by Erin Hunter
At least he’d be in the open air again, he thought: free and easy, the way he used to be. He had looked after himself just fine until now—and he would keep on doing that.
Lucky headed back out into the alleyway. It seemed so much emptier than before, and he found himself scampering as fast as he could across the rubble, until he reached the broad open space beyond. Surely he’d find something here? It had always been such a bustle of noise and energy, full of longpaws and their loudcages.
There were plenty of loudcages, sure enough, but none of them were moving and there was still not a longpaw in sight, friendly or otherwise. Some of the loudcages had fallen onto their flanks—a big long one had crashed its blunt snout into an empty space in the wall of a building, shattered pieces of clear-stone glittering. Picking his way carefully through the shards, Lucky felt his hackles rise. The scent of longpaw was back in the air, but it was not comforting: It was the scent that had settled on the Food House owner when he had grown still. The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the steady drip and trickle of water.
Above him the Sun-Dog, which had been so high and bright, was casting long shadows from the buildings that had withstood the Big Growl. Each time he passed through one of the pools of darkness, Lucky shivered and hurried back into the light. He kept moving, the patches of light growing steadily smaller, the shadows longer, and the ache of hunger in his belly sharper.
Maybe I should have gone with Sweet …
No. There was no point thinking that way. He was a Lone Dog again, and that was good.
He turned and trotted determinedly down another alley. This was his city! There was always food and comfort to be had here. Even if he had to dig deep for the leftovers in Food House spoil-boxes, or find another overturned smell-box in the road, there would be something the crows and the rats hadn’t found. He was self-reliant, independent Lucky.
He was not going to starve.
Lucky drew to a stop as he got his bearings. This alley wasn’t as damaged by the Big Growl as other places, but there was one deep, vicious crack running up the middle of it, and two spoil-boxes had been knocked flying. There might be a real feast there, if he rummaged. Lucky bounded up to the nearest one—then froze, nerves crackling beneath his fur. The scent was sharp and strong, and he knew it well.
Enemy!
Lips peeling back from his teeth, he sniffed the air to pinpoint the creature. Above him was a set of slender steps going up a wall, and his instincts pulled his eyes, ears, and nose toward it: That was the kind of place where this enemy liked to lurk, ready to pounce, needle-claws raking.
There it was: striped fur bristling, pointed ears laid flat, and tiny glinting fangs bared. Its low, threatening growl was punctuated by vicious hissing as it crouched, every muscle taut for its attack.
Sharpclaw!
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SUPER EDITION
YELLOWFANG’S SECRET
Yellowfang has dedicated her life to ShadowClan. She is a loyal medicine cat, ready and willing to do anything to protect her Clanmates and keep them safe. But a dark secret haunts her, threatening her life and the lives of every cat around her....
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
PROLOGUE
Starlight shone down into a large cavern through a ragged hole in the roof. The faint silver sheen was just enough to show a tall rock jutting from the floor in the center of the cave, flanked by soaring rock walls, and at one side the dark, gaping hole of a tunnel entrance. The shadows in the mouth of the tunnel thickened, and six cats emerged into the cavern. Their leader, a speckled gray tom with clumped, untidy fur, padded up to the rock and turned to face the others.
“Sagewhisker, Hawkheart, Troutfin,” he began, nodding to each cat as he named them, “we, the medicine cats of the four Clans, are here to carry out one of our most important ceremonies: the creation of a new medicine cat apprentice.”
Two more cats lingered by the tunnel entrance, their eyes huge in the half-light. One of them shuffled his paws as if they had frozen to the cold stone.
“For StarClan’s sake, Goosefeather, get on with it,” Hawkheart muttered with an impatient twitch of her tail.
Goosefeather glared at her, then turned to the two young cats by the tunnel. “Featherpaw, are you ready?” he asked.
The bigger of the two, a silver-pelted tom, gave a nervous nod. “I guess so,” he mewed.
“Then come here and stand before the Moonstone,” Goosefeather directed. “Soon it will be time to share tongues with StarClan.”
Featherpaw hesitated. “But I … I don’t know what to say when I meet our ancestors.”
