by Erin Hunter
To Yellowfang’s horror, she saw that some of the warriors were beginning to convince themselves that Brokenstar was right.
“They might be more comfortable away from the camp,” Deerfoot commented.
Cinderfur nodded. “True. Especially with so many kits scampering around. You know how the little ones are always bothering the elders.”
Yellowfang didn’t want to hear any more. She padded over to where the elders were clustered together in front of their den.
Poolcloud’s shoulder fur was bristling, and she lashed her tail. “Brokenstar can’t do this to us!” she snarled. “Has he forgotten how well we’ve served our Clan?”
Archeye nodded; he was working his claws into the ground, rage flaring in his eyes. “If he remembers, he obviously doesn’t care,” he spat. “What would he do if we refused to go?”
“I don’t think we want to find out,” Nightpelt warned, resting his tail on the older cat’s shoulder. “He could make us fight, prove that we can still be warriors by invading the other Clans. Do you want to be a part of that?” In a lower voice he added, “We all know that these battles aren’t necessary.”
Hollyflower sighed. “Let’s just go,” she growled. “This isn’t the ShadowClan I knew, not anymore.” She brushed her tail along Crowtail’s side. “Come on, let’s collect our bedding.”
Nightpelt gazed up to where Brokenstar still stood on the Clanrock. “We will go, Brokenstar.”
“Good,” the Clan leader meowed. “Move out at once, and good luck with your hunting.”
As the elders filed back into their den more murmurs of protest followed them, but no cat dared to speak out loud.
Yellowfang halted Nightpelt with a paw on his shoulder. “This is wrong, and you know it,” she hissed.
Nightpelt looked at her with troubled eyes. “I know,” he murmured, “but Brokenstar is our leader. StarClan gave him nine lives. They have done nothing to stop him so far. This must be their will as well as his.”
Yellowfang couldn’t think of an argument against that. No! This can’t be the will of StarClan!
Inwardly seething, she slipped into the elders’ den and helped them to gather up their favorite soft bits of bedding. Runningnose followed her and rolled up the moss and fern into bundles for carrying. When everything was ready, Yellowfang led the way back into the clearing. Refusing to look at Brokenstar, she headed for the entrance, hotly aware that the gaze of all the rest of the Clan was fixed on her and the elders.
The group of cats trekked out of the camp in silence and padded across the marsh. Yellowfang took them to a spindly copse of trees that offered some shelter; it was still within ShadowClan territory, and not too far from the camp. There she found a spot where rock had fallen away to make a hollow in a bank, shaded by overarching clumps of fern. Yellowfang and Runningnose cleared away the debris inside and dug out more soil to enlarge the space until it was big enough for all the elders. Nightpelt tried to help, but the vigorous exercise brought on a fit of coughing.
“Let us finish this,” Yellowfang told him. “You scout around to see if you can find any prey.”
When the den was ready, the elders brought in their bedding and began arranging it into nests.
“This is okay,” Crowtail mewed, sounding determined. “We’ll be fine here, Yellowfang.”
Yellowfang wondered if the black tabby she-cat was trying to convince herself as well as her denmates. “I’ll visit every day with herbs and whatever prey I can catch,” she promised.
“Don’t neglect your duties,” Poolcloud sneered, “or Brokenstar might banish you as well.”
“You haven’t been banished!” Yellowfang protested. “You’re still part of ShadowClan. You still live in our territory.”
Nightpelt trotted up with a mouse dangling from his jaws, in time to hear her last words. “It feels like banishment,” he commented quietly.
Yellowfang left Runningnose to finish settling in the elders, and marched off to find Brokenstar. Shrill squealing from the training area alerted her as she approached the camp, and she turned her paw steps toward the sound. When she reached the edge of the clearing she saw all five kits and Mosspaw stalking one another, leaping and swiping as they practiced battle moves. Brokenstar sat on an ivy-covered tree stump, watching them with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
Yellowfang strode over to Brokenstar. “I have to speak with you,” she meowed.
Brokenstar stared down at her. “Go on, then. Speak.”
Yellowfang took a deep breath. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Training kits who are too young to fight? Sending the elders away from their den? This isn’t part of the warrior code!”
