Flintfang walked toward the warriors’ den, there was more noise from the entrance. Brokenstar bounded through the thorns with the rest of his patrol. Every cat was buoyant with pride, tails fluffed up and their eyes shining.
“We will feast tonight!” Brokenstar announced, calling to the apprentices. “Off you go,” he ordered when they stood in front of him. “Bring back fresh-kill. We must celebrate. ShadowClan is victorious again!”
As the apprentices dashed off, Yellowfang marched up to Brokenstar. “I have news for you,” she snarled.
Brokenstar stared at her for a moment, then nodded and led the way to his den. He seemed to fill the space between the oak roots with fur and muscle and gleaming eyes.
“Badgerfang is dead. Or did you know that already?” Yellowfang challenged him.
For a second she thought Brokenstar looked shocked, but his confidence returned so quickly that she couldn’t be sure. “That’s a shame,” he meowed. “He would have made a great warrior.”
Yellowfang felt the biting fangs of anger, sharper than a fox’s jaws. “Maybe one day, but he was too young!” she snapped. “You must stop training kits before they are six moons old. You will destroy our Clan before they can become warriors!”
“That is my decision, not yours,” Brokenstar growled.
“Then I will walk with StarClan in my dreams,” Yellowfang threatened him, grief and fury making her paws throb. “I will let them know exactly what you’re doing, and they will take away your nine lives.”
Brokenstar burst into an incredulous mrrow of laughter. “StarClan will do nothing to stop me, old cat,” he retorted. “I have made their Clan glorious! Let them try! You certainly won’t stop me.” He flicked his tail at her. “Now, do your duty and heal my warriors before we celebrate.”
Seething with anger, Yellowfang left. Across the clearing she spotted a line of injured cats already waiting outside her den. There are so many battles now, every cat knows to come straight to my den as soon as they return, she thought. Being wounded is just routine.
She bounded across the clearing and slipped between the boulders into her den. Runningnose was binding a poultice of marigold onto Scorchwind’s shoulder. Warmth flickered into Yellowfang’s heart at the sight of her companion. I couldn’t hope for a more patient and loyal medicine cat to have beside me.
Scorchwind kept turning his head to talk to Boulder, who was waiting with blood dripping from a torn ear. “Did you see me scratch that WindClan tom?” he prompted. “I showed that furball who’s the strongest!”
“You should have seen me fighting with their deputy,” Boulder responded. “I think he must be still running!”
Do they even know that Badgerfang died today?
Yellowfang sighed and went to fetch marigold, goldenrod, and cobweb. “Let me look at that ear,” she snapped at Boulder. “And for StarClan’s sake, keep still!”
While she was cleaning up the savaged ear, Littlepaw crept into the den, holding out one paw that was bleeding where a claw had been torn away. “Is it true?” he mewed. “Is Badgerfang really dead?”
“Yes,” Yellowfang replied curtly.
To her astonishment, Littlepaw’s eyes shone. “Wow, he’s a true warrior now! I hope he’s watching me from StarClan!”
Grief struck Yellowfang like a blow. These tiny cats are far too accepting of death in battle. The warrior code has been trampled in the dust if they have no hope of living long enough to become elders.
When the last injured warrior had been treated, Runningnose helped Yellowfang clean up the leftover herbs. “Are you coming to the feast?” he asked.
Yellowfang shook her head. “I’m not hungry. You go.”
When Runningnose had left the den, Yellowfang did her best to ignore the sounds of celebration outside, and curled up in her nest. As sleep claimed her, she turned her thoughts toward StarClan. They cannot hide from me forever! I have to speak with them!
Opening her eyes within her dream, Yellowfang found herself in the windswept marsh where Brokenstar had received his nine lives. She paced among the reeds and scrubby bushes until she found Cedarstar, his head lowered as he lapped from a pool.
All the pent-up anger of the last moons burst from Yellowfang at once. “Why did you let Brokenstar become leader?” she shrieked. “What were you thinking, you mouse-brained foxes?”
Cedarstar raised his head and shook droplets of water from his whiskers. His gaze was solemn. “What choice did we have?” he asked. “Brokenstar was Raggedstar’s deputy. When Raggedstar died, we had to make him leader. That is the way of the warrior code.”
&
nbsp; “Well, you made a mistake!” Yellowfang retorted. “There are kits here who shouldn’t even have been apprentices, let alone fighting in battle! You have to stop him.”
Cedarstar turned away. “There’s nothing we can do. Brokenstar promised to make ShadowClan the most feared Clan in the forest, and he has kept his promise.”
