The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown

by Adam Jay Epstein

  “Could the Crown of the Snow Leopard be here?” asked Aldwyn.

  Skylar landed next to him, completely in awe of the treasures on display.

  “Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes searching. “Look, there’s a dreaming rug, and Ebekenezar’s cloak,” she added excitedly, pointing at a worn and frayed piece of fabric. “And here, two of the three Swords of the Spider.”

  “I think I saw the third one back there,” said Aldwyn.

  “What is all this stuff?” asked Gilbert.

  “Magical artifacts from all over the queendom and the Beyond,” answered Skylar. “And someone or something brought them here.”

  For the next little while, the familiars were lost in exploring the items littering the jungle floor, looking for anything resembling what might be the Crown.

  “I think this could be a mawpi’s lair,” said Skylar suddenly.

  “Come on, mawpis are just make-believe,” replied Gilbert. “There’s no such thing as magic-sniffing goblins.”

  “No, they’re real. I’ve read first-hand accounts of people who have seen them. They’ve just become increasingly rare.”

  “Well, no goblin could ever be strong enough to carry a coffin or an elephant saddle,” said Gilbert.

  “True, unless they were wearing one of the helmets of the Fjords.”

  Gilbert couldn’t argue with her logic. “OK, so let’s say it is a mawpi’s lair. Where’s the mawpi?”

  “Probably off collecting new treasures.”

  Aldwyn’s eyes scanned past a curved mirror and a mesh bag filled with gold coins before landing on a crystal figurine of a squirrel in a terrified pose.

  “What’s this?” he asked his companions.

  “Looks like a glass squirrel to me,” said Gilbert. “Very realistic.”

  “That’s because it was once alive,” chirped Skylar, coming up beside them. “In fact, it might still be. But it’s trapped for eternity in crystal. I’ve seen another statue just like this in the Museum of Bronzhaven, of a Beyonder who ventured into Necro’s Maze.”

  “Necro’s Maze,” said Aldwyn, his ears perking up. “Jack told me about that before. He said no one has ever made it to the centre.”

  “That’s because Necro is a hideous beast that turns flesh to glass with the touch of its tail,” said Skylar. “There is no spell capable of reversing the curse. Wizards speculate that the only way to return the statues to life is by killing the beast itself.”

  Aldwyn stared at the squirrel’s frozen expression and felt bad for the little creature. He actually reminded him of a fellow rooftop dweller from Bridgetower who had roasted nuts in the hot smoke of the chimneys. Meanwhile, Gilbert had wandered off to the far end of the clearing, where he was playing with a silver chain of beads; two seemed to be shimmering a bright blue while at least a half-dozen more were dull and colourless. And Skylar had already fluttered over to a crystal cube lying in the dirt.

  “It doesn’t look like the Crown is here,” said Aldwyn. “And Baxley’s path goes this way.”

  “Just give me a moment. If this cube is what I think it is, it could contain all the spells of the Elder Council,” said Skylar, who was transfixed by the sparkling object. “Some were never transcribed to parchment.” She pressed a wing against the side of the quartz block, and smoke started to stir inside it. She closed her eyes, and to Aldwyn it looked as if she was attempting to draw the cube’s knowledge straight through her feathers. Aldwyn watched as a swirling mist started to seep out from the quartz.

  “Hey, Skylar, Aldwyn, I think I just found the mawpi,” called out Gilbert.

  “Not now,” Skylar replied, deep in concentration, her eyes squeezed shut.

  Aldwyn turned round and saw where Gilbert was standing. On the ground beside him, the decomposing corpse of a goblin lay face down. What was worrying was that two giant fang marks were clearly visible on the dead body’s back.

  When Aldwyn returned his gaze to Skylar, the mist had taken the form of a ghostly snake. It didn’t take long for Aldwyn to connect the dots and scream, “Skylar, get away from that thing right now!”

  But she had fallen into some kind of trance and didn’t respond. Above her, the cube’s serpent-shaped genie was about to strike.

  “Skylar!” called Gilbert. “Skylar!”

  She remained transfixed, leaving Aldwyn no choice but to give her a telekinetic push, jolting her awake.

