The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown (15 page)

“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 saw 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.

Shady let out a bone-rattling growl, sending tentacles of mist towards the hairy swine. They fled off into the brush, squealing in horror. Seconds later, all was calm again, and Shady had transformed back into an adorable, innocuous shadow puppy and begun licking Gilbert’s face. The hairless aardvarks came out from their huts and started cheering.

“I think it is time to build a new statue,” said the elder aardvark. “Thank you, son of Baxley, and thank you, friends of the son.”

But there was little time for celebration, as the sound of water blasting out of a blowhole could be heard from the bay – the travelling whale had arrived.

When the familiars reached the bay, they were met with a majestic sight – a large blue whale was floating just off shore, its back full of ridges and bumps that looked comfortable to sit on. Hundreds of silver lamprey eels clung to the whale’s side and underbelly, making them sparkle in the moonlight. Gilbert opened his backpack and Shady leaped inside. Aldwyn and Gilbert swam out to the whale’s extended dorsal fin and climbed aboard; Skylar simply flew the short distance across the water and perched beside one of the six blowholes that alternated shooting out waters like the queen’s palace fountain. Once Aldwyn and Gilbert had found a comfortable seat as well, there was but one thing left to do – direct the whale to where they were going. But where exactly was that?

“Take us to the north,” said Aldwyn.

It was just a guess. If they had to sit atop this whale as it swam along the entire coast of the bay while Aldwyn looked for where his father’s paw prints began again, they would.

Riding on the back of a travelling whale felt to Aldwyn like he was flying. Unlike a boat, a whale didn’t rock with every wave. It glided. The giant blueback cut through the water, barely leaving a wake behind it. Here, out on this great bay of the Beyond, Aldwyn couldn’t help but feel a pang of bittersweetness. He was living out Jack’s dream, riding atop one of these legendary marine mammals as it ventured towards unexplored lands. And without his loyal there at his side, it felt like a journey half taken.

Gilbert sat on a ridge above the whale’s giant eye and didn’t look the least bit sick, which was a welcome change from his typical seafaring queasiness. Skylar was a different story – no matter where she positioned herself, every time water sprayed from one of the blueback’s blowholes, the wind blew it in her direction, soaking her from beak to claw.

“I might as well be swimming there,” she complained as she was drenched yet again, shaking the wet off her feathers.

“I’m actually enjoying this tremendously,” said Gilbert. “Who knew water travel could be so delightful? All I need is a cup of juniper tea and it would be perfect. Ooo, look, dolphins!”

Gilbert turned his back to the others excitedly, taking a closer gander at a school of the aquatic mammals that kept leaping from the water.

“How would you like to be swimming with them?” muttered the blue jay.

“We should get some rest,” suggested Aldwyn before his two companions got into a fight. “This could be a long ride.”

Gilbert closed his eyes and immediately fell fast asleep. Aldwyn prepared to do the same, but first looked over to see if Skylar was all right. The blue jay was sitting uncomfortably, her wings crossed. Whenever she shut her eyes, another blast of salty mist would douse her, making her look like a wet blue dishcloth.

The familiars woke to the sun rising. Shady poked his head briefly out of Gilbert’s backpack and immediately burrowed back in. Aldwyn orientated himself quickly and found that the whale had brought them close to the northern coast of the bay. It was all rocky cliffs, as if a giant had cut the hillside with a large knife. Skylar and Gilbert looked to Aldwyn anxiously.

“Anything?” asked Skylar, who didn’t look like she had got a lot of sleep. Aldwyn scanned the cliffs, but he couldn’t see a single purple paw print anywhere on the rocky embankment.

“We’re still too far away,” he said. “I wouldn’t be able to see the trail even it was there.”

He knew his father must have got off somewhere – assuming he had made it across the waters alive – but where? He also knew that if they steered the whale as close to the shore as they would need to be for him to have a chance of spotting Baxley’s prints, it would take them days to circumnavigate the entire bay.

Having nothing more to guide him than his gut and a fifty per cent chance of being correct, Aldwyn leaned down to the whale’s ear and called out, “Head east.” Almost immediately, the whale shifted course and was now cruising parallel to the uneven shoreline of small inlets and towering cliffs.

“Look, up there,” said Gilbert, after they had rounded a particularly prominent rock formation.

Aldwyn and Skylar turned to see a herd of mountain sheep, each with eight legs like a spider, hopping and jumping from rock to rock, peacefully grazing on tufts of grass that grew from the cracks.

“Now
there
’s something you don’t see in Vastia every day,” said Skylar.

“Or ever,” added Gilbert.