“What, even feared by StarClan?” Yellowfang sneered. Frustration and fury and compassion for the innocent dead spilled over inside her. “A curse upon you for letting us suffer like this!”
As she screeched out the words she awoke with a jolt in her own nest. StarClan, Cedarstar, the scent of her ancestors had all vanished. Her questions remained unanswered. StarClan could do nothing to help. Yellowfang’s anger ebbed, leaving behind nothing but emptiness and a strange sense of loss. She had never felt more alone, more abandoned by the ancestors who should have protected her. From now on, I cannot even trust StarClan.
“It’s the meeting tonight,” Runningnose remarked. “We should go to the Moonstone.”
Half a moon had passed since Yellowfang had dreamed of Cedarstar. Since then she had had no contact with StarClan, not even in dreams of violence and blood. She knew that she could not go meet the other medicine cats, press her nose against the Moonstone, and pretend that nothing had changed. “Go without me,” she meowed. “I have nothing to say to them or to our ancestors.”
Runningnose’s voice was urgent. “You cannot give up hope.”
“As long as Brokenstar rules this Clan, there is no hope!” Yellowfang snarled.
“Then don’t give up on your Clanmates,” Runningnose pleaded. “They need you. I need you. Please, Yellowfang, you have to keep going.”
“What, keep on burying kits who should still be at their mother’s bellies?” Yellowfang let her fury spill out in a low-voiced snarl. “Keep on treating wounds from battles that should not have been fought? Keep on sending the elders to the farthest corner of the territory because their wisdom is valued less than dirt?”
Runningnose shook his head. “I made a vow to serve ShadowClan,” he mewed quietly, “and that will outlast any leader.”
Yellowfang touched Runningnose on the shoulder with her tail. “Your loyalty is admirable,” she murmured. “I chose well when I made you my apprentice.”
Following her friend into the clearing, Yellowfang watched him leave for the meeting. Her hatred of StarClan was a cold, hard knot inside her. Around her the life of the Clan went on; Blackfoot was leading a patrol out, while the apprentices dragged bedding out of the warriors’ den. Yet there were no elders sunning themselves at the entrance to their den, and no hunters returning laden with fresh-kill.
ShadowClan is victorious and feared by all the Clans, just as Brokenstar promised. But darkness lies at its heart.
Excited squeaks from the other side of the clearing jerked Yellowfang out of her black mood. Her heart lifted as she watched Brightflower’s kits playing outside the nursery. Then she realized that Marigoldkit was pouncing on a ball of moss, shredding it to bits with tiny claws, while Mintkit was dragging a feather along the ground, worrying at it as if it were a defeated enemy.
So young, and already playing at battle?
Yellowfang bounded across the clearing. “I know a better game,” she announced. “See if you can catch my tail.” She twitched the tip invitingly in front of Mintkit.
Both kits stopped what they were doing. They looked at Yellowfang’s tail, then at each other, but neither of them moved.
If a cat had offered that to me or my littermates, Yellowfang thought, their tail would have been shredded by now.
“Okay,” she mewed. “What about this?” She held her tail out level with the ground. “Let’s see how high you can jump.”
“Is that part of warrior training?” Mintkit squeaked.
“Well, not exactly,” Yellowfang admitted.
“In that case,” Marigoldkit mewed with a polite dip of her head, “we’ll keep practicing our battle moves, thanks. Brokenstar said it’s important to be as strong as we can before he gives us our mentors.”
Yellowfang recalled her own early days in the nursery, playing with Nutwhisker and Rowanberry. Attacking the elders’ tails was the closest we got to fighting. Yes, we pretended they were WindClan invaders, but we knew real battles were moons away. These kits could be fighting to their deaths by the end of greenleaf.
She watched, sick at heart, as Marigoldkit went back to her moss and Mintkit to his feather.
A few moments later Brightflower emerged from the nursery and came to stand by Yellowfang’s side. “They’re so strong already,” she meowed, though Yellowfang could see a flicker of fear in her eyes.
“They’re certainly lively,” Yellowfang commented. “They must keep you busy!”
Her mother nodded. “I’ll be joining the elders as soon as they leave the nursery,” she revealed. “It seems so strange, not to have them around,” she added, “though I’d never say so in front of Brokenstar.”
“They should be here,” Yellowfang meowed.
Brightflower gave a swift glance around. “Don’t let our leader hear you say that!”
