Crookedstar's Promise

by Erin Hunter

  Now!

  Willowpaw leaped as the blackbird lifted into the air. With a deft paw she hooked it and brought it plummeting to the ground. She held it fluttering beneath her forepaws and looked around hopefully.

  Owlfur’s head appeared from behind a bush. “Very good,” he meowed. “You can let it go.”

  Eyes shining, Willowpaw released the blackbird and it fled, squawking, into the branches above her head.

  Well done! Crookedjaw’s heart soared.

  “What in the name of StarClan are you doing?” A voice sounded from the bottom of the tree.

  Guilt flooded his fur. Mapleshade! She’d caught him watching Willowpaw again. Crookedjaw whirled around, ready with an excuse, and saw Shellheart staring up at him, puzzled.

  “Why are you hiding in a tree?” Shellheart asked.

  Crookedjaw slithered headfirst down the trunk. “I was just—er—just watching—er—just seeing if the assessments were g-going okay. . . .” He stammered to a halt.

  Shellheart’s ears twitched. “Really?” He didn’t sound convinced.

  Crookedjaw shrugged. “I wanted to see how Willowpaw was doing.”

  Shellheart looked at him with amusement. “I guessed.” He purred. “And how is Willowpaw doing?”

  Crookedjaw couldn’t stifle his purr. “Great!”

  “Good.” Shellheart nosed him away from the tree. “Why don’t you come back to camp with me? We don’t want to distract her when she’s doing so well.” He steered Crookedjaw on to a trail that led away from the apprentices.

  In the clearing, Mudfur was pacing outside the nursery. Something’s wrong!

  Ottersplash trotted after the brown warrior, calling, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. They’ll all be fine.”

  Crookedjaw stopped and looked around. Echomist crouched beneath the willow, her anxious gaze fixed on the nursery. Rainflower growled softly to herself as she padded along the edge of the reeds.

  Crookedjaw blocked her path. “What’s wrong?”

  Rainflower closed her eyes. “Brightsky’s kitting.”

  “Why can’t we go to the nursery?” Sunkit complained.

  “We just can’t!” mewed Shimmerpelt, who was helping Lakeshine shoo the kits up the slope toward the elders’ den.

  “But why not?”

  “Come on, dears!” Birdsong called from the top. “Come and explore our nests. Have you been inside the elders’ den before, Reedkit?”

  “I don’t want to go in there.” Reedkit stopped at the entrance. “It’s stinky.”

  Shimmerpelt nudged him forward with her nose. “Don’t be rude.”

  Loudkit scowled. “It’s too hot to be inside!” he complained. “Can’t we practice swimming in the reed bed?”

  Lakeshine shook her head. “Later, little one. We just need to be quiet for a while.”

  A shriek sounded from the nursery.

  Sunkit bristled. “What was that?”

  Shimmerpelt nudged her inside. “Brightsky’s kitting.”

  Crookedjaw stared at Rainflower. “When did she start?”

  “Just after dawn.” Rainflower’s gaze was dark. “Brambleberry’s worried. Brightsky’s still weak from fever.”

  “But she’s a tough warrior,” Crookedjaw pointed out.

  “Sometimes that’s not enough,” Rainflower warned over her shoulder as she padded away.

  Crookedjaw joined Ottersplash and Mudfur. “Does Brambleberry need anything? Water? Honey?”

  Ottersplash halted. “She’s tried all that, and raspberry leaf, too.” She lowered her voice as Mudfur carried on walking. “Nothing’s working.”

  Another long, desperate moan sounded in the nursery.

  “She’s exhausted,” Ottersplash murmured.

  Birdsong dashed down the slope. “Troutclaw’s keeping the kits busy playing hunt the tick.” Her eyes turned to the nursery. “How is she?”

  Ottersplash just shook her head.

  “I’m going inside.” Birdsong heaved her wide white belly through the nursery entrance and disappeared.

  Oakheart padded, yawning, from his nest. “Is it over yet?” He caught Ottersplash’s gaze and stopped.

  Birdsong slid out again. Her amber eyes were round and misted with grief. “Three kits.” Her mew was husky. “All dead.”

  Mudfur was at her side in an instant. “And Brightsky?”

  Birdsong stared at him blankly. “You’d better go in.”

