Crookedstar's Promise

by Erin Hunter

  “Join in!” Crookedkit felt Brambleberry’s breath in his ear and realized he hadn’t called his brother’s new name.

  “Oakpaw! Oakpaw!” he yowled to the wide blue sky. Oh, StarClan, let him be a great warrior! As the plea flashed in his thoughts, Oakpaw padded toward him.

  “Thank you.” Oakpaw bent his head and rubbed his jaw along Crookedkit’s. “I hope we get to train together soon. You’re my littermate and I’ll always be there for you.”

  Crookedkit purred, his jealousy melting. He loved Oakpaw too much to want anything less than the best for him. He just wished Rainflower loved them equally.

  Oakpaw’s eyes shone as he turned back to Hailstar. “I promise I will train hard to become the best warrior I can be.”

  Rainflower crossed the clearing. “Well done, my dear,” she purred to Oakpaw.

  Shellheart pushed in front of her and touched Oakpaw’s head with the tip of his muzzle. “I’ll expect you to train harder than any other apprentice,” he warned. “I don’t want anyone saying I’m going easy on you because you’re my kit.”

  “Neither do I!” Oakpaw puffed out his chest.

  Shellheart glanced at Crookedkit. “There’s no reason I can’t show you some of the moves I teach Oakpaw,” he promised. Excitement fizzed in Crookedkit’s paws.

  “Don’t be silly.” Rainflower sniffed. “He’s too small.”

  Crookedkit stared at her, his twisted jaw gaping. He shut it quickly and swallowed. Was she right? He was eating as much as he could, and he had nearly outgrown his nest in the nursery.

  Pelts brushed past his nose as Petalpaw and Volepaw crowded around his brother. “Well done, Oakpaw!”

  Crookedkit backed away.

  “Yeah.” Beetlepaw nosed past his littermates, his shoulders stiff. “Well done. Now I understand why I didn’t get Shellheart as a mentor.”

  “Oh, Beetlepaw.” Petalpaw nudged her brother’s cheek with her muzzle. “Aren’t you over that yet? Just because you’re Hailstar’s kit doesn’t mean you get the deputy as your mentor. You know Hailstar matches us with who he thinks will train us best.”

  Beetlepaw snorted. “Then why’d he give me Ottersplash?”

  “Shhh!” Volepaw hissed.

  Beetlepaw stared blankly at his denmates’ frozen faces. “What?”

  Ottersplash had crossed the clearing and was standing right behind her apprentice, her white-and-ginger coat shining in the sunlight. “Maybe he thought you needed to learn a bit of respect?” she suggested.

  Beetlepaw spun around, his pelt ruffled. “Sorry!”

  Ottersplash looked steadily at him. “I think you’d better spend the afternoon cleaning out the elders’ den instead of learning battle moves.”

  Beetlepaw’s face fell, but he didn’t argue. “Okay.” He padded away, dragging his paws.

  Petalpaw hurried after him. “I’ll help!”

  “Perhaps you should help, too,” Shellheart meowed to Oakpaw.

  “My first apprentice duty! Great!”

  Crookedkit watched him charge away, envy pricking. His mother’s sharp mew made him jump.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me?” Rainflower was glaring at Shellheart.

  Shellheart narrowed his eyes. “What for?”

  “Who do you think arranged for you to be Oakpaw’s mentor?”

  “You?” Shellheart blinked.

  “Hailstar understood it made sense for the strongest warrior to train the strongest apprentice.”

  Echomist’s anxious mew sounded in Crookedkit’s ear. “Why don’t you go and see if Oakpaw needs help?” She nudged him toward the slope. “Go on.”

  He padded away reluctantly, glancing back at Shellheart and Rainflower as they faced each other, hackles high. If he’d never had his accident, they’d still be happy.

  “Oakpaw?” Crookedkit stuck his head through the neatly woven entrance of the elders’ den.

  Petalpaw looked up from Tanglewhisker’s nest. “Oakpaw went to gather moss.”

  “I’ll go and help him,” Crookedkit offered.

  “He’s outside the camp,” Petalpaw told him.

  “Oh. Then can I help you?”

  A bundle of stinking moss hit him on the nose.

  “You’ll just get in the way.” Beetlepaw was clawing through Troutclaw’s nest, his nose wrinkled against the stench.

  “Why don’t you go and play?” Petalpaw mewed kindly. “We can manage here.”

