Crookedstar’s Promise

Chapter 8

The forest loomed, dark and eerie, around Crookedkit. He shivered as the damp air seeped into his pelt.

“You’ve been away from your Clan for a moon!” Mapleshade glared at him, a whisker away from his muzzle, and lashed her tail.

Crookedkit met her stare. “Do you really think they’ve missed me?” Fog weaved around his paws. “Don’t you think they were glad to get rid of such a useless warrior?”

“You’re not useless!”

“I know that!” Crookedkit hunted on the farm every day and helped look after Mitzi’s kits. Fleck didn’t care that he didn’t have his apprentice name yet. He had taught Crookedkit how to stalk and catch mice, how to let the kits play fight without hurting themselves, how to watch out for monsters that didn’t keep to Thunderpaths but stormed over grass and mud faster than a cat could run. Crookedkit knew for sure that he wasn’t useless. “But I don’t know if my Clanmates would agree.”

Mapleshade’s eyes blazed. “Then prove yourself to them!”

“Why should I?” Crookedkit hissed. “They stopped believing in me!”

“Every warrior must prove himself,” Mapleshade argued. “You must go home! Your destiny lies with your Clan.”

Crookedkit heard pleading in her mew. “I’ll go back when I’m big enough and strong enough to become an apprentice.”

“You’re big enough already!” Mapleshade pressed. “You’ve eaten so many mice you’ve probably forgotten what fish tastes like.”

Crookedkit licked his lips, remembering the taste of the river with a pang. Then he dug his claws into the brown earth. He liked living on the farm. He liked being needed. He liked how Magpie and Mist looked up to him. And what if Mapleshade was wrong? His great destiny might lie here. “What if my Clanmates never see past my twisted jaw?” he whispered. “What if Hailstar never makes me an apprentice?”

“If you stay away much longer, he won’t,” Mapleshade growled. “You’ll be called a loner.”

Crookedkit flattened his ears. “I’m a RiverClan cat.”

“Then go home and prove it.” Her amber gaze held his while the forest faded around them. Then Mapleshade blinked and Crookedkit woke up.

He scrambled to his paws, relishing the warm morning sunshine streaming into the barn. “I smell mice.” He nudged Fleck.

“Just you wait.” Fleck stirred beside him. “It’s harvesttime soon.” He yawned. “Then you’ll really see the mice run.”

Crookedkit licked his lips. “I found a new mouse nest yesterday.”

Fleck sat up. “Where?”

Crookedkit bounded out of his straw nest and trotted across the stone floor. “I’ll show you.” He wanted to stop Mapleshade’s words from ringing in his ears. He wasn’t a loner. He was a RiverClan cat. And once he was big enough for his Clanmates to take him seriously, he’d go home and prove it.

“Slow down!” Fleck lapped at his rumpled fur.

“Come on!” Crookedkit paused, swishing his tail. “I want to show you before the monsters wake up.”

Puffing, Fleck hurried after him, then stopped suddenly and twisted to nibble at an itch on his spine. “I haven’t had a chance to pick my fleas out yet.”

“You can do that later.” Crookedkit jumped through the opening, screwing up his eyes against the dazzling light. The sun blazed above the distant hills. The farm monsters lay still in their dens. Crookedkit scooted across the open space and followed the wall.

“Hurry up!” he called as Fleck appeared around the corner. Grass clung to the bottom of the wall. Crookedkit followed the clumps till he reached a green tuft, thick with nettles. His mouth began to water as he parted the stems with his forepaws. Behind, a tiny hole was just visible under a jutting-out stone. “In there,” he whispered to Fleck.

Fleck peered over his shoulder. “It’s a waiting hole. You’ll have to let the mouse come out first.”

“We can dig underneath.”

Fleck shook his head. “I’ve tried. The stones go down a tail-length. You won’t dig your way past them.”

Crookedkit let the nettles swish back into place. “I’ll wait, then.”

Fleck’s whiskers quivered. “You? Wait?”

“What?” Crookedkit cocked his head. “I can wait.”

Fleck shook his head. “You may have grown this past moon, but you’re still as impatient as a kit.”

Crookedkit sniffed. “I’ll show you!” He crouched beside the nettles and curled his tail beside him.

Fleck’s eyes glowed. “While you’re busy waiting,” he meowed, “I’ll go and see what I can catch behind the wood store.”

Crookedkit shifted his paws as Fleck padded away and disappeared around the corner. I can wait! Crookedkit flicked his tail. He stared at the nettles, ears pricked, whiskers stiff, ready to detect any movement. Nothing stirred.