Brokenstar narrowed his eyes. “Nor is questioning your Clan leader,” he hissed. “You are my medicine cat, so you do as I say. Are the elders safe? Sheltered?”
“Yes,” Yellowfang answered reluctantly. “But—”
“Then they are fine,” Brokenstar interrupted. “And if the kits want to learn how to fight, why should I stop them? We have many enemies, Yellowfang.”
You have made us many enemies, you mean, Yellowfang thought.
Brokenstar had turned away from her and was shouting instructions to the cats in the clearing. “No, Littlekit! Use your hind paws! Brownkit, Wetkit, try the double attack again on Mosspaw. Remember to strike him at exactly the same time.”
Yellowfang knew that there was no point in trying to argue with Brokenstar any further. Turning to leave, she halted at the sound of a squeal from the far side of the clearing. She spun around to see Brownkit and Wetkit backing away from Mosspaw. The tiny apprentice was lying ominously still.
“We were trying that double-attack trick, like you said,” Brownkit squeaked. “Did we do it right?”
A horrible suspicion rose to choke Yellowfang as she bounded over to Mosspaw. His head was wrenched at an awkward angle and his eyes were open but glazed.
Great StarClan, he’s dead!
Striving to keep calm, Yellowfang stepped between the kits and Mosspaw’s body. “Go straight back to the camp,” she ordered them. “Go on, all of you!”
The five kits gave one another bewildered looks, then scampered obediently away. “I guess Mosspaw must be hurt real bad!” Volekit exclaimed as they left.
Brokenstar strode across and confronted Yellowfang. “What’s going on? Why have you stopped the training?”
Yellowfang was so horrified it was hard for her to keep all her paws on the ground and not leap at her Clan leader, clawing at his eyes. “Look what happened!” she yowled.
Brokenstar gazed down at the tiny limp body. “I should have taught them better,” he mewed. “They must have got the angle wrong.”
“That’s not the point!” Yellowfang snarled. “An apprentice is dead!”
Brokenstar bowed his head. “You’re right, it’s terrible.” There was genuine regret in his voice. “The Clan needs apprentices more than ever.”
Her heart wailing with grief, Yellowfang picked up Mosspaw’s body by his scruff and carried him back to the camp. He wasn’t even four moons old!
In their den, Runningnose looked startled and shocked as Yellowfang laid Mosspaw’s body down and began to smooth his ruffled fur. “What in the name of Starclan—” he began.
Yellowfang cut off his question. “Get Featherstorm,” she ordered.
Runningnose hurried off at once and returned a few heartbeats later with Mosspaw’s mother. For a moment Featherstorm stood rigid, staring at the lifeless body of her son.
“I’m so sorry,” Yellowfang mewed.
Featherstorm seemed not to have heard her. She flung her head back and let out an anguished shriek. “No! No!”
“I’ll get her some thyme leaves for the shock,” Runningnose murmured, slipping past Yellowfang.
Featherstorm turned to Yellowfang, her eyes full of grief and confusion. “He was only training,” she meowed, her voice shaking. “How could this have happened?”
Yellowfang
was determined that the kits shouldn’t be blamed for killing a Clanmate. “It was a terrible accident,” she replied.
As Featherstorm crouched beside her son, pushing her nose into his fur, Yellowfang heard Brokenstar’s voice raised in a summons to the Clan. “What now?” she growled as she headed out into the clearing.
Brokenstar stood once more upon the Clanrock. The rest of the Clan was gathering, and Yellowfang couldn’t help glancing toward the elders’ den, waiting for them to emerge. It feels so strange, that they aren’t here!
“I have some very sad news,” Brokenstar announced. “Mosspaw is dead.”
Brownkit and Wetkit let out a shriek, while murmurs of shock and disbelief rose from the rest of the Clan.
“It was just an accident,” Brokenstar went on. “You kits were all very brave. To reward you, I’m going to make you all apprentices.”
The kits’ shock changed to squeals of excitement. Yellowfang closed her eyes. Has Brokenstar learned nothing?