  Tanglewhisker was patting his nest back into shape. “He’s got to learn sometime,” the elder croaked.

  “Well, he can come back and learn by himself.” Beetlepaw tossed another ball of moss toward the entrance. “This is bad enough without having a kit underpaw.”

  Crookedkit bristled. “I’m only a moon younger than you!” he snapped.

  “And four moons smaller,” Beetlepaw answered back.

  Growling, Crookedkit ducked out of the den and stomped down the slope. Perhaps Piketooth and Shimmerpelt needed help. He’d gathered reeds two moons ago. There no reason he couldn’t do it now. He hadn’t shrunk.

  “Can I help?” he called from the edge of the reed bed. The water lapped at his claws, cool and refreshing.

  Piketooth backed out of a thick swath of reeds. “Don’t fall in!” he warned.

  “You could teach me how to swim, then I could help better,” Crookedkit pointed out.

  Piketooth shook his head. “You’re a bit small for that.”

  “So are minnows!” Crookedkit felt like jumping into the clear patch of water and teaching himself how to swim.

  Shimmerpelt waded out of the river and dropped a mouthful of reeds on the shore. “I know you’re bored,” she meowed sympathetically. “There aren’t any more kits to play with.” She glanced around the camp. “Maybe you could practice stalking by yourself?”

  Crookedkit felt his tail droop. Didn’t anyone want him around?

  Brambleberry was watching him from outside the medicine den. “Do you want to help me sort herbs?” she called.

  “I’m going to be a warrior, not a medicine cat!” Crookedkit snapped. He turned and padded across the clearing. Oakpaw was trotting into camp, a wad of moss between his jaws.

  Shellheart hailed him. “Oakpaw, when you’ve delivered that, I’ll take you on a tour of the territory.”

  Crookedkit pricked his ears. “Can I come?” he called hopefully.

  Shellheart sighed. “One day.” He watched as Oakpaw raced up the slope, dropped the moss, and dashed back down. “Ready?”

  Oakpaw nodded. Crookedkit sat down and watched them disappear through the entrance tunnel.

  Rainflower was lying in the shade of the sedge wall, sharing fresh-kill with Lakeshine. She lifted her head and stared at Crookedkit. “I’m moving back to the warriors’ dens tonight.” She turned her fresh-kill with her paw. “Lakeshine’s letting me share her nest until I build my own.”

  You can’t! Crookedkit’s heart began to race. That meant he’d be alone in the nursery. His Clanmates would all be sharing tongues and snoring together while he lay on his own, like an outcast. Maybe Rainflower would stay if he did something to impress her. Maybe he could get her to love him again. He raced for the fallen tree and scrambled up the trunk. Claws stretched, he skittered along the jutting branch he’d climbed moons ago.

  “Look, Rainflower!” He reached the end and stretched up, legs trembling, heart pounding, tall enough that the whole Clan could see him—the bravest kit in the Clan. “Look at me!”

  Rainflower twitched her tail. “Get down before you fall!” she called wearily, and turned back to her meal. “And stop showing off. You’ll be an apprentice when you’re ready, not before.”

  Somewhere in the woods, a warbler shrieked. Crookedkit sat up in his nest. The Clan was asleep. Even through the walls of the nursery, he could hear snores and snuffles and the rustling of nests as his Clanmates stretched and rolled over. Crookedkit felt wide awake. His heart ached in his chest too fiercely to sleep. He trailed around
the empty den, breathing in the scents of Rainflower and Echomist.

  Perhaps the orange-and-white StarClan warrior would come now. He scanned the shadowy edges of the nursery, straining to see through the half-light. Was this loneliness part of the destiny she’d promised? StarClan is watching over you. He remembered Brambleberry’s words. This is part of a destiny only they understand, but you must believe that they are guiding all of us, and that they care about you just as much as any cat in RiverClan.

  If StarClan wouldn’t come to him, then he’d go to them. He’d visit the Moonstone where Brambleberry shared tongues with their ancestors. When he was in the medicine den, she’d described her journeys there. He just had to head upstream and get through WindClan territory without being spotted. After that Highstones would be easy to find. It was bigger than Sunningrocks. It makes Sunningrocks look like a pebble. That’s what Brambleberry had told him. Butterflies fluttered in his belly but he ignored them. He had to know whether this was part of his destiny. Padding to the nursery entrance, he peered out. The clearing was deserted, silvered by moonlight. Crookedkit slid out of the reed den and padded quietly across the clearing to the entrance tunnel.

