“What’s he hiding from?” asked Gilbert.
“The sunlight,” said Aldwyn. “Direct contact turns them to dust.”
The pup whined, and even though it didn’t have eyes or a nose, it definitely appeared sad and scared to Aldwyn.
“Oh no,” said Gilbert, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re not coming with us.”
The hound let out another cry.
“Fine,” said Gilbert. “But as soon as we find a dark cave, I’m leaving you there.”
Gilbert hopped over to the bush and opened his flower-bud backpack. The puppy gave him a slobbering lick and his smoky essence wafted inside.
The tree frog caught back up with Aldwyn and Skylar.
“I couldn’t just leave him out here,” he said apologetically.
Soon enough, the familiars were on their way again, and by the time dawn had given way to morning, they emerged from the tall grass to see an expanse of lowlands stretching downwards to the edge of a great bay. There was something serene and peaceful about the scenery; it was nothing at all like the fearsome image of the Beyond Aldwyn had conjured up in his head. Baxley’s paw prints led straight down until its purple glow disappeared into a line of trees that surrounded the large body of water.
“Looks like we’ve got a long day of walking ahead of us,” said Aldwyn.
The group was about to resume their journey when Gilbert’s attention was drawn to the east.
“Skylar, Aldwyn, what’s that?” asked the tree frog.
In the foothills of a mountain range not twenty miles away stood a tall grey tower, with incredibly flat sides that tapered to a point at the top like the tip of a crossbow bolt. The polished bricks that made up its walls were so smooth they reflected the sunlight, with veins of red that stretched from its base to its peak. It stood there completely out of context with all that surrounded it, as if it had been dropped there completely at random.
“The Shifting Fortress,” said Skylar.
“We found it!” exclaimed Gilbert.
They had spent the last five days on an epic quest to find a mystical artifact that they hoped and believed would be capable of summoning the impossible-to-find Fortress with its casting tower – and here it was, presenting itself like a gift just out of reach. Aldwyn couldn’t believe their good fortune.
“This is what we’ve been searching for,” said Aldwyn. “It’s time to face Paksahara.”
He wondered if at this very moment the grey hare was within those walls, staring at them, unsure what those dots on the horizon signified, unaware that those dots would be her downfall.
“Come on,” said Aldwyn, veering from his father’s path and running towards the foothills.
“The Fortress is constantly moving,” said Skylar. “We could make it to its front door and it could disappear before we even knocked.”
“Yes, but don’t you think it’s worth the risk?” countered Aldwyn. “We may never have this chance again.”
Skylar hesitated, but eventually she relented. Aldwyn knew his blue jay companion was usually right, but there was no guarantee they were ever going to find the Crown of the Snow Leopard, and so this might be their only opportunity to restore human magic to the queendom and stop Paksahara from raising her Dead Army. That’s if the three of them alone could overpower the hare and wrestle control of the Fortress from her.
The trio moved faster than they’d ever moved before, Skylar leading the way. Even Gilbert hopped double time. But as fast as they ran, it didn’t seem they were getting there fast enough. It wasn’t long before Aldwyn was panting. He was used to short bursts of speed, but marathon expenditures of energy were enough to knock him out.
“Look,” gestured Skylar to the sky. “Spyballs.”
A flock of Paksahara’s winged eyeball spies flew in from the south, not towards them but in the direction of the Fortress. They soared into the tower through one of the lone windows and quickly disappeared from sight.
As Aldwyn’s paws pounded the dry earth of the plains, the only thing that kept him moving forward despite his aching muscles and heaving chest was the thought of defeating Paksahara. Queen Loranella’s familiar had been a loyal assistant for over half a century. They had witnessed it in the epic tale the whistlegrass had told them south of Liveod’s Canyon. But then something had changed – on the fateful day when the grey hare had stumbled into the caves of Kailasa and found the paintings on the walls, the ones that told of how animals had once ruled the land.
Aldwyn’s feet still pounding.
