Crookedstar's Promise Page 11

  He peered over her, straining to see through the mist. “Come on,” he pleaded. “Just take me to the edge of the trees so I can see what’s behind them.”

  “No!” Mapleshade’s command was sharp. She wove around him, steering him back into the dingy clearing. “You’re not ready.”

  Crookedpaw growled. “It’s not fair!”

  Mapleshade’s claws stung his ear.

  “What was that for?” he gasped. She’d drawn blood. He could feel it, warm and wet, on his ear tip. He rubbed it with his paw.

  She glared at him. “Remember your promise!” she hissed. “You must be prepared to do anything for the sake of the Clan.”

  “What’s that got to do with exploring StarClan territory?” Crookedpaw retorted.

  Mapleshade narrowed her eyes. “You’re not here to ask questions. You’re here to learn. Or you’ll have more than a scratched ear to worry about.”

  “Is that blood on your ear?”

  Crookedpaw felt a rough tongue lick the wound Mapleshade had left. He blinked open his eyes. “Get off, Oakpaw.” Ducking away from his brother, he sat up. His muscles ached, strained and tired.

  Oakpaw was still staring at his ear. “Did you catch it on something? Is there a thorn in your nest?”

  Crookedpaw sniffed the chilly dawn air. “I probably did it in my sleep. Scratching a flea.” Sometimes he wished he could tell Oakpaw about his StarClan mentor, but he’d promised to obey Mapleshade and she’d sworn him to secrecy. How could he argue with StarClan?

  Rain thrummed on the den roof. Beetlepaw, Volepaw, and Petalpaw were still curled in their nests. Stiffly, Crookedpaw stepped out of his nest. “Has the dawn patrol left?”

  Oakpaw shook his head. “They’re in the clearing.”

  Crookedpaw pricked his ears. He could hear Cedarpelt’s deep mew beyond the den wall.

  “Are we going to leave markers below Sunningrocks?”

  Lakeshine answered. “I hope not,” she sighed. “It’d be like admitting we agree with the changed border.”

  Crookedpaw listened to Mudfur’s throaty growl. “All this fighting over a lump of rock.”

  “It’s our territory!” Cedarpelt snapped. “We can’t give it up.”

  Crookedpaw flexed his aching claws and winced.

  “Are you okay?” Oakpaw fretted. “Maybe you should go and see Brambleberry. At least she could put some ointment on your ear.”

  “I’m fine,” Crookedpaw insisted. It hardly stung. Besides, warriors always had nicks in their ears. He licked a paw and rubbed off the dried blood. The cut felt straight and shallow underneath.

  Beetlepaw stretched, his black pelt no more than a shadow in the watery dawn light. “Who’s coming on patrol?” He sat up. “Hailstar’s leading it.”

  “Me!” Petalpaw hopped out of her nest. “What about you?” She glanced at Crookedpaw as Beetlepaw pushed past her to the entrance. “Cedarpelt’s going.”

  “I hope so,” Crookedpaw mewed. If Beetlepaw was patrolling, he didn’t want to be stuck in camp. He glanced at Oakpaw. “What are you doing today?”

  “Shellheart’s taking me fishing with Volepaw and Rippleclaw.”

  Volepaw sleepily lifted his head. “If it keeps raining like this, the fish will come to us.”

  “In your dreams!” Purring, Crookedpaw flicked Volepaw’s flank with his tail and nosed his way out of the den. Through a haze of rain he saw Shellheart assigning patrols beneath a branch of the fallen tree. Echomist, Timberfur, Brightsky, and Owlfur clustered around him, beads of rain streaming from their glossy coats like water off duck feathers. “I want you to lead the hunting patrol, Echomist,” Shellheart ordered.

  Cedarpelt paced the sedge wall while Lakeshine and Mudfur huddled next to each other, their gaze fixed on Hailstar’s den. Its draping moss quivered as the RiverClan leader padded out. “Petalpaw!”

  She was nosing through the soggy pile of prey. She looked up eagerly.

  “Don’t keep us waiting,” Hailstar warned.

  Lakeshine snorted. “Waiting indeed! He’s the one sitting in his den keeping his ears dry,” she muttered as Petalpaw fell in beside Mudfur.

  “Wait for me!” Crookedpaw raced after Cedarpelt as Hailstar led the way out of camp.

  Cedarpelt paused in the entrance. “Next time.”

  Crookedpaw slithered to a halt. “Why not this time?”