I can wait a moon if I have to.

He curled and uncurled his claws. Then he opened his mouth and tasted for mouse scent. Nothing.

They’ll be out before long.

An itch made his tail quiver. Crookedkit stared at the nettles. The itch grew stronger till it was unbearable. He twisted and nibbled at it, relived when it stopped.

Perhaps the hole’s empty, he thought. It’s dumb to waste my time waiting for nothing when I could be doing some proper hunting. He stared at the corner where Fleck had disappeared. The wood store was probably alive with mice. Fleck would need help. Crookedkit glanced at the nettles. I’ll come back later, he told himself, when the mice are awake. Chin high, he trotted back along the wall, around the corner, and across the open space.

“That didn’t take you long,” Fleck commented as Crookedkit reached the wood store. “Did you catch many?” The ginger tom was crouching at the bottom of a stack of chopped wood, staring at a gap between logs.

“They’d all gone,” Crookedkit told him.

Fleck didn’t move his gaze. “You can help me then.” He shuffled closer to the gap. “I can hear them, I just can’t see them.”

Crookedkit peered into the darkness, then glanced up at the top of the woodpile. “I’ve got an idea.” He leaped up, clearing two tail-lengths in one bound, and clung on to the logs. They shifted beneath his weight and he heard a squeak below. Scrabbling higher, he clawed his way to the top, then looked down.

Fleck had caught a mouse and laid it behind him. “Can you shift them again?” he called. “It looks like you’re scaring them out.”

Crookedkit jumped across the long stretch of logs. He landed as heavily as he could and heard the wood creak beneath him. Another mouse shot out from the bottom and Fleck caught it with a swift paw. Crookedkit pricked his ears. Tiny paws scrabbled behind the logs. He focused on the sound. Then, in one swift movement, he pressed his belly to the wood and reached down behind the pile. His outstretched claws felt warm as he hooked a mouse from the shadows and killed it expertly with a quick nip from his back teeth.

“Got one!” he called down to Fleck. “Should we take it to Mitzi? I bet she’s hungry.”

“She will be.” Fleck lined up his catch. “And the kits’ll be restless.” They were growing fast and exploring farther from the nest every day.

“I’ll take them on an expedition to the ditch if Mitzi says it’s okay.” Crookedkit picked up his catch and jumped down from the woodpile.

Fleck was watching him. “Don’t you miss your own kin?” he asked softly.

“Of course.” Crookedkit dropped his mouse and met Fleck’s gaze. “But they don’t need me like Mitzi and the kits do.”

“I can take care of—”

Crookedkit grabbed his mouse and ran out of the wood store before Fleck had finished. Fleck caught up as Crookedkit was squeezing through the gap in the wall. Crookedkit glanced at him anxiously. Was the farm cat going to tell him he wasn’t needed here anymore?

Fleck’s catch swung by their tails from his mouth. He gazed at the distant meadows. “Fine day,” was all he said. The tails muffled his mew.

Crookedkit felt weak with relief. I am needed.

Sunshine glared on the farm track as they headed toward the cornfield. The crest of the hill cut into blue, cloudless sky. The hedgerows spilled over the verges, blousy with fading lushness, while the corn looked dull, its golden sheen dusty. Crookedkit’s ears twitched. A strange noise stirred the hot air. He dropped his mouse and stared down the track. “What’s that noise?”

Rumbling sounded in the distance.

Fleck halted, nose twitching. “Smells like a farm monster is working already.”

“But all the monsters are in their dens.”

Fleck dropped his mice. “Harvest!” Panic edged his mew. Pelt spiking, he raced away.

Crookedkit stared in surprise at Fleck’s abandoned fresh-kill. “What’s harvest?” he called. His pads pricked nervously as he smelled fear-scent in Fleck’s wake.

“They’re cutting the corn!” Fleck yowled back.

Horror gripped Crookedkit. He shot after his friend, grit cracking beneath his paws.

Fleck stopped abruptly at the edge of the field. Crookedkit skidded to a halt beside the bristling tom and stared, eyes wide, at the cornfield. A huge scarlet monster was trawling through the corn, sucking up the golden stems and spewing lumps from its hindquarters. Shorn stumps lay in swaths behind it.

“Mitzi!” Fleck’s mew was filled with terror.

“The kits!” Crookedkit charged forward, pelting down the path and clearing the ditch in one leap. He shot through the hedge with Fleck on his tail and charged into the corn. The monster rumbled toward them, heading straight for Mitzi’s nest. Crookedkit heard mewling as he neared the hollow. He burst into the small clearing. Mitzi stood, eyes wild, Piper dangling from her jaws. Crookedkit looked in the nest.

