The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown (8 page)

“I remember,” said Malvern, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “After your birth, when Baxley returned to the Pridelands, he brought with him this ball. A silver metal globe that was pulling him to the north.”

“Do you know where he was going?”

“I’m not sure
he
knew where he was going.”

Aldwyn’s shoulders slouched.

“Look at me, nephew,” said Malvern. Aldwyn’s eyes met his uncle’s. “We will solve this problem. Together. But first, before you go to sleep, I want to show you something.”

He brought Aldwyn to a sandy patch and put one of his striped paws on Aldwyn’s back. “I’m going to guide you through your first sand sign,” continued Malvern. “The way a father does with his son. It is a feat of extraordinary telekinetic artistry. Moving millions of grains of sand into a perfectly realised shape is not the same as lifting a rock. It takes true skill, not just brute force.

“Now, I want you to listen to the plateau. Feel the height of the earth and the sky resting on your back.”

Aldwyn’s senses began to open up to the elements around him – the rocks pushing up against the pads of his paws and the air hugging his body, rushing through his fur.

“Let your mind breathe. And let yourself be as calm as the Enaj River.”

Aldwyn took a deep breath and relaxed his entire body, from the tip of his bitten ear to the end of his tail.

Suddenly, he felt something move through him, a surge of energy that strengthened and focused his mind. The sand on the ground around him began to rise, and a sign formed in the air – a paw reaching for the moon. It left him breathless. He had made objects float before, but had never achieved something of such beauty. Yet it was more than just a feat of artistry. This symbol hanging in the air represented the long line of Aldwyn’s ancestors. He was a Mooncatcher. For good or bad, he had found his family.

The following morning, Aldwyn could feel the red sting of a sleepless night in his eyes. He hadn’t got a wink, lying on the cold stone floor of the community cave, waiting for the sun to rise. His mind had been racing from all the things Malvern had told him.

Across the supply den, Gilbert had snuggled up on a pile of woven blankets, while Skylar had found a place to perch atop a stack of boxes. Unlike Aldwyn, his companions had little trouble sleeping, exhausted as they were from the long travels of the previous two days. When the first morning light pierced the darkness of the cave, Skylar, who even during the peaceful days at the Runlet had been an annoyingly early riser, woke up.

“How did it go?” she asked when she saw that Aldwyn, too, was awake.

Aldwyn considered all that he could tell her – about his father’s selfish abandonment, about how his mother had been destroyed by madness – but he just wasn’t ready to bare his soul to Skylar. Not yet. So all he said was, “Malvern saw my father leave heading north with the Spheris.”

“That’s not much to go on,” said Skylar, disappointed. “He could be anywhere in Vastia. Or even the Beyond.”

Aldwyn walked over and gave Gilbert a nudge.

“Fruit fly casserole!” the tree frog shouted, still half asleep. Then his eyes opened and he seemed startled to find Aldwyn standing so close.

“Time to wake up,” said Aldwyn. “I think we should return to the palace. We’ll tell Queen Loranella what we’ve learned and see if we can come up with a new plan.”

The familiars gathered their satchels, pouches and spears and walked out of the community cave into the early morning sunlight. The steps on most of the floating rock islands had yet to be lowered, as only the most eager and youthful bicolours had risen. Some were getting an early start to the day’s telekinetic training, manoeuvring rocks through floating rings and lifting dew drops into the sky, like rain reversed. Others were performing chores around the Pridelands, hunting fish in the streams or gathering kindling for the evening’s bonfire.

Aldwyn led the trio towards the largest of the hovering dens, the one Malvern claimed as his own. He called the floating stone staircase into formation, and he and Gilbert began to ascend, Skylar flying beside them. Once they reached the top, they found Malvern awake, deep in thought. A reading lens was held afloat in the air between his eyes and an etched stone tablet.

“Good morning, uncle,” said Aldwyn. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think—”

“The idea came to me in the middle of the night,” said Malvern, his eyes never turning from the slab of grey shale he was reading. “Something your grandfather used to say
. A father’s path is never lost to his children.
”

The reading lens dropped to Malvern’s side, and the striped cat looked at Aldwyn.

