The Familiars

by Adam Jay Epstein

  Skylar lowered the flame, and with lightning speed, Gilbert’s pink tongue began to dart here and there, plucking the stinging hornets out of the air and flinging them down his gullet. He was taking them out in bunches!

  The hornets were no longer a threat to the familiars, but the tunneler had twisted past the other heads and was now bearing down again to skewer Aldwyn. He scampered as the horned dragon head chased him across the floor. Aldwyn looked to his right and there was…Aldwyn? A cat just like himself was running alongside him. He first thought this was some kind of delayed brain trauma from his fall on the chandelier, but then looked over his shoulder and saw Skylar with trembling wing outstretched before her. This was no side effect of a head injury; it was another of Skylar’s illusions.

  The duplicate Aldwyn broke off from the real one, and the tunneler took the bait, following not the flesh-and-blood cat but the fake one. The illusion of Aldwyn stopped before one of the columns and just stood there, making faces at the dragon. Aldwyn watched as the tunneler tried to gouge it, but instead the horns went straight through the illusionary cat, impaling themselves in the stone pillar. The head flailed, trying to pull itself free, but before it could, Aldwyn was pouring a healthy dose of sleeping powder into one of its eyes. The tunneler sank instantly into a deep sleep. Aldwyn corked the vial with his claw and turned back to Skylar.

  “Thanks, Sky—”

  Shlap!

  A mighty blow from the long, twisting tongue of the python strangler smacked Aldwyn against the ground and the glass tube of powder out of his mouth. The vial spun along the tiled floor, bumping and bouncing as it headed straight for the gaping hole formed by the acid spitter’s saliva.

  Aldwyn couldn’t dwell on the shock of pain coursing through his body from the wallop; he was already running again to retrieve the powder. He dove for the vial and swiped it away from the edge just as the acid dissolved the floor beneath it. He gripped it securely between his teeth and turned around to find the hive dragon flaring his nostrils at him. With a ferocious snort, it released another cloud of poisonous insects. Aldwyn was trapped between the swarm heading toward him and the disappearing ground behind him. He braced himself for the attack; but before the hornets could strike, Gilbert leaped into the fray again, snaring dozens at a time. Wielding his tongue with a warrior’s skill that would have made his Daku relatives proud, the tree frog provided cover for Aldwyn, allowing him to jump onto the hive dragon’s lowered head. He sprinkled powder in its eye, and it was asleep on the floor before Aldwyn even had time to recork the vial.

  Aldwyn surveyed the scene, planning his next move. The hydra was moving more slowly now, dragging the weight of five unconscious heads behind it. Gilbert was catching the last of the hornets, while Skylar had cast an illusion of a swift-winged condor that circled around the head of the black-toothed dragon. And the python strangler…the python strangler was in the process of wrapping its forked tongue around Aldwyn’s hind legs!

  Aldwyn was jerked off the nose of the hive dragon and into the air, squeezed tight as he was being pulled toward the gaping mouth of the python strangler.

  “Gilbert, Skylar, help!” shouted Aldwyn.

  But Gilbert could only watch helplessly. Skylar redirected the illusory condor to soar past the strangler’s nose, but it didn’t work. Aldwyn could already smell the foul stench of the dragon head’s warm breath. So this was the end. Aldwyn’s adventure across Vastia would go no further. He comforted himself with the thought that at least Skylar and Gilbert might have a chance to save Jack, Marianne, and Dalton should he die here.

  Thwoop!

  The grip of the python strangler’s tongue loosened, and Aldwyn dropped to the ground. He looked up and saw an arrowlike projectile stuck in the fleshy pink muscle. A second bolt struck the tongue. Aldwyn spun around to see who was responsible for saving him. There, standing on the second floor landing with crossbow in hand, was—Grimslade!

  “That bounty is mine, beast,” called the cloaked hunter to the dragon.

  Aldwyn could not believe that his old adversary had returned yet again. He had pulled himself up from the Bridge of Betrayal and tracked the familiars here. And while normally Grimslade was the last person Aldwyn ever wanted to see, right now he was more than welcome.

