She emerged into a half-lit clearing surrounded by gray tree trunks. Although she felt no fear, she was aware of being watched by unseen eyes. “Am I dead?” she meowed out loud, listening to her voice echo between the trees. “Is this StarClan?”
She looked up, but there were no stars in the thick black sky above her, not even a glimmer of silver beyond the rustling leaves. Instead, what light there was seemed to come from fleshy fungus growing on the roots of the trees, and from the slimy trunks themselves.
“Not StarClan,” whispered a voice from somewhere behind her. “This is the Dark Forest, the Place of No Stars. We welcome you, Mapleshade.”
Mapleshade spun around. “Who are you? Show yourself!”
“Never,” hissed the voice. “You have come here to walk alone in your blood-soaked memories.”
Instead of dread, Mapleshade felt a surge of triumph. If she was here because of what she had endured, then there would be other cats like her, cats who would understand what she had gone through, who knew what it was to stand up to their enemies and dole out immeasurable pain.
She would find these cats, whatever that voice had told her, train them to be as strong and fearless as she was, and use them to cause more trouble for the Clans than the warriors could imagine in their worst dreams.
Mapleshade had found a place where she truly belonged. From here, she could cause more suffering than when she had been alive, and fighting her battles alone. For all eternity, Appledusk’s kin would mourn the day he had destroyed the life of a ThunderClan warrior. Just as she had promised to Reedshine, Mapleshade’s desire for vengeance would never sleep.
EXCERPT FROM WARRIORS SUPER EDITION: CROOKEDSTAR’S PROMISE
CHAPTER 1
Stormkit edged farther along the slippery branch. Volekit’s dare rang in his ears. Bet you fall off before you get to the end!
He unsheathed his claws and dug them into the frozen bark. From here, he could see a long way downstream, as far as the bend in the river. He could just glimpse the first of the stepping-stones beyond. And on the far shore, Sunningrocks! Its sheer side shadowed the water and its wide, smooth stone summit sparkled with frost. Stormkit fluffed out his fur. He’d seen farther than any other kit in the Clan! They’d never even seen past the reed bed.
“Be careful!” Oakkit called from the camp clearing.
“Shut up, Oakkit! I’m a warrior!” Stormkit looked down, past the fat, mouse-brown bulrush heads, into the dense forest of reeds that jutted out of the icy river. Minnows flitted between the stems, their scales flashing.
Could he reach down with a paw, break the thin ice, and scoop them out? He pressed his pale brown belly to the bark, wrapped his hind legs around the narrow branch, and swung his forepaws down toward the tiny fish. Tingling with frustration, he felt his claws brush the tips of the bulrushes. I was born in a storm! I’m going to be Clan leader one day! Stormkit stretched harder, trembling with the effort.
“What are you doing?” Oakkit yelped.
“Let him be!” Stormkit heard Rainflower silencing Oakkit, a purr rumbling in her throat. “Your brother has the courage of a warrior already.”
Stormkit clung tighter to the branch. I’ll be fine. I’m stronger than StarClan.
“Look out!” Oakkit squeaked.
A rush of wind tugged Stormkit’s fur. A flurry of black-and-white feathers battered his ears.
Magpie!
Talons scraped his spine.
Frog dirt and fish guts! Stormkit’s claws were wrenched out of the bark. He plummeted into the reeds and crashed through the thin ice. The freezing water shocked the breath from him. Minnows darted away as he thrashed in the water.
Where’s the shore? River water flooded his mouth. It tasted of stone and weeds. Spluttering, he struggled to swim, but the stiff reeds blocked his flailing paws. StarClan, help me! Panic shot through him as he fought to keep his muzzle above water.
Suddenly the stems beside him swished apart and Tanglewhisker plunged through.
“I’m okay!” Stormkit spluttered. Water rushed into his mouth again and he sank, coughing, beneath the ice.
Teeth gripped his scruff.
“Kits!”
Stormkit heard Tanglewhisker’s muffled growl as the elder hauled him up.
Shivering with cold, Stormkit bunched his paws against his belly, wincing with embarrassment as Tanglewhisker pushed his way through the reeds and deposited Stormkit on the bank next to his mother.
“Nice dive, Stormkit!” Volekit teased.