“What are they?” asked Aldwyn.

Skylar shrugged, but for once she didn’t seem to mind not knowing. Instead, she appeared delighted to be seeing new things.

“Perhaps we’re the first Vastians to discover them, whatever they are,” she said. “Scribius, make a record of this.” The enchanted quill sprang to attention, popping its tip out from Skylar’s satchel. The blue jay began dictating. “Here on the northeast ends of the Bay of the Beyond, a herd of wool-covered mammals resembling sheep have been spotted. The creatures have eight hooves and silver horns, and seem to be vegetarians. No signs of aggression. And I believe they are a species yet to be named.”

Aldwyn’s eyes continued to search the coast, surveying cliff after cliff. And while he was trying to find what he was looking for, his mind began to wander. He had often heard murmurings of the Beyond being a terrible and foreboding place, and in fact some of it was – the caves of Stalagmos, for example. But most parts were serene and beautiful, still unspoiled by roads or chimney smoke. It was hard to believe there had been a time when Vastia had been like this too, before it became populated by humans, wizards and familiars.

The whale continued its eastward journey, rounding one rocky outcrop after another, exposing the familiars to a forest of windswept pines here, a black-sand beach there and a steep slope of rock debris round yet another corner. But nowhere did Aldwyn see the magic trail his father had left behind. Maybe he had guessed wrong; maybe he should have guided the whale to the west—

“Stop!” cried Skylar suddenly. “Go back!”

The whale slowed, and Skylar flew straight up into the air to get an aerial view of something.

“What is it?” asked Gilbert, as Skylar soared higher still.

“That beach,” she replied when she had descended again. “It’s perfectly crescent-shaped.”

“So?” asked the tree frog.

“Remember the next clue in the nursery rhyme?” she said. “
Now comes a black crescent sword, Cutting through the emerald night. At last the waking moth, Flies to the rising light.
The beach is the black crescent sword, and the emerald night is the bay!”

Skylar was right. Aldwyn could see that there was a jetty of black sand that stretched out from the beach itself. The blueback rolled its body slightly before racing across the lightly crashing surf towards the shore. As they got closer, Aldwyn could see that the beach looked just like a sword, the black sandbar slicing through the green-hued water like its curved, sharpened tip. The whale slid its belly up on to the sandy bottom of the shallow waters, allowing Aldwyn and Gilbert to hop off without even getting their feet wet. Aldwyn wasn’t sure what the proper way to wish farewell to a travelling whale was, so he just gave a thankful nod.

The black sand baked the pads of Aldwyn’s feet with a heat so fierce volcano ants would have steered clear of it. Quickly, he darted towards a patch hidden in the shade of a cliffside, and from there was able to scan the inlet. And then he saw it – high up on the beach, Baxley’s paw prints came into view. Three years earlier, when his father had set his trail in the sand, the tide must have been much higher. Without Skylar’s discovery of the clue from the Song of the First Phylum, he never would have spotted the trail so far away from the water’s edge.

“Found it!” exclaimed Aldwyn.

Skylar and Gilbert followed him as he ran towards the glowing prints, which quickly brought them to a path that led straight through a tangle of thorny underbrush.

“We’re almost at the end of the nursery rhyme,” said Skylar. “That means the Crown must be close.”

Which was just as well, thought Aldwyn, because there was only a day and a half left before the full moon would arrive.

The familiars moved into the brambles, passing among low-lying flowering shrubs whose thorny branches held berries that looked sweet enough to eat. But there was no time for such pleasant diversions, and even if there was, Aldwyn had learned his lesson about trusting the appearance of friendly-looking vegetation.

The trio hadn’t even exited the thicket before they heard the knocking of beaks against wood. Aldwyn recognised the sound. These were Paksahara’s minions – the same woodpeckers who had tried to thwart them at the great spider’s nest. It was too late to hide – already three of the grey birds, with their tail feathers of red and blue, had descended from the sky and embedded their beaks in the small saplings that surrounded the familiars. The prickly branches suddenly snaked to life, reaching out to ensnare them in their clutches. An especially long vine reached up into the air, gripping Skylar by her talon and pulling her down from the air before she could soar away. Aldwyn and Gilbert had no options for escape either, and soon they too were being held firmly within the berry-laden brush.

“We warned you once,” said a fourth woodpecker flying overhead, the one with the yellow tail feather who acted as their leader. “You will never find the Crown of the Snow Leopard.” He excitedly hammered away at a sapling, and then commanded his minions – “Kill them!”