  Grimslade shot another bolt from his crossbow, sending the strangler into a thrashing fit of pain. As the head brushed against the floor, attempting to dislodge one of Grimslade’s quarrels from its cheek, Aldwyn pounced upon its coarse scales. The hydra’s head was whipping violently back and forth, making it a dangerous climb to the eyes, but Aldwyn clung on. Once within range, he sprinkled the powder into the monster’s tear duct. The skull came crashing down with a bang.

  Only the black-toothed head remained awake on the hydra, but it wasn’t going to let them pass without a fight. Its neck was already twisting its way in the direction of Grimslade. The bounty hunter took aim and sent another projectile at its lower jaw. But its skin must have been thicker than that of the python strangler’s because the bolt merely bounced off when it made contact. With incredible speed, the black-toothed head bared its rotting fangs and thrust outward. Grimslade dropped his bow and pulled out the noose stick, shoving it into the wide-open mouth lunging toward him. He pressed the blunt end of the pole up against the roof of its mouth, keeping it locked in place as the decaying teeth struggled to bite down.

  Aldwyn had taken to the stairs, leaping them two at a time as he raced to put the final head to sleep, while the stalemate between man and hydra continued.

  “Come now,” taunted Grimslade. “I’ve seen garden snakes put up a better fight than this.”

  The black tooth snapped down on the stick, splintering it like a toothpick. Grimslade, left with a tiny shard of wood in his hand, backed away as the hydra’s head got ready to strike. Aldwyn sprinted to the top of the staircase and ran straight up Grimslade’s back, using the bounty hunter as a springboard to launch himself onto the snout of the black tooth. Before it could deliver its deathly blow, Aldwyn tipped the vial, pouring the last remaining grains into its eye. Its mighty head sank limply onto the banister, and Aldwyn found himself face-to-face with Grimslade.

  “Much obliged, cat,” said the bounty hunter. “But I still plan on turning you and your companions in.” As Grimslade bent down to grab his crossbow, Aldwyn noticed a sprinkling of yellow powder on the fur of his front leg. He blew the fine particles straight into Grimslade’s face, and the bounty hunter collapsed, his head falling against the nose of the black-toothed dragon.

  Aldwyn ran down the steps to join Skylar and Gilbert.

  “We need to find that dungeon,” he said, hoping that the sun had not set yet.

  “Most palaces have secret passageways in the throne room,” said Skylar. “This way.”

  She led them out of the great hall, beneath one of the archways, and into a room filled with velvet curtains and more portraits of King Brannfalk. A large wooden throne sat in the center of the room, its high back and headrest carved into the shape of a blossoming tree. Aldwyn recognized it from the stamp on the bricks of the Bridge of Betrayal.

  “I owe you an apology,” said Skylar to Aldwyn. “It seems I’ve overestimated the value of magic. Your display back there was worthy of any of the greatest wizards of yore, human or animal. Kalstaff would have been proud of you. And so am I.”

  Aldwyn’s eyes welled up. He could think of no greater compliment. This was the most gratifying moment of his young life.

  “Thank you. And apology accepted.”

  Beyond the throne, the rug was pulled aside and an open trapdoor revealed a sloping stone corridor that led downward. The familiars quickly crossed the room and entered.

  The magic candle holders were dimmer inside the corridor, and it was difficult to see past each bend. Aldwyn heard footsteps and turned to his friends.

  “Over there,” he said, gesturing to a shadow moving across the wall.

  The animals braced themselves for another confront
ation.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” called out a soft, timid voice.

  Then, into the light bounced a small, gray rabbit.

  18

  PAKSAHARA

  Aldwyn recognized her immediately from the picture in Kalstaff’s cottage. It was Paksahara, Queen Loranella’s familiar.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Paksahara repeated, with tears of gratitude. “The queen has gone mad. She’s intentionally sabotaging the order and safety of Vastia and its people, making it defenseless to an invasion from the outside lands. I’ve tried to reason with her, but she won’t listen. I’m just fortunate to have escaped before any harm was done to me.”

  “Where is she now?” asked Skylar.

  “She’s gone back to the New Palace,” replied Paksahara, “but she will return at sundown, when Kalstaff’s protective spell expires, to eliminate the only thing standing in the way of her plan. We must save the wizards at once.”

