Crookedstar's Promise

  Bushes rustled behind him. Crookedkit whipped around and glimpsed a pair of eyes flashing in the heather.

  StarClan, help me!

  Heart lurching, he ran. His claws sprayed peat as he hurtled through a swath of gorse. The sharp twigs snagged his pelt but he hardly felt the pain. Paws thrummed the ground behind him. Crookedkit didn’t dare look back as he skidded over the crest at the edge of the moor and raced down the slope toward the meadowland.

  The paw steps were gaining on him, thumping closer. Crookedkit charged through a wall of WindClan stench. The border! The markers were so strong it had to be the edge of WindClan territory. Their warriors wouldn’t chase him here, surely? But the paws kept coming.

  Crookedkit pelted to the bottom of the hill. His chest screamed; blood roared in his ears. Ahead, a smooth river of stone sliced through the land where it flattened out. A hedge loomed beyond. Perhaps he could find somewhere to hide there. If I make it. The paw steps were a frog-length behind now. He could hear snorting and feel the earth tremble. Eyes wide, he glanced back and saw a rabbit charging after him.

  A rabbit!

  Astounded, he stumbled to a halt. The rabbit charged past him, its eyes gleaming with panic. Crookedkit glanced back up the slope. His breath stopped. Four WindClan warriors lined the crest of the hill, their eyes shining in the moonlight. Were they watching the rabbit? Or him?

  A growl made him turn. Two giant eyes lit the stone path. A monster was storming straight toward him! He’d heard nursery stories about monsters. It was even more terrifying than Echomist—eyes wide, pelt bristling—had described. Huge, sharp-edged creatures with hard shiny pelts and yellow beams shooting from their eyes. Their round black paws smelled of burning stone, and the air shuddered with noise even before they appeared. But monsters were stupid, clinging to the Thunderpath as if they were afraid of venturing on to soft grass or into trees. A cat could outwit them by holding his or her nerve and getting out of the way.

  Crookedkit backed away from the Thunderpath as the monster screamed by. Wind howled as it passed and its stench bathed his pelt. Fur on end, heart bursting, Crookedkit clung to the earth.

  And then it was gone.

  Thank StarClan, it didn’t see me!

  Crookedkit opened his eyes. The rabbit lay in front of him, flat, on the hard black stone. Blood pooled around from its mouth and Crookedkit shivered. The monster had killed it without even slowing down to take a bite or snap its neck. He looked back up the slope. The warriors had gone.

  His breath shallow, Crookedkit padded shakily across the Thunderpath. He paused beside the rabbit, wondering whether to drag it to the grass at the edge. It was, after all, fresh-kill now. But its dead, open eyes made him shudder and he hurried past it and dodged into the safety of the hedge on the far side. Trembling, he crouched down and let his terror slowly ebb away.

  Highstones was ahead of him, still distant beyond rolling fields. Crookedkit straightened up and followed the hedgerow. Keeping to the edges of the open meadows, where he couldn’t be seen by any passing foxes or badgers, he pushed on, his belly growling and jaw aching. The moon climbed over Highstones and slid down behind them. Crookedkit paused. The stars were disappearing as the edges of the sky began to turn pale. He wasn’t going to make it to Highstones before dawn. He wasn’t even close.

  Ahead, a stone wall marked the edge of another meadow. Crookedkit squeezed through a hole where the stones had collapsed. A huge nest rose ahead of him, four-sided with strips of black wood covering the walls and a curved roof. Its entrance was blocked by a smooth slab of paler wood, but a tiny hole next to it showed darkness inside, warm and sweet-smelling. It might be a safe place to rest. Crookedkit tasted the air and inhaled the scent of dry grass. More tired than he’d ever been in his life, he padded up to the small opening. He could just make out piles of dried stalks stacked high in the giant space inside the nest. There was no sign of life, no warrior scent. Paws heavy as stones, Crookedkit slithered inside and found a dark corner. Too weary to figure out where he was, he curled into a ball, tucked his nose under his paw, and gave in to sleep.

  Chapter 7

  “Crookedkit!”

  Crookedkit opened his eyes. The straw he’d curled up in had vanished. Instead, he was standing on damp earth. Trees crowded around him, their trunks wet with moss, roots snaking into slimy soil. Mist swirled and darkness pressed down through their branches, hiding the sky. Crookedkit unsheathed his claws as sour scents bathed his tongue.