“Volepaw, you will be my apprentice,” Brokenstar mewed briskly, not bothering to speak the usual words of the apprentice ceremony. “Clawface, I know I promised him to you, but you can have Littlepaw instead. I owe it to Mosspaw to train his brother in his place. Blackfoot, you take Dawnpaw. Boulder, you will have Wetpaw, and Stumpytail will have Brownpaw.”
The crowd of cats shifted as four of the kits scampered up to their new mentors to touch noses with them. Only Volepaw remained at the foot of the Clanrock, gazing up at Brokenstar with shining eyes.
“I am proud of my Clan,” Brokenstar declared. “We have five new apprentices! Victory will be ours in every battle!” Glancing around, he asked, “Where is Featherstorm?”
“In my den,” Yellowfang replied.
“Fetch her.”
Before Yellowfang could move, Featherstorm emerged from the medicine cats’ den. Her head was bowed and her tail trailed in the dust.
“ShadowClan owes you a great debt for mothering so many warriors,” Brokenstar told her. “I think it would be best if you join the elders now, where you can rest and be proud.”
For a heartbeat Featherstorm did not move, her eyes puzzled as she gazed at Brokenstar. Yellowfang wondered if she expected the Clan leader to acknowledge that they were kin, that she was his father’s mother. Then she nodded without saying a word. Yellowfang stared after her in dismay as she stumbled across the clearing and vanished into the brambles.
“There’s another cat gone,” Rowanberry murmured worriedly to Clawface. “What is Brokenstar thinking?”
“StarClan knows,” her mate responded with a twitch of his whiskers. “If he’s not careful, there’ll be more of us out there than in camp.”
“Just watch what you say!” Tangleburr hissed beside him. “Don’t go asking for trouble. Brokenstar hears everything!”
The crowd of cats began to break up, and the new mentors led their apprentices out for the tour of the borders. The little cats weren’t as excited as new apprentices usually were because they had already left the camp to practice their battle moves, but they might be more impressed when they realized how far ShadowClan stretched.
As Yellowfang watched them go, she realized that Brightflower had padded up to her side. The she-cat looked excited but apprehensive, her whiskers quivering. “Brackenfoot and I are expecting kits!” she announced.
Yellowfang wished she could be as thrilled as usual at the prospect of new kits for the Clan, but this time all she could do was stare at her mother as a wave of despair washed over her.
“May StarClan help you all,” she whispered.
CHAPTER 38
Brokenstar stood on top of the Great Rock with the bare branches of the oaks at Fourtrees creaking over his head. A cold wind drove shreds of cloud across the sky where the full moon shone fitfully. Blackfoot sat at the foot of the rock, with Russetfur, Stumpytail, Brownpaw, and Brackenfoot huddled together close by. Brightflower hadn’t come to the Gathering this time because her kits were almost ready to be born.
Yellowfang sat with the other medicine cats, though she no longer felt at ease among them. Had StarClan told them in their dreams what was going on in ShadowClan? Her own dreams of StarClan were limited to visions of blood and death, of battles between cats too young to open their eyes. If these were omens, ShadowClan was doomed—and it seemed that she could do nothing to help. Yellowfang listened apprehensively as her Clan leader began his report.
“ShadowClan is stronger than ever,” Brokenstar announced with triumph in his eyes. “We have been challenged on each border, but have won in every battle!” His gaze raked across the cats in the clearing below. “Let all Clans know that we will tolerate no trespassing, no prey-stealing, no dishonor.” He narrowed his eyes, as if he was defying any of the cats to comment. “And we have a new apprentice: Badgerpaw,” he finished.
Yellowfang watched Badgerpaw rise to his paws beside his mentor, Flintfang. The black-and-white tom held his head high, but he still looked tiny.
He’s barely three moons old!
“Badgerpaw! Badgerpaw!”
The other ShadowClan apprentices cheered loudly beside their Clanmate, though Yellowfang couldn’t help thinking about how small they looked beside the apprentices from the other Clans. Her belly clenched with the memory of grief. One ShadowClan apprentice was missing since the last Gathering: Volepaw had died of an infected wound from a fight with rats.
Brokenstar makes a rat fight part of every apprentice’s training now. Is he mad?
