Crookedstar’s Promise

Chapter 19

A night heron called from the far bank, its wings pulsing as it lifted into the air. Crookedjaw saw the flash of its belly as it flew over the reed bed and disappeared upstream. He’d been listening to the bird fishing—the plop as it dived, the splash as it dragged a fish struggling from the river. He tucked his tail tighter over his paws and gazed around the camp. Sitting vigil on his first night as a warrior, Crookedjaw felt the weight of responsibility for his sleeping Clanmates. He glanced up at Silverpelt. Thank you for helping me to become a warrior. Thank you for helping me to keep my Clan safe.

“Crookedjaw.”

Crookedjaw twisted his head. “Who’s that?”

A pale shape twined around him. He barely felt the wraith-like pelt as it brushed his. “Have you forgotten me so quickly?”

“Mapleshade!” Crookedjaw blinked in surprise. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come and train,” she growled. “But if you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you.”

“I can’t train tonight! I’m sitting vigil.”

“Do you think you’ve learned all there is to learn?”

“No! I’m sitting vigil!” The fur ruffled along his spine. He was a warrior now. Just like Mapleshade. She had to respect that. She couldn’t boss him around like an apprentice anymore. “I can’t talk now,” he whispered. “I’ll visit you when I can.”

Suddenly he was alone. He glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure, then shifted his weight and went on with his vigil.

Crookedjaw was shivering by the time dawn began pushing back the darkness. The apprentices’ den rustled and Willowpaw slipped out. She crossed the misty clearing and sat beside Crookedjaw. “You’re cold.” She pressed against him, warm and soft from sleep. Crookedjaw felt his eyes begin to close.

“Hey!” Willowpaw poked him. “The Clan will be waking any moment.”

Crookedjaw snapped awake, his heart lurching. He pulled away from Willowpaw. He needed the fresh dawn chill to keep him alert.

“Hi, Crookedjaw!” Whitefang padded from his den with Oakheart on his tail. “How was the vigil?”

“Long!” Crookedjaw stood up, shaking each numb paw in turn. “And chilly.”

“You should try doing it in leaf-bare,” Oakheart joked.

Hailstar padded from his den. “How’s our newest warrior?” he called.

“Ready for patrol!” Crookedjaw stretched his stiff muscles.

Shellheart ducked out of his den. “Owlfur! Brightsky! Are you ready?”

Willowpaw flicked her tail. “Oh, I’d forgotten!” She circled Crookedjaw excitedly. “We’re going on dawn patrol! Then Owlfur’s going to show me a new move and we’re going to try a mock battle.” She darted to the apprentices’ den, calling for Graypaw. “Wake up! We’re leaving!”

Graypaw stuck her head out of the den and yawned. “Already?”

Willowpaw rolled her eyes. “It’s called the dawn patrol for a reason.” She led a sleepy Graypaw to where Brightsky was stretching beside Shellheart. Owlfur was picking through the remains of the fresh-kill pile.

“Take something to Lakeshine,” Shellheart ordered. “She’ll be hungry.”

“And thirsty.” Brambleberry padded from her den. She signaled to Echomist, who’d followed Hailstar out of the leader’s den. “Will you sit with the kits while she goes for a drink?”

Echomist purred. “I’d love to.”

“Come on, Graypaw!” Brightsky called to her apprentice, who was lapping water at the edge of the river. “Those borders won’t mark themselves.” Shellheart was already leading Owlfur and Willowpaw out of camp. Graypaw scampered across the clearing and caught up with her mentor as she ducked out of the tunnel.

Crookedjaw felt a tug of disappointment as he watched the apprentices leave, but suddenly excitement thrilled through him. He didn’t have to train! He was a warrior now. He glanced at the space where the fresh-kill pile should be. He’d hunt. By the end of the day the fresh-kill pile would be heaped with fish.

“Good catch, Crookedjaw!” Shimmerpelt called across the clearing, her mouth full. The setting sun made her pelt glow as she leaned down for another bite of the fat trout glistening at her paws.

Shellheart purred. “I don’t know if he left any fish in the river for tomorrow!” The RiverClan deputy sat with Timberfur and Whitefang, sharing a pike. Crookedjaw glanced proudly at the fresh-kill pile. He’d caught nearly every fish there.

Brightsky rolled on to her back. “The rest of us might as well move to the elders’ den, now that Crookedjaw’s a warrior,” she teased.

Crookedjaw stretched, his muscles aching from hunting. “Newleaf fishing is fun.”

Willowpaw nudged him. “Even without me?” she whispered.

“It’s better,” he teased. “You steal all the best fish.”

“You snake-heart!” She pushed him with her head and he fell back, pretending to be beaten.

“No more, please!”

“That’s just the start!” She leaped on him and they tumbled across the mossy ground. Willowpaw’s claws tickled his ribs.

“Hey!” he yelped, squirming. “That’s not fair!”

She paused. “Really?” She blinked down at him innocently, then tickled him again. “You should have thought of that before you started teasing me!”

Birdsong padded down the slope toward the fresh-kill pile. She glanced at the two young cats, her whiskers twitching. “They start younger every year.” She began to rummage through the fish, pulling a plump gray perch from the bottom. “Tanglewhisker!” She called up to the elders’ den. “Are you coming or are you going to spend the evening pulling ticks?” She shook her head, muttering half to herself, “He can’t even reach most of them.”