Magpie sat in the middle, wailing. “The monster’s coming!”

Fleck exploded from the corn. “Where are the others?”

Mitzi tucked Piper between her forepaws. “I’ve taken Mist to the ditch,” she told them. “Soot ran into the corn.” Her green eyes glittered with terror.

“I’ll find her.” Crookedkit glanced at the rumbling monster. He could see its bloodred head advancing over the corn.

“I’ll take Magpie.” Fleck leaned into the nest and plucked out the mewling kit.

“Which way did Soot go?” Crookedkit demanded.

“I didn’t see!” Mitzi gasped.

Magpie stabbed his paw toward the corn. “That way!”

Crookedpaw dived among the stems, nose twitching. He sneezed as dust filled his nostrils. The stench of the monster swirled around him, its rumble now a roar as it pounded down the field.

“Soot!” he yowled. He pricked his ears, then flattened them as the roaring of the monster blasted his fur. Opening his mouth, he tasted the air. A faint fragrance of Soot lingered. He hesitated a moment, then plunged deeper into the corn. With a rush of hope he spotted a tiny track through the stems. He followed, heart pounding. It was leading straight toward the monster.

Soot’s scent was stronger now, laced with fear. Crookedkit weaved onward, following the bent corn stems. The monster was howling so loudly, Crookedkit could only feel the blood roaring in his ears. He glanced up, gasping, as he saw the great red body barely a tree-length from him. Gigantic claws swirled at its chest, tearing up the corn and scooping it into its gaping mouth.

“Help!” Soot’s squeal shrilled against the roar. The kit’s black fur was just visible through the golden corn. She was three tail-lengths away, the monster bearing down on her with a roar.

Breathing fast, pelt bushed up, Crookedkit leaped into the air. Landing beside Soot, he grabbed her scruff and pelted onward through the corn. The stalks whipped his face. He tasted his own blood as it welled on his muzzle. Pain jarred his jaw as he clasped hard on to Soot. He fought panic as he heard the monster’s claws whirring at his ear. He leaped again, Soot pressing against his chest as he flung himself clear of the monster’s path. Tumbling to a halt, he felt its wind tug his fur and the ground shook beneath them as it passed.

He lay trembling a moment before he let go of Soot. She crouched quivering beside him. As the monster rumbled away, paw steps crunched the bitten stalks.

“Are you okay?” Fleck ducked down beside them. The farm cat’s eyes were wide.

“Yeah,” Crookedkit panted. “Let’s get her to the ditch before the monster comes back.”

Fleck picked up Soot and waited for Crookedkit to stagger to his paws. “Did it hurt you?”

Crookedkit licked the blood from his nose. “Didn’t touch us,” he breathed.

Soot wriggled in Fleck’s jaws. “Crookedkit saved me!” she squeaked.

Crookedkit frowned at her. “Next time, stay with your mother.” He followed Fleck back across the path the monster had cut and through the corn to the edge of the field. Squeezing underneath the hedge, he padded trembling out the other side and saw Mitzi huddling her kits close to her. A purr shook her as she saw Soot in Fleck’s jaws.

The farm cat placed the kit at her mother’s paws. “Crookedkit reached her just in time.”

Mitzi stared at him, eyes glowing. “You saved my kit,” she whispered.

Crookedkit was shaking too hard to reply.

“You really are a warrior.” Mitzi leaned forward and licked the blood from his muzzle.

“You could’ve been killed,” Fleck grunted.

Crookedkit glanced over his shoulder at the monster still prowling across the cornfield. What if something like that threatened his Clan? “I need to go home,” he murmured.

“But you’re safe now,” Fleck reassured him. “The monster won’t come on this side of the hedge.”

“I’m not running away.” Crookedkit swallowed. “I’ve finished running away.” He knew he had to go back and become a warrior. This life wasn’t his destiny. It couldn’t be. He was glad he’d saved Soot. But that was just the beginning. He was destined to be great—not a great farm cat but a great warrior. Maybe the greatest warrior ever. He didn’t care if his Clan thought he was too small or too ugly. He would make them see that his heart was still as brave as any of them. And as loyal. He dipped his head.

“I’ll never forget you,” he promised. He was finding it difficult to swallow, especially with Soot, Mist, Magpie, and Piper gazing at him with enormous eyes. “I wish I could stay forever, but I don’t belong here.” He could see Fleck and Mitzi struggling to understand. “I’m a Clan cat,” he whispered. “I have to go home.”