Yellowfang’s Secret

Chapter 25

Griping pains in her belly woke Yellowfang, and she bit back a groan. She knew this time the agony was her own. It’s time. I have to go. Sagewhisker will cover for me.

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 ambitious 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.”