“Like a kingfisher,” Beetlekit added. “Maybe Hailstar should change your name to Birdbrain.”
Stormkit growled at the two kits as they crowded around him. One moon older, they loomed over him like crows.
Echomist paced anxiously behind them, her soft gray fur fluffed with worry. “Don’t tease, you two.”
Petalkit pushed past her brothers. “I wasn’t teasing!” The pretty tortoiseshell she-cat stuck her nose in the air. “I think he was brave to try!”
Purring, Rainflower licked Stormkit’s ears. “Next time, grip the branch harder.”
Stormkit shook her off. “Don’t worry. I will.”
As Tanglewhisker shook water from his long tabby pelt, Birdsong hurried down the slope from the elders’ den. “You’ll catch cold!” she scolded.
Tanglewhisker blinked at his tabby-and-white mate. “Did you want me to let him drown?”
“One of the warriors would have rescued him,” Birdsong retorted.
Tanglewhisker shrugged. “They’re busy.”
Rainflower purred. “I think Stormkit would have found his own way out. He’s a strong little cat, aren’t you?”
Stormkit felt his fur glow with the warmth of his mother’s praise. He blinked water out of his eyes and looked around the clearing. This was the home of RiverClan, the greatest Clan of all. He hadn’t seen it before the flood, so the smooth brown mud that covered the ground and the heaps of battered wet reeds that cluttered every corner were more familiar to him than the densely woven walls and open spaces that were emerging. Timberfur and Cedarpelt were carrying bundles of freshly picked dry reeds across the clearing to Softpaw and Whitepaw, who were weaving them into the tattered apprentices’ den. Farther along the river’s edge, Shellheart and Ottersplash were gathering more stems. Fallowtail was helping Brambleberry clear the last of the muddy debris from the medicine den. Owlfur and Lakeshine were dragging deadwood and bark that had been washed through the reeds and into the clearing.
A whole moon had passed since the stormy night when Stormkit and Oakkit had been born, but the camp still showed signs of being swept away. Fortunately the elders’ den had held firm and only needed a little reweaving here and there. And the nursery, a ball of tightly overlapping willow branches and reeds, had been found downstream, wedged between the stepping-stones. It had been easy enough to drag it back to camp and lodge it among the thick sedge bushes. A few patches had repaired it, though it was still damp inside from the soaking. Rainflower tucked fresh moss into their nest every evening, but Stormkit still woke each morning with a cold, wet pelt.
The rest of the camp was harder to fix. It had taken half a moon’s digging and levering to roll the fallen tree to the edge of the clearing where the old warriors’ dens had stood. Once the broken branches and shattered bark had been cleared away, new dens could be woven against its thick trunk. Until then, RiverClan’s warriors slept in whatever shelter they could find, making nests in the thick sedge walls around the camp or in the nooks and crevices of the fallen tree. No cat could remember what it was like to be warm. Newleaf might be showing in early buds and birdsong, but leaf-bare frosts still gripped the banks of the river every night.
Hailstar had been sleeping in the open, despite the cold. He insisted that his den be the last one rebuilt. “When my Clan is safe and warm, then I will sleep soundly, but not before,” he had vowed.
Oakkit wound around Stormkit, soaking water from his brother’s pale tabby pelt into his ow
n bracken-colored fur. “I told you to be careful.”
“I wouldn’t have fallen if that magpie hadn’t dived at me,” Stormkit growled through chattering teeth. The cold water seemed to have reached his bones.
“You wouldn’t have fallen off if you’d stayed in the clearing.” A deep mew sounded from behind them.
Stormkit spun around.
Hailstar was staring down at him, his thick gray pelt ruffled against the cold. Amusement lit the RiverClan leader’s yellow eyes. “Shellheart!” He called to his deputy, not taking his eyes from Stormkit.
Shellheart slid out from the rushes, his wet pelt slicked against his strong frame. He glanced at Stormkit. “Is everything okay?”
“Your kit will be a brave warrior,” Hailstar meowed. “If he doesn’t drown himself before he starts his training.”
Shellheart’s tail flicked as Hailstar went on. “We’d better send a patrol to catch that magpie. It’s beginning to think it owns RiverClan territory.”
Shellheart dipped his head. “Should we drive it off or catch it?”