“You’ll know,” the other young cat told him. Her white pelt glimmered as she touched his shoulder with her muzzle. “It’ll be awesome, you’ll see. Just as it was when I became Troutfin’s apprentice!”
“Thanks, Bramblepaw,” Featherpaw murmured.
He padded up to Goosefeather, while Sagewhisker, Troutfin, and Hawkheart sat a couple of tail-lengths away. Bramblepaw took her place at her mentor’s side.
Suddenly the moon appeared through the hole in the roof, shedding a dazzling white light into the cave. Featherpaw halted and blinked in astonishment as the Moonstone woke into glittering life, blazing with silver.
Goosefeather stepped forward to stand over him. “Featherpaw,” he meowed, “is it your wish to share the deepest knowledge of StarClan as a ThunderClan medicine cat?”
Featherpaw nodded. “Yes,” he replied, his voice coming out as a breathless croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It is.”
“Then follow me.”
Goosefeather turned, beckoning with his tail, and took the few paces that brought him close to the Moonstone. His pale blue eyes shone like twin moons as he spoke. “Warriors of StarClan, I present to you this apprentice. He has chosen the path of a medicine cat. Grant him your wisdom and insight so that he may understand your ways and heal his Clan in accordance with your will.” Flicking his tail at Featherpaw, he whispered, “Lie down here, and press your nose against the stone.”
Quickly Featherpaw obeyed, settling himself close to the stone and reaching out to touch its glimmering surface with his nose. The other medicine cats moved up beside him, taking similar positions all around the stone. In the silence and the brilliant light, the new medicine cat apprentice closed his eyes.
Featherpaw’s eyes blinked open and he sprang to his paws. He was standing chest-deep in lush grass, in a clearing of a sunlit forest. Above his head, the trees rustled in the warm breeze. The air was laden with the scent of prey and damp fern.
“Hi, Featherpaw!”
The young tom spun around. Approaching him through the grass was a tabby and white she-cat with blue eyes; she gave him a friendly flick with her tail as she drew closer.
Featherpaw stared at her. “M-Mallowfur!” he gasped. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“I may be a warrior of StarClan now, but I am always with you, my dear,” Mallowfur purred. “It’s good to see you here, Featherpaw. I hope it’s the first time of many.”
“I hope so, too,” Featherpaw responded.
Mallowfur kept walking, brushing through the grass until she joined a ginger tom at the edge of the trees; together the two StarClan cats vanished into the undergrowth. Close to the spot where they had disappeared, another StarClan warrior crouched beside a small pool, lapping at the water. Heartbeats later, a squirrel dashed across the clearing and swarmed up the trunk of an oak tree, with two more of Featherpaw’s starry ancestors hard on its tail.
Featherpaw heard his name being called again. “Hey, Featherpaw! Over here!”
Featherpaw glanced around the clearing. His gaze fell on a black tom, almost hidden in the shadows under a holly bush. He was small and skinny, his muzzle gray with age.
The dark-furred cat beckoned with his tail. “Over here!” he repeated, his voice low and urgent. “Are your paws stuck to the ground?”
Featherpaw shouldered his way through the long grasses until he stood in front of the tom. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“My name is Molepelt,” the cat replied. “I have a message for you.”
Featherpaw’s eyes stretched wide. “A message from StarClan, my first time here?” he breathed out. “Wow, that’s so great.”
Molepelt let out an irritable grunt. “You might not think so, when you’ve heard what it is.”
“Go on.”
Molepelt fixed him with an icy green gaze. “A dark force is on its way,” he rasped, “with the power to pierce deep into the heart of ThunderClan. And it will be brought by a ShadowClan medicine cat.”
“What?” Featherpaw’s voice rose to a high-pitched squeak. “That can’t be right. Medicine cats have no enemies, and they don’t cause trouble for other Clans.”
Molepelt ignored his protest. “A long time ago, I was the ShadowClan medicine cat,” he went on. “My Clanmates and I did a great wrong to another Clan—a Clan that belonged in the forest as much as any of us, but that was driven out through our selfishness and hardheartedness. I knew then that what we did was wrong, and I have waited, my heart filled with dread, for the Clans to be punished.”