  “We’re checking the borders,” Cedarpelt told him. “We might meet an enemy patrol and I haven’t assessed your battle skills yet.”

  “They’re fine!” This could be his chance to use some of the moves Mapleshade had taught him.

  Cedarpelt narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be the one to decide that!”

  “Are you coming?” Lakeshine called from the tunnel.

  “I’ll assess you this afternoon.” Cedarpelt turned and headed through the sedge. “I promise.”

  Crookedpaw’s tail drooped, slapping into a puddle. He heard a squeak behind him.

  “Watch out!”

  He turned and saw Willowkit rubbing water from her nose. “Sorry!” he mewed. “Did I splash you?”

  Graykit stood beside her sister, whiskers quivering. “She was trying to stalk you.”

  “I nearly got you!” Willowkit puffed out her rain-spiked fur.

  Crookedpaw stifled a purr. “Shouldn’t you be in the nursery keeping dry?”

  Graykit lifted her muzzle. “We’re RiverClan cats.” She sniffed. “We’re supposed to get wet.”

  “There’s wet and there’s drowned!” Brambleberry’s stern mew made Graykit jump. The medicine cat was padding from her den. “I don’t think Fallowtail will thank you for traipsing a puddleful of rain into the nursery.” The medicine cat halted beside Crookedpaw. “If you’ve nothing better to do,” she caught his eye, “you could fetch me some coltsfoot.”

  “From the waterfall?”

  “You remembered!” Brambleberry sounded pleased. “We’re going to need some fresh stock.” She glanced up into the streaming rain. “If this weather keeps up, there’ll be coughs spreading through all the dens. Do you remember what it looks like?”

  “I’ll know it when I see it,” Crookedpaw promised.

  “Can we come, too?” Willowkit asked.

  Crookedpaw shook his head sympathetically, remembering all too clearly what it felt like to be a kit trapped in camp. “Sorry,” he mewed.

  “We won’t get in your way,” Graykit promised.

  Brambleberry cleared her throat. “That’s because you’ll be safe and dry in your nest.” Fallowtail was at the nursery entrance, staring anxiously through the rain at her soggy kits. Brambleberry shook the rain from her whiskers. “Be careful by the falls, Crookedpaw,” she warned as she began to shoo the kits toward their mother. “The path gets slippery and the river will be raging.”

  “I won’t let you down!” Crookedpaw raced for the camp entrance. Brambleberry was depending on him. His paws pricked with excitement.

  There was little shelter on the riverbank now that the greenleaf bushes had died back. But the rain was easing by the time the path began to slope up to meet the head of the falls. Unsheathing his claws to get a better grip, he climbed the wet stone track, flattening his ears against the roar of the swollen waters below. Tasting the air, Crookedpaw smelled the first tang of coltsfoot. He shook out his fur, glancing up as the sky brightened. The clouds were thinning, stretching to show patches of blue. He stopped beside a fragrant green clump that clung at the edge of the path. Beyond, the cliff dropped away and Crookedpaw could just see the water swirling below.

  The coltsfoot had died back, browned by frost, but a core of richly scented leaves curled at the center. Crookedpaw plunged his paws into the wet leaves. Hooking a bunch with his claws, he hauled out a pawful of sprigs and laid them on the path before turning back for more.

  “Are you Brambleberry’s apprentice?”

  A husky mew made Crookedpaw jump. Heart lurching, he spun around and saw three WindClan warriors standing besid
e the top of the falls. Crookedpaw backed away, pulling his coltsfoot stems with him. His pelt bristled, embarrassed at being caught off guard. The scent of the coltsfoot and the roar of the water had hidden the WindClan patrol’s approach.

  The three warriors advanced down the path toward him. Crookedpaw arched his back. “You’re on RiverClan territory!” He tried to remember Mapleshade’s training. There was no way he was going to try tucking his tail around his hind paws here on the edge of the gorge. Perhaps he should run back to warn the Clan? He eyed the WindClan cats nervously. Their hackles were smooth. The biggest warrior, a brown tom, stared at him levelly while his Clanmates—a tabby she-cat and a small, mottled tom—stood calmly beside him.

  The brown tom dipped his head. “I’m Reedfeather and I wish to speak with Hailstar.”

  Crookedpaw frowned. “Why?”

  Reedfeather nodded to his Clanmates. “Go back to camp,” he told them. “I’ll be okay.”

  The two WindClan warriors turned and darted back along the path, disappearing over the crest of the falls.