Hailstar wrinkled his nose. “We’d better catch it,” he growled unenthusiastically. Few cats in RiverClan liked adding birds to the fresh-kill pile. “We must eat whatever we can find.” The flood had killed so many fish—battered them on the rocks or left them stranded on land—that river prey was scarce.
“I’ll organize a patrol,” Shellheart meowed.
“Wait till Rippleclaw’s patrol returns,” Hailstar ordered. With so much rebuilding still to do in camp, Hailstar rarely sent out more than one patrol at a time.
“I hope they’ve caught something edible this time,” Tanglewhisker muttered.
“I’m sure they will have,” Birdsong meowed. “It’s been a moon since the flood. The fish must be coming back by now.”
Echomist turned away from her kits. “If only we’d buried some of the fish washed up by the flood, and preserved them like ThunderClan does with their prey in leaf-bare.”
Hailstar shook his head. “Fish don’t keep like forest prey. Our warriors will need the strength of StarClan to repair the damage done by the flood as well as keep the fresh-kill pile well stocked.”
Stormkit stuck out his tail. “Let us help with the rebuilding, then.”
Volekit hurried forward, his gray fur spiking with excitement. “Oh, yes, please!”
“We’ll be really useful!” Petalkit fluffed out her tortoiseshell pelt.
Echomist swept her tail around her kits, pulling them away. “Don’t be frog-brained. You’ll get under everyone’s paws.”
Stormkit plucked at the ground. “No, we won’t!”
Hailstar’s whiskers twitched. “I’m not going to turn down a genuine offer of help, Echomist. As long as they stay in the camp, I don’t see a problem. We’ll have a kit patrol!”
Stormkit puffed out his chest as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Oakkit, Beetlekit, Volekit, and Petalkit. “Great! What should we do?”
Hailstar thought for a moment. “If you take the reeds that Ottersplash is gathering to Softpaw and Whitepaw, then Timberfur and Cedarpelt will be free to join Shellheart’s hunting patrol.”
“Come on!” Stormkit raced for the shore where Ottersplash was tossing reeds.
“Careful!” Cedarpelt was pawing together a freshly harvested pile as Stormkit skidded to a halt next to him. “Don’t knock them into the river!”
“I won’t!” Stormkit sank his teeth into a stem and began dragging it across the clearing to the apprentices’ half-built den.
“Well, well.” Whitepaw paused from weaving stems on the roof of the apprentices’ den and looked down. “We have new volunteers.”
“Is that a whole reed?” Softpaw peered from inside the framework of woven willow stems, her tabby-patched tail quivering. “We’ll be finished before we know it with help like this.”
“I can carry more,” Stormkit boasted, puffed up with pride. He dropped the stem and turned away, nearly crashing into Beetlekit.
“Watch out!” mewed the black kit, tripping over the reed he was dragging.
“Sorry!” Stormkit dashed back toward the reed bed, past Volekit, who had three reeds clamped between his jaws. “I’m bringing four next time,” he called over his shoulder.
He pricked his ears as he heard paws splash on the marshy earth beyond the entrance tunnel. A cat was racing toward the camp. Stormkit halted, blinking, as the sedge wall of the camp rustled and Rippleclaw pounded into the clearing.
“Any prey?” Birdsong called.
Rippleclaw shook his head, his silver flanks heaving. “Sunningrocks!” he gasped. “ThunderClan has taken Sunningrocks!”
CHAPTER 2
“ThunderClan!” Stormkit raced for the fallen tree, scrambled onto the trunk, and scooted back along the icy branch that stretched over the river. “Those snake-hearts!” He could see the scrawny pelts of ThunderClan warriors swarming like rats over the huge gray rocks that had always been RiverClan’s despite ThunderClan’s grasping claims.
“How dare they?”
Stormkit heard his father’s growl and turned to see Shellheart leap up the trunk of the ancient willow and hurry along one of the low boughs that reached out over the water. The RiverClan deputy peered through the trailing branches. “I don’t believe it! Pinestar’s stretched out in the sunshine like it’s his territory!”
Stormkit saw a massive fox-red tom sprawling on the rocks, his soft belly fur glittering where it had brushed the frosty stone.
Rippleclaw paced the clearing, his black-and-silver fur spiked up. “They must think we’ve lost our teeth and claws!”
