“Talk about déjà vu,” said the queen as she fired three more ruby needles from her ring at the bubbles floating by her. But now, when the red tips of her bolts hit the protective spells, they didn’t puncture them; they merely bounced off. “What?” Loranella exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise and dismay.
Before she could make another attempt to destroy them, the three bubbles encircled Jack, Marianne, and Dalton, melding to their bodies and creating a thin, impenetrable forcefield around each one of them.
The queen glared down at Kalstaff, who was pale and motionless and to Aldwyn seemed even more wrinkled than before.
“You used your last pulse of life for that? To cast three Astraloch bubbles? They won’t protect them for long, Kalstaff.” She shook her head dismissively and turned to her guards. “Bind them, gag them, and take them away. We will kill them when the spell wears off.” The soldiers were quick to obey.
Aldwyn dropped the pouch from his mouth. What good would the glow worms do now that the children were kidnapped?
Queen Loranella walked up to the captured wizards with a hop in her step. She whistled, and four balls of green energy appeared in the air, quickly unfolding into the four spectral steeds. Each of the soldiers hoisted one of the bound children atop a horse before mounting it. Aldwyn could only watch helplessly as Jack’s pleading eyes cried out for help. The queen hopped nimbly onto the last of the phantom stallions and, without looking back once, commanded, “Ride.”
The ghostly path materialized again, curving away into the sky. On it, the steeds galloped off and were soon swallowed up by the darkness.
Silence descended quickly and without warning. It was as if the bugs, brook, and wind all dared not speak. Aldwyn stood in a daze. Gilbert hobbled over from where he had been kicked aside by one of the queen’s soldiers. Then the two spotted Skylar lying beak down in the dirt. They ran over to their comrade.
“Skylar,” called Gilbert, nudging her with his webbed foot. “Wake up!”
The jay flew up into the air with a start, wings beating and head spinning frantically. “Where are they? What happened?”
Aldwyn and Gilbert exchanged a look.
“What is it? Is Dalton okay? Tell me,” demanded Skylar.
“They’ve all been captured,” said Gilbert. “And the queen . . .”
Then Skylar looked over and saw Kalstaff lying on the ground. Like a dart, she flew to his side. Aldwyn and Gilbert quickly followed. Gathering before him, the familiars found Kalstaff breathing heavily, his cloak hiding the severity of his wound. The old wizard tried to clear his throat. “Familiars, come close and listen carefully,” he whispered weakly. “I am afraid a great responsibility has fallen on your shoulders. I wish it weren’t so, but my path ends here.” He coughed, then licked his lips before continuing. “Earlier this evening, I saw a prophecy—three stars spinning in the sky. It foretold that three young spellcasters from Stone Runlet were destined to save this world: Marianne, Jack, and Dalton. It is clear they have powers that are yet untapped, powers that could change the tide of what I fear may be coming. And it is now evident that I was not the only one who saw this prophecy.”
“The queen,” said Skylar, explaining to Aldwyn and Gilbert.
“Yes. The enchantment I cast upon your loyals will protect them for three sunsets. After that, it will fade, and they will be defenseless against the queen’s deadly magic.” Kalstaff’s last breaths grew near. “You must find a way to rescue them. It is up to you.”
“Us? How?” asked Aldwyn in disbelief.
“We’re just a bunch of familiars,” added Gilbert, shaking his head.
Even Skylar had a look of uncertainty on her face.
“I see the worry on your faces, but fear not. Heroism appears in many forms,” said Kalstaff in a whisper. “Not always man or woman but also fur, feather, and tongue.”
Kalstaff’s eyes closed, never to open again. The once mighty wizard was dead.
Skylar flew gently atop him, nuzzling her feathered head into his chest. Gilbert stepped into his unmoving, open palm. Even though he had hardly known Kalstaff, Aldwyn, too, was overwhelmed by a feeling of profound loss. He had never experienced death before, at least not that of someone close to him. The only thing comparable was the feeling of heartbreak he endured from never having known his parents.
As the animals said their last good-byes, a circle of mist formed a stone’s throw away, and out from the fog, a faintly glowing bloodhound emerged, old and tender looking.
