Crookedstar's Promise

by Erin Hunter

  “Don’t worry. Those snake-hearts will get the message!” Shellheart’s claws sprayed soft earth as he charged for the entrance tunnel with Rippleclaw, Brightsky, and Ottersplash pounding after.

  “Quick!” As his Clanmates bunched into anxious, murmuring groups, Stormkit hissed in his brother’s ear and dashed back to the fallen tree. He scampered along the trunk, checking over his shoulder.

  Oakkit was following. “Where are we going?”

  “To watch.”

  “Watch what?”

  “We’re going to watch Shellheart tell Pinestar off!” Stormkit scampered along the branch. “Dig your claws in,” he warned his brother. “It’s slippery.”

  When the branch grew thin enough to dip under his weight, Stormkit halted and ducked down to let Oakkit watch over his shoulder. Only four ThunderClan warriors remained on Sunningrocks. Pinestar was still lying on the smooth, flat rock, showing his belly to the leaf-bare sun. A bright ginger tom sat beside him, eyes closed, tail wrapped over his paws.

  “That must be Sunfall, the deputy,” Oakkit whispered. “Volekit said he was ginger.”

  Two lithe warriors paced back and forth beside the leader and deputy: a blue-gray tom and a mottled tabby. Their eyes were wide and their ears pricked. Suddenly the tabby halted and stared at the river.

  Stormkit followed his gaze. Shellheart was swimming toward Sunningrocks. Water splashed as Rippleclaw, Brightsky, and Ottersplash plunged in after him. On Sunningrocks, the gray tom’s pelt had bristled along his spine. He darted to the edge of the rocks and showed his teeth, his gaze fixed on the RiverClan patrol.

  Pinestar jumped to his paws, quickly followed by Sunfall. The four ThunderClan warriors lined up on the crest of the rock as Shellheart launched himself, dripping, from the water. In two bounds, the RiverClan deputy scaled the smooth cliff face. Sunfall arched his back and hissed as Shellheart approached. Pinestar narrowed his eyes.

  Stormkit felt Oakkit tense behind him. “Will they fight?” Oakkit breathed.

  “Wait.” Stormkit’s paws trembled with excitement as Rippleclaw leaped up onto Sunningrocks with Brightsky and Ottersplash following.

  Stormkit pricked his ears, straining to hear.

  “You’re on RiverClan territory,” Shellheart growled.

  Sunfall took a step forward. “Make us leave, then.”

  Shellheart flicked his tail. “This is not yet a battle worth fighting,” he meowed. He looked back toward the RiverClan camp, clearly visible through the leafless trees. “But we’ll be watching. You should watch out, too, because this is our land and we will defend it.”

  The gray tom’s lip curled. “But not today?”

  Rippleclaw darted forward, flattening his ears. “If it comes to a battle,” he hissed in the gray tom’s face, “it’ll be me who shreds you first.”

  “Rippleclaw!” Shellheart called the warrior back and met Pinestar’s narrowed gaze. “You can have Sunningrocks for now. Help yourself to any fresh-kill you find here. RiverClan doesn’t need mice. But we’ll take it back when we want it back.”

  Stormkit could feel his brother’s heart pounding. “Mangy mouse-eaters,” he muttered. “Enjoy Sunningrocks while you can.”

  Shellheart jumped down to the riverbank and waited while Rippleclaw, Ottersplash, and Brightsky dived past him into the water. He glanced back up at the rock face once more before following his Clanmates.

  “Watch out!” Oakkit’s yelp made Stormkit jump. “The magpie’s coming back!”

  Stormkit looked up and saw a flash of black-and-white feathers outlined against the gray sky. “Hold on to me!” he ordered.

  As Oakkit sank his claws into his pelt, Stormkit reared up on his hind legs. He lashed out at the magpie with his forepaws just as it swooped level with the branch. Held firm by Oakkit, Stormkit slashed again and again until he felt his claws slice through feather and reach flesh.

  Squawking, the magpie wheeled away, and Stormkit dropped to four paws.

  Oakkit let go and blinked at him. “Nice move!”

  “Thanks for hanging on to me.” Stormkit looked at the bloody feathers caught in his claws. “I don’t think that magpie will be back for a while.” He blinked triumphantly at his brother. “We’re going to be the best warriors RiverClan’s ever seen.”