  “Are they hurt?” asked Skylar.

  “No, Kalstaff’s spell has kept them from harm. But not for much longer. Quickly, follow me!”

  They began to move down the tunnel, deeper into the belly of the castle. They passed cells now empty but with claw marks on the walls and fang marks on the bars. Aldwyn realized this hadn’t been a dungeon solely for Vastia’s most dangerous criminals of yesteryear but a keep where magical beasts and animals had been imprisoned as well.

  “How have you made it so far unaided by wizards?” Paksahara asked the three familiars.

  “We didn’t think it was possible at first either,” said Skylar. “But maybe we animals have more power than humans have led us to believe.”

  “That’s impossible,” replied Paksahara.

  “We’ve seen things that might change your mind,” said Skylar.

  Their descent became steeper and steeper as Paksahara led them farther, her floppy ears and fluffy bunny tail bouncing with every step.

  “But clearly you are devoted to your loyals to have risked so much.”

  “I would do anything for Marianne,” said Gilbert.

  “And I for Dalton,” said Skylar.

  “What about you?” Paksahara asked, turning to Aldwyn.

  “I’m not even a true familiar,” he said. “I have no magical abilities. Yet I take great pride in serving Jack.”

  “It sounds like all of you would give your lives for these wizards,” said Paksahara. “I felt that way, too, about the queen,” she added with a sad twitch of her nose.

  Just then, a voice in the distance cried out.

  “Help, somebody! Please!”

  Aldwyn’s heart jumped upon hearing the voice.

  “We’re coming, Jack!” shouted Aldwyn, and he started racing toward him. Gilbert began jumping like mad, too, and Skylar was half fluttering, no longer thinking about the pain in her wing.

  “It’s just up ahead,” said Paksahara, her long legs hopping, effortlessly keeping pace beside them.

  “Hang in there, Marianne!” called Gilbert.

  Gilbert had tears in his eyes when they entered the circular dungeon chamber. On the walls Aldwyn spied swords and shields. Taming whips and muzzles gave more evidence that animals had once been imprisoned here, too. The floor was cold, wet, and had claw marks scraped into it. The damp room had no cobwebs—even spiders seemed to be avoiding this dank pit. And there on the far wall were Jack, Marianne, and Dalton. Still dressed in the sleeping linens they were kidnapped in, they were shackled by their wrists, held fast by iron dispeller chains. A rusty bucket half filled with water rested at their feet. Kalstaff’s protective forcefields were not glowing strongly anymore; they appeared on the verge of disappearing.

  Gilbert jumped to Marianne’s side, clutching her leg with his webbed hands; Skylar hobbled to Dalton, nuzzling her head against him; and Aldwyn ran to Jack as if they had been companions always.

  “I knew you’d come for us,” said Jack, wanting to embrace Aldwyn but unable to, his arms held by the bonds. “I knew it.”

  “I have so much to tell you,” said Aldwyn, burying his whiskers into Jack’s shin. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “The queen left just a short while ago,” said Dalton. “You must free us from these chains. We can’t cast spells while we’re shackled.”

  “I know the spell that will conjure a force key to unlock them,” said Paksahara. “Familiars, stand before me and face your loyals. I will channel all our powers together. You, too, Aldwyn.”

  Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert backed away from the wizards and lined up in front of Paksahara.

  “What did she say?” asked Jack.

  “She’s going to summon a force key,” said Aldwyn.

  “I didn’t know rabbits were capable of such powerful magic,” said Jack.

  “Tell the boy I’m no rabbit,” said Paksahara, sounding rather insulted. “Rabbits are for lowly cider house magicians. I am a hare.”

  The distinction really didn’t seem that important to Aldwyn; what mattered was freeing Jack and escaping this dungeon at once.

  Paksahara held up her furry gray paws and began chanting.

  “Dovolajen oknamut supentin!”

  “Hare?” said Gilbert quietly to himself.

  Aldwyn turned to look at him.

  “Hare,” the tree frog repeated a second time.

  “Zi po ukoteni wysove,” Paksahara continued to incant, her paws now glowing green.

  “Gray hare,” said Gilbert, still working out some kind of puzzle in his head. “Gray haired. Gray hare witch!”