“The cats of Maidenmere believe that no generation can flourish without a strong remembrance of the past,” he explained. “There are many traditions that keep the presence of yesteryear close. Each bead on my tail comes from one of my ancestors. This spike through my ear is a shard from the tip of a sword used by the first Mooncatcher. And there are spells that keep spirits from the Tomorrowlife in the today.”

Skylar was peering down at the tablet, cocking her head so that she didn’t have to read the glyphs upside down.

“
Rituals of the Felidae
?” she asked.

“Spells that have been collected for hundreds of years here in the Pridelands,” said Malvern. “Our tribe uses them for religious celebrations, rites of passage and during the mourning of loved ones. Their effects are mostly ceremonial, creating images of relatives in the stars and rainbows that lead to a proper burial spot. But then it struck me. What if one of these could be used in a different way? The
komi-pasu,
or spirit trail. In burial ceremonies, it’s a spell cast on the child of the deceased to remind them that their parents walked the same land that they did.”

“I don’t understand,” said Aldwyn.

“It reveals the paw prints of a father or mother to their child, and their child alone. We all try to follow in the footsteps of our parents. This allows a cat to actually do it.”

“And you’re suggesting that if you cast this spell on Aldwyn, he might be able to follow Baxley’s path out of Maidenmere,” said Skylar.

“Precisely,” replied Malvern.

The idea gave Aldwyn new hope that their mission could continue after all. But the thought of walking in his father’s paw prints also made him more than a little uneasy. What other ugly truths might he discover about Baxley if he went along with his uncle’s plan? However, the well-being of the whole of Vastia was more important than his personal issues with his father.

“Show me how it works,” said Aldwyn.

The pride leader led the familiars down from his airborne lair, with the ancient tablet floating beside him. They walked across the plateau to a sandy knoll.

“This was the last place I saw Baxley,” said Malvern, “before he headed north. Now, I’ve never cast this spell before, but the instructions seem clear. Aldwyn, I need you to dig a hole in the sand.”

Aldwyn cupped his paws and started shovelling.

“You don’t need to dirty your paws, you know,” said Malvern.

Aldwyn realised his mistake.

“I forget sometimes.”

He stepped back and let his mind finish what his front paws had started, while Malvern looked at one of the engravings etched on the
Rituals of the Felidae.

“Three thorns of a black cactus, petals from a golden rose,” he read. As he spoke, a telekinetic breeze carried the very items forth, spinning them in a tiny whirlwind above the hole that Aldwyn had dug. “Moth’s wings, cricket’s legs and seeds from an everwillow tree.”

The remaining spell ingredients flew in from afar and were sucked downwards into the hole. The sand buried them and all was calm.

“Let the steps of the past be present,” Malvern called out. “Light up the
komi-pasu.”

Malvern had hardly finished his incantation when, before Aldwyn’s eyes, glowing paw prints started forming in the sand, each one a purplish-pink hue that was the colour of a sunset. They pointed due north and stretched off far into the distance.

“It didn’t work,” said Gilbert. “Nothing happened.”

But Skylar had noticed Aldwyn’s intent stare and asked, “What do you see, Aldwyn?”

He was gazing off, speechless. His heart was beginning to skip beats, both from excitement and nervousness. He knew this trail could lead to answers he had so desperately sought, and so vehemently feared.

“Aldwyn?” asked Skylar again.

“I see the path of my father,” he said.

Aldwyn was trying to restrain everything he was feeling inside. Once the pounding in his chest subsided, he stepped forward cautiously, placing his paw on one of the glowing prints illuminated in the sand before him. It was a perfect fit. Even his little toe, which always stuck out a bit – a result, he had thought until now, of a back-alley brawl in Bridgetower – matched Baxley’s.

“The trail will either lead you to your father, or to where he took his last step,” said Malvern.

“So long as it also leads us to the Crown of the Snow Leopard,” said Skylar, “this world stands a chance.”

“Will you come with us?” Aldwyn asked his uncle.

“The pride needs me here. Besides, this is your journey. And if what you told me about the prophecy is true, then the three of you are the only ones who can save Vastia.”

“When this quest is over,” said Aldwyn, “I hope to bring my loyal back here with me. Jack. I think you’d like him.”

“Maidenmere will always have a den waiting for you.”

