“But—” Yellowfang tried to interrupt. Even Raggedpelt’s anger might have been better than this total refusal to see what the problem was.
“I’ll be the best father,” he went on enthusiastically. “I’ll teach them battle moves, and show them the best places to hunt.”
“But I’m a medicine cat!” Yellowfang made him listen at last. “I’m not supposed to have kits!”
Raggedpelt blinked at her. “Well, you’ll have to stop being a medicine cat.”
“I can’t,” Yellowfang choked.
Raggedpelt’s voice grew dangerous. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both,” Yellowfang admitted. “I will bear these kits, and love them with all my heart, but I cannot be their mother. You will have to raise them alone.”
“I can’t do that!” Raggedpelt yelped. “How can I stay with them in the nursery and give them milk?”
“Lizardstripe is also expecting kits,” Yellowfang explained. “She can care for ours until they are old enough to feed alone. Every cat can know that they are yours, but no cats must know they are also mine.” She let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Raggedpelt. I cannot be their mother.”
Although she spoke briskly, inside Yellowfang’s heart was splitting into tiny pieces. This is the only choice I can make. I have to follow the path that StarClan has laid out for me.
The words of the small dark cat in her dream rang in her ears, warning her about the storm of fire and blood that would be released into her Clan, but she pushed the memory away. There was no reason to believe that the black cat had been speaking of her kits. She didn’t even know his name, or what Clan he had once belonged to.
Raggedpelt will be a good father. My kits will be in safe paws.
The warrior was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. “You mean, you’d choose to be a medicine cat for Clanmates that have no kinship with you, over caring for your own kits? Our own kits?” His voice rose to a screech. “What kind of she-cat are you? Do you care for nothing beyond yourself?”
Yellowfang tried not to crumple to the ground in despair. “I have to do this,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Our kits will not suffer because of it.”
“What do you know about growing up with only one parent?” Raggedpelt snarled.
Too late, Yellowfang realized she had forgotten about his torment over his absent father. “This will be different!” she tried to protest. “These kits will be cared for by Lizardstripe in the nursery, and they will have you as their father, to love and be proud of them! Please, you have to do this for them!”
Raggedpelt glared at her as if she were nothing more than a rat. “Very well, but on one condition,” he mewed at last. “You must promise never to tell these kits the truth. It is better that they grow up without a mother than knowing that their mother chose to abandon them.”
Yellowfang’s heart cracked a little more as she made the promise Raggedpelt asked for. I will never abandon you, little ones, she whispered to her unborn babies. I will be with you, always.
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?