  “Ekonpiske v prave,” said Paksahara, her voice rising.

  Energy was crackling at the tips of her paws.

  “Noooooo!” screamed Gilbert. He leaped, shoving Aldwyn and Skylar out of the way just as a deadly bolt of energy shot toward them from Paksahara’s paws. It hit the wall, leaving a gaping hole.

  “It was you,” shouted Gilbert, pointing to Paksahara. “You were the witch all along.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Skylar.

  “My puddle viewing. Don’t you see? She’s the gray hare witch. Not Agdaleen.”

  Paksahara stood across from them, smoke drifting from her paws, the pinks of her eyes glistening evilly.

  “I don’t understand,” said Skylar. “You’re working with the queen?”

  “Oh, no,” replied Paksahara, her once innocent voice now flat and cold. “The queen has been imprisoned for many moons, trapped as a hare in a cage in the palace. Perhaps you’re unaware, but my magical talent, my innate ability, is . . .”

  “Shape-shifting,” said Skylar.

  “What’s she saying?” asked Dalton. “Would somebody please tell us what’s going on?”

  Paksahara flicked her finger at the children, and an airy cloud surrounded them. Dalton opened his mouth to speak again, but no sound came out. The three young wizards had been silenced by some kind of spell.

  “Animals have served man for far too long,” continued Paksahara. “I have seen the paintings on the walls of the Kailasa caves. We once ruled this land, until the humans erased our proud history. It’s time humans were caged and put on leashes. It’s time for wizards to serve familiars again and for a four-legged creature to sit on the throne of Vastia: me.”

  Aldwyn was stunned. She was the enemy responsible for Kalstaff’s death and all the misery that had followed? An animal? A familiar?

  “These young wizards, they’re not a threat to you.” Skylar tried to reason with her. “Let them go.”

  “Don’t try to fool me, stupid bird. I saw the three stars in the sky fall over Stone Runlet,” said Paksahara. “A prophecy that three young spellcasters would defeat me. They have to die. First, however, I’ll take great pleasure in killing the three of you.”

  She raised her paws in the air.

  “Ekonpiske v prave,” the hare incanted.

  Two balls of lightning formed in her paws, and she reached toward Aldwyn, Gilbert, and Skylar. The double blast of energ
y cut through the air, heading directly for them. There was no time to move and nowhere to run. But before the familiars were struck, one of the metal shields hanging on the wall flew from its rack and blocked Paksahara’s attack. The bursts of lightning sparked then fizzled upon contact with the steel plating.

  Skylar and Gilbert turned to Aldwyn as the circular shield continued to float between them and the gray hare.

  “Aldwyn? What’s going on?” asked Gilbert.

  “I have no idea,” he replied, just as confused as his fellow familiars. Aldwyn’s head was dizzy with questions: How had the shield moved through the air on its own? Had it been his doing? Did he have telekinetic powers after all?

  A loud crack rang out as the shield exploded into hot metal shards, obliterated by another of Paksahara’s lightning bolts. The familiars scrambled, running off into three different directions.

  The familiars’ hope had been to divide and conquer, but Paksahara had no trouble attacking in three directions at the same time. She extended a paw toward Gilbert, and he was immediately lifted off his feet, as if the air itself were holding him up by his throat. Paksahara then thrust her other paw at Aldwyn, sending a barrage of ruby needles flying like darts across the room. He made a running dive and managed to dodge all but one, which grazed his left hind leg.

  “There’s nowhere to hide,” said Paksahara. “I’m going to send you all to the Tomorrowlife, just like I did Kalstaff.”

  With a flick of her tail, she invoked a gust of wind that engulfed Skylar in its powerful swirl before flinging her into the wall.

  Although Aldwyn felt a sharp, jabbing pain every time his injured leg touched the ground, he kept moving while he tried to think. Could he actually move things with his mind? There was only one way to find out: he would try.

  As Gilbert struggled, still caught in the stranglehold of Paksahara’s spell, Aldwyn focused on the rusty bucket of water. He had no idea how telekinesis worked, but concentrating really hard and focusing his mind seemed a logical place to start. Lift. Lift. Lift. Lif—