  “It hasn’t spoken to me yet,” cried Skylar, still unaware of the deadly inhabitant of the artifact hovering over her.

  “I don’t think it’s going to do much talking,” shouted Aldwyn.

  Finally, Skylar looked up to see the misty fangs widening. Then the familiars ran. Gilbert shoved the silver chain of beads into his flower-bud backpack as he fled. The trio dashed past the mawpi’s corpse, leaving the goblin’s lair and the rest of the stolen artifacts behind. The serpent genie, bound by the cursed cube, was unable to follow.

  When they had caught their breath, the familiars made their way back to the river, and Aldwyn led them along the purple paw prints.

  “I’m sorry about what I did,” said Skylar. “I know it was reckless, but I thought that cube might contain spells that could aid us in defeating Paksahara.”

  Aldwyn had grown to know Skylar well enough to recognise when she wasn’t telling the whole truth. First, there was the lack of eye contact; then there was the way she shifted her weight from talon to talon. He had a feeling that her temptation was less about the journey and more about following the credo of the Noctonati – knowledge above all else. But it would be hypocritical of Aldwyn to call out Skylar for letting her own personal issues interfere with the quest when he still hadn’t looked inside the pouch pressed up against the black fur on his chest.

  Thinking about it that way, Aldwyn could no longer allow his own selfish reasons to keep him from opening his father’s bag. He was about to do just that when the pouch was pulled straight from his neck by some unseen force. It was as if an invisible hand had reached out and grabbed it.

  “Hey, did you guys see that?” he asked his companions, spinning round, looking for the thief.

  “What?” asked Gilbert.

  “The pouch! Somebody took it.”

  Aldwyn thought he heard something trip in the bushes nearby, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of blue, but when he turned to look, there was nothing but dangling jungle vines.

  “Maybe the invisible howler monkeys roam these jungles,” said Skylar.

  Gilbert clutched his flower-bud backpack extra tight. “They better not lay a hand on my flies.”

  “Aldwyn, I told you you should have opened that bag sooner,” said Skylar, who was flying about looking for it.

  “How was I supposed to know it would get stolen like that?” asked Aldwyn. He was searching the tall grass and the reeds beside the river.

  “Let’s just hope Baxley’s path and the Song of the First Phylum are enough to guide us to the Crown,” said Skylar.

  Aldwyn gave one last glance around before following the path again. He experienced an unexpected emotion – a feeling of loss. Just a few minutes ago he had had no desire to see what was in Baxley’s pouch, but now that it was gone, he would have given anything for a peek inside.

  “What’s the next verse of the nursery rhyme again?” asked Gilbert.

  “Through brown mist stone arrows point, To where the ladybirds rest. A supper to be placed, In the great spider’s nest,” sang Skylar. “We should be keeping our eyes peeled for stone arrows.”

  “And I’ll be on the lookout for ladybirds,” said Gilbert. “For the quest, of course. Not to eat.”

  The jungle seemed to breathe differently here by the river. This part of the Ebs was narrow and moved at such a crawl it almost appeared not to be flowing at all. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage around them, and Aldwyn observed how it blew some of the leaves on the ground upwards, as if they were floating back to the branches from which they had once hung. The sun and
the sky gave the impression of being out of sync as well, casting shadows of clouds that weren’t there.

  “Guys, I’m getting a puddle viewing!” exclaimed Gilbert, who was staring into a stagnant portion of the Ebs. “My uselessness on this journey has finally come to an end.”

  The others hurried to his side. Indeed, there in the water was the rippling image of Aldwyn, clearly in some kind of peril, taking refuge within a large circle of stones. A voice bubbled up from the stream and spoke. “Aldwyn is in terrible danger. If you wish to save him and all of Vastia, you must seek the Crown of the Snow Leopard.”

  “Great,” cried Gilbert to the waters. “Tell me something I don’t know!”

  But the viewing had spoken its piece, and the image of Aldwyn slowly began to float downstream. Gilbert looked crushed with disappointment. “Even my puddle viewings aren’t helpful,” he said, then turned to the river and shouted, “Next time, why don’t you tell me that the sun rises in the morning and sets at night? Or that Skylar is a bird and I’m a worthless familiar?”

