The Familiars (19 page)

Once back on the trail, Skylar consulted Scribius’s map again. “This way,” she said after a moment, and Aldwyn thought he detected a new note of self-confidence in the blue jay’s voice. It wasn’t as if she’d been shy about her skills before, but Aldwyn couldn’t help but wonder whether what they had seen in the cave had made his friend even more assured of her importance. He found the notion of this secret animal history intriguing as well, but not having any magic skills himself, its discovery didn’t mean as much to him as it evidently did to Skylar.

The trio walked under an outcropping with melting icicles dangling from its ceiling. As they passed beneath it, the thawing crystals dropped water on their heads, giving them an unpleasantly icy shower that washed off the dust of the crumbling cave. Luckily, once they got back into the sun, the warmth of the rays soon dried fur, feathers, and skin.

Climbing higher above the clouds, Aldwyn was greeted by a puffy layer of white stretching as far as his eyes could see, like he was staring down at the soft wool coats of a million sheep. Only three
peaks pierced through the peaceful cloud cover. It was no wonder that the billy goat had chosen this place for his meditation. Being there made Aldwyn feel a calm he had never experienced before.

Skylar brought them to a stop beside a mountain spring. She pointed her wing to the base of the three peaks.

“So that must be where the Mountain Alchemist resides,” she said.

Aldwyn thought it was an appropriate location for a recluse, for finding it had been no small accomplishment.

“Guys, over here,” called out Gilbert. “I’m having another viewing.”

Aldwyn looked over to see Gilbert staring into the mountain spring.

“It’s our loyals,” continued Gilbert excitedly.

Aldwyn and Skylar rushed to his side. There in the cool blue waters Aldwyn could see Jack, Marianne, and Dalton shackled and exhausted. The glow of Kalstaff’s protective forcefields was dimmer now, appearing not as strong.

“Oh, no,” said Gilbert. “It looks like there’s some kind of monster behind them. And it’s angry.”

Aldwyn saw what Gilbert was referring to.

“It’s coming into focus now,” added Gilbert. “It’s got big eyes and fangs. It’s opening its mouth. Marianne, look out!”

“Gilbert,” Aldwyn said, “I don’t think that’s part of the viewing.” There, beneath the surface of the spring, the razor-sharp teeth of a fishlike creature smiled up at Gilbert.

“What do you mean?” asked Gilbert.

Just then, the creature launched itself out of the water toward Gilbert, its teeth narrowly missing his throat. To Gilbert’s horror, it landed in the snow and began using its flippers to slide like a seal to pursue him. Gilbert hopped this way and that, but his pursuer was well suited to maneuvering on land as well as in the water.

“Do something!” cried Gilbert. “It’s going to kill me.”

“It’s a young piranhadon. It just wants something to eat,” said Skylar. “Give it your flies.”

Gilbert pulled the flower bud backpack from his shoulder as he continued to jump just out of the creature’s reach. He reluctantly tossed the bud into the piranhadon’s mouth, but after swallowing it
whole and giving a satisfied burp, the creature simply resumed its chase.

Then Aldwyn had an idea. He stuck his paw into Jack’s pouch and began rummaging, past the remaining clovers, past the glow worm…there it was! He removed the piece of white taffy, took aim, and threw it straight into the creature’s gaping mouth. When the piranhadon chomped down, its teeth got stuck together. The creature stopped its pursuit of Gilbert and became increasingly angry as it tried to pry open its mouth. No longer able to attack, it slid back toward the mountain spring and disappeared into the water.

Gilbert, out of breath, hugged Aldwyn with gratitude. “You saved me!” he croaked. “And you,” turning to Skylar, “made me sacrifice my flies for nothing!”

“That was certainly unusual,” said Skylar, ignoring him. “Piranhadons don’t typically inhabit such high altitudes. We’re fortunate there wasn’t an entire school of them.”

“You owe me a flower bud of flies,” said Gilbert, still angry with her.

Skylar continued to ignore him. A moment
later she was hit by a massive snowball. Her beak and body got wedged into the dense powder, and Aldwyn and Gilbert could only watch as she was swept down the mountain by the growing ball of snow. It picked up speed and snow as Skylar disappeared inside it. Aldwyn saw where the snowball was headed: straight toward the edge of the mountain.

