Crookedstar’s Promise

Chapter 27

“Mapleshade!”

Dreaming, Crookedjaw raced through the forest. Dark earth sprayed behind him as he barged through the tangled undergrowth.

“Mapleshade?”

Where is she? He had so much to ask her. Questions that had been churning in his belly for days, nagging and nagging till he had to have answers. Why had she put Willowbreeze’s life at risk? Why had she clawed him for saving a Clanmate? What about his destiny? When was he going to get his first apprentice? How long till he became deputy? Would he follow Hailstar? Or Shellheart?

Shellheart?

Crookedjaw stumbled to a halt. Who, if he became leader, would have to die over and over before Crookedjaw took his place? Crookedjaw felt sick. It was bad enough waiting for Hailstar to lose his last life. He didn’t want to count off his own father’s deaths while he waited for his destiny to come true.

“Higher!”

A sharp growl sliced through the mist.

“Faster! Do you want to die at the paws of a common warrior?”

Crookedjaw heard a grunt and the thud of hard muscle hitting earth. Did Mapleshade have another pupil? He crept forward, ears pricked. Ducking behind a thornbush, he saw two shapes moving in a narrow clearing. As the mist swirled away, two pelts showed: one ragged, one sleek.

The ragged mentor wasn’t Mapleshade. It was a cat he’d never seen before. But who was the sleek tom? Crookedjaw searched his memory. There was something familiar in the wide, muscled shoulders and the dark tabby pelt.

“Do it again!” the ragged cat snarled. “Do it better!”

The sleek tom took a short run up and leaped, higher than Crookedjaw had seen any cat jump. With a flick of his tail, he twisted in the air, kicking out his hind legs, claws splayed while he punched the air with his forepaw. He hit the ground with a thump, landing on his side. Crookedjaw felt the jolt, gasping as though the breath had been knocked from him instead of from the tom.

The ragged cat was on his apprentice in an instant, battering his head with a flurry of swipes. Crookedjaw flinched as blood sprayed from the torn fur. The tom struggled free and met his mentor’s blows with vicious, slicing jabs.

The ragged cat ducked away. “That was better!”

Blood welled on both cats’ muzzles and, as Crookedjaw peered closer, he could see the tom’s pelt was laced with slash marks.

“Let me try it again, Shredtail,” the tom growled.

Again? Crookedjaw swallowed. He thought his training sessions with Mapleshade had been brutal, but they were never this violent. These cats acted as though shedding blood meant nothing.

In a flash, Crookedjaw recognized him. Thistleclaw! He’d seen the ThunderClan warrior at Gatherings.

Thistleclaw took another run up, leaping once more and twisting. This time he finished the move before landing on his paws. Yowling with triumph, he reared and slashed the air. “This is it!” He faced his mentor. “My time is coming.”

Shredtail nodded. “You’ve worked hard for it, Thistleclaw.”

“And I’m going to get it. I’ll be deputy before the next full moon.”

“Are you sure Sunstar won’t soften and choose Bluefur instead?” Shredtail snarled.

Thistleclaw narrowed his eyes. “He’d be a fool if he did,” he growled. “Bluefur is weak. I bet she’s whimpering for Snowfur right now.”

“Grief can bring strength,” Shredtail warned.

“But Snowfur’s body is hardly cold,” Thistleclaw pointed out. “Bluefur will be breaking her heart for moons. Which will give me a chance to make Sunstar see that I’m the only one capable of following him.”

“Snowfur was your mate.” Shredtail narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you grieving, too?”

“Of course!” Thistleclaw slashed at a moss-coated tree. “Snowfur shouldn’t have died! It should’ve been Bluefur on the Thunderpath instead!”

“What about your kit?” Shredtail pressed. “Your son?”

Thistleclaw curled his lip. “He takes after his mother,” he spat. “There’s no fire in his belly, no hunger for battle.” He swung his gaze around to his mentor. “Why are we talking?” he snarled. “I came to train, not to talk.” Rearing up, he strode forward on his hind paws, slicing the air with his tail tucked in tight.

Crookedjaw backed away, cold to his bones. He’d never seen a hunger for blood like this, not in the battle for Sunningrocks, not even when Hailstar nearly killed Reedfeather. He turned and ran, scanning the trees as they flashed by, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mapleshade. He skimmed bushes and swerved around trees, running faster and faster, praying he found her.

“Crookedjaw!” Paws shook him awake.

“What?” He lifted his head.

Willowbreeze sat beside him, her pelt still ruffled by sleep. “You kicked me!” she mewed. “Were you having a bad dream?”

“Kind of.” He stretched in his nest. The small den they had woven into the crook of the tree was warm and cozy.

Willowbreeze leaned down and touched her muzzle to his. “Well, you’re awake now.” She padded out of the den and Crookedjaw sat up. Why couldn’t he find Mapleshade? He flexed his claws. Had something happened to her? This was StarClan! Cats lived forever there, didn’t they? He ducked out of the den, looking around the clearing, relieved when he saw Oakheart picking sleepily through the frosty remains of the fresh-kill pie. Poor Bluefur. Losing a littermate must be heartbreaking.