  Reedfeather dipped his head. “What’s your name?”

  “Crookedpaw.”

  “Brambleberry’s apprentice?”

  Crookedpaw shook his head. “Cedarpelt’s.”

  “A warrior apprentice?” Reedfeather narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t seen you at a Gathering yet.”

  “I just got my apprentice name.” Crookedpaw shifted his paws. Was he supposed to take an enemy warrior into camp just because he’d been asked?

  “You lead,” Reedfeather instructed as if he’d guessed what Crookedpaw was thinking. “I’ll follow.”

  Crookedpaw stared uncertainly at the WindClan warrior.

  “Don’t worry,” Reedfeather reassured him. “I only want to talk with Hailstar.” He turned his head. “As you can see, I’m alone.”

  Crookedpaw glanced at the coltsfoot he’d picked.

  “Take it,” Reedfeather advised. “I’m sure Brambleberry will be pleased to have it.”

  Crookedpaw snatched it up in his jaws. Ears twitching, he led Reedfeather down the path. Is this a trick? The path flattened as the river settled down after its rush through the gorge and began to lap lazily at the shore. Crookedpaw glanced over his shoulder. Reedfeather’s gaze was fixed firmly on the distant reed bed where the RiverClan camp sheltered. As the river narrowed and deepened, Crookedpaw jumped down on to the shore. He began to wade into the water. The current here was gentle and it would be easy to swim across.

  “Aren’t there stepping-stones?” Reedfeather called.

  Crookedpaw halted, water tugging his belly fur. “They’re farther downstream.” The coltsfoot muffled his mew. How does a WindClan cat know about the stepping-stones?

  “Can we cross there?” Reedfeather asked. “I don’t swim.”

  Crookedpaw backed awkwardly out of the river, the coltsfoot sour on his tongue. He took Reedfeather to the stepping-stones and stood back while the WindClan warrior crossed. Swollen by rain, the river ran fast around the boulders, and Reedfeather’s pelt bristled, but he was sure-pawed and didn’t hesitate. Crookedpaw bounded after him, paws slapping the wet sand as he landed on the shore. He darted past Reedfeather and led the way through the bushes on to the grassy path.

  As he neared camp, his belly tightened. He was leading an enemy warrior into the heart of the Clan. What if all the warriors were out hunting or patrolling? Who would defend the elders, or Fallowtail and her kits? He stiffened. I will! Fluffing out his wet fur, he ducked through the sedge tunnel.

  “Crookedpaw!” Volepaw’s call surprised him.

  He dropped the coltsfoot. “I thought you were swimming.”

  “Shellheart wanted to wait till after the rain.” Volepaw trotted across the clearing. “I don’t know why—it’s probably drier in the riv—” He stared past Crookedpaw, eyes widening. “You captured a WindClan warrior!”

  Crookedpaw shifted his paws. “I didn’t exactly capture him,” he mumbled. “I sort of found him and he asked to see Hailstar.”

  “WindClan!” Shimmerpelt charged from her den, nose twitching, fur spiked in alarm. She halted when she saw Reedfeather. “What’s he doing here?”

  Reedfeather padded calmly to the center of the clearing and looked around. Troutclaw, Birdsong, and Tanglewhisker crowded out of their den and stood bristling at the top of the slope. Ottersplash and Lakeshine stopped stuffing leaves in gaps in the apprentices’ den. Piketooth and Whitefang looked up from their fresh-kill, mouths open. Oakpaw scrambled over the fallen tree, a frog dangling from his mouth. He dropped it in surprise and stared at Reedfeather. No one tried to stop the frog as it hopped over the clearing and plopped into the safety of the river.

  “Reedfeather?” Shellheart had been lying in the shelter of the willow. He scrambled to his paws and padded toward the WindClan warrior. “Why in StarClan are you here?”

  Reedfeather dipped his head to the RiverClan deputy. “I need to speak with Hailstar.”

  “Hailstar’s patrolling,” Shellheart told him.

  Reedfeather sat down. “Then I’ll wait.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t!” Birdsong bustled down the slope, pelt ruffled. “You’ll go home to your own camp where you belong.” She glanced anxiously at the nursery where Fallowtail peered out, her eyes dark.

  Does Reedfeather’s visit have something to do with what she was doing in WindClan? Crookedpaw suddenly wondered. He studied Reedfeather more closely. There was something familiar about the shape of his head and the tone of his voice. Had he been the cat with Fallowtail on the pile of WindClan rocks all those moons ago?