  “Gilbert, don’t be so hard on yourself,” said Aldwyn. “If it wasn’t for you, Paksahara would have turned us to dust in the Sunken Palace.”

  “I’m beginning to think that was just luck,” said Gilbert.

  Suddenly, a bamboo spear flew down from the trees, narrowly missing Aldwyn’s feet. All three familiars ducked for cover.

  “We’re being attacked!” said Aldwyn.

  Gilbert, who seemed angry with himself and with the world, reached for his own spear off his back and flung it straight up into the trees, from where the assault had come. The weapon disappeared in the branches. The familiars waited for a long moment, expecting another attempt on their lives. But none came. Then Skylar glanced at the bamboo stick impaled in the ground beside them.

  “Gilbert, isn’t that your spear?” she asked.

  “What? That’s impossible. This is the one that was thrown at us. Mine never came down from the trees.”

  Aldwyn looked more closely at the sharpened stick and noticed the engraving of a circle with a star inside it. There was no doubt about it, this was Gilbert’s symbol.

  “OK, this is getting weird,” said Aldwyn.

  “You better be careful,” a voice called out. “You could have hurt yourself.”

  Aldwyn’s, Skylar’s and Gilbert’s heads shot up in unison, and there, a little further up the river, they saw a green iguana sitting atop a small waterfall.

  “Welcome to the Time Stream,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”

  “But we’ve never met,” said Skylar.

  “That’s what you think. Bless you.”

  The familiars looked at each other, utterly confused.

  “Ha-choo!” sneezed the blue jay, to her surprise.

  “You see, Skylar, the course of life is like a whirlpool here,” said the iguana. “Sometimes it moves forward, sometimes backwards.”

  “How do you know my name?” she asked.

  “You introduced yourself the first time we met.”

  Aldwyn decided to cut through this interesting but confusing banter with questions they needed answers to.

  “Did you see a black-and-white cat pass by this stream, about three years ago?” he asked. “His name was Baxley. He was carrying a steel ball in search of the Crown of the Snow Leopard.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t,” said the iguana. “But I look forward to meeting him.”

  Aldwyn was most confounded by this jungle lizard, who only seemed to talk in riddles.

  “I don’t understand,” said Gilbert, who was just as flummoxed as Aldwyn.

  “Place a leaf in these waters and let it drift downstream, and it could wash up on the shores of Vastia ten years ago,” explained the iguana. “The waters of the Ebs begin their flow right here, and like the currents of time, they circle and spin before setting their path. Here and now is yesterday and tomorrow. Everything is connected. Past, present and future. Now you better get going. You’ll be arriving soon.”

  And with that, the iguana scurried up a tree and disappeared into the foliage.

  The familiars were more than eager to leave this perplexing place. Aldwyn led them along Baxley’s glowing trail as it curved round the base of the cliffs from which the waterfall descended. It then slightly backtracked to the south, running almost parallel to where they had walked previously. Over by the river, the familiars could hear the sound of voices.

  “… but I thought that cube might contain spells that could aid us in defeating Paksahara.”

  It was Skylar’s voice. Peering through the trees, Aldwyn saw himself, Skylar and Gilbert walking along the path towards the Time Stream. It was a puzzling paradox he could hardly wrap his mind round. His eyes spotted Baxley’s pouch round his own neck, and he knew full well that an invisible hand would be taking it from him any second. Unless he did first!

  Aldwyn focused his telekinesis and pulled the bag from his other self, lifting it from his neck and tugging it through the air right to him. That’s when he realised who had taken the pouch in the first place – himself. His head was spinning.

  “Hey, did you guys see that?” asked the past Aldwyn, looking for the culprit.

  “What?” asked the past Gilbert.

  “The pouch! Somebody took it,” said the past Aldwyn, just as the present Aldwyn had a few minutes before.

  “Quick, hide,” said Aldwyn to his companions, who had now spotted the past versions of themselves as well.

  Gilbert hopped for a tree, but tripped, smacking his face into the ground. Skylar was quicker. With a flash of her blue wing, she conjured an illusion of hanging vines to block them from view.