Shellheart was beneath the willow, organizing the day’s patrols. Cedarpelt, Timberfur, Mudfur, and Petaldust crowded around him. Beetlenose was washing, but his ears pricked when he heard his name. Voleclaw was staring wistfully at the fresh-kill pile while Rippleclaw murmured in Graypool’s ear.

Crookedjaw called across the clearing. “Can I hunt this morning?” His breath billowed in the air. He wondered if there’d be ice on the river.

Shellheart nodded. “Take Mudfur and Petaldust.” He waved the two warriors toward Crookedjaw with a flick of his tail.

“Can Oakheart come, too?” Crookedjaw asked.

Oakheart looked up. “Come where?”

“Hunting.”

“Great!” Oakheart picked up a fish and headed for the nursery. “I’ll just deliver this.”

Willowbreeze ducked out of the elders’ den and padded down the slope. Her paws suddenly slid on the frost and she skidded clumsily to the bottom. “The kits will be happy.” She joined Crookedjaw. “They’ve got an ice slide to play on.”

“Ice?” Frogkit was already tearing across the clearing. He bounded up the slope, then half-ran, half-slid down it, squealing with delight.

Crookedjaw purred at Willowbreeze. “I’m taking Oakheart, Petaldust, and Mudfur hunting,” he told her. “Do you want to come?”

She shook her head. “I promised Birdsong I’d help her find moss for her nest. She nearly froze last night.”

“Come on, Crookedjaw!” Mudfur was pacing the entrance in a cloud of his own breath.

“See you later.” Crookedjaw brushed muzzles with Willowbreeze and hurried after Petaldust and Oakheart as they made for the gap in the reeds. Outside camp, the air was even colder.

“I hope this is just a snap,” Petaldust sighed. “It’s still leaf-fall.”

They passed the stepping-stones and followed the shore downstream, past the alder grove and along the bank where ferns and hawthorns grew right up to the water’s edge. Splashing through the shallows, Crookedjaw led the way to a rocky outcrop that jutted out into the river. The rocks smoothed into a flat stretch of stone only a whisker higher than the water.

Crookedjaw sat close to the edge and peered down into the river as it swirled past. Deep and clear, he could see through the brown water right down to the weed streaming on the riverbed. A fish slid past, too deep to reach, but he waited and another followed soon after, closer to the surface. Excitement flashed in his belly as he darted a paw into the water, gasping at the chill. He hooked out the fish and flicked it on to the stone. With a quick lunge he gave it a killing bite and turned back for another, anticipation tingling in his paws.

“Nice catch.” Oakheart crouched beside him, ready for his own. He stared at the water speeding below his nose, muscles bunched in anticipation. Then, with a mew of satisfaction, he plunged in a lightning-fast paw and snatched out a trout.

Mudfur leaned over the water. “I want to catch a carp for Leopardkit,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the water. “It’s her favorite.”

Petaldust plunged in both her front paws. Crookedjaw turned in time to see her lift a struggling pike from the water. It was a tail-length long and thrashing wildly. He sprang over to help but as he grasped the fish, Petaldust lost her balance. With a yelp of surprise she tumbled into the water. As she bobbed, gasping, to the surface, the pike struggled in Crookedjaw’s paws. He pinned it to the stone and killed it with a bite.

Petaldust swam for shore. Padding on to the bank, she shook out her dripping pelt. “Did you get it?” she called.

“It’s fresh-kill now,” Crookedjaw assured her.

Oakheart’s whiskers twitched. “I didn’t know you wanted a swim,” he teased.

Petaldust paced the shore, trying to get warm. “I didn’t realize it was so big!”

Mudfur gave a triumphant mew as he fished a carp from the water.

“Let’s take these back to camp,” Crookedjaw suggested. “Then we can come and catch more.”

Petaldust stared across the river into ThunderClan’s forest. “I wonder why they never catch fish like us?”

Mudfur shrugged. “They’re scared of water. They’d drown if they fell in.”

Oakheart tasted the air. “No fresh markers on their border.” He leaned forward. “I wonder where they are today? There’s usually a warrior or two yowling at us while we’re fishing.”

Crookedjaw’s dream flashed back to him. “They’re probably mourning Snowfur.”

Oakheart snapped his head around, eyes glittering. “What?”

Crookedjaw shrank beneath his pelt. Fish-brain! How am I going to explain this?

“Are you sure?” Petaldust blinked.

Crookedjaw’s thoughts whirled.

Mudfur sniffed his carp absently. “Who told you?”

“I—I heard a border patrol the other day when I was guarding Sunningrocks,” Crookedjaw stammered.

Oakheart tipped his head. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

Crookedjaw glanced at Mudfur. “It—it seemed too sad.” There was at least truth in that.

Petaldust padded along the outcrop and joined them on the stone. “How did she die?”

Crookedjaw glanced at his paws. “On the Thunderpath, I think.”

“The Thunderpath?” Oakheart echoed.

Crookedjaw looked up. His brother’s thoughts seemed to have drifted into the forest. “It’s okay,” he reassured him. “There’s no Thunderpath on our territory.”