Paksahara’s plot had started taking shape when she assumed the form of Loranella, trading places with the queen. From the throne of Vastia, she had slowly crumbled the queendom’s defences, allowing the enchanted fences to fall and the weather-binding spells to weaken. Had it not been for the prophecy, human and animal would have been unaware of her traitorous deception until it was too late. But the three spinning stars in the sky had told of three young spellcasters who would rise up and defeat her, saving the land. And while at first all had thought those three were Dalton, Marianne and Jack, it had in fact been them, the familiars, who were destined to be heroes.
Heart beating faster…
He, Skylar and Gilbert had thwarted Paksahara once, in the bowels of Mukrete, but the hare had escaped, taking refuge in the Shifting Fortress that she could summon through the force of the queen’s wooden bracelet. From the top of its casting tower, she had cast a dispeller curse that left all the human wizards of Vastia magicless. And it was more than likely where she waited now, while the obsidian was being collected for the necromantic spell she would cast when the full moon came.
The wind blew through Aldwyn’s whiskers as he ran.
That’s when the red veins of the Shifting Fortress began to pulse.
“What’s… going… on?” wheezed Gilbert.
A chequerboard of bricks began to disappear from the tower. Giant stone after giant stone vanished, revealing the interior of the Fortress – the spiral staircase inside and the landings at every flight.
“The Fortress,” said Skylar. “It’s shifting.”
Within seconds, save for the top of the tower, the outer walls were gone, and only the base, the curving staircase, and the top floor remained. For a moment, the steps disappeared, and it seemed as if the highest point of the Fortress hovered there on its own. Now exposed at the bottom was a globe the size of a large boulder, its smoky blue interior looking not unlike one of Jack’s marbles. This, no doubt, was the teleportation device that Agorus had described, spinning round and round until every last inch of the tower had left for some faraway spot. The familiars watched as the globe disappeared too.
There was little to be said. They had gambled and lost. Dejected, the three turned back for the trail. They had lost precious time and would have a lot of ground to make up.
Hours later, three exhausted familiars were approaching the tree-lined coast of the bay, once again in step with Baxley’s path. They hadn’t stopped to rest, but still the sun was already nearing the horizon, casting long shadows across the plains. Gilbert released the shadow pup from his backpack, allowing him to play and run alongside them, darting from the shade of one tree to another.
“He’s good at that,” said Gilbert. “He always seems to know where to find the shady spot.”
The smoky hound wagged its tail and barked.
“Hey, he seems to like that,” said Gilbert. “Maybe that should be his name.”
“Yeah, Spot,” said Aldwyn. “That’s a great name for a dog.”
“Spot?” asked Gilbert. “No, Shady. That’s a dog’s name.”
They continued their march, walking beneath the coconut palms and other trees that formed a small grove near the bay. Before them they found a circle of mud huts – if you could even call them that, as they were more like giant mounds of dirt with holes dug out inside. Standing in the centre of the village was the mud statue of a cat. Aldwyn moved closer – and it was as if he was
staring into a mirror, albeit one whose only colour was brown. The cat looked just like him, save for the bite taken out of his ear.
“You’ve come back,” a voice called from within the huts.
Aldwyn turned to see eyes peering out from the darkness, seemingly cowering in fear, cautious of the new visitors entering.
“It’s him,” said another voice.
Suddenly, giant snouts were emerging from the huts into the cool evening air, and the familiars found themselves surrounded by dozens of white, hairless aardvarks. They were all looking reverentially at Aldwyn, barely giving Skylar or Gilbert a second glance. A few of the wrinkliest elders were even bowing their heads. Some of the youngest ran over and excitedly touched the fur of his leg as if he were a king.
Aldwyn glanced back at the statue again and realised in whose shape it had been sculpted – for the first time in his life, he was looking upon an image of his father.
“Baxley, our saviour,” said one of the hairless aardvarks. “You have returned.”
“You have me mistaken,” said Aldwyn. “I’m not Baxley.”
The aardvarks all seemed taken aback.
“But the white on your paws,” said the aardvark, “and the rest of your colouring!”