  The sedge rustled and Rippleclaw raced into camp. He skidded to a halt in front of Reedfeather, hackles raised and snarling. “I knew I smelled WindClan!” he hissed as Hailstar pounded into the clearing. Cedarpelt followed, Petalpaw and Beetlepaw on his tail.

  Shellheart nodded to his leader. “Crookedpaw found him at the border,” he reported. “He wants to speak with you.”

  Reedfeather stood up. “I’ve come to ask for what is mine.”

  Willowkit and Graykit tumbled out of the nursery. Fallowtail reached after them but they escaped her paws and bounded into the clearing.

  “I’ve never seen a WindClan cat!” Willowkit gasped.

  Graykit screwed up her face. “He smells weird!”

  “Hush!” Birdsong wrapped her tail around them and pulled them close as Fallowtail slid from the nursery.

  Cedarpelt crossed the clearing and stood beside the queen, a growl rumbling in his throat. Crookedpaw lifted his chin, proud that his mentor was so protective of his littermate and her kits.

  Reedfeather dipped his head. “I’ve come to take my kits home.”

  Cedarpelt stiffened. “His kits?”

  Crookedpaw stared. How could a WindClan cat have kits in RiverClan?

  “You can’t!” Fallowtail’s cry was desperate.

  There was a gasp from the cats in the clearing. Crookedpaw looked from one face to the other. Slowly images stirred in his mind. Willowkit and Graykit had no father in RiverClan—or at least not one that Fallowtail had named. Crookedpaw had seen Fallowtail in WindClan territory with a tom two moons before the kits were born. Could Reedfeather be their father?

  Rippleclaw turned his snarl from the WindClan warrior and glared at Fallowtail, who looked as if her world were ending. “You’re not even going to deny it? Have you forgotten the meaning of loyalty?”

  Fallowtail pushed Birdsong out of the way and gathered her kits close to her belly. “I am loyal!” Fallowtail’s eyes sparked with grief. “I haven’t seen Reedfeather in moons. I love my kits more than my own life and I planned to bring them up as true RiverClan warriors.” She stared at Reedfeather. “How can you even suggest taking them away from me?”

  The WindClan warrior returned her gaze. “They are as much mine as yours.”

  Willowkit stared up at her mother. “He can’t be our father,” she whimpered. “He doesn’t smell like us.”


  Hailstar padded across the clearing and stopped beside the queen. “Is this true?”

  Fallowtail stared at the ground, pulling her kits closer with her tail.

  Shellheart sighed. “These kits have a right to be with their father.”

  Crookedpaw watched, his heart twisting.

  Shimmerpelt crossed the clearing and pressed against Fallowtail. “You can’t make her give up her kits.”

  Piketooth lashed his tail. “Kits should be with their mother!”

  “We can’t give them up!”

  “They were born in RiverClan!”

  “How can we let strangers raise them?”

  A snarl cut dead the Clan’s murmuring. “How can we trust them, knowing they are half WindClan?” Rippleclaw’s eyes shone.

  Tanglewhisker shook his head. “He’s right,” the elder murmured. “We’ll never truly know where their loyalties lie.”

  Graykit squirmed free of her mother. “We’re RiverClan!” she cried. “We’ll always be RiverClan.”

  “You’re WindClan, too.” Reedfeather spoke up. “They will be well cared for,” he promised. “We have plenty of prey.” He scanned the clearing, his gaze lingering on the dens crowding the fallen tree. “You have enough mouths to feed. What if there’s another flood? Or the river freezes? It’s happened before.” His gaze returned to the kits. “They’ll grow stronger on WindClan prey.”

  “No.” Hailstar padded between Reedfeather and Fallowtail.

  Reedfeather’s gaze hardened. “If it comes to war, WindClan will fight for them.”

  Hailstar unsheathed his claws. “RiverClan isn’t scared by threats!”

  “You should be,” Reedfeather meowed. “Don’t think the other Clans haven’t seen how you gave up Sunningrocks without a fight. RiverClan is weak. My Clanmates will join me to take back what is mine. You should fear us, old cat.”

  Tension spiked the air. Then Fallowtail’s mew broke the silence. “I’ve caused enough trouble,” she whispered. “I don’t want bloodshed. Nothing is worth that.”

  Crookedpaw felt sick. Don’t give up! Fight for them! He stared in disbelief as Fallowtail backed away from her kits.

  “Fallowtail?” Willowkit blinked at her mother.