Oakheart watched a fallen leaf swirling downriver. “I’m sorry for Bluefur,” he murmured. “She must be so sad.”

Crookedjaw sighed. “Yeah.” He picked up his fish in his jaws and clambered over the rocks. Beckoning the patrol with his tail, he headed toward the camp.

Fourtrees was lit by a cold white moon. Crookedjaw gazed up through the rattling leaves. Silverpelt stretched across the night sky. Which one is Snowfur? It had been a quarter moon since his dream and Crookedjaw was surprised to see that Bluefur had come to the Gathering.

“I hear fishing is still good.” Hollyflower’s mew snapped him back to the conversation. He’d been sharing news with a group of mixed Clan warriors.

“Yes.”

Foxheart shivered. “It’s bad enough getting wet, but in this weather?”

“I guess.” Goldenflower, ThunderClan’s newest warrior, didn’t seem to be listening. She was staring across the clearing, her eyes dark. Crookedjaw followed her gaze. She was watching Bluefur. The gray warrior was talking to Oakheart. He must be offering his sympathies.

Goldenflower stood up. “I’ll just make sure Bluefur’s okay.” She weaved through the gathered cats.

“Crookedjaw!” Hailstar was approaching. “Where’s Oakheart? I want him to tell the Gathering about the pelt-dens. Some of his tactics are worth sharing. The Twolegs may start building dens on the other Clans’ territory.” He dipped his head to Hollyflower. “Pray StarClan they don’t.”

Oakheart’s going to address the Gathering? Crookedjaw felt a flash of worry. Was Hailstar grooming his brother to be RiverClan’s next deputy? “He’s over there.” He flicked his tail toward Oakheart.

“Thanks.” Hailstar padded away. “I’d better warn him.”

As the leaders made their reports, Crookedjaw huddled among his Clanmates. He hunched his shoulders against the cold night air, studying Oakheart through narrowed eyes. As his brother waited calmly at the foot of the Great Rock, Crookedjaw swallowed back jealousy.

“RiverClan, too, has enjoyed plenty of fresh-kill recently.” Hailstar began his report. “The river has been full of fish and its banks stocked with prey.” The RiverClan leader glanced down at Oakheart. “Only one cloud has darkened our horizon.” He beckoned with a nod. “Oakheart has more information.”

Murmurs of surprise rippled around the Clans as Oakheart bounded onto the Great Rock.

“The Great Rock’s for leaders,” growled a ShadowClan warrior. “Not junior warriors!”

Crookedjaw stuck out his chin, suddenly defensive of his brother. “Listen to him!” he snarled. “He has important news to share.”

The ShadowClan warrior’s claws scraped the frosty earth. Crookedjaw flexed his own. No one criticized Oakheart!

“I am sorry,” Oakheart began, his voice carrying clearly across the hollow. “I do not belong here, but with so many cats I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to hear me from down there.” He nodded to the shadowy base of the rock. “I hope you will forgive my boldness. I do not mean to offend.” Crookedjaw felt a glow of pride as the murmuring ceased. The cats were pricking their ears and raising their muzzles, eager to hear what Oakheart was about to share. He glanced around, basking in his brother’s success. Then he spotted Bluefur, ruffled and scowling. Beside her, a pretty Clanmate was staring at Oakheart, her eyes shining as though she were watching a StarClan warrior speak.

He did look like a leader up there among the other cats. Crookedjaw shifted his paws, worry rushing back. But I’m the one with the great destiny!

The journey home seemed to take much longer than usual.

Petaldust was bouncing around Oakheart. “Everyone was listening to you!” Her eyes shone. “Weren’t you scared?”

Voleclaw snorted. “What was there to be scared of?” he muttered. “There’s a truce.”

“But he had to speak to so many cats!” Petaldust shuddered. “I’d hate it.”

Crookedjaw slowed his pace, falling behind his Clanmates as they crossed the tree line into ThunderClan forest. He didn’t want to hear how great Oakheart had been.

A pelt brushed beside him.

Brambleberry.

“You wish it had been you on the Great Rock,” she murmured.

Crookedjaw bristled. “No, I don’t!”

She snorted. “Don’t worry. It’ll be your turn soon enough and there’s plenty to keep you busy until then.” There was an edge in her mew.

“How do you know?” Crookedjaw narrowed his eyes. “Have you had another omen?” Why did he bother asking? Even if she had, he wouldn’t tell him what it was. But curiosity kept pricking, sharper and sharper. Brambleberry was silent as a fish. There was clearly something on her mind.

“How do you know it’ll be my turn soon?” Crookedjaw repeated.

Brambleberry jumped onto a fallen tree that blocked the trail. She paused on top and stared down at him. “Nothing’s for certain.” Her eyes were darker than the shadows surrounding her. “The power is within you to be a fine warrior.” She slid down the other side and Crookedjaw followed, heart quickening. She went on as he fell in beside her. “Every cat knows that you’re going to be great, just from watching you.” Her gaze flashed up through the overlapping branches. “The stars don’t have to decide everything for us.”

Really? Crookedjaw flexed his claws. Brambleberry knew nothing! Then why am I being trained by StarClan?