  “Maybe the invisible howler monkeys roam these jungles,” said the past Skylar. In the present, the three familiars stood silently and watched as their past selves continued towards the waterfall. Aldwyn had the pouch round his neck once more. And this time he wouldn’t miss the chance to open it. Whatever lay inside that cloth bag was a piece of his father, and therefore a piece of himself. Like the iguana had said, the past and present were interconnected, and Aldwyn knew that he could never truly move forward without first looking back.

  Dried worms. Shrivelled garlic. Blades of grass. A necklace with three shells on it. Two smooth stones. These were the contents of Baxley’s pouch. Looking at them, Aldwyn felt silly for having been so hesitant to open the cloth bag in the first place.

  Sitting in a quiet spot on some tangled roots away from Gilbert and Skylar, Aldwyn stared at the mundane items before him and realised they didn’t tell much of a story at all. Worms to catch fish, stones to make fire. He had expected incriminating evidence of the selfish and villainous character Malvern had described. Perhaps a journal that exposed how little Baxley cared for his son and wife and how his only love was seeking treasure. But alas, Aldwyn was left with blades of grass, which told him nothing; neither confirming his fears nor serving to counter them.

  Skylar and Gilbert gave Aldwyn some time before coming over beside him.

  “Any clues that might help us?” asked Skylar.

  “None that I see,” replied Aldwyn.

  “Anything tell you more about your father?” asked Gilbert.

  Aldwyn shook his head.

  Skylar lowered her beak towards the string of shells lying on the roots.

  “I think these are whisper shells,” she said. “Have you listened to them?”

  Aldwyn’s heart began to beat a little faster. In his haste, he had thought the necklace was just that, a necklace. But now he remembered what Jack had shown him at the Historical Archives – that whisper shells contained voices, pieces of the past recorded in time. Unlike the larger conch and snail shells gathered on the counters of the Archives, these were no bigger than one of Aldwyn’s toes.

  He put his ear up to the first and heard the soft purr of a female voice. It was the same voice he had heard many times in his dreams, gentle and reassuring.

  “Baxley,” the voice said, �
�make sure you come back to us.”

  There was no question in Aldwyn’s mind. This was his mother, Corliss. But she hardly sounded crazy.

  “Who is speaking?” asked Skylar.

  “My mother, I think,” replied Aldwyn. “She said, ‘Baxley, make sure you come back to us.’”

  “That’s not a very long message,” said Gilbert.

  “Well, it’s not a very big shell,” said Skylar.

  Aldwyn moved on to the second shell and leaned his ear to it. This time, he heard the sound of a kitten mewing.

  “It sounds like kittens,” said Aldwyn. “Or maybe just one. I can’t tell.”

  “Perhaps it’s you,” said Skylar. “Malvern said Baxley left Maidenmere just after you were born. What if he brought along the shell to remember you?”

  Aldwyn allowed himself for a moment to picture his father walking along this very path, listening to the sound of his voice. Had his father been keeping him close this entire journey?

  No. He wouldn’t let his mind start spinning fantasies that were most likely untrue.

  “What does the last one say?” asked Skylar.

  Aldwyn moved his ear beside it, but all he heard was silence.

  “It’s not saying anything,” he told Skylar and Gilbert.

  “A voice memory yet to be recorded,” said the blue jay.

  Aldwyn couldn’t hide his disappointment. He secretly wished to hear the voice of his father. Good or bad, he was curious to know what Baxley sounded like, and if hearing him speak would bring back any memories from his earliest days.

  Skylar looked through the gap in the trees above and saw that the moon was three nights away from being full.

  “We should keep moving,” she said.

  Aldwyn used his telekinesis to gather up all of the contents of Baxley’s pouch and add them to his own. Then the familiars marched on.

  The paw prints sloped downwards from here, making the journey a bit easier. Skylar seemed to enjoy gliding most of the way. The jungle became less dense, and once they had reached the base of the hill, they found a dirt road that was carving its way through the trees, and on it Aldwyn could see the marks left by horse carts. This was the first sign of any civilisation at all in the Beyond.