“I’m not him. I’m his son, Aldwyn.”
The aardvarks’ disappointed eyes lit up again.
“It is the son of Baxley!” exclaimed a different aardvark. “The great mud mother has brought us another saviour.”
The aardvarks rejoiced. Many more poured out from their huts, carrying mud pots filled with ants. They pushed past Skylar and Gilbert, swarming round Aldwyn.
“No, no,” said Aldwyn, increasingly self-conscious.
They began singing a hymn, dancing in a circle round the cat.
“Oh, mighty Baxley, you came down from the mountain, and brought with you peace on this plain!”
The aardvarks marched their feet and waved their snouts.
“Baxley from high above, glory never ending!”
The words faded out, but the stomping feet and humming continued, creating a steady beat for one of the elder aardvarks.
“I’m sure your father has told you the story many times,” he said. “Of how the neighbouring warthogs forced us to dig grubs and roots for them, and then came to collect the bounty each night. For generations, no one was brave enough to stand up to them, until that blessed day when your father arrived in our village. He saw the way we were being oppressed and would not stand for it. That evening, when the warthogs arrived, they had a mighty surprise awaiting them. While we remained hidden in our huts, Baxley lifted the earth into the air, forming a claw made of dirt and mud. Within moments, tens of them were on their backs. The others fled as the hand swiped at them. Your father had done what all of our people together couldn’t – put fear in the hearts of our enemies.”
Aldwyn listened with pride. Baxley had been a hero, and that he had used the sand sign of the Mooncatchers to fend off the evil warthogs was an exhilarating revelation.
“After that night, the warthogs did not return for many, many moons,” continued the aardvark. “We moulded that statue in your father’s honour, to remember the great animal who brought peace to our village.” At this point, a plaintive note crept into the aardvark’s voice. “Alas, after many years of peace, the warthogs returned three months ago. This time they came under the orders of an evil grey hare who they called Paksahara, attempting to recruit us to join her. We responded that we were mere mud farmers, capable of no feat that would aid her in whatever fiendish plot she was planning. Seeing that the feline warrior was no longer among us, they demanded we serve them again. And that is just what we have done. But here you are to change all of that, arriving in our hour of need once more.”
“I wish I could stay and help, but we’re on an urgent quest,” said Aldwyn, feeling terrible as he saw the light of hope waver in the aardvark’s eyes.
“Just like your father,” he replied. “He, too, was in a hurry. But he refused to leave before aiding us.”
Aldwyn looked to Skylar.
“We have to continue on,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Aldwyn was wracked with guilt, but he knew that Skylar was right. If they delayed, this might cost them the Crown of the Snow Leopard, and all of Vastia would be faced with the same fate as these aardvarks – enslavement and suffering.
Aldwyn looked down at the ground, at the hundreds of paw prints that Baxley had left during his time in this village. There were wide leaping bounds that must have occurred during the heat of his battle with the warthogs, and quiet, peaceful steps that looked more like those taken in the victorious aftermath.
“I promise we will come back as soon as we have fulfilled our mission,” he tried to comfort the old aardvark.
Then he led Skylar and Gilbert along Baxley’s trail, which cut through the trees to quickly emerge on to a neighbouring beach. As Aldwyn reached the sand he could see where Baxley’s paw prints ended at the water.
“Maybe he swam the rest of the way,” said Aldwyn, looking out at the sparkling green bay. “The question is, where?”
No glowing paw prints could be seen in the dusk-tinted sea.
One of the younger aardvarks who had been walking behind them and eavesdropping piped up, “Your father left on the back of a travelling whale, following the pull of the metal ball he carried with him. If you like, we will call one for you.”
The fact that these hairless mud dwellers would be so altruistic and offer their help while getting nothing in return made Aldwyn feel even worse.
Before the familiars were able to thank him, the aardvark reached its snout to the sky and let out a trumpeting blow. The sound carried across the bay.
