Warriors Super Edition: Yellowfang’s Secret (55 page)

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 ShadowClan,” 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.”

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?”