“Skylar!” cried Gilbert.

And then the unthinkable happened: the mass of snow rolled off the mountainside, with Skylar still trapped within it. Aldwyn and Gilbert stood there, shocked.

They were still staring—to Aldwyn it felt like an eternity—when Skylar flew up from beyond the edge of the mountain, shaking flakes of white from her feathers. Aldwyn and Gilbert ran to her.

“You’re okay,” said Gilbert, hugging her awkwardly.

“You gave us a real scare,” said Aldwyn.

“Well, it’s a good thing I know how to fly. Neither of you would have been so lucky.”

After continuing up the hill, the familiars
discovered what was responsible for the attack: a hand created of snow, packing more snowballs for whoever might attempt to ascend the peak next. Skylar said, “It’s some kind of permanent protective spell. Looks like the Mountain Alchemist isn’t too keen on visitors.”

“I know you said he wanted to be alone,” said Aldwyn, “but don’t you think trying to
kill
your visitors is going too far?”

“The piranhadon must have been his doing as well,” added Skylar, as the trio trekked further, now constantly on the lookout for the next threat, threats that would keep them from getting the precious powder needed to put the seven-headed hydra to sleep.

Eventually, they arrived at the base of the three peaks, where they spotted a quaint wooden cottage on the far side of a frozen lake. Through the window, they could see the flickering light of a fire, where Aldwyn imagined the Alchemist was warming his toes.

“When we get there, let me do the talking,” Skylar reminded the others. “It may take some persuasion to convince him to help us. But that
sleeping powder is our only hope of saving Dalton, Marianne, and—”

Clunk!

Skylar’s statement was cut short as she flew headfirst into an invisible barrier. She slid down its surface to the ice. Aldwyn stretched out his paw in front of him and felt something as smooth and hard as steel blocking their path.

“He must have cast a
porticul
,” said Skylar, rubbing her head. “It’s a force wall. A final obstacle to keep out visitors.”

Skylar flew high but could find no top to or hole in the wall.

“It’s solid,” she said, when she had landed next to Aldwyn and Gilbert again. “And it could take us days to find an opening in it.”

“I bet Marianne would have been able to conjure a telegate to get us through,” said Gilbert.

“Well, I could have, too,” replied Skylar, sounding slightly miffed. “But all my proper components were destroyed by the fire in Kalstaff’s cottage.”

While they argued, Aldwyn’s attention was drawn below the ice, where a school of minnows were swimming. They circled beneath his
paws, and then darted off in the direction of the cabin. It didn’t register at first, but after a second moment of thought, it appeared the porticul didn’t extend underwater. The fish were gliding freely back and forth between them and the cottage. Perhaps Aldwyn could use the same trick he pulled off when a tall stone wall was built around Bridgetower’s dairy house: if you couldn’t climb over something, try going
under
it.

“So what do we do now?” asked Gilbert.

“You’re the one who can see into the future,” replied Skylar. “You tell me.”

“Guys,” said Aldwyn, but neither of them stopped to listen.

“You know my puddle viewings don’t work that way,” said Gilbert.

“That’s because they don’t work at all!”

They continued arguing, so Aldwyn decided to test out his theory on his own. While there were few things less appealing to a cat than a dip in freezing cold water, all Aldwyn had to do to get himself moving was remind himself of one thing: Jack. He stretched out his claws and cut a circle around himself in the ice. Beneath his weight, the
ice gave way, sending him sinking into the freezing water.

Within a moment, Aldwyn was completely underwater. Only the dense, heavy sound of water rushing up against ice filled his ears. A shock of cold hit his system, but he paddled through the chalky blue, holding his breath tightly in his lungs. He only traveled a tiny distance, just far enough to move past the porticul, before he started clawing at the frozen ceiling above him, creating a hole for escape.

Aldwyn shot his head up through the opening, breathing in as he pulled himself back to the surface. On the other side, Skylar and Gilbert were still quarreling, unaware what Aldwyn had been up to. He shook as much of the water from his coat as he could, then tapped with his paw on the invisible wall. Skylar and Gilbert turned and did a double take.

Aldwyn saw Gilbert’s lips move through the soundproof barricade, and it looked like he was saying Aldwyn’s name. Aldwyn began pointing at the hole in the ice on their side, then to the one on his.

“Through there,” he said.