The sedge swished as Mudfur and Brightsky raced into camp. Piketooth followed, his tabby fur bristling, a fat carp skewered between his long front teeth. He dropped the fish and stared at Hailstar. “Who’s going to lead the battle patrol?”
Stormkit lashed his tail. Why couldn’t he be an apprentice already? Then he could join his Clanmates in driving the mangy ThunderClan cats off RiverClan territory.
“What’s going on?” Troutclaw padded stiffly out of the elders’ den. His gray tabby pelt was ruffled from sleep.
“There are ThunderClan warriors on Sunningrocks!” Stormkit called from his perch.
Hailstar swung his gaze around. “Get down from there, Stormkit,” he growled. “This isn’t a time for games.”
“I’m not playing!” Stormkit objected. But he backed along the branch and jumped down from the trunk.
Shellheart scrambled down from the willow and faced Hailstar. “Are we going to let those squirrel-chasers stay there?”
Rippleclaw growled. “They must know we can see them.”
“Which means they’ll be ready for us if we attack.” Troutclaw padded down the slope. “How could we win a battle that they’re more prepared for than we are?” He shook his matted head. “Haven’t we lost enough?”
Stormkit wondered if the old tom was thinking of Duskwater. He’d heard Rainflower telling Echomist that the she-cat’s body had never been found after the flood. “We’ll win this time!” he mewed.
“Hush, Stormkit!” Shellheart snapped his head around.
Timberfur crossed the clearing, his eyes dark. “We might lose.”
Cedarpelt joined Troutclaw and swept his tail sympathetically across the old cat’s shoulder. “Sunningrocks has always been hard to defend.”
Stormkit stiffened. “That’s no reason to let ThunderClan have it!” He stepped back as Shellheart brushed in front of him, muffling his mew.
“You’re too young for this debate,” the RiverClan deputy warned.
Rainflower scooped Stormkit aside with her tail. “Hush, little one. You have a warrior’s heart as brave as any cat’s. You’ll get your turn.”
You bet I will! Stormkit shut his mouth and curled his claws. One day I’ll be leader and then I’ll decide when we go into battle.
“Ow!”
He felt a tail beneath his paws and turned to find Oakkit glaring at him.
>
“That’s my tail you’re digging your claws into!”
“Sorry!” Stormkit guiltily hopped off his brother’s tail. “We have to punish those squirrel-chasers for stealing our territory, right?”
Oakkit didn’t answer. He was watching Brambleberry. The white medicine cat had slid out from her den among the sedges.
“Do you think we should fight, Brambleberry?” Hailstar asked.
Brambleberry shook her head. “Not now. I have no way to treat battle wounds. The flood took my herbs and my store will stay empty till newleaf brings fresh crops. I can only use the most basic remedies.”
“And we’re half-starved,” Troutclaw added.
Stormkit blinked. He hadn’t been hungry. Rainflower always had enough milk for him and Oakkit. He studied his Clanmates and noticed for the first time how thin they were looking. Nearly as scrawny as ThunderClan cats.
Hailstar sighed. “I don’t want to start a battle we are likely to lose. And I don’t want warriors with injuries that can’t be healed.”
Rippleclaw lashed his tail. “Then we’re just going to let them take as much territory as they want?”
“They only want Sunningrocks,” Echomist pointed out. “They’d never try to cross the river.”
Piketooth growled, “There’s prey at Sunningrocks. Forest prey that could make up for the lack of fish.” He kicked the carp lying at his paws. “It took all morning to catch this.”
Echomist dipped her head. “But it’s almost newleaf. It won’t be long before we have more prey than we need. And right now I’d rather go hungry than lose another Clanmate.” She glanced at Troutclaw.
Piketooth dug his claws into the earth. “Are we going to give up Sunningrocks without a murmur?”
“No.” Hailstar crossed the clearing and leaped onto the low branch of the willow. He glanced toward Sunningrocks. “Rippleclaw, Shellheart.” His tail swept the bark. “Take Ottersplash and Brightsky to Sunningrocks. Don’t fight. Tell Pinestar and his Clanmates that they may have Sunningrocks today. But warn them: Those rocks are RiverClan’s and we will defend them soon.”