  “Crookedkit!” the voice called again. Amber eyes gleamed from the shadows. “How could you leave your Clan?”

  “I—I wanted to visit the Moonstone.” Crookedkit blinked, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. The amber eyes flashed and an orange-and-white she-cat padded out of the trees. The StarClan cat! She’s come back! “What is this place?” he meowed.

  The cat weaved around him, her pelt warm in the chilled air. “You’re dreaming, little one.”

  “Dreaming?” Crookedkit’s pelt ruffled. Why would he dream of a place like this?

  “Why go all the way to the Moonstone to speak with StarClan?” The orange-and-white cat stopped in front of him. “You can ask me anything, right here in your dreams.”

  “I was right! You are a StarClan cat!” Crookedkit gasped.

  The cat dipped her head. “My name is Mapleshade. What is it you want to know, little one?”

  “My destiny,” Crookedkit burst out.

  “Everything that happens to you is part of your destiny.”

  “But the accident? And not becoming an apprentice?” The words rushed out. “Was all that supposed to happen?”

  Mapleshade weaved around him, her soft pelt brushing his. “Oh, you poor thing,” she sighed. “Your path is not an easy one. But StarClan would never have given such a hard path to a cat who wasn’t strong and brave and loyal.”

  “Really?” Crookedkit shuffled his paws. “Then I am special.”

  Mapleshade rested her muzzle on his head. “Of course you’re special.”

  Suddenly he remembered Rainflower’s scent. She used to speak to him like this. He pulled away. “How?” he demanded. “How am I special?”

  Mapleshade shook her head. “I can’t tell you that yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “First you must return to your Clan.” Mapleshade’s eyes darkened. “A true warrior is loyal.”

  “I was only traveling to the Moonstone.”

  “There’s no need to go there now.”

  “I guess not.” Crookedkit glanced at his paws. He’d been looking forward to telling his Clanmates he’d visited the Moonstone. “What will I tell everyone?”

  “That you’re sorry and you’ll never leave again.” Mapleshade flicked her tail beneath his chin. “They must know you’re loyal.”

  Crookedkit straightened. “I am!”

  “Then you’ll go back?”

  Crookedkit nodded. “Which way do I go?” He glanced around the forest. “I . . . I think I’m lost.”

  A purr rumbled in Mapleshade’s throat. “Close your eyes, little one.” She brushed her fluffy white tail over his muzzle. “And when you wake, you’ll know where to go.”

  Crookedkit closed his eyes and let darkness claim him.

  Crookedkit rolled over and stretched. The air was stifling. He sneezed and rubbed a paw across his itchy muzzle, then opened his eyes and saw loose dry grasses. They were stacked high above him and smelled woody. Sun streamed in, dancing with dust. He was back in the nest he’d found the night before.

  Sitting up, Crookedkit yawned. Then you’ll go back? Mapleshade’s words echoed in his ears. Suddenly he remembered Rainflower’s weary mew, telling him to get down from the tree, and his Clanmates sending him off to play on his own. Crookedkit sighed. What if I don’t want to go back? Suddenly his belly growled. I’m starving!

  Crookedkit pricked his ears. Was that a squeak? He dropped into a crouch and crept across the dusty floor. Mouth open, he let the scents of the nest bathe his
tongue. A musky odor filled his nose. Mouse? Maybe. He’d never smelled mouse but he’d heard elders’ descriptions. Padding quietly, he slunk toward the wall at the back of the nest. The dusty stalks twitched in the corner. Crookedkit held his breath. His paws pricked as he bunched the muscles in his hind legs. Fixing his gaze on a soft lump beneath the straw, he prepared to leap.

  “Oomph!”

  A great weight dropped on his back. Fear pulsed through him as he smelled tom. But it wasn’t any Clan scent he’d ever smelled. Claws dug into his spine. Stiffening with terror, Crookedkit struggled to escape. But the tom was heavy and had a firm grip.

  Crookedkit flailed unsheathed claws at the air. “Get off!”

  The attacker growled, tightening his grip. “Do you surrender?”

  Crookedkit growled. “Never!” Memories of play fights with Oakpaw flashed in his mind. He pictured Oakpaw’s favorite move and let himself go limp.