As the cheers for Badgerpaw died away, Barkface leaned over and whispered into Yellowfang’s ear. “Tell me that apprentice is old enough to start training!” His voice was taut, and there was disapproval in his gaze.
Spottedleaf, the new ThunderClan medicine cat, opened her eyes wide with anxiety. “No cat would train kits younger than six moons, would they?”
“StarClan wouldn’t allow that, surely?” Barkface added.
“It would be completely against the warrior code,” Mudfur declared.
There was weight in the tone of all the medicine cats, suggesting that Yellowfang should do something to stop the training of kits.
How can I admit that I’m powerless when it comes to influencing Brokenstar? she thought with an irritable flick of her ears. “Brokenstar knows what he’s doing,” she mewed aloud, turning her back on the other medicine cats. “It’s none of your business.”
She could hear them muttering about what a dreadful temper she had, but she ignored them. There’s no way I can defend Brokenstar, so it’s better that I don’t speak to them at all.
Yellowfang had given up hoping that her Clanmates would stand up to their leader. Brokenstar had convinced them that every living creature was their enemy, and his cats would do anything, even surrender their own kits, to keep their Clan safe. And the elders, whose wisdom had once been so important in guiding the Clan, were still exiled in the marshes.
He has complete power now! Great StarClan, is there nothing any cat can do?
At the end of the Gathering, Brokenstar swept away from Fourtrees at the head of his Clan. Badgerpaw was pattering along beside him, his eyes still full of excitement at seeing the other Clans for the first time. Walking behind them, Yellowfang was able to overhear their conversation.
“You’ll be able to fight in your first real battle soon,” Brokenstar promised the apprentice. “You’ve been training for half a moon, so you’re ready.”
“Really?” Badgerpaw gasped.
Brokenstar nodded. “I’ve scented traces of WindClan on our territory, so we will attack at dawn! Those rabbit-eaters will soon discover they can’t set paw in ShadowClan territory and get away with it.”
Ready to burst with excitement and pride, Badgerpaw darted off to his mentor, Flintfang. “I’m going to fight!” he announced, dancing along beside the powerful gray tom. “Brokenstar said! I’ll use that two-pawed move you taught me, and the leap-and-scratch …”
Flintfang gazed down at him. “Just remembe
r everything I’ve taught you, and that there’s no shame in losing your first battle,” he meowed. His tone was heavy, and Yellowfang wondered just how keen he was to lead his tiny apprentice into a hostile Clan.
Fernshade, who was walking beside Yellowfang, looked fondly across at Badgerpaw. “I’m so proud of him!” she exclaimed. “I thought I’d never manage to give birth to him, and he’s everything to me. And now he’s going to be a true ShadowClan warrior!”
Yellowfang drew a breath to speak, but bit back the words. He shouldn’t even be an apprentice yet!
Yellowfang crouched in the prickly grass, listening to the sounds of the skirmish with WindClan that came from the far side of the Thunderpath. The sun shone brightly over her head and branches in the fresh green of newleaf rustled at the edge of the forest.
This is not a day when cats should die.
Paw steps sounded behind Yellowfang and she turned her head to see Nightpelt approaching with the limp body of a vole in his jaws. In spite of the elders’ exile, the young black cat looked settled and confident. Yellowfang knew he had found a purpose in life, doing most of the hunting for his companions, keeping up their spirits when they were far from the camp where they had expected to live out their days.
Nightpelt set down his prey and sat beside Yellowfang, his ears pricked as he listened to the screeches and thuds from the battle. “How long will this continue, do you think?” he murmured.
“Until every cat is dead,” Yellowfang replied bitterly, “either here or in WindClan.”
“Why does StarClan let Brokenstar do it?” Nightpelt asked.
“Perhaps they are proud of him,” Yellowfang responded. I have begged StarClan for reasons, but they ignore me. They have abandoned us to wherever Brokenstar leads. “After all,” she went on out loud, “ShadowClan is the strongest and most feared of all the Clans now.”
Nightpelt shook his head. “I cannot believe our ancestors would find any glory in this constant bloodshed.” With a deep sigh, he picked up his prey and headed for the elders’ den in the copse.