  Mudfur lowered his head and turned toward the nursery. He stepped slowly inside, as if he had suddenly grown very old. A moment later a low moan drifted through the reed wall.

  Crookedjaw stared at Birdsong. “Is she dead?”

  Birdsong nodded. Crookedjaw stared at the ground, not knowing what to say or do. Then a thin mewl drifted across the clearing.

  Crookedjaw looked up. A kit?

  Brambleberry poked her head out. “There was a fourth,” she mewed quickly. “She’s weak, but she’s breathing.” She ducked back inside.

  Hailstar pushed his way out of his den and stood beside Echomist. He dipped his head. “Thank StarClan for this precious life.”

  “Get Shimmerpelt,” Birdsong told Crookedjaw. “The kit will need warmth and milk.”

  Crookedjaw dashed up the slope and called into the elders’ den. “Shimmerpelt!” She darted out at once. “Come with me.” Crookedjaw escorted her down the slope. “One kit survived. It’ll need your milk.”

  Shimmerpelt stopped. “Survived?”

  “Hurry up!”

  “How’s Brightsky?” Shimmerpelt’s gaze pierced him.

  Crookedjaw’s paws froze. He stared at her.

  “Is she dead?”

  “I’m sorry!” he burst out. “I should have warned you. I—I—I . . .”

  Shimmerpelt padded past him, silencing him with a flick of her tail. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”

  Crookedjaw watched her pad to the nursery and disappear inside. A moment later Mudfur squeezed out. He staggered blindly across the clearing. Timberfur hurried to his side and propped him up as he guided his denmate to a shady space under the willow. The grief-stricken warrior collapsed, muzzle on paws, staring into the distance. Timberfur crouched beside him as though sitting vigil, and Rippleclaw crossed the clearing to join them. Crookedjaw’s heart twisted in his chest.

  The kits were streaming out of the elders’ den, squealing as they chased one another down the slope. The reeds swished as Graypaw and Willowpaw charged into camp.

  “We passed!” Willowpaw’s eyes shone. “We passed our assessment!”

  Graypaw paced around her sister, tail high. “Willowpaw caught a blackbird!”

  “And Graypaw caught the biggest trout Owlfur’s ever seen!” Willowpaw charged across the clearing to Crookedjaw. “Thank you, thank you!” She licked his cheek. “I did everything you told me. You should have seen me!” She paused and tilted her head to one side. “What’s wrong?” She stepped away from Crookedjaw. “What’s happened?”

  Rainflower looked up from the bottom of the slope. “Brightsky died,” she meowed. “And three of her newborn kits.” Crookedjaw was surprised by the grief in his mother’s gaze.

  He pressed his muzzle against Willowpaw’s cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered.

  “Let all cats old enough to swim gather to hear my words,” Hailstar called from outside his den. Brambleberry stood beside the RiverClan leader, back straight, fur smooth. Willowpaw’s eyes glistened.

  “You’ll be getting your warrior name,” Crookedjaw murmured.

  Willowpaw sighed. “I never imagined it would be like this.” She padded into the clearing as the Clan gathered. Mudfur seemed unaware of what was happening and stayed beneath the willow. Timberfur and Rippleclaw didn’t move from his side.

  The kits hung back beside the reed bed, quiet now. Even they realized something terrible had happened.

  “Brightsky is dead,” Hailstar announced. “And three of her kits.” He waited for murmurs of grief to
pass through the Clan before he went on. “But one kit has survived.” He glanced at Mudfur. “She has not been named yet, but she will always be treasured by the Clan—a reminder of a warrior worthy of StarClan. We will make sure Brightsky’s kit grows up to honor and love her mother’s memory.” He lifted his muzzle, his eyes fixing on Fallowtail. “RiverClan never forgets the sacrifice of its queens. Fallowtail once sacrificed her kits so that the Clan could live in peace. We are lucky to have them back and I consider it a blessing from StarClan that they have grown into such fine warriors.” He dipped his head. “Willowpaw, Graypaw, come forward.”

  As the apprentices padded into the clearing, Hailstar went on. “Willowpaw, you have the swiftness of a WindClan cat but the heart of a RiverClan warrior. In honor of your speed, courage, and cleverness, I give you the name Willowbreeze!”

  Crookedjaw lifted his voice, solemnly chanting the new warrior name with his Clanmates. Clouds had covered the sun and were quickly darkening as Hailstar went on. “Graypaw, you have your mother’s determination, bravery, and warmth. From this moment you shall be known as Graypool.”