Willowpaw leaped to her paws. “I’ll help him.” She nuzzled Crookedjaw’s ear and headed up the slope.

Crookedjaw straightened and yawned. The sun had disappeared behind the willow, and the camp was turning blue in the twilight.

“Your nest is ready.” Oakheart nodded toward his den. “It’s the one with fresh moss.”

“Thanks.” Crookedjaw was looking forward to a good night’s sleep. He padded to his den and ducked inside. The cocoon of woven reeds rested against the crumbling bark of the fallen tree. It was just big enough for three nests. Crookedjaw could tell by sniffing which was Whitefang’s and which was Oakheart’s. He padded past them and climbed into his own, grateful for the soft, clean moss that lined the carefully threaded reeds. Oakheart must have been working on this for ages. Crookedjaw felt a jolt of affection for his brother; Oakheart had never lost faith in him. A purr rumbled in his throat as he curled down into his nest and closed his eyes.

“Wake up!” A snarl wrenched him from sleep.

Crookedjaw leaped to his paws. He was in the shadowy forest.

Mapleshade’s eyes blazed in the gloom. “Have you forgotten your promise?”

Crookedjaw, still half asleep, stared at her. “What?”

“Your promise!”

“Is this because I didn’t come training last night?” He struggled against the tiredness fogging his thoughts.

“No, you mouse-brain! I heard you talking to Willowpaw. I’ve seen you, acting like mates-for-life. What did I ask you to do?”

“To look after my Clan?” Crookedjaw backed away. Mapleshade’s breath was rank.

She lunged for him, swiping his twisted jaw so viciously that he staggered, pain shooting through his face. “I asked you to put your Clan before everything!” She stood over him as he crouched down, stiff with shock. “That includes any feelings you might have for that pathetic ball of fur you’ve been mooning over!”

He stared up at her. “Do you mean Willowpaw?”

“You want to be a great warrior, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Crookedjaw could scent rage pulsing from her, hot and sharp.

“Then forget about love and friendship and what you want, you selfish mouse-brain, and put your Clan first like you promised!”

“I have put my Clan first.” Anger surged beneath his pelt. “Don’t tell me that I haven’t!” He squared up against her. Mapleshade stared back as vicious as a fox. Why was she suddenly so mean? StarClan cats weren’t supposed to be mean! Crookedjaw had become a warrior. She should be proud. Confused, he turned and fled.

Swerving between the dark trees, he raced through the tangled, slippery undergrowth. Mist swirled around him and he slipped and staggered as he ran, fighting to keep his balance as trunks loomed from the fog, and the undergrowth seemed to grab for his paws. Heart pounding, he slowed. He was tired and he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to be back in his nest. He stumbled to a halt, hanging his head as he caught his breath.

“You’re back.”

The croaking mew made him jump. Crookedjaw squinted and made out a shape in the shadows up ahead. It shambled toward him and he recognized the pelt. “Goosefeather?” The ThunderClan medicine cat was here again. He must share his dreams with StarClan a lot.

Goosefeather dipped his head. “Mapleshade’s apprentice.” He padded closer and sniffed Crookedjaw’s pelt. “I’ve been hearing rumors about you.”

Crookedjaw backed away. “From who?”

“Don’t forget I share with StarClan.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Crookedjaw’s paws pricked. Were the old cat’s whiskers twitching?

“I suppose you could say that.”

What did he mean? “What does StarClan say about me?”

Goosefeather circled Crookedjaw slowly. “That you could be a great warrior.”

Crookedjaw sensed the old tom’s gaze flicking over his pelt. “Really?” He brightened.

“Don’t take any notice of that old fool.” Mapleshade’s mew made him turn. She’d caught up to him. She must have run fast, yet she looked as cool as ever and her breath was slow and steady.

Goosefeather glanced at her, amusement lighting his gaze. “I may be an old fool,” he rasped. “But at least my heart is true.” He padded past Crookedjaw and stopped in front of Mapleshade. “My heart isn’t soured by bitterness or guided by revenge.”

Crookedjaw padded closer. “What do you mean?”

Goosefeather ignored him. “You should tread the path you’re following with care, Mapleshade. A destiny shouldn’t be played with like prey.”

Mapleshade barged past the old ThunderClan medicine cat. “Ignore him, Crookedjaw. His mind has been addled by too many visions.”

Crookedjaw met her gaze. “At least he speaks to me like an equal,” he challenged.

Mapleshade broke into a purr. “You’re not upset because I reminded you of your promise, are you?” She pressed against him, guiding him forward, away from Goosefeather. “Maybe I was a little harsh, but I was frightened that you were forgetting your destiny. I want you to be the greatest warrior RiverClan has ever known—the greatest any Clan will ever know. Willowpaw is a sweet, pretty cat and I’m not surprised you’re fond of her. But the sweetest traps are often the most dangerous. She will soften you and sway you from your course.” She halted. “You do still want to be a great warrior, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Crookedjaw cried.

“Very good.” Mapleshade stopped him with a flick of her tail. “That is all I ask.” She padded on into the mist, her voice trailing after her. “Everything I do, Crookedjaw, I do with your best interests at heart.”