Yellowfang twitched her ears. “Well, the elders seem happy enough in their new home.” It was hard to force out the words when she thought of that tiny hollow in the marshes. “Nightpelt hunts for them.”
“And I’ll help him when I go to join them,” Brightflower declared. “I’m looking forward to the quiet. I’m feeling my age with these kits around!”
A pulse of shock ran through Yellowfang. “Brightflower, you’re not old!”
“Yes, I am,” her mother purred gently. “And so are you, Yellowfang. None of us survives forever.”
Yellowfang looked around at her Clanmates, from the traces of gray on her mother’s muzzle to the kits wrestling with moss and feathers beside her. Suddenly everything seemed as fragile as a moth’s wing, as fleeting as a drop of dew.
Nothing survives forever—not even ShadowClan, with Brokenstar as our leader.
CHAPTER 39
“Yellowfang, wake up!”
Something was prodding Yellowfang in her flank. She opened her eyes to see Brightflower standing beside her nest. Her fur was fluffed up and her eyes wide with anxiety.
“What’s the matter?” Yellowfang leaped to her paws. “Is it the kits?”
Brightflower nodded. “They’re not in the nursery. They were with me when I went to sleep, but now they’re gone!”
“We’ll find them,” Yellowfang mewed reassuringly.
She looked for Runningnose to ask him for help in the search, but he was deeply asleep after the long journey from the Moonstone, and she decided not to disturb him unless she had to. Stifling a trickle of fear, Yellowfang led the way out into the clearing. The night was dark, the moon showing fitfully in a sky ribbed with cloud. “Let’s try the apprentices’ den first,” she suggested.
But when she and Brightflower peered into the den they saw only the four remaining cats in training, curled up and snuffling gently in their sleep.
“The warriors’ den?” Brightflower guessed.
When she poked her head through the branches, Yellowfang saw nothing but dark lumps of slumbering fur. Thrusting herself completely inside, she roused Clawface, who was nearest, with a sharp tug on his tail.
“Ow! Get off!” Clawface looked up sleepily. “Oh, it’s you, Yellowfang. What do you want?”
“Have you seen Brightflower’s kits?” Yellowfang asked. “They’ve gone missing.”
Clawface shook his head. “They’re not here. But maybe they snuck out with the night patrol. They talked about wanting to join it tonight, but I told them they had to wait until they were apprenticed.”
Like they’d listen! Yellowfang thought. “Thanks, Clawface,” she mewed.
The gray tom curled up again as Yellowfang left the den and joined Brightflower, who was pacing back and forth across the clearing. Her expression cleared as Yellowfang told her what Clawface had said.
br /> “That must be where they are!” Brightflower exclaimed. “They should be fine if they’re with their Clanmates.”
As she spoke, the night patrol pushed its way back into the camp: Blackfoot leading Russetfur and Wolfstep. Mintkit and Marigoldkit weren’t with them. Yellowfang and Brightflower bounded over.
“Have you seen my kits?” Brightflower demanded as she halted in front of Blackfoot.
Blackfoot shook his head. “No. Should we have?”
Brightflower let out a wail of terror, and Yellowfang rested her tail-tip on her shoulder. “They’re missing. Clawface thought they might have gone with you,” she explained to Blackfoot.
“We’ll go out at once to look for them,” Russetfur meowed, her voice full of concern.
Wolfstep nodded. “Do you think they tried to follow us, but couldn’t keep up?”
“It’s possible,” Yellowfang admitted.
“We went through the trees as far as the border with the unknown forest,” Russetfur told her, “and then along by the Twolegplace and back here.”
“Great StarClan!” Brightflower exclaimed, flattening her ears in distress. “They could have been stolen by Twolegs!”
“They’re probably just lost,” Yellowfang calmed her. “They’re only half a moon old; they couldn’t have gotten far. I’ll follow the patrol’s route and look for them. And meanwhile,” she added, knowing how important it was to keep Brightflower occupied, “you should give the rest of the camp a really thorough search. Russetfur, perhaps you could help?” She looked meaningfully at the warrior, trying to indicate that Brightflower needed some company.
“Of course,” Russetfur meowed. “Let me know if you want me to search the forest later on.”
Yellowfang hurried out of the camp and picked up the trail of the night patrol. The cloud cover had thickened and the moon was scarcely visible. It was hard going through the trees and undergrowth, and Yellowfang concentrated so as not to lose the scent. Then she heard the bark of a fox from somewhere up ahead, and quickened her pace. I hope it hasn’t found the kits....