  “Graypool! Graypool! Graypool!”

  As Crookedjaw lifted his muzzle to join in, a raindrop splashed on his nose. In a few moments, the storm broke and rain pounded the camp as though StarClan itself was mourning for Brightsky and her lost kits.

  Chapter 23

  Crookedjaw padded, yawning, from his nest. Dawn was just starting to brighten the horizon. The river gurgled beyond the reeds and snores rumbled from the other dens as he nosed his way into the clearing. He’d noticed the Clan had been sleeping more since the death of Brightsky and her kits. They crawled later from their dens, their old enthusiasm for the day’s duties drooping like sedge beneath a heavy frost.

  “Ow!”

  A squeak made him pause.

  “You’re treading on my tail!”

  The sedge was rustling on the far side of camp. Crookedjaw strained to see through the half-light. A tiny tail was disappearing among the green fronds. He padded noiselessly across the clearing, pricking his ears.

  “Which way are we going?”

  “I don’t know!”

  He recognized the squabbling mews of Frogkit and Skykit.

  “Why didn’t we just go out the entrance?”

  “We might have been caught.”

  Crookedjaw plunged his head into the sedge and grabbed Frogkit by his scruff. Dragging him out, he dropped him on the ground and reached in for Skykit.

  “Hey!” She struggled as he pulled her out of the stalks.

  “Where are you going?” he asked sternly, depositing Skykit beside her denmate.

  The two kits exchanged glances. Crookedjaw guessed they were working out whether to tell the truth or not. Fur brushed the sedge wall behind him.

  Brambleberry.

  She was yawning. “I was just heading out to fetch herbs,” she mewed sleepily.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Crookedjaw greeted her. “I caught these two trying to sneak out of camp.”

  Brambleberry’s whiskers twitched. “What? Kits! Trying to sneak out? That’s never happened before!” She stared in mock surprise at Crookedjaw.

  Crookedjaw swallowed back a purr. He was trying to stay stern for the kits’ sake. Besides, he knew better than any cat the dangers waiting beyond the camp wall for adventurous kits. “Where were you going?” he asked them again.

  Frogkit glanced at Brambleberry, then at his paws. “We wanted to see where Brightsky’s kits were buried,” he mumbled.

  Brambleberry frowned. “Why in the name of StarClan would you want to do that?”

  Skykit shuffled her paws. “We wanted to see if it was true they were dead.”

  Crookedjaw leaned closer. “Why wouldn’t it be true?”

  “StarClan doesn’t really let kits die, does it?” The kit’s pale brown fur rippled.

  Frogkit twitched his striped tail. “Ottersplash wouldn’t let us see the vigil.”

  Crookedjaw tucked his tail tight over his paws as he remembered the long, heartbreaking night, less than half a moon ago, when Mudfur had chased his Clanmates away from Brightsky’s body and cradled his three dead kits against his mate’s stiff flank.

  “StarClan does take kits,” Brambleberry told them. “And keeps them safe.” She crouched beside the wide-eyed kits. “They’ll be allowed to hunt there. StarClan has the clearest rivers and fastest fish. And they’ll be with Brightsky.”

  Frogkit stuck out his tail. “Birdsong says StarClan took them as an omen.”

  “Rainflower and Echomist say that more bad things are going to happen,” Skykit added.

  Frogkit went on. “Piketooth thinks StarClan is angry with us.”

  “And Troutclaw says that’s why you couldn’t save the kits or Brightsky.”

  Brambleberry flinched. “It wasn’t an omen.” Her mew was steady. “Sometimes bad things happen. I did everything I could, but Brightsky was too sick and it made her kits sick, too.”

  Crookedjaw drew closer to the medicine cat. “If StarClan was angry with us, why did they leave us Leopardkit?” he reminded the kits. Mudfur had named his daughter after the ancient Clan, hoping it would give the tiny kit all the strength she would need to survive without her mother.

  “I guess they want us to look after her,” Skykit conceded.

  “Exactly,” Brambleberry agreed. “And why would they leave her with us if they thought we were bad or that bad things were going to happen?”

  Frogkit flexed his claws. “Can we go and see where they’re buried anyway?”

