Crookedstar's Promise Page 18

  “That’s it.” Crookedpaw waded toward it. “You have to be careful,” he warned. “It sucks you down near the bottom.”

  “I’m a strong swimmer,” Willowpaw reassured him.

  “I know.” Crookedpaw glanced at her smooth, strong shoulders and purred. “But if it does grab you, don’t fight it. Just go limp. The river will wash you downstream where it’s shallower.”

  Willowpaw took a deep breath and plunged in. Crookedpaw watched the broken water close over her and waited. Even though he trusted her skills, he couldn’t help worrying. The thought that anything bad might happen to her made his chest tighten. He was relieved when her ears broke the surface and she popped up holding a juicy carp.

  “There’s loads down there!” she mewed happily. “And they’re too dumb to swim away!”

  Crookedpaw dived in, feeling the water suck at his fur, pulling him down into the school of carp. He grabbed one, swam up, flung it on to the bank, and dived down for another.

  “I want to go next!” Willowpaw called as he came up for the third time.

  Crookedpaw tossed the fresh carp on to the shore. “Dive in with me!”

  Willowpaw plunged in and swam down beside him. Her fur clouded around her as she reached the carp pool. She hooked one with her claws and dragged it to her mouth for a killing bite before she turned and began to pull herself up to the surface. Crookedpaw watched, impressed by her grace, before realizing that his lungs were aching. Quickly he ducked down, grabbed a carp, and swam for the surface.

  Jeering mews welcomed him back to the air. A patrol of ThunderClan warriors was strutting on the edge of Sunningrocks.

  “What’s the difference between a RiverClan warrior and a fish?” one yowled.

  “A fish is hard to catch!” his Clanmate answered.

  Another warrior, his fur thick and white, leaned over the edge. “Enjoy the river while it’s still yours.”

  Willowpaw’s pelt bushed, her eyes blazing. “How dare they?”

  Crookedpaw tossed his fish to the shore and bounded on to the stepping-stones. Spitting with rage, he leaped halfway across the river. “Come down here and say that, you worm-ridden fish-brains!”

  “We just might!” the white warrior yowled. “Why don’t you run home before we do?”

  “Come on then!” Crookedpaw unsheathed his claws. “I’ll rip your ears off!”

  “You couldn’t climb down if you tried!” Willowpaw piped up behind him. “The only way ThunderClan can get down from Sunningrocks is to fall down! Go on! Try it! I wouldn’t mind if a few of you broke your flea-bitten necks!”

  “Crookedpaw!” Oakheart’s mew made them both jump. “Come here.”

  Prickling with frustration, Crookedpaw turned and leaped back to shore.

  The ThunderClan warriors yowled with amusement. “Go back to the nursery, Wetkit!”

  Crookedpaw growled.

  Oakheart was pacing with excitement. “Save it for your next battle,” he meowed. “Hailstar wants everyone back at camp.”

  “What for?”

  “Come on!” Oakheart charged away.

  Willowpaw stared. “What’s going on?”

  Crookedpaw shrugged. “Let’s find out!”

  They each scooped a carp from the pile they’d made and raced for camp. The fish tail flapped in Crookedpaw’s face as he ran.

  He skidded through the sedge tunnel, Willowpaw at his heels. Their Clanmates were already gathered in the clearing. Oakheart stood panting beside Shellheart while Hailstar paced in the middle, tail swishing.

  Crookedpaw dropped his fish on the fresh-kill pile beside Willowpaw’s. She’d already slid in beside Graypaw.

  Crookedpaw nosed his way between Shellheart and Oakheart. “What’s going on?”

  “Listen!” Shellheart silenced him.

  Hailstar was mid-speech. “. . . so on the darkest night of the moon we will reclaim Sunningrocks!”

  At last! Oakheart lashed his tail and Shellheart clawed the ground as the whole Clan cheered.

  “What if we lose again?” Rippleclaw’s question was almost lost in the noise but he repeated it, louder. “What if we lose again?”

  The cheers faltered and faded.

