The fourth cat stepped forward; Yellowfang didn’t know his name. He was a skinny gray tom, and he studied Brokentail carefully before he spoke. “I give you a life for truth. Without it, kin is set against kin, Clan against Clan. Hold fast to truth in all your dealings and let it guide your words.” The skinny tom hesitated before darting his head forward like a striking snake and touching Brokentail’s nose to give him his life.
As Yellowfang looked on from outside the circle of cats, she began to feel uneasy. All the lives Brokentail had received so far seemed to come with a warning, almost a threat, and she sensed a reluctance among the StarClan cats that was unlike anything she had experienced when she had accompanied Raggedstar to his ceremony.
Then she dismissed these thoughts with a lash of her tail. Brokentail was the Clan deputy, so he has to be the new leader. Even StarClan can’t change that, and why would they want to? Brokentail is a strong and loyal cat. When he has more experience he will be a great leader.
Lizardfang was the next warrior to come forward. Yellowfang rejoiced to see his frail limbs strong again, and his tabby pelt thick and healthy. “I give you a life for judgment,” he meowed. “ShadowClan stands at a place where the path ahead divides. Choose to follow the right path, for the good of your Clan.”
As Brokentail received his fifth life, instead of appearing unmoved, his limbs and his tail twitched as if they were briefly out of his control. He staggered at the touch of Lizardfang’s nose, recovering himself with an effort. Something huge, something overwhelming, seemed to hover around him, as if an unseen battle were going on in the very air he breathed.
Can he stand to receive four more lives? Yellowfang wondered. Then she saw the next cat in line and bit back a cry of pain. Oh, my precious love. I miss you with every beat of my heart.
Tail held high, Brokentail’s tiny sister pattered forward into the circle to stand beside him. “I give you a life for love of kin,” she mewed, the wisdom in her voice startling Yellowfang as it came from so small a body. “And as Clan leader, remember that every Clan cat is your kin.”
Brokentail had to bend his head to receive the life from the young kit. As their noses touched a spasm of agony shook him, and he closed his eyes, jerking his head aside as if for a heartbeat he had seen something he could not bear.
The seventh cat was a stranger to Yellowfang, a small brown tabby with a depth of gentleness in her eyes. “I give you a life for clear sight,” she meowed. “Brokentail, know yourself and your destiny, but know too that destiny can be changed if you choose the right path.”
Again Brokentail staggered as he received the new life. Yellowfang thought he looked exhausted. Yet throughout he hadn’t uttered the slightest sound of pain, not even a whimper.
The eighth cat, a plump black-and-white tom, had also given a life to Raggedstar. He padded up to Brokentail and spoke swiftly. “I give you a life for strength. This is the time you and your Clan will stand or fall. You need to be stronger than ever.”
What do they mean? Yellowfang wondered. So many of the cats had spoken of a divided path for ShadowClan, a time when decisions must be made about the destiny of all the cats. What are Brokentail’s choices, and will he make the right ones?
This time, when Brokentail received the life, he seemed to revive, as if the strength the tom had promised was already flowing into his limbs and his heart. With the end of the ceremony in sight, Yellowfang began to breathe more easily.
All this while, Sagewhisker had stood silently in the circle of cats, her gaze fixed on Brokentail. Now she stepped forward to give him his last life. “Brokentail, I give you a life for compassion. Use it to shelter the weakest in your Clan, the kits and elders and the sick. Use it to show mercy to your enemies and to choose the path your paw steps will follow.”
Yellowfang watched the spasm of pain rippling through Brokentail as Sagewhisker gave him his ninth life. For a moment she was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stay on his paws.
But the discomfort passed. As the nine cats acclaimed him by his new name, Brokenstar stood strong and proud again, his eyes gleaming as he heard the yowls rise up to the stars.
“Brokenstar! Brokenstar!”
As the yowling died away, he dipped his head. “My ancestors, I thank you,” he meowed solemnly. “I promise that I will make ShadowClan the strongest and most feared that it has ever been.”
The StarClan warriors began to fade, their outlines shimmering faintly with starlight until they vanished, leaving Yellowfang and Brokenstar alone in the bleak marshes.
Brokenstar turned to Yellowfang. “It is time to return,” he announced. His voice dropped to a savage snarl, and he lashed his tail. “It is time for vengeance!”
Dusk was falling by the time Yellowfang and Brokenstar returned to camp. Brokenstar raced across to the Clanrock and summoned the Clan together. “Let all cats join here beneath the Clanrock for a meeting!”
Yellowfang was surprised that he had left out the words “old enough to catch their own prey,” but guessed that he had forgotten. He’s new to this. He’ll get the words right when he’s had more practice.
Newtspeck emerged from the nursery with Littlekit, Wetkit, and Brownkit scampering around her feet. Featherstorm followed, but there was no sign of Mosskit, Volekit, or Dawnkit.
Brokenstar gazed down at Featherstorm with a disapproving expression. “Where are your kits? Fetch them at once!”
“But they’ve just gone to sleep!” Featherstorm protested. “And it’s very cold out here. Besides, they’re not old enough to catch their own prey and usually—”
Brokenstar cut her off. “Are they part of ShadowClan?” he growled. “Then get them!”
So he does want the kits here, Yellowfang thought. Why?
Featherstorm hesitated, anger clear in her eyes, but she could not hold Brokenstar’s gaze. She retreated into the nursery and reappeared a few heartbeats later, guiding her kits in front of her. All three stumbled sleepily into the open and collapsed into a bundle of fur close to their mother. Brokenstar gave Featherstorm a curt nod.
“I will not rest until WindClan has been punished, and until ShadowClan is feared by every cat in the forest,” he announced to his Clan. His voice rose to a roar. “They will bow down before us! From now on warriors will only fight and train for battle. Hunting is of little importance, and cats will have to find food where they can.”
He paused, but the Clan was silent; Yellowfang thought that shock—and perhaps a little fear—had closed their jaws as they exchanged uncertain glances.
“Meanwhile,” Brokenstar went on, “it is time for me to choose a deputy. I say these words before the spirits of my ancestors, that they may hear and approve my choice. Blackfoot will be the next deputy of ShadowClan.”
The big white warrior rose from his pace and walked to the Clanrock. His black paw looked like a shadow in the moonlight and his eyes shone with pride. “Brokenstar, your choice honors me,” he meowed. “I’ll do my best to serve you and our Clan well.”
Yellowfang felt the Clan relax around her. Blackfoot was popular. He hasn’t had an apprentice, but then, we haven’t had any kits ready to give him.
“Now,” Brokenstar went on, “I need an apprentice. Mosskit, step forward.”
“Wait!” Yellowfang, broke in. “He’s not old enough.”