Aldwyn focused on the branches coming towards them, using his telekinesis to fight them back. But there were too many to stop them all – every time he deflected one, six more spiked tendrils took its place.

“Aldwyn, can’t you do something?” croaked Gilbert, who was hopping desperately away from a vine that kept trying to wrap itself round one of his legs.

“I’m trying,” Aldwyn replied, but in truth he was running out of ideas fast.

“Aldwyn?” repeated the yellow-tailed leader aloud. “That is a very uncommon name. I have only heard it once before.”

“Probably from Paksahara,” Skylar said defiantly. “And I imagine she said it in fear, knowing that it was the name that would bring about her demise.”

But the woodpecker wasn’t paying attention. “Cease your attack,” he ordered his subordinates.

“What?” one of them asked. “This goes against the very thing we have been instructed to do.”

The leader looked at the other sternly. “You are too young to remember.

“We are not in league with this creature you call Paksahara,” he continued, turning back to Aldwyn. “The one who spoke your name was a black-and-white cat, just like you.”

“My – my father? Baxley?” asked Aldwyn incredulously.

“That was his name. Three years ago, he walked this very path that you walk now. He was seeking the Crown as well. And he believed that doing so would save your life.”

“What? I don’t understand,” said Aldwyn.

Neither, it seemed, did the three other woodpeckers. They removed their beaks from the saplings they had controlled and let them drop open in surprise, and the vines that had ensnared the familiars fell lifelessly to the ground.

“The woodpeckers of the Beyond have protected the Crown of the Snow Leopard for over eight hundred years,” explained the leader. “But the story of the Crown begins even earlier, during a time that has long been forgotten. A period of history rewritten by man. Before humans made themselves into kings and queens, it was animals who ruled the land. They were the great wizards – wielders of magic and accomplishers of miracles. In order to oversee the peace and safety of ancient Vastia, seven animals, each a different species, formed a council. They were called the First Phylum.”

“Agorus began to tell us of them,” Skylar interrupted the woodpecker’s tale, “but his spirit left us before he could finish.”

“The seven species asked Agorus and the Farsand lifting-spiders to build the Shifting Fortress, a tower from which their magic could be spread all over Vastia. It would never appear in the same location twice and so would be safe from any enemy who tried to claim it. Only the Crown of the Snow Leopard could summon the Fortress. All the members of the First Phylum agreed that this and this alone would be their shared key to bring it forth.

“And for many years, this was the way it stayed. The council was fair and just, making sure every voice was heard. When humans grew in number and asked for a seat beside the other species, the First Phylum welcomed them warmly. For a while, man and animal governed Vastia in harmony.

“But as the years passed, the human population kept expanding, and some humans became adept in the art of magic; eventually, humans demanded a greater voice on the council. After a long debate, the majority of the animals agreed to the request; those that disagreed left the council, forming their own isolated communities, detached from the rest of society, in Vastia and the Beyond. And soon humans had a majority in this collective. But they still could not control the Fortress without the Crown. It was then that one of the council members – a man named Sivio, who studied animal magic with great interest – approached the woodpeckers. We lived a humble existence in the forest, as carvers and artisans. No other could mould wood the way we could. And the fact that humans were coming to us was an honour. He asked for something so simple that we thought nothing of it. A bracelet. Carved from black hickory and embedded with the hair and scales of the other animal species on the council, he said it would be a reminder of their unity. Too late did we learn that its purpose was something quite different – it was a replacement for the Crown of the Snow Leopard. Sivio had manipulated us, proving himself to be the worst of what humans were capable of. Now man was able to summon the Shifting Fortress on his own. Within a single year, the First Phylum was disbanded and a monarchy was put in its place. Sivio was anointed the first king.”

“The animals never fought back?” asked Aldwyn.

“Some thought they should; others said that man seemed like a friend and only had the best interests of Vastia at heart,” replied the woodpecker. “The wisest, however, knew that one day the Crown might be needed again. So they hid the spheris, entrusting its safety to the Odoodem in the Tree Temple of the Hinterwoods. A spell was cast so that the great totem would only give the Spheris to one who had the blood of destiny. They also composed a song – the Song of the First Phylum – that to the uninitiated seemed a harmless nursery rhyme, but in reality contained a series of clues that would lead to the hiding place of the Crown. Together, these precautions kept the Crown safe from most. Those clever enough to solve the riddle of the Song of the First Phylum and find their way to this place without the Spheris had us to deal with – woodpeckers who had been fooled and felt responsible for enabling man to rise to power in the first place. A final line of defence to balance man’s corruptible nature. Only those who held the Spheris would be allowed to pass.”