Aldwyn nodded to his uncle, then tightened the strap on Jack’s pouch.

“We’ll follow you,” said Gilbert, adjusting the spear that once again had slid down his back.

Aldwyn stared ahead at the glowing trail of paw prints that was snaking its way north. Just a day ago, he had wanted desperately to know more about his father. Now, after what he’d learned, he wished he could go back, to somehow preserve the possibility of a father who loved him. But it was too late for that. He could only move forward, hoping that this path might reveal something good about Baxley. Something that would make Aldwyn hate him a little less.

“Aldwyn, are you sure you’re going the right way?” asked Gilbert, hopping behind him.

“We have to trust in the magic path, even if we can’t see it,” said Skylar. “And believe me, that’s harder for me than it is for you. I start having a nervous breakdown when someone else even holds the map.”

“The path is so bright and clear that it’s amazing it only appears to me,” said Aldwyn. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to lead you astray.”

Since they had left the plains of Maidenmere, Aldwyn had continued to follow the path of the glowing purple paw prints along the edge of the Ebs River. Baxley’s trail appeared before him like pink clouds at sunset lighting up a grey and dusty sky. The northern plateau was surprisingly uninhabited, not only by humans but by animals as well. Temperatures could be sweltering during the high sun hours, and during the summer you could fry a dragon egg on the barren ground. And if the climate wasn’t reason enough, no one was eager to live so close to the border, especially at a time when sandtaurs and gundabeasts were making a habit of venturing into Vastia from the Beyond. Aldwyn had heard all of this from Skylar, which made it likely to be absolutely true.

Baxley’s paw prints stayed steady and straightforward along the river’s edge, except every mile or two when they stepped into the water – for what Aldwyn could only assume was a drink or to cool down – before resuming their path.

Gilbert peered occasionally into the stagnant pools dotting the riverbank, trying to aid his companions with a helpful puddle viewing, only to look up disappointed each time.

“Anything?” asked Aldwyn after what had seemed one of Gilbert’s more focused attempts.

“Just my reflection,” complained Gilbert. “Maybe Paksahara’s curse took away my magic abilities too.”

“That must be it,” said Skylar. “I’m sure you’re the only animal in all of Vastia whose talents have been dispelled.”

Gilbert hung his head low.

“It’s possible,” said Aldwyn, trying to cheer up the tree frog. “Unlikely, but possible.”

The familiars continued their journey along the footpath until they arrived at a point where the glowing paw prints split off from the Ebs. Here the river veered west, while the trail remained steadfast to the north. As comforting as it would have been to have drinking water always just a few steps away, it was clear the Spheris’s pull had no concern for the convenience of those it was guiding. The metal ball had but one goal – to reunite with the Crown of the Snow Leopard.

So north they travelled, leaving their own footprints behind them. Soon, hills began to rise up from the plateau floor, and the river was but a glimmering band of silver far in the distance. The wind picked up speed as gusts blew between the rocky channels formed by the curving landscape, kicking up dust clouds that made it difficult to see where they were going. Aldwyn kept his eyes on Baxley’s path, whose ethereal light never dimmed, no matter how much sand was swirling around it.

By the time the sun began its afternoon descent from its zenith in the sky, the winds had calmed down somewhat, and the familiars could now see an isolated stone building up ahead. The structure appeared to be a small temple, surrounded by marble columns. Their true colour was hidden beneath a film of thin brown created by the daily dust storms. Around the temple was a graveyard of tombstones, crypts and mausoleums, all surrounded by a fence of twisted metal.

“This must be a Sanctuary of the Agate,” said Skylar. “A house of worship for druids who pray to the cloud gods. They’re kind and welcoming to man and animal alike, so long as you respect their customs. Everything within the fence is sacred, protected by a single spotted gemstone that keeps evil at bay. Somewhere hidden on these grounds is its altar. Very few of these sanctuaries remain standing. I would have been interested to explore it further.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” said Aldwyn. “Baxley’s paw prints lead right to it.”

Aldwyn followed the glowing trail to the metal fence, which was no taller than the tip of his tail. Gilbert and Skylar remained at his side. Now that the sanctuary was in closer view, Aldwyn could see that it was in disrepair, the premises in a state of lonely abandon. The fountain out front appeared to be long dried up, and the silver doors of the temple were off their hinges.