  Chapter 3

  Stormkit stretched in his nest, feeling the muscles slide underneath his glossy fur. He could almost reach from one wall to the other in this corner of the nursery. Early-morning sunshine filtered through the roof, making the reed walls glow. In the three moons since ThunderClan had stolen Sunningrocks, the sun had grown hotter and higher in the sky. New growth speared up through the old reed bed and the sedge bushes smelled sweet and lush.

  “Wake up!” Stormkit whispered in Oakkit’s ear.

  Rainflower stirred sleepily and wrapped her tail over Stormkit’s belly. “Go back to sleep, little warrior,” she purred. “It’s still early.”

  Stormkit shook off her warm, soft tail and sat up. He poked Oakkit with a paw.

  “What is it?” Oakkit grumbled, his eyes tightly shut.

  “Let’s go explore.”

  “Remember to stay in camp,” Rainflower murmured sleepily.

  “Of course,” Stormkit promised. He poked Oakkit again.

  Oakkit hid his nose under a paw. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “We’ve been asleep all night. The dawn patrol left ages ago.”

  In Echomist’s nest, Beetlekit struggled to his paws, his black pelt rumpled. “Is it time to eat?”

  Volekit opened his eyes. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

  Petalkit was already sitting up and washing. “The hunting patrol will bring something back for us.” She leaned forward to lick Beetlekit’s head, smoothing the fur tufted between his ears. Echomist rolled over and began to snore gently.

  Stormkit hopped out of his nest and stretched. “We’re going to catch our own prey.”

  Oakkit sat up. “Are we?”

  Rainflower lifted her head. “I hope you’re not going to get your brother in trouble again, Stormkit.”

  “Why are you blaming me?” Yesterday they’d made it as far as the stepping-stones before being spotted and escorted back to camp by a very cross Mudfur. “It’s not my fault Oakkit followed the patrol.”

  “He wasn’t following the patrol,” Rainflower reminded him. “He was following you.”

  “He was?”

  As Stormkit blinked at her innocently, she flicked his ear with her tail-tip. “I suppose I’m lucky to have such a brave, handsome kit.” She rested her chin on her paws.

  “I’m brave, too.” Oakkit leaped out of the nest and headed for the entrance.

  “Wait for me!” Stormkit caught up and slid past him out of the nursery.

  The clearing was already warm and bright, though the sun was barely higher than the ancient willow. Hailstar and Shellheart sat beside the fallen tree, their heads dipped in quiet conversation. Troutclaw, Birdsong, and Tanglewhisker were sunning themselves on the smooth earth outside the elders’ den. Timberfur and Ottersplash were poking among the reeds at the edge of the river, their ears pricked, tails twitching, clearly hoping to find a minnow among the watery stems.

  Brambleberry was laying out limp leaves in the sun, her snowy paws tinged with green sap.

  “What are those for?” Stormkit crossed the clearing and sniffed the leaves. He screwed up his face. They smelled sour.

  “They’re coltsfoot leaves,” Brambleberry told him. “Good for coughs.”

  Stormkit nudged a leaf with his front paw. “How?”

  “You have to chew them to get the juice out.” Brambleberry smoothed another leaf out on the warm earth. “Then you swallow the juice and spit out the leaf.”

  Oakkit skidded to a halt beside them. “Where’d they come from?”

  “I picked them beside the falls,” Brambleberry meowed.

  “Can we come with you to pick more?” Stormkit asked hopefully.

  Brambleberry
’s whiskers twitched. “Perhaps in two moons’ time, when you’re ’paws.”

  “I’m sure Hailstar will let us go now if he knows we’re with you,” Stormkit pleaded.

  Brambleberry glanced at the RiverClan leader. “Why don’t you go and ask him?”

  Stormkit scowled. “Maybe later.” He’d asked Hailstar if they could leave the camp before: once if they could help Shellheart hunt, twice if they could shadow Rippleclaw’s patrol, but the answer had always been the same: “Wait until you’re apprentices.”

  Stormkit stared enviously at the apprentices’ den, tasting the air. There was no warm scent of sleep drifting from it. Softpaw and Whitepaw must have left with the dawn patrol. “Lucky furballs,” he muttered.

  Oakkit shrugged. “I thought we were going hunting.”

  “We are.”

  “Where?” Oakkit scanned the camp. “In the sedges?”

  Stormkit fluffed out his fur. “I want to catch more than butterflies!”