  The sedge whispered around him as he headed out of camp.

  Chapter 6

  Gentle rain began to fall as Crookedkit followed the grassy path away from the camp. The river glittered beside him. I cross the river and head upstream to the moors. Then I—He frowned, trying to remember the rest of Brambleberry’s words. His paws pricked nervously. First, cross the river. He couldn’t swim yet, which left him just one option.

  The stepping-stones.

  He felt sick as he remembered his fall: smashing his face against the rock, the pain, the swirling current. Then he remembered the orange-and-white cat’s amber gaze burning through the green water. He had to make it to the Moonstone and talk to her. He had to find out if everything that had happened since the accident—Hailstar changing his name, being left in the nursery on his own—was part of his great destiny. How could it be? Nothing had been great. Everything had been terrible. But, if it was part of his destiny, he would bear it. He could bear anything to be truly great.

  Pushing through the bushes, he slithered down the bank onto the muddy shore. The river was shallow and sluggish, lightly dappled by raindrops. It looked harmless now, lapping at the stones, but Crookedkit knew its power. It had washed away his Clan’s home. It had nearly killed him.

  Ahead, the stepping-stones shone, wet with rain. An owl shrieked in the trees beyond Sunningrocks. Crookedkit sniffed the air, searching for fresh ThunderClan scent, but smelled only his Clanmates. Timberfur had passed this way recently, leading the dusk patrol home. Fallowtail must have been with him; the tang of her paw steps was still fresh on the grass.

  Crookedkit paused. Very fresh. Was she still here? Ducking, he scanned the shore and hoped his pale brown tabby pelt wouldn’t show in the dark; but he could not hide his scent, especially now that it was tinged with fear. Ears stretched, he listened, but heard nothing beyond the river’s murmuring and the soft patter of rain on leaves. Crookedkit took a deep breath and made a dash for the stepping-stones. Tensing, he leaped and landed, sure-pawed, on the first stone. The river flowed dizzyingly around him as he jumped to the next. He was definitely bigger than the last time he’d tried to cross the river. His paws gripped the stones more firmly, and they didn’t seem so far apart. He focused his gaze on the far shore and crossed the rest of the stones without hesitating, landing on the other side with a sigh of relief.

  Sunningrocks rose into the dark, drizzly sky. Clouds hid the moon and Crookedkit had to squint to see his paws on the sandy shore beneath him. His hackles lifted as he smelled ThunderClan scent drifting down from the new borderline. Was Hailstar ever going to fight for this land?

  Flexing his claws, Crookedkit headed upstream. He followed the shore, slinking into the bushes as he passed the RiverClan camp on the other side of the river. The path began to climb steadily. He was deep in ThunderClan territory now. Scent marked every bush, and he closed his mouth so the foul stench didn’t touch his tongue. His ears twitched. Beyond the soft gurgling of the river, he heard water thundering. He must be nearing the falls where Brambleberry collected coltsfoot. Crookedkit sniffed, tasting the zest of it in the air and the stone tang of splashing water beyond.

  The path grew steeper, climbing beside the river, the shore now a rising cliff that grew higher and higher with every paw step. Crookedkit peered over the edge. Far below him, the river rushed past, swirling in the moonlight through a deep rocky channel. The thundering water grew louder, echoing from the rock and, as Crookedkit rounded a corner, he saw the falls for the first time. Higher than any tree, throwing droplets up toward the moon, the river plunged straight down where the land fell away, hurtling into the deep gorge.

  Crookedkit stiffened, suddenly aware of how narrow the path had grown. Sheer rock rose on one side and plummeted down on the other. He flinched away from the precipice, grazing his pelt on the cliff face, and flattened his ears against the roar of water as he pressed on. The graveled path scratched his paws and wind whipped rain across his muzzle. It smelled peaty and rich with the scent of pollen.

  As he reached the top of the falls, the roar of water faded. The path flattened and the river flowed smoothly once more, brimming to the shore. Crookedkit gazed across the swath of land that stretched out beside him. It rose toward the moors and beyond that he could see distant cliffs. Highstones? He’d heard warriors and elders talk about the jagged rocky peaks, and he knew that was where the Moonstone lay.