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” said Skylar, clearly not impressed.

Aldwyn’s father seemed to have had the same thought because his footprints didn’t lead to the dilapidated entrance. They led round the back, past urns of dried flowers and fragmented tombstones.

When he rounded the far columns of the sanctuary, Aldwyn found that the prints headed straight towards a stone mausoleum. One side had been bashed open to reveal that it was hollow inside. Aldwyn took note of the paw prints, which travelled inside the crypt and then back out again.

“Baxley went in there,” said Aldwyn. “He was looking for something.”

“The Crown?” asked Gilbert.

The blue jay flew inside. Aldwyn and Gilbert quickly followed, descending three steps into a small underground room. All that was there was a pedestal holding a bowl of water.

Skylar dipped her wing in the bowl and brought a drop of water to her beak.

“It’s saltwater, from the Wildecape Sea,” she said. “Agate stays pure within such waters. This bowl must have been where the sanctuary kept the gemstone. But it’s gone. Whoever took it either wanted to bring harm to this place or valued the worth of the gem over the well-being of those kind souls who tended these sacred grounds.”

Aldwyn looked down to see Baxley’s paw prints leading directly to the pedestal, even scaling the stone stand, before retracing their way back out.

“Baxley stole it,” said Aldwyn. “Malvern was right.”

Skylar and Gilbert looked at him curiously.

“He told me that my father was nothing more than a selfish grave robber. He left my mother and me for this – to pillage treasure for his own glory. That’s why he was seeking the Crown. Not to protect Vastia or summon the Shifting Fortress. He was just after a prize.”

Gilbert looked at him with compassionate eyes; after all, the tree frog had his own experience with father issues. Even Skylar softened at the sadness with which Aldwyn had spoken.

“I’ll be the first to admit,” said Aldwyn, “I’ve stolen a fish or two… or a hundred in my day. But that was to eat. What Baxley did was different. He had a family. He should have been with us.”

“Our parents aren’t always the people we want them to be,” said Gilbert, in one of his rare moments of wisdom.

“We should continue on. There’s nothing left here for us,” replied Aldwyn.

Aldwyn led the way out of the crypt, arriving back above ground where the paw path resumed once more. Suddenly, his nostrils flared and he sniffed the air.

“Do either of you smell that?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” said Gilbert, “I haven’t bathed in two days.”

“No, it’s not you,” said Aldwyn. “It’s something else.”

He didn’t have the precise words to describe the odour, but it was like a combination of fresh paint and chopped grass, with a third element added that he couldn’t wrap his nose around. Before he had time to take another sniff, Aldwyn heard a hissing sound coming from behind a tombstone and spun round to see a two-foot-tall, reptilian-faced humanoid with scaly skin and a forked tongue scampering towards him. Half a dozen more stalked out from the shadows of the crypts and mausoleums, carrying small shields and jagged rocks.

“Friendly?” Gilbert asked Skylar.

“Do they look friendly to you?” she shot back.

“I try not to judge by appearances.”

“What are they?” asked Aldwyn, backing off the paw-print path.

“Rumlins,” said Skylar. “The scourge of the Northern Plateaux. I used to see them not far from here, when I would take day flights outside the Aviary.”

The rumlins seemed to be talking to one another by using a series of throaty warbles and clicks.

“I’m guessing neither of you can understand what they’re saying,” said Aldwyn.

He would have expected Skylar to pipe up, but to his surprise, it was Gilbert who responded.

“Actually, reptiles and amphibians have some lingual crossover,” said Gilbert. The rumlins continued chattering, flicking their olive green tongues, while moving in on the familiars. “
Poison, carve, lunch
… I’m hardly fluent, but I’m getting a pretty good picture of what they have in mind for us.”

The creatures began to surround the familiars on all sides.

“That’s what the gemstone was for,” said Skylar. “To keep evil like this away.”

One of the ugly little monsters attacked, outstretching its claws and teeth at the same time, as if undecided whether to tear Aldwyn to shreds or bite a chunk out of his back. Aldwyn wasn’t going to wait to find out. He lifted a large block of stone telekinetically into the air and hurled it towards the rumlin, whose yellow-slitted eyes barely saw it coming.
Thrump!
The slab of granite knocked the creature flat out.