  The tom’s grip slackened. “You do surrender?”

  Crookedkit shot backward, unhooking his pelt from the tom’s claws and wriggling out from behind as fast as a fish. As the tom turned, Crookedkit reared up, claws outstretched. “I’ll shred you!” He stared into the face of a fat ginger tom, nearly as big as Hailstar.

  The tom’s whiskers twitched. “Go on then.” He sat back on his haunches and raised his forepaws to reveal a fat white belly.

  Crookedkit narrowed his eyes. Was this cat mocking him? I’ll show him! He lunged at the tom’s exposed belly, paws churning. Thick, soft fur filled his nose and caught in clumps beneath his claws until he felt heavy paws push him gently away.

  “Give it up, kit.”

  Crookedkit paused and shook the fluff from his eyes, then blinked at the tom.

  “You’re wasting your time,” the tom purred. “By the time you’ve finished shredding me, we’ll both have missed breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?” Crookedkit tilted his head. What’s breakfast? His belly rumbled again.

  “Sounds like you need some.” The tom narrowed his eyes. “And it looks like you need some, too.”

  Crookedkit growled. Why did everyone have to point out how skinny he was? He dropped into an attack crouch.

  “Whoa!” The tom held up a paw. “Let’s not go through that again. You’ve got sharp claws.” He began to pad toward the back of the nest. “What’s your name?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Crookedkit.”

  “I’m Fleck.” The tom halted and sat down. “What brings you to my barn, Crookedkit?” He stared into the pile of dusty stalks that Crookedkit had been watching. It was still quivering.

  “I was on my way to the Moonstone.” Crookedkit padded after the tom, trying to figure out if this cat was an enemy. He wasn’t a Clan cat, that was for sure. “What are you looking at?”

  Fleck dropped into a crouch, his tail flicking. “I see breakfast.”

  Crookedkit bristled. “Stop! That’s my prey!”

  Before he could finish Fleck dived across the floor and landed with his paws outstretched on the small lump that Crookedkit had been eyeing. Deftly, he hooked a mouse out of the stalks and killed it with a nip to the back of the neck. He glanced at Crookedkit. “Here.” He tossed the mouse and it landed with a thud at Crookedkit’s paws.

  Even though it wasn’t fish, the warm smell of it made Crookedkit’s mouth water.

  “You look like you need it more than me,” Fleck mewed.

  Crookedkit stared at the mouse. He was starving. But could he let another cat catch food for him?

  “Eat it.” Fleck rummaged deeper into the straw. “There’ll be another one in the straw.”

  Straw? Barn? This cat knew some funny words.

  Crookedkit sniffed his warm prey, wondering where to begin. “I’ve never eaten mouse before,” he admitted.

  Fleck padded over. “Are you a kittypet?”

  Crookedkit stiffened. “I’m a warrior!”

  “Ah.” Fleck nodded. “That explains the jaw. Got hurt in a fight? I’ve heard warrior cats are always fighting.”

  Crookedkit stared at the ginger tom. “No, we’re not! I hurt it falling in the river.”

  “Tough river.” Fleck reached farther under the straw. “I had kin with a smashed jaw.” He sneezed. “He fell out of the barn loft.”

  “The barn loft?” Crookedkit echoed.

  Fleck jerked his muzzle upward. “This place is the barn, and up there is the loft. Long way to fall.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Who? Domino?” Fleck stopped rummaging.

  Domino? Farm cats had strange names. “The cat who broke his jaw.”

  “He’s dead now.”

  “Dead?” Crookedkit’s eyes widened. “Because he broke his jaw?”

  Fleck sat up. “No,” he mewed quickly. “He died of old age. Last leaf-bare. He looked a bit odd, like you. He learned to eat using one side of his mouth. Hunted that way, too. He was one of the best mousers on the farm.”

  Crookedkit quickly scanned the barn. “Are there many mousers here?”

  “Just me now,” Fleck told him. “And Mitzi, my littermate. But she’s moved to the cornfield for her kitting.”

  “Is that where the nursery is?”

  “Nursery?” Fleck stared at him quizzically, then shook his head. “It’s quieter there. No farm monsters.” He nodded toward the mouse at Crookedkit’s paws. “Are you going to eat that?”