Gilbert looked up at the canine spirit.
“Zabulon,” he said.
Skylar lifted her beak, wiping away a tear with her wing. She, too, recognized the ghost of Kalstaff’s familiar, his drooping ears and long face.
“Take good care of him,” she said. “Guide him gently into the Tomorrowlife.”
Zabulon approached Kalstaff, his steps light and buoyant, freed from the gravity that burdens all living beings. He leaned his head down and took hold of the deceased wizard’s hand before giving a pull. Aldwyn and the others watched as Zabulon gently tugged Kalstaff’s spirit from his body. The transparent figure rose to his feet and turned to the mist without looking back. Together, the ghostly wizard and his familiar walked into the fog, reunited again.
Kalstaff was gone, the cottage had burned to the ground, and the young wizards were in the clutches of the evil queen. The three animals were on their own, an impossible task weighing heavily on their small backs.
Aldwyn had but one question in his mind: How had the fate of Vastia fallen upon a tree frog, a blue jay, and himself, a fake familiar without even the tiniest whisker of magic?
7
INTO THE UNKNOWN
Four small gray clouds dropped rain over what was left of the cottage as Skylar flung storm berries into the flames. Sheets of water doused the blackened roof, sending steam drifting into the air. Aldwyn’s heart ached upon seeing the now charred walls. He was hesitant to even look inside, not wanting to further tarnish the sweet memories of his all-too-short time here in Stone Runlet.
Nearby, a flock of shovel bills, with beaks like curved spades, had descended to Kalstaff’s side and were in the process of burying the great wizard’s corpse under a pile of freshly dug dirt and earth. These peaceful birds traveled far and wide, stopping only when they sensed a spirit headed for the Tomorrowlife.
“I just don’t understand,” said Gilbert, pacing back and forth. “How are we supposed to rescue Marianne, Jack, and Dalton? Our magical abilities are nothing compared to the queen’s. We’re familiars—assistants, helpers, the ones who get carried around in the wizard’s pockets. We don’t do the saving.”
“True, this has never been asked of a familiar before,” said Skylar. “I just don’t see what choice we have. I might have suggested enlisting the help of Galleon, but according to his last letter to Kalstaff, he and Banshee are sailing the Ebs, fighting off river dragons. Or perhaps we could turn to Sorceress Edna, but her manor in the Palace Hills is at least a two-day journey from here. And there’s no guarantee she’d even be there, given her regular trips into the Borderlands. I’m afraid we’re on our own.”
Aldwyn certainly didn’t like the sound of that. Although he’d never needed a human to protect him in Bridgetower, out here it was different. He had seen firsthand how dangerous these lands could be. Without the help of a wizard at their sides, even a journey into the neighboring forest could be deadly for a familiar.
“We should collect what we can from the cottage before leaving Stone Runlet,” continued Skylar. “We’ll search high and low for our loyals, every corner of Vastia until we find them.”
“In three days?” asked Gilbert, already feeling hopeless.
Skylar ignored him, flapping toward the burned frame of the small house. Aldwyn and Gilbert walked behind her, entering through a singed gap in the wall. Inside, the once-cozy dwelling was practically unrecognizable. It was difficult to believe Loranella’s attack had destroyed so much so quickly.<
br />
“The components,” lamented Skylar as she looked to the metal rack, where all that was left was broken glass and dust. “Wonders from lands distant and near—cobra scales and echo drool, dried rigor weed and amethyst powder—all lost to the fire.” She seemed close to tears.
Aldwyn tried to feel sympathetic, but he couldn’t really waste time crying over spell ingredients, rare though they might be.
“The library,” said Skylar, as she flew through another gaping hole straight into Kalstaff’s book-filled study, or what was left of it. “A trove of irreplaceable knowledge—no more!”
Then Aldwyn heard a groan so full of pain he thought Gilbert had injured himself.
“My fruit flies!” cried the tree frog.
Aldwyn watched as Gilbert raced frantically past the cooking pots and pans to the crispy black soot-covered countertop, where a clay pot was shattered with charcoal dust surrounding it.
“Gone. All of them gone!” moaned Gilbert, running his webbed fingers through the charred remains.