The other six rumlins didn’t shed any tears for their fallen brother.

“I thought that would have scared them off,” said Aldwyn.

“No,” said Skylar, “they’ll probably just eat him later.”

“Don’t worry. All the frogs of Daku are great snake hunters,” said Gilbert, his voice croaking as he tried to convince himself of the truth of what he had just said. “A reptile like this should be no different.”

He reached over his shoulder and grabbed for the spear tied to his back. But the sharpened bamboo stick got caught on the grass strap, and Gilbert stumbled sideways, colliding with a gravestone.

Aldwyn focused on some nearby burial urns with long-dead flowers shrivelled inside that were resting in front of a family crypt. He mentally flung them through the air, sending them towards the approaching rumlins. But now they were prepared, using their shields to fend off the aerial assault.

The vicious lizard men were coming at the familiars with jagged rocks. One was ready to deliver a blow to Gilbert, who was still fumbling with his spear, which he had finally unsheathed. With all his might, the tree frog stabbed the attacking rumlin… with the blunt end of the stick!

“Gilbert,” shouted Aldwyn, “you’re holding it backwards!”

Before Gilbert could reorientate the weapon, the rumlin knocked it out of his hand with its small shield. The creature lifted his pointed rock in the air, but before he could bring the weapon down on Gilbert’s head, he was distracted by a bright glow emanating from between Skylar’s wings.

Aldwyn could see that she was holding a large red and black gemstone aloft in her feathers. All six of the scaly monsters began to back away, cowering in fear.

“You two better run,” she commanded Aldwyn and Gilbert. “When they realise this is just an illusion, they won’t be happy.”

Aldwyn and Gilbert didn’t hesitate. Aldwyn sprinted for Baxley’s path; Gilbert snatched his bamboo spear from the ground before hopping after him. Skylar waited until her two companions were a safe distance away, then took to the air, the gemstone disappearing as she did. The confused rumlins could only watch as their dinner made a hasty getaway.

With the sanctuary behind them, the three animals continued their trek through the northernmost reaches of Vastia. Evening was approaching, and the days of restless travel and the previous sleepless night had made Aldwyn exhausted. His eyes were bleary and his legs fatigued. There was no end in sight to the paw prints, and though the quest to find where the Spheris had taken Baxley was growing ever more urgent, Aldwyn would be a liability if he didn’t get rest soon.

“I think we need to find a place to sleep for the night,” he said.

Skylar pointed off the path to a large field of grass that had sprung up round the burnt remnants of wooden buildings.

“That looks like as good a spot as any,” said Skylar. “We can take turns keeping watch.”

Aldwyn veered off the spirit trail and the familiars got closer to the expanse of green. As they did, Aldwyn could hear music, a triumphant battle hymn that filled him with a sense of adventure and purpose.

“Whistlegrass,” said Gilbert fondly.

Aldwyn remembered passing such a field once before, on the way from Bridgetower to Stone Runlet, when Jack had first chosen him as his familiar. Kalstaff had explained how every rolling hill of whistlegrass played a different song, one that recounted the story of something that had taken place there days, weeks, or even years before.

When the three animals stepped through the blades, it felt as if they were suddenly surrounded by an orchestra of a hundred thousand instruments playing in perfect unison. They settled into the grass, and Aldwyn was sure that despite the music echoing around him, sleep would swallow him as soon as he closed his eyes.

“I’ll take the first shift,” said Skylar. “Gilbert, I’ll wake you in an hour.”

“Don’t you think six-hour shifts would be more effective?” asked the tree frog innocently.

“By then the sun will have risen,” she replied.

“And I will be very well rested,” said Gilbert.

The music lifted to a crescendo as a strong breeze blew across the field. Pollen from every stalk of grass took flight, and as the melody settled into a quiet hum, the fine yellow grains, twinkling like stardust, began to form moving pictures in the air. Burnt frames of houses destroyed long ago appeared whole again, having returned to their original peaceful states. Between the buildings, human villagers walked, carrying buckets of water and going about their everyday morning chores.