  “We could try hunting for minnows with Ottersplash and Timberfur,” Oakkit suggested.

  Stormkit rolled his eyes. “Minnows?”

  “What’s wrong with minnows?”

  “Do you want to stay in camp?”

  “We have to.”

  “Oh, come on.” Stormkit butted his brother with his head. “Let’s sneak out and hunt like real warriors.”

  “What if we get caught again?” Oakkit lowered his voice. “Hailstar said he’d make us wait an extra moon to get our apprentice names if we got into any more trouble.”

  “He didn’t mean it!” Stormkit scoffed. “RiverClan needs warriors. Hailstar’s not a frog-brain. The sooner we’re out patrolling and fighting, the better it’ll be for the Clan.” He flicked his tail. “When I’m leader I’ll let kits go out of camp whenever they want.”

  Stormstar. What a great name!

  “Hey!” Oakkit jabbed him with a paw. “Rainflower says I was born first so I get to be leader.”

  “You? Leader?” Stormkit ruffled his brother’s ears. “You wanted to hunt minnows!” he scoffed, then added kindly, “I’ll make you deputy when I’m leader.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Come on! Let’s go and hunt.”

  Before Oakkit could answer, mewling filled the clearing. Volekit and Beetlekit were tumbling noisily out of the nursery.

  “Wait for me!” Petalkit scrambled after them, pawing at their tails as they scooted across the clearing and skittered to a halt by the reed bed.

  Beetlekit thrust his nose into the stalks beside Ottersplash, making the reeds tremble. “Have you seen any fish?”

  “Don’t scare them off!” Ottersplash grumbled, not taking his eyes from the patch of water beneath his nose.

  Stormkit nudged Oakkit. “Come on, before Beetlekit starts asking us questions.”

  “Which way?” Oakkit asked. “We can’t just walk through the entrance tunnel.”

  “Dirtplace. Then we can squeeze through the sedges out on to the marsh.”

  Stormkit headed toward dirtplace. He ducked through the fronds, Oakkit on his tail. Through the gap lay a sandy clearing, clumped in places and stinking. Oakkit poked his paw through a clump of sedge. “Through here?”

  “Let me see.” Stormkit pushed past and nosed his way through the stems. They were sharp and grazed his nose but he pushed on, eyes half-closed, until he broke out into sunshine. A wide marshy plain stretched ahead of him, grassy and lush, filled with patches of reed and sedge and white billowing flowers.

  “It’s huge!” Oakkit slid out behind Stormkit and stared at the green wetland. It stretched far along the riverbank and sloped up toward a smooth meadow where horses grazed.

  “Let’s head for the river,” Oakkit suggested.

  Stormkit tilted his head on one side. “Don’t you want to cross the marsh?”

  “I thought we were going to find prey,” Oakkit reminded him. “What lives in the marsh?”

  “Frogs?” Stormkit guessed.

  “If you want to spend your morning hopping after a frog, then go ahead, Stormstar.” Oakkit padded away. “I’m heading for the river.”

  “Okay!” Stormkit’s paws sank into watery moss, cool and springy beneath his pads. He bounced along behind Oakkit, following the sedge wall.

  “Wait!” Oakkit halted.

  Stormkit stumbled into him. “What?”

  “We’re near the camp entrance,” Oakkit whispered.

  Stormkit recognized the well-trod grass track that led out from the sedges and weaved between the thick bushes and grasses that swathed the riverbank.

  “Follow me.” Stormkit slid ahead, and pushed his way into the rich greenery at the side of the path. Nosing his way through the soft leaves, he kept to the bushes. Where water puddled the path, he crossed deliberately through it, hoping the mud would disguise their scent. Then, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Oakkit was following, he plunged into the long grass on the other side of the path. The ground fell away from beneath his paws and he tumbled down the bank.

  He landed with a thump on a muddy flat at the river’s edge. Water lapped his pelt as he scrambled to his paws. He moved just in time. With a yelp, Oakkit tumbled after him.

  Jumping up, ruffled, Oakkit shook out his fur. “Nice route,” he muttered.

  “It’s not my fault I don’t know the whole territory yet,” Stormkit defended himself. “Hailstar won’t let us explore, remember?” He gazed downriver, watching the water flow away in a lazy brown flood that moved with such ease it was hard to imagine the same river had once destroyed the camp.