  A new scent hit his nose. ThunderClan markers had been replaced by a different stench. A new smell. This must be WindClan territory. Then I cross WindClan’s moor. Brambleberry’s words rushed back to him. His heart quickened as he turned his paws away from the river and headed upslope into the moorland. The soft bushes gave way to prickly heather and gorse. Crookedkit weaved among their stems, thankful for the cover. Ears pricked and mouth open, alert for WindClan patrols, he padded on.

  A familiar scent stopped him in his tracks.

  RiverClan?

  He sniffed again, unable to put a cat’s name to the scent through the strong smell of heather. But it was definitely RiverClan. Had Hailstar sent a patrol to find him? That seemed unlikely. He’d been alone in the nursery. Who would even know he was missing yet? He frowned and kept going.

  At the top of the slope, a small pile of rocks jutted from the heather. Crookedkit scrambled onto the lowest rock and looked at the stones above him. If he could get higher he might be able to see Highstones. He glanced up at the sky, wishing the clouds would clear. He wanted to see Silverpelt and know that StarClan was near. Rain spattered his nose. Screwing up his eyes, he reached up the rock, feeling for cracks to curl his claws into. Finding one, he hauled himself up and scrabbled onto the next boulder. He was above the heather now. It stretched out ahead of him, and in the distant darkness he could just make out the jagged shape of Highstones.

  A warm wind tugged his wet pelt. He tasted the air. The RiverClan scent hit his tongue again, clearer now. He could recognize it now.

  Fallowtail!

  A mew sounded on the breeze. Crookedkit scrabbled up onto the summit of the outcrop and crouched at the top.

  “Did you hear something?”

  A deep mew sounded below. Clinging to the wet stone with outstretched claws, Crookedkit crept forward and peered over the edge. Two pelts gleamed in the heather below. Crookedkit gasped. Grit showered from beneath his claws.

  Fallowtail’s light brown pelt glowed in the half-light. A tabby tom stood with her. Crookedkit shot backward and pressed his belly against the rock.

  “Is someone up there?” Fallowtail’s mew sounded frightened.

  “I’ll look,” the tom growled.

  Crookedkit froze. The stench wafting up alongside Fallowtail’s fear-scent smelled like the markers he’d passed at the border. WindClan! As claws scraped rock, Crookedkit slithered t
ail-first over the edge of the boulder. He landed clumsily on the ledge below and pressed himself into the shadow, thankful he was small enough to hide in the shallow crevice where the boulders met. Drawing his tail close, he waited, trembling.

  “I can’t see anything,” a voice called above him.

  “Let me look.”

  Crookedkit heard another pelt brush stone.

  “I can smell RiverClan!” Fallowtail gasped.

  “But no one’s here,” the tom soothed. “There’s nowhere for a warrior to hide.”

  “I smell RiverClan!” Fallowtail’s breathing quickened. “Some cat must have followed me. Let’s go.”

  Crookedkit pressed himself harder into the crack as Fallowtail and the other cat slid down past him. Paws damp with fear, he stared from his hiding place as the warriors slipped into the heather and bounded away across the moor. When his breathing had slowed, he crept out of the crevice and slithered down the rock. He padded around the outcrop, skirting the trail of mixed WindClan and RiverClan scent, and pressed on toward Highstones.

  His mind whirled as he followed a track through the gorse, ears pricked and pelt bristling. What was Fallowtail doing here? Had Hailstar sent her on a secret mission? But why was she with a WindClan tom? Was he helping her? Why would any warrior betray his Clan like that?

  The rain eased and the clouds drifted away until the moon was a claw-scratch of silver against a crow-black sky. Crookedkit crested a short, steep rise that stood like an island in the vast sea of heather. Highstones towered in the distance, more sharply etched against the sky but no closer than they had been before. Crookedkit gazed in dismay at the wide space between the moorland and the Moonstone. It was broken by hedges and stretches of meadow and dark shapes he guessed must be Twoleg nests.

  How would he ever travel that far? His belly growled. If only he knew how to hunt! It couldn’t be that hard. Echomist was always complaining about kittypets hunting on the edges of their territory. If a kittypet could do it, then so could he. And imagine Rainflower’s face when he told her he’d traveled to the Moonstone and back! He tasted the air, hoping to scent prey, but smelled nothing more than heather and WindClan stink. Sighing, he padded down the rise. At least the edge of the moor was close. He could see where it tipped down toward the meadows beyond. He’d be out of WindClan territory by moonhigh.