“It’ll be okay, Gilbert,” Aldwyn said comfortingly. “We’ll find more.”
Gilbert desperately poked his tongue into the pot’s pile of ash, but recoiled with a cough. “Not good, not good,” he wheezed.
Skylar spotted some nightshade that had survived the blaze beneath one of the cooking pots and gathered it into her satchel. Gilbert bounced down from the counter and splashed into a puddle on the ground made by the storm berries. Aldwyn pawed through more of the wreckage in search of anything that might be useful on their journey.
“Guys!” Gilbert shouted. “Get over here. I’m having a puddle viewing.”
Skylar looked back skeptically, doubting Gilbert’s claim.
“No, really. It’s Marianne, Jack, and Dalton. I see them!”
Aldwyn hurried to Gilbert’s side. Skylar also sped over to catch a glimpse of the vision. And indeed, there in the pool was the rippling image of their loyals. They were chained to a wall, looking frightened but unharmed. Jack tugged futilely at his shackles, trying to wriggle free.
“You can do it, Jack,” Aldwyn whispered. He extended a paw toward Jack’s reflection, wishing to touch him, comfort him somehow.
“It’s no use,” they could hear Dalton’s voice coming from the puddle. “I already told you—they’re dispeller chains. They prevent us from casting magic.”
Jack gave up the struggle and sank down to his knees.
“Don’t cry, little brother,” said Marianne. “So long as we are protected by Kalstaff’s spell, she can’t hurt us.”
“It’s not going to last forever,” said Dalton, unable to keep the dread out of his voice.
Then the image began to swirl away,
“Find out where they are,” Skylar urged Gilbert. “Quick!”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Gilbert snapped back. “It only shows you what it wants to show. Slivers of the picture, not the whole thing!”
“Just try,” she said.
“Where is the queen hiding you? How do we save you?” Gilbert called out frantically to the wizards, even though they couldn’t hear him. “Puddle, tell me!”
As the vision faded into nothingness, a soft murmur could be heard from the water, but the words were hard to understand.
“What was that?” asked Gilbert, pressing his ear to the shallow pool. “Gray hair witch?” he repeated aloud, hoping for some kind of confirmation. But the water had gone silent.
“Don’t look at me,” said Skylar to Gilbert. “I don’t speak puddle.”
Aldwyn stared at the tree frog, waiting for something more.
“Gray hair witch. That’s what the puddle said. I know it’s not much help. I’m sorry.”
But suddenly, Skylar didn’t look disappointed at all. “Don’t you see?” she said excitedly. “Gray hair witch. Agdaleen, the gray-haired witch! The queen must have a dark partnership with her—some kind of agreement that Agdaleen will keep them captive. She lives north of here, in the Weed Barrens.”
“How do you know where she lives?” asked Gilbert.
“I read all about her in Wyvern and Sk—” She caught herself mid-sentence and quickly stopped. “It’s common knowledge. Everyone knows Agdaleen’s whereabouts.”
Her slip-up didn’t go unnoticed by Aldwyn, but what Skylar read in her spare time hardly was important now.
“Well, now we know our destination,” said Aldwyn. “But do either of you know how to get there?”
Skylar turned, glancing around the room. “Scribius!” she called out.
Skylar and Gilbert waited, while Aldwyn looked at them, puzzled. What was left in this empty shell of a house? Then, from the pile of ash where the table once stood, Kalstaff’s enchanted quill, the one Aldwyn had seen writing out the old wizard’s lesson plans, emerged. The magical writing tool, with its metal tube tarnished and feather tip scorched, limped toward them.
“Draw us a map to the Weed Barrens,” Skylar instructed it.
Scribius shuffled across the floor to one of the few pieces of parchment that had survived the inferno. It began to sketch out a path on the page, inking in trees and valleys and roads on the route to their destination. The pen was no expert cartographer, but its crude map would suit them just fine.
Skylar reviewed the course laid out before them. “This could take us over a day by foot. But if I flew ahead without you, I fear that it could be too dangerous, even for me.” She looked up through the hole in the roof. Aldwyn followed her gaze and saw the sky’s blackness fading to purple as dawn approached. “We have little time to waste.”