  “No.” Crookedjaw nosed them toward the nursery. “Shimmerpelt and Lakeshine will be wondering where you are.”

  Skykit sniffed. “Shimmerpelt’s always too busy feeding Leopardkit.”

  Brambleberry smoothed the kit’s ruffled fur with her tail-tip. “Why don’t you take your mother some wet moss?” she suggested. “Feeding Leopardkit will make her thirsty. She’ll be so proud of you for being helpful to Brightsky’s kit.”

  Skykit’s eyes brightened. “Okay!” She dashed away toward the reed bed.

  “Don’t fall in!” Crookedjaw warned as Frogkit hurtled after her. He turned back to Brambleberry, hesitating. “Are you sure it wasn’t an omen?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Crookedjaw narrowed his eyes. “How can you tell what’s an omen and what isn’t?”

  “An omen feels different,” Brambleberry told him.

  “Can omens change things or do they just tell you what’s going to happen?” He knew Brambleberry would understand that he wasn’t just talking about the kits’ gossip.

  Brambleberry met his gaze. “Sometimes they tell you what’s already happening.”

  “So that you can change it?”

  “So that you’re prepared for it.”

  Frustration clawed at Crookedjaw’s belly. She wasn’t giving anything away. “Why don’t you just tell me about my omen—the one that worried you?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” she answered softly.

  “You mean there wasn’t an omen?”

  “I mean it’s up to you.”

  “What’s up to me?” Crookedjaw couldn’t keep the growl from his voice.

  “The path you choose is in your paws,” Brambleberry meowed. “Only you can know your own heart, and that will decide whether you choose the right path or the wrong path.”

  “My heart is as true and loyal as any RiverClan cat!”

  “Good.”

  “Let me prove it!”

  “How?”

  Crookedjaw searched desperately for ideas. “I don’t know! Let me help you gather herbs!” Perhaps if he spent time with her, he’d be able to persuade her he was good.

  “I’ve already asked Beetlenose to help me.”

  Crookedjaw swished his tail. “Okay!” he snapped. “But don’t blame me if I choose the wrong path. You’re the medicine cat! You’re supposed to help your Clanmates, not make them suffer because you won’t tell the
m everything.” Ears hot with fury, he stalked away.

  The first light of dawn was showing behind the willow tree. Beetlenose padded from his den and greeted Brambleberry with a yawn. “I’m ready,” he muttered. He brightened as Hailstar ducked out of his den. “Can’t you get Willowbreeze to help you?” he begged Brambleberry. “This is an apprentice’s job and she’s the closest to an apprentice we’ve got.”

  Brambleberry scowled back. “Stop fussing and hurry up.”

  Beetlenose sighed and, casting a final, rueful look at Hailstar, followed her out of camp.

  “Let all cats old enough to swim gather to hear my words.” The RiverClan leader padded to the center of the clearing.

  Crookedjaw frowned. What was the leader planning now? Whatever it was, he hoped it would cheer up the Clan. The kits weren’t the only ones who believed StarClan was punishing them.

  Dens rustled and paws scuffed the ground as his Clanmates climbed from their nests and padded to hear what Hailstar wanted.

  Rippleclaw’s fur was ruffled and unwashed. Piketooth sat askew, his whiskers crumpled. Even Shellheart’s shoulders drooped.

  Oakheart squeezed next to Crookedjaw, his gaze bleary with sleep. “What’s going on?” He sighed. “It’s hardly dawn.”

  Hailstar turned slowly, eyeing his Clan. “We took Sunningrocks back and ThunderClan didn’t even retaliate. Today we will take more of their territory.”

  More? Crookedjaw looked past Hailstar to his father, who was sitting behind the RiverClan leader. He tried to read Shellheart’s gaze, but it was clear and unblinking.

  Cedarpelt stepped forward. “Do we need more of their territory?” he asked.

  “We need the river,” Hailstar countered. “We should control both banks beyond Sunningrocks. Which includes the forest that runs along the far side of the river.”

  Owlfur tipped his head. “You want to capture forest?”

  Hailstar nodded.

  Troutclaw shook his graying head. “What would RiverClan do with trees?”

  Rippleclaw answered the elder with a growl. “It means we’ll be able to fish the river above Sunningrocks without fear of attack.”

  Willowbreeze was looking puzzled. “ThunderClan would never attack us in the water,” she pointed out. “They’re terrified of it.”