“Punished? How?” Featherpaw asked hoarsely.
“The time has come!” Now Molepelt’s green eyes were wide, and he seemed to be gazing into the far distance. “A poison will spring from the heart of ShadowClan, and spread to all the other Clans.” His voice became a soft, eerie wailing. “A storm of blood and fire will sweep the forest!”
Featherpaw gazed at the old cat in horror. Before he could speak, a powerful black-and-white tom pushed his way through a clump of ferns and padded up to the holly bush.
“Molepelt, what are you doing?” he demanded. “Why are you spilling all this out to a ThunderClan apprentice? You don’t know that this is the time!”
Molepelt snorted. “You were once my apprentice, Hollowbelly, and don’t you forget it! I know I’m right.”
Hollowbelly glanced at Featherpaw, then back at Molepelt. “Things are different now,” he meowed.
“What do you mean? What’s going to happen?” Featherpaw asked, his voice shaking.
Hollowbelly ignored him. “There’s no reason to punish ShadowClan,” he went on to Molepelt. “What happened was too long ago. The medicine cat code will keep the Clans safe.”
“You’re a fool, Hollowbelly,” Molepelt growled. “The medicine cat code can do nothing to save the Clans.”
“You don’t know that for sure!” When Molepelt did not respond, Hollowbelly turned to Featherpaw. “Please, say nothing about this,” he meowed. “There is no need to spread alarm, not when the future is lost in mist even to StarClan. Promise me that you won’t tell any of your Clanmates. Promise on the lives of your ancestors!”
Featherpaw blinked. “I promise,” he whispered.
Hollowbelly nodded. “Thank you, Featherpaw. Go well.” Nudging Molepelt to his paws, he led the old medicine cat away into the trees.
Featherpaw gazed after them. After a few heartbeats he scrambled out from underneath the holly bush and staggered into the sunlit clearing. “Even if Molepelt was telling the truth, it makes no sense!” he meowed out loud. “How can ThunderClan be threatened by a ShadowClan medicine cat?”
CHAPTER 1
“ShadowClan warriors, attack!”
Yellowkit burst out of the nursery and hurtled across the ShadowClan camp. Her littermates Nutkit and Rowankit scurried after her.
Nutkit pounced onto a pine cone that lay among the debris at the foot of one of the trees overhanging the camp. “It’s a WindClan warrior!” he squealed, batting at it with tiny brown paws. “Get out of our territory!”
“Rabbit-chasers!” Rowankit flexed her claws. “Prey-stealers!”
Yellowkit leaped at a straying tendril from the bramble barrier that encircled the camp; her paws got tangled in it and she lost her balance, rolling over in a flurry of waving legs and tail. Scrambling to her feet, she crouched in front of the bramble, her teeth bared in a growl. “Trip me over, would you?” she squeaked, raking her claws across its leaves. “Take that!”
Nutkit straightened up and began to scan the camp, peering around with narrowed amber eyes. “Can you see any more WindClan warriors on our territory?” he asked.
Yellowkit spotted a group of elders sharing tongues in a shaft of sunlight. “Yes! Over there!” she yowled.
Nutkit and Rowankit followed her as she raced across the camp and skidded to a halt in front of the elders.
“WindClan warriors!” Yellowkit began, trying to sound as dignified as her Clan leader Cedarstar. “Do you agree that ShadowClan is the best of all the Clans? Or do you need to feel our claws in your fur to persuade you?”
Littlebird, her ginger pelt glowing in the warm light, sat up, giving the other elders an amused glance. “No, you’re far too fierce for us,” she meowed. “We don’t want to fight.”
“Do you promise to let our warriors cross your territory whenever they want?” Rowankit growled.
“We promise.” Silverflame, the mother of Yellowkit’s mother, Brightflower, flattened herself to the ground and blinked fearfully up at the kits.
Mistfang cringed away from the three kits, shuffling his skinny brown limbs. “ShadowClan is much stronger than us.”
“Yes!” Yellowkit bounced up in the air. “ShadowClan is the best!” In her excitement she leaped on top of Nutkit, rolling over and over with him in a knot of gray and brown fur.
I’m going to be the best warrior in the best Clan in the forest! she thought happily.