  Crookedkit felt hot. “Are you going to hunt some more?” He didn’t want to be watched.

  “Oh, yes. You’re not the only cat that needs feeding around here.” Fleck turned back to the heap of straw at the edge of the barn.

  Crookedkit crouched down and bit into the mouse. It tasted musky and meaty. He screwed up his nose. At least it was food. A small chunk of meat dripped from the side of his mouth where his twisted jaw gaped.

  “Tip your head,” Fleck called.

  Crookedkit looked up sharply. Was the tom watching him? But Fleck had his tail toward Crookedkit, and his gaze was fixed firmly on the straw. Feeling awkward, Crookedkit tipped his head, cocking it sideways so the mouse meat fell to the straight side of his mouth. Chewing in quick, short nips, he crunched through the mouse, catching stray bits with sharp jerks so that he dropped only a few morsels.

  “Got one!” Fleck dropped a second mouse beside Crookedkit. “Do you want another?”

  Crookedkit shook his head, swallowing. A few scraps of his mouse littered the floor where he’d dropped them, but his belly was full already. He’d managed to swallow more in one meal than he’d eaten since his accident. And his twisted jaw hardly ached. He purred. “Thanks, Fleck.”

  “What for?” Fleck started tucking into his mouse.

  “The fresh-kill,” Crookedkit mewed. “And for telling me how to eat it.”

  Fleck gazed at Crookedkit, chewing. “I watched Domino eat. I can show you how he hunted, too, if you want. He had a special way of doing the kill-bite. Looked a bit odd but it worked.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to go home.” Crookedkit began to wash his face. “My Clan will wonder where I’ve gone.”

  “Don’t they think you’re at the Mewstone?”

  “Moonstone.” Crookedkit licked a paw and wiped it along his jaw.

  “Whatever.” Fleck took another bite of mouse and went on, mouth full. “I’m going to catch something for Mitzi when I’ve finished this. She’s stuck in her nest with four kits. And I promised to watch them while she went for water.”

  Crookedkit paused from washing. “You sound like a Clan cat.”

  “I don’t know about that. But there’s no one else to hunt for her.” Fleck swallowed. “And you can’t let kin starve.”

  “Can I help?” Crookedkit suddenly wanted to find a way to thank this cat for his kindness. “I could look after the kits with you.”

  Fleck purred. “They’re a pawful,” he warned.

  Crookedkit remembered his denmates with a pang. “I can handle kits.”

  “Okay.” Fleck
swallowed the last of his mouse and sat up. “Let’s hunt first.”

  Crookedkit followed the ginger tom behind a pile of straw that was rolled and stacked high as a mountain. Fleck didn’t hesitate as he slid into the gap between the packed straw and the stone wall of the barn. Crookedkit padded after him, tasting the air. The tang of barn prey was familiar now and he smelled something warm as Fleck led him into a space shielded from the rest of the barn.

  “They always hide here.” Fleck’s mew dropped to a whisper. Something was moving through the shadow at the bottom of the stone wall. “Can you see it?” he breathed.

  A small brown creature was scuttling along the wall, pressing its body to the stone. It was heading for a crack. Crookedkit crouched, tail swishing. With his heart pounding like a woodpecker battering a tree trunk, he shot forward, paws outstretched. Belly brushing the ground, he skidded toward the mouse.

  Crash! He hurtled into the stone wall as the mouse dashed for the crack and disappeared into the shadow. Frog dung! He sat up and glanced sheepishly at Fleck.

  Fleck shrugged. “Mice are dumb but not that dumb.”

  “I attacked as fast as I could,” Crookedkit mewed apologetically.

  “Speed isn’t everything,” Fleck warned. “The mouse had seen, heard, and smelled you before you jumped.”

  “How?”

  “Your tail was swishing over the straw,” Fleck told him. “And you were panting like a badger with your breath stinking of mouse meat.”

  Crookedkit scowled. “I have to breathe.”

  “Let me show you.” Fleck beckoned him back with a flick of his muzzle and Crookedkit hurried and crouched behind the ginger tom.

  “Breathe through your nose,” Fleck ordered as they waited.

  Crookedkit closed his mouth. His tail longed to twitch, but he held it still, copying Fleck. When a tiny nose twitched in the crack between the stones, Crookedkit stiffened.