“It will take some time for the call to reach the lower depths,” explained the aardvark. “And longer still for a great blueback to arrive here. But they always do. Make yourselves comfortable here on the sands. I must return to the village and burrow into my hole with the others, for the warthogs will be making their nightly invasion soon. Good luck to you.”
The aardvark turned and walked away through the trees, with not even a judgemental glance back as he left.
As the familiars settled on to the beach to wait, the waves lapped gently against the shore, sending salty splashes against the sand, turning it from light brown to dark. Skylar seemed completely at peace with their decision not to help the aardvarks; Aldwyn couldn’t say the same, feeling that he had not only let the aardvarks down but also his father’s honour. His father’s honour? Before yesterday, he had thought Baxley was the worst cat in the world, selfish and unloving. Now, suddenly, he had evidence that he was good and selfless. More and more, Malvern’s assumptions were proving untrue. Whatever mischievous, treasure-seeking cat Baxley might have been, there was also nobility in him. And perhaps following in his father’s footsteps wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Gilbert watched as Shady ran up and down the shore, safe to roam free under the sunless sky, getting his misty paws wet before bounding back to dry land. The tree frog eyed the wind-chopped waters.
“Guys,” said Gilbert, turning to Skylar and Aldwyn. “You’ve seen me almost lose my lunch on a boat. How do you think I’m going to fare on the back of a travelling whale?”
“Remind me not to stand anywhere near you,” said Skylar.
Just then, the sound of shuffling feet and snapping branches could be heard from the direction of the aardvark village. Moments later, a nasty, wheezy voice called out, “This is it? You spent a whole day digging and that’s all you could come up with?”
Aldwyn’s ears pricked up, and he could hear the faint murmur of the elder aardvark speaking back to the voice. “The underground is not as fertile as it was in the past,” he said. “Please don’t punish us.”
“Now what kind of message would that send, if I let you off without scars from my tusks,” replied the unseen intruder.
Aldwyn moved carefully towards the tree line and s
aw through the bushes at least a dozen fat, sweaty hogs bashing in the mud huts with their hooves. That was it – no matter how little time they had left to save Vastia, he couldn’t just stand there and watch the aardvarks being bullied by the intruders.
“Leave them alone,” cried Aldwyn, bounding out from the trees.
The warthogs turned in his direction. Recognition, then fear appeared on the faces of some; others glanced to the mud statue and then back at him. The leader circled more cautiously now.
“Well, well, well,” he said. “So you return after all these years?”
Aldwyn sneaked a glance at his father’s statue. Then he puffed out his chest.
“That’s right,” he said confidently. “And I suggest you leave right now.”
“If you thought his powers were strong before, wait until you see them now,” bellowed Gilbert, who thought he was helping.
Aldwyn shot him a look. “Let’s not overdo it here,” he whispered under his breath. Skylar and Shady had come up behind them.
“Something seems different about you,” said the warthog. “You don’t scare me. Bring forth your claw to prove that you are who you say you are.”
The warthog had called their bluff. Aldwyn was being challenged to summon the Mooncatcher sand sign, an extraordinary feat he had only been able to achieve with his uncle’s guidance.
Aldwyn concentrated, trying to relax his mind the way he had when Malvern had his paw on his shoulder, but while the dirt lifted off the ground, no sand sign was forming in the air. He wasn’t yet capable of what his father had mastered.
The gruff warthog let out a mocking snort.
“I knew it,” he said.
The other warthogs closed in round the familiars. Their tusks grew longer and sharper; it seemed their magical talent was gouging their enemies. Then a pair of the burliest hogs charged Gilbert.
And that’s when Shady leaped out in front of him. The cute shadow pup transformed into a menacing hound, every bit as ferocious as the fully grown demon dog that had chased Aldwyn through Bridgetower when he had been trying to escape the notorious bounty hunter Grimslade. Shady snarled at the attacking warthogs, then lunged out for one, biting its sharpened ivory tusk clean off. The other hogs stopped in their tracks. Aldwyn was amazed at what he had just witnessed; it was hard to believe this menacing beast had been slobbering all over Gilbert just minutes before.
The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown Page 15