Skylar and Gilbert exchanged some words. Aldwyn wasn’t exactly sure what they were talking about, but it appeared Skylar was nervous and Gilbert was giving her some encouragement. He took the plunge first, then Skylar held her breath and flew beneath the surface as well. Aldwyn waited. And waited. Their underwater passage was taking longer than his own. He was starting to wonder if something had gone wrong. Then Skylar surfaced, pushed up through the hole by Gilbert, who was right below her. Aldwyn helped them both out of the icy lake. Skylar shivered, coughing up water, then flapping her wings to dry them.

“Thanks,” she said to Gilbert.

The tree frog smiled. Aldwyn knew Gilbert didn’t receive a lot of compliments from Skylar.

“And good thinking,” the blue jay added, giving Aldwyn his due as well. “Now let’s get to the cottage.”

The trio didn’t have far to go. They reached the end of the lake quickly and made their final approach to the Alchemist’s cabin. The dwelling
looked to be about the same size as Kalstaff’s. Icicles dangled from the snow-covered roof.

Aldwyn and Gilbert were about to step onto the porch leading to the front door when Skylar cried “Wait!” They froze in their tracks. “Don’t move.”

Aldwyn and Gilbert looked at her quizzically. Had the icy water done something to Skylar’s brain?

“This cottage is an illusion,” she said. “Look at the icicles.”

Aldwyn glanced up. They appeared real enough to him.

“The sun has been out for hours,” she explained. “They should be melting, but there’s not a drop of water coming from them.”

Aldwyn realized that Skylar was right: in spite of being exposed to full sunlight, the icicles were completely frozen. Skylar swooped down and picked up a stone, then flung it at the cottage’s front window. The rock passed right through the illusion. The cottage evaporated, and Aldwyn could see what was actually before him: nothing. The Mountain Alchemist had set one final trap.
Any unsuspecting travelers who stepped onto his illusion of a porch would have found themselves falling down a sheer cliff.

“His actual cottage won’t be too far from here,” said Skylar. “Even a powerful illusionist needs to stay close to maintain a creation as large as this.”

And indeed, once the familiars had rounded a cluster of rocks, they saw an identical-looking cabin—and this time, the icicles hanging from the roof were dripping. Still, Aldwyn advanced cautiously, but Skylar went right up to the front door and knocked on it with her beak.

The door swung open and the three animals entered, finding themselves in a sitting room that doubled as the kitchen. It was sparsely furnished, with only a plain wooden table and a single chair in its center. A small pot sat on the fire, cooking what smelled like a very bland meal. Down the hall, the trio saw another lighted room, and they quietly moved toward it.

They peeked through the crack in the door, and there was the Mountain Alchemist, sitting in a rocking chair. His eyes seemed normal save for the pupils, which were a milky white. His
skin was tanned from snowburn. While Aldwyn knew the Alchemist was about as old as Kalstaff and Queen Loranella, his wrinkles and hunched appearance made him seem much older. His fingertips were stained all different colors, no doubt by the chemicals and other ingredients he had used to concoct magic potions and spells. In this room filled with empty bookshelves, there was only one book, and it rested in his lap. The Alchemist’s finger was passing over the page. Although the words written there were not raised or marked for the unseeing, it was as if he could understand the text just by touching the patterns of ink swirling across the parchment.

“One good book is all you need,” said the old wizard, “once you’ve read them all.”

The familiars stood there, not sure how to respond.

“Now identify yourselves, before I turn you all into dust. There is no language that I do not understand, including animal tongue.”

Skylar cleared her throat.

“We apologize for intruding,” she said. “I am Skylar. My companions are Aldwyn and Gilbert.
We come from Stone Runlet.”

“What do you want? A youth potion? Something that can turn metal into gold? Whatever it is, you’ve risked your lives for nothing.”

“Please,” said Skylar. “Kalstaff was our teacher.”

“Kalstaff?” said the Mountain Alchemist, surprised. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Continue.”

“He’s dead,” said Skylar.

The Alchemist paused. For the first time, his unsmiling face softened. But only for a moment.

“What happened?”

“Queen Loranella killed him.”

He leaned up from his chair.

“That can’t be.”

“We were there,” said Skylar. “We saw it. And she kidnapped our loyals. Kalstaff says they are the prophesized three.”