I felt like I was lying in that dead tree for days. Everything hurt—my whole body, down to the tips of my fur and the ends of my claws.
As a medicine cat, I should have been able to take care of myself, but I was too weak to do anything, even eat the herbs I’d brought.
Finally there were three small bundles next to me on the pile of leaves. Two of them were squirming; one was completely still. I prodded it with my paw, but she had been born dead. Her eyes would never open.
I dragged the other two toward me. With all the strength I could manage, I began to lick them, trying to warm them and wake them up. One let out an angry wail the minute I touched him; the other only whimpered slightly and jerked her paws. I could see that the tom kit was a fighter right from the beginning. His lungs were so powerful, I was surprised it didn’t bring the entire Clan running to find us. He battered his sister with his paws every time he moved, but she barely reacted.
I tried as long as I could, licking and licking her, but her breathing only got shallower and shallower, until finally it stopped alto-gether. Her tail twitched once and was still. I buried my nose in her fur, feeling grief crash down on me. It was a clear sign from StarClan.
These kits should never have been born.
I turned my attention to my only surviving kit and saw the expression on his small, flat face. He was new to the world—couldn’t yet see, could barely crawl to my belly to feed. And yet his face was already twisted with strong emotion… Rage? Hatred? I’d never seen such a terrifying look on any cat, let alone a tiny newborn kit.
Fear flooded through me, making me cold. Maybe this kit wasn’t meant to survive, either. A kit born with so much anger in him could mean only grave danger to the Clan, maybe to the whole forest.
But then he squirmed over to me and pressed his face into my fur.
He was so small, so helpless. Perhaps I had misunderstood what I’d seen. He was only a little kit, after all—my kit, and the son of Raggedstar, the cat I loved. I couldn’t keep him for myself, but I could watch him from across the clearing as he grew up. I could make sure he turned into a fine warrior. I licked the top of his head, and he let out a small purr. My heart seemed to expand to fill my whole chest.
I buried his sisters before we returned to camp, digging deep into the dirt so no cat would ever sniff them out. Then I slunk back through the undergrowth, my fur matted and stinking of toadstools, the kit dangling from my mouth. I stopped to clean myself in a pool near the camp entrance. By the time we entered the camp, no cat would be able to guess the ordeal I had been through.
Raggedstar spotted us the minute I pushed through the bramble tunnel. He barely even looked at me; his eyes were all for the kit, and they were full of hope and excitement. He came bounding across the clearing to follow me into the nursery.
Lizardstripe was there, of course, 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 me with narrow, unfriendly eyes. I had never really liked or trusted Lizardstripe, but she was the only nursing queen at the moment. I had no choice.
I dropped the kit at her paws, and he let out another furious shriek.
“What,” said Lizardstripe, “is that?”
“It’s a kit,” I said.
“It’s my kit,” Raggedstar said proudly, shouldering his way into the den.
“Oh, yes?” Lizardstripe said dryly. “What a miracle. If I’d known toms could have kits, I would have made Mudclaw have these brats of mine himself.”
Raggedstar ignored her. The space seemed to get smaller with him in it, as if he drew all the light into himself. I wanted to press myself into his fur and tell him everything I’d been through and about the two tiny bodies out in the forest. But he still wasn’t looking at me.
He crouched and sniffed at his son. The kit tried to lift his head and then swiped his paw through the air, connecting with Raggedstar’s nose. Our leader jerked his head back in surprise.
“Look at that!” he cried delightedly. “He’s a little warrior already!”
Lizardstripe’s yellow gaze was making me uncomfortable. “His mother wishes to keep her identity secret,” I said. “She cannot be a mother to this kit, and she hopes that you will take him in for her.”
Lizardstripe lashed her tail. “What kind of mouse-brained non-sense 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 kitten in the Clan.”
Raggedstar snarled, and Lizardstripe shrank back in her nest. “He is not unwanted,” Raggedstar spat. “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 leader’s son—and perhaps the future leader of the Clan himself?”
Lizardstripe hissed softly. But she knew better than to argue with Raggedstar. And perhaps she saw the wisdom of his words. As the mother of Raggedstar’s son—even if the Clan knew she wasn’t his real mother—she would hold power in the Clan.
“All right, fine,” she spat ungraciously. “Hand him over.”
As I nestled my son into the curve of her belly, I felt a strong pang of uneasiness. What kind of life would he have, with an ambitious queen like Lizardstripe raising him? No cat would know I was his mother, not even the kit himself. I would never be able to sway him to be good, to follow the warrior code and believe in the wisdom of StarClan. I would just have to hope that he would turn out all right.
“His name is Brokenkit,” I said, my voice faltering. Lizardstripe nodded, seeing the bend in his tail, like a broken branch. That’s where every cat would think he’d gotten his name. But the truth is, I named him for the feeling in my chest as I left him there, as if my heart were breaking in two, as if my life had broken down the middle.
Most cats assumed that Raggedstar’s deputy, Foxheart, was Brokenkit’s mother. She was always a little secretive, and he let her get away with a lot. She never contradicted the rumors; it was to her advan-tage to let other cats think she was the secret mother of Raggedstar’s kit. She died a few moons later, anyway, in a battle with rats near Carrionplace, shortly before Lizardstripe died of greencough. The next deputy, Cloudpelt, didn’t last much longer than they did, and by then Brokentail was old enough for Raggedstar to make him deputy.
Raggedstar always thought his son would make a great leader. He was blind to all of Brokentail’s faults—his cunning, his ruthlessness, his violent nature. Raggedstar didn’t care for me anymore. His life was all about Brokentail from the moment he laid eyes on that kit.
My punishment stretched on as Brokentail clawed his way to power, and I realized what a monster I’d brought into the forest. But it was my mistake, and I had to live with it. And there was a part of me that still remembered him as a newborn kit—the tiny scrap of fur I nursed in the hollow of a dead tree.
When I had to kill him to protect my new adopted Clan, I knew I was finally at the end of my punishment. I had brought him into the world; I had to send him out, as painful as it was.
But by then I had found a truer son than Brokentail ever could have been. I only hope Fireheart will rise to be the great leader that Brokenstar never was and that, in some small way, I have helped to set him on that path.
Then, perhaps, StarClan will forgive me at last.
StarClan