She broke away from Nutkit and scrambled to her paws. “You be a WindClan warrior now,” she urged. “I know some awesome battle moves!”
“Battle moves?” a scornful voice broke in. “You? You’re only a kit!”
Yellowkit spun around to see Raggedkit and his littermate Scorchkit standing a couple of tail-lengths away.
“And what are you?” she demanded, facing up to the big dark tabby tom. “You and Scorchkit were still kits last time I looked.”
“But we’ll be apprentices soon,” Raggedkit retorted. “It’ll be moons and moons before you start training.”
“Yeah.” Scorchkit licked one ginger paw and drew it over his ear. “We’ll be warriors by then.”
“In your dreams!” Rowankit bounded up to stand next to Yellowkit, while Nutkit flanked her on her other side. “There are rabbits who’d make better warriors than you two.”
Scorchkit crouched down, his muscles tensed to leap at her, but Raggedkit blocked him with his tail. “They’re not worth it,” he mewed loftily. “Come on, runts, watch us and we’ll show you some real battle moves.”
“You’re not our mentors!” Nutkit snapped. “All you know how to do is mess up our game.”
“Your game!” Raggedkit rolled his eyes. “Like you wouldn’t go squealing into the nursery if WindClan really attacked our camp.”
“Would not!” Rowankit exclaimed.
Raggedkit and Scorchkit ignored her, turning their backs on the younger kits. “You attack me first,” Scorchkit ordered. Raggedkit dashed past his littermate, aiming a blow at Scorchkit’s ear. Scorchkit swung away and pounced on Raggedkit’s tail. Raggedkit rolled over onto his back, all four paws ready to defend himself.
Annoyed as she was, Yellowkit couldn’t help admiring the older toms. Her paws itched to practice their battle moves, but she knew that she and her littermates would only get sneered at if they tried.
“Come on!” Nutkit nudged her. “Let’s go and see if there are any mice in the brambles.”
“You won’t catch any, even if there are,” Raggedkit meowed, rising to his paws and shaking debris from his fur.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Nutkit’s fur bristled and he bared tiny, needle-sharp teeth. “Kittypet!”
For a moment all five kittens froze. Yellowkit could feel her heart pounding. Like her littermates, she had heard the elders gossi
ping, wondering who had fathered Raggedkit and Scorchkit, asking each other whether it could be true that Featherstorm’s mate had been a kittypet. The young she-cat had often strayed into Twolegplace, and she’d never been obviously close to any of the toms in the Clan. But Yellowkit knew that it was something you should never, never say out loud.
Raggedkit took a pace closer to Nutkit, stiff-legged with fury. “What did you call me?” he snarled, his voice dangerously quiet.
Nutkit’s eyes were wide and scared, but he didn’t back down. “Kittypet!” he repeated.
A low growl came from Raggedkit’s throat. Scorchkit’s eyes narrowed and he flexed his claws. Neither of them looked one bit like a soft, fluffy kittypet. Yellowkit braced herself to defend her littermate.
“Nutkit!”
Yellowkit turned at the sound of her mother’s voice. Brightflower was standing beside the thornbush that shielded the nursery hollow. Her orange tabby tail was twitching in annoyance.
“Nutkit, if you can’t play sensibly, then you’d better come back here. You too, Yellowkit and Rowankit. I won’t have you fighting. Come on.”
“Not fair,” Nutkit muttered as all three littermates began trailing back toward the nursery. He scuffed his paws through the pine needles on the floor of the camp. “They started it.”
“They’re just stupid kittypets,” Rowankit whispered.
Yellowkit couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder as she reached the thornbush. Raggedkit and Scorchkit stood in the middle of the clearing, glaring after them. The force of Raggedkit’s anger scared her and fascinated her at the same time. Behind it she could sense something else: a black space that echoed with fearful questioning. She thought of her own father, Brackenfoot, who told stories of patrols and hunting and Gatherings at Fourtrees, who let his kits scramble all over him and pretended to be a fox so they could attack him. Yellowkit loved him and wanted to be like him.
What must it be like, not to know who your father is? she asked herself. Especially if every cat thinks he was a kittypet?