  “There will be no battle this time,” Hailstar announced. He looked up at the fat, waxing moon. “Next claw-moon, when it’s no more than a scratch on the sky, we’ll reset the boundaries.”

  Timberfur leaned forward. “Won’t ThunderClan just set them back again?”

  Worried murmurs rippled through the Clan.

  “We’ll keep resetting them until ThunderClan gets the message,” Hailstar answered. “And if it comes to a battle—” The RiverClan leader glanced at Crookedpaw. “We’ll fight it and, this time, we’ll win!”

  As the Clan broke into another cheer, Crookedpaw tipped his head to one side. Why had Hailstar looked at him? Didn’t he trust him to fight?

  “Yesterday an apprentice saved the life of a Clanmate.” Hailstar silenced the cheers.

  Crookedpaw straightened.

  Oakheart purred. “I’m guessing he means you.”

  Hailstar’s eyes shone. “Crookedpaw.” He beckoned Crookedpaw forward with a flick of his tail. “This apprentice has not yet completed his six moons of warrior training.”

  Heart racing, Crookedpaw padded into the clearing. Brambleberry watched him, her eyes dark. Rainflower wrapped her tail tightly over her paws. Beetlenose whispered something in Voleclaw’s ear.

  Hailstar padded to meet him. “But I see no point in delaying his warrior ceremony any longer.”

  Crookedpaw’s heart jumped. My warrior ceremony!

  “I want Crookedpaw to be in the patrol that resets the borders beyond Sunningrocks.” Hailstar paused. “No,” he meowed. “I want Crookedjaw!”

  The Clan took up the call: “Crookedjaw! Crookedjaw!”

  Crookedjaw stared at his leader. Joy fizzed like stars beneath his pelt. “Well done!” Cedarpelt walked forward and touched his muzzle to Crookedjaw’s head.

  Crookedjaw detected relief in his mew. “Glad to get rid of me?” he murmured, half-joking.

  “It’s hard work teaching a cat who already knows everything,” Cedarpelt answered.

  Crookedjaw stepped back. “I’m sorry.” He stared at his paws.

  Cedarpelt broke into a purr. “I like to believe I taught you something.”

  “You taught me so much!” Crookedjaw insisted.

  “And I’m sure you still have plenty to learn.” Shellheart’s voice made Crookedjaw turn. His father was gazing at him proudly.

  Oakheart dashed past the RiverClan deputy and wove around Crookedjaw. “We’re warriors together at last! Will you share my den? Whitefang won’t mind. There’s room for an extra nest.”

  “Congratulations.” Beetlenose crossed the clearing, tail flicking. “You finally made it.”

  Crookedjaw met his gaze. “Now you’ve got more competition than just Oakheart.” As he spoke, he spotted a familiar pelt moving in the shadows by the reeds. Mapleshade was watching, her gaze slitted.

  A soft muzzle nudged his shoulder. Willowpaw was purring loudly in his ear. “I’m going to miss sleeping beside you.”

  Crookedjaw twined his tail around hers. “Then hurry up and become a warrior!”

  Rainflower hadn’t moved. She sat as still as a rock, on the far side of the clearing. Lifting his chin, Crookedjaw squeezed past Oakheart and approached his mother. She didn’t move as he neared, only narrowed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry I can’t make you proud of me,” Crookedjaw meowed. “But I haven’t finished yet. I’ll do everything I can to make you glad I’m your son.”

  Rainflower stared silently at him. Crookedjaw fought back the hurt tightening his throat. He lifted his chin, refusing to hide his twisted jaw. “You’ll never make me ashamed of who I am or what I look like.” Turning away, he saw Oakheart and Willowpaw staring at him.

  Oakheart dashed over and ran the tip of his tail along his brother’s spine. “Good for
you, Crookedjaw.” He glanced past Crookedjaw, his gaze hardening as it reached Rainflower. “If our mother can’t be proud of you, it’s her loss.”

  “We believe in you.” Willowpaw’s eyes shone at him, reflecting starlight.

  Feeling as if the bubble of happiness inside him might explode, Crookedjaw pressed his muzzle to hers and purred.

  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 ba
ll 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.