Skylar rolled up the map with her talons and placed it in her satchel. Scribius, not wanting to be left behind, hurried into the satchel as well. Skylar took wing to the door, and Aldwyn and Gilbert followed. Once outside, the group walked across the meadow, in the direction of the cellar. Aldwyn noticed Jack’s pouch lying on the ground. He had forgotten about it since tossing it aside after the wizards’ kidnapping. Thinking its contents might serve them well later, he slipped the strap over his head and tightened it with his teeth, so that the leather bag hugged his side. Skylar, who had already flown ahead to the edge of Stone Runlet, was peering north off into the distance. Gilbert and Aldwyn stepped up behind her and looked out at the rolling hills and forests through which their journey would take them.
“We’ll have to travel at a horse’s pace,” said Skylar, before taking the lead down the hill.
Gilbert hopped after her, his head popping out above the tall blades of grass with each leap.
Aldwyn, however, hesitated and turned to the southwest, where he knew Bridgetower lay, the high beacon of the city’s watchtower shrouded in the morning haze. For a moment, he considered leaving all this madness behind and returning to the predictable perils of the walled city. He questioned his courage in the face of all the dangers sure to stand in his way should he continue with Skylar and Gilbert. It would be far easier to go back to his life as an alley cat of ill repute. But something kept his paws from running, feelings he had never experienced before. Obligation, loyalty to Jack, a call to something larger than himself—these noble emotions were now coursing through his veins, driving him toward something unexpected. And so he made his choice, taking a step to the north, into the unknown.
“I can see why humans wear shoes,” said Gilbert, wincing. “A tree frog’s feet are not made for this kind of travel.”
Two hours had passed since the familiars had left Stone Runlet, and they were still traversing the wide expanse of the Aridifian Plains. The morning sun was climbing higher into the sky. Occasionally, it was covered by swiftly moving clouds that cast shadows across the land, creating an ever-shifting checkerboard of light and dark patches. There was little of note on the trail, save for a stalk of corn beetles, shiny yellow insects that could shave an ear of corn down to its cob in a blink. Gilbert’s tongue had snared the lot of them, enjoying their salty, buttery taste.
The familiars came up over the next rise, and spo
tted a well-trodden dirt road twisting away into the distance. As they began their descent, Aldwyn kept his eyes on the ground before him, wary of the sharp thistles sticking out from the pebbly earth.
“Ow, ow, ow,” said Gilbert each time his slimy skin brushed up against the prickly vegetation.
With his head still cast downward, Aldwyn noticed the shadow of a cloud that was now beneath his feet. It strangely resembled a large bird. He would have shrugged it off—after all, it was possible to see all kinds of creatures in the clouds—had he not heard something that sounded like a hundred boulders rolling down a mountain. The ground and the sky shook. Aldwyn looked up and saw six hawks beating their wings overhead.
“Tremor hawks,” said Skylar, in a way that made it clear to Aldwyn that this was not good news.
Aldwyn watched as they circled above, leaving splintery cracks in the air. The avian predators had their eyes fixed on them, and their sky-shaking vibrations were coursing through Aldwyn’s body.
“We need to run for cover,” cried Gilbert.
“Where?” asked Aldwyn, searching the treeless hill.
“Just stay close to me,” said Skylar as she soared down to the ground between them. She closed her eyes and began waving her wings in the air, chanting to herself, “Illusionaurum kiayn!”
The tremor hawks dove straight for them, beaks open and talons outstretched, and Aldwyn wondered if their journey had come to an end before it had even properly started. Then a thick log materialized around the three familiars. Aldwyn was curious what kind of tricks his eyes were playing on him, but clearly their attackers saw it, too, coming to an abrupt midair halt as they were faced with what appeared to be solid wood.
“Why are they stopping?” asked Aldwyn quietly.
“It’s an illusion,” said Gilbert. “We can see out, but all the hawks see is a fallen log.”
“And I can’t hold it much longer,” said Skylar, her wings trembling.
The hawks continued to hover just yards above them. The skyquakes their wings were generating made Aldwyn’s teeth chatter. Then, just as suddenly as they had arrived, they flew back into the sky, off to search for new prey.
The Familiars Page 7