  “Look, the stepping-stones!” Stormkit spotted smooth boulders breaking the surface farther downstream. “We can get to Sunningrocks!”

  Oakkit blinked. “Why would we go to Sunningrocks? It belongs to ThunderClan.”

  “No, it doesn’t!” Stormkit answered hotly. “They’re invaders.” He glanced at the far bank. A stretch of sandy shore lay in the shade of Sunningrocks. Stormkit stiffened.

  A cat was moving along the water’s edge, tugging at weeds that clung to the rocks and streams in the current. “Look!” he hissed to Oakkit.

  “It must be a ThunderClan warrior!” Oakkit gasped.

  “A warrior? No way!” Stormkit sniffed. “Look at him. He looks older than Sunningrocks.” The ThunderClan cat was unkempt, his thick gray coat clumped with burrs and twigs. His ears were ragged and his whiskers frazzled like chewed grass.

  “What’s he doing?” Oakkit whispered.

  The tom was nosing intently through the weeds along the shore, sniffing each one, tasting the air, and then hesitating a moment before tugging out a leaf or two with his shaggy paws.

  Stormkit bristled. “He’s stealing our herbs!”

  “They’re not exactly ours. Hailstar gave Sunningrocks to ThunderClan.”

  “No, he didn’t. He just didn’t fight them. Besides”—Stormkit glanced up at the huge gray boulders that loomed over the river—“that old cat is on the shore, not the rocks, and that’s definitely ours.”

  “Should we go and tell Shellheart?” mewed Oakkit.

  Stormkit stared at his bother. “Are you frog-brained?”

  “He’s on our land.”

  “If we tell Shellheart, he’ll know we were outside camp.”

  Oakkit frowned. “So what should we do?”

  “Let’s chase him off!”

  “Chase him off?” Oakkit’s eyes widened. “He’s bigger than both of us put together.”

  “But look at the state of him!” Stormkit pointed out. “He can’t even wash himself. He’s obviously not a real warrior. He might not even be ThunderClan. He might be a loner.”

  “I think we should tell Shellheart.” Oakkit dug his claws into the mud.

  But Stormkit was already padding along the shore. “Let’s deal with this ourselves.”

  Oakkit scurried after him. “We can’t take on a full-grown tom.”

  “Why not? There are two of us.”

  “But we—
”

  “Shhh!” Stormkit crouched and began stalking along the riverbank. “Or the mange-ball will hear us.”

  The ragged tom was still sniffing his way from plant to plant.

  Stormkit paused and pressed his belly to the mud, feeling water soak his fur. The stepping-stones began about a tail-length from the bank. A narrow stretch of water stood between him and the first rock. The river wasn’t flowing particularly fast, but it looked deep and cold around the base of the stone. Stormkit tensed, then leaped, clearing the channel and landing with a soft skid on the first stepping-stone. It felt smooth beneath his paws, worn by countless moons of lapping water.

  Oakkit joined him with a muffled oof. There was only just enough room for both of them. “I still think we—”

  Stormkit flicked his tail over Oakkit’s mouth. “Shhh!”

  The river gurgled between the stepping-stones, making tiny whirlpools at the edges of the rock. Stormkit took a breath and launched himself toward the next stone. He landed with his paws splayed out, feeling dizzy; the river streamed around the rock so smoothly it seemed for a moment as though the rock were moving. Stormkit steadied his gaze, fixing it on the ragged tom who was still skulking in the shade of Sunningrocks, then jumped on to the next rock, and the next, keeping low and praying that the swirling river would camouflage their approach. He felt Oakkit’s pelt brush his as his littermate kept pace. One more stone and they’d be on the shore.

  Oakkit breathed in his ear. “He’s going to see us for sure!”

  “Not if we land over there.” Stormkit nodded toward a clump of mallow clinging at the river’s edge. “We’ll hide behind that.”

  He sprang, pushing off hard, and swished through the mallow clump. Wet sand spattered around his paws as Oakkit landed clumsily beside him. Stormkit froze and glanced at the tom. Had he spotted them?

  The tom was tugging at weeds, his pelt smooth, his gaze intent on his leaves. Then he looked up. His cold blue gaze bored into Stormkit’s.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you?” A growl edged his mew.

  Oakkit’s fur bushed up. “Let’s get out of here!”

  “Not yet.” Stormkit showed his teeth. “You’re on RiverClan territory!” he hissed at the tom. “Get off our land.”