The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown (6 page)

“According to legend, the old tree’s bark turned white a long time ago,” said Skylar. “Just like Kalstaff’s moustache. Nobody knows how long this dogwood has stood here, but it’s said to be older than the queendom itself.”

The familiars followed the tree’s long, winding roots to its base, careful to avoid a bubbling and smelly sinkhole of mud in their path.

“So, either of you see the Crown?” asked Gilbert. Both Skylar and Aldwyn gave him a look. “OK, I admit it – that was wishful thinking.” The familiars looked up and around, this way then that, but nothing stood out to them. Skylar took to the air, flying up through the branches, while Aldwyn circled the base, tapping his paw at the thick trunk. Gilbert inspected the roots for any sign of the Crown. The three expanded their search even wider, to nearby trees and neighbouring boulders. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. They regathered at the dogwood.

“Maybe we were wrong,” said Aldwyn.

Skylar repeated the first verse of the nursery rhyme. “
When night falls hear the dog’s bark, Howling to the tallest clouds. Secrets of yore buried, Beneath green needle shrouds.
The dog’s bark certainly seems to be reaching to the tallest clouds. And there are pine trees all around us. The only line left unexplained is
secrets of yore buried
.”

“You think the Crown is underground somewhere?” asked Aldwyn.

“I don’t imagine it’s dangling from the tree’s branches,” replied Skylar.

“Well, I didn’t bring a shovel,” said Gilbert. “And besides, where would we dig, anyway?”

“What about the second verse?” suggested Aldwyn. “Maybe it’s the next clue.
Between the root of all roots,
Where every fear sinks away,
Are stairs with no bottom,
Unless eyes find sun’s ray.
What if the Crown is buried beneath the tree?”

“Then we may as well turn round right now,” said Gilbert. “It would take the strength of a hundred gundabeasts to move that tree.”

“I think the clues are trying to tell us something else,” said Skylar. “Somehow, we need to get inside the tree. And the entrance is between the roots.”

Skylar circled round the tree once, then flew over to the sinkhole of mud they had passed.

“
Let your fears sink away
,” she said slowly, circling over the sinkhole. “This must be the entrance!”

“That’s quickmud,” said Gilbert. “You go in there, you don’t come out.”

“No, Skylar is right,” said Aldwyn. “Think about it; it says,
let your fears sink away
. The lullaby seems to be asking us to take a leap of faith. To not be afraid.”

“What?” exclaimed Gilbert. “Are you two crazy? What if your interpretation is wrong? What if we all suffocate and die in that sinkhole?”

“When has Skylar ever been wrong?” countered Aldwyn.

“But we don’t even know if this nursery rhyme is anything more than a way to put restless tadpoles to sleep,” muttered Gilbert.

“Then Aldwyn and I will go in on our own,” said Skylar. “You can wait for us out here in case you’re right. Someone will need to get word back to the queen should we meet our end.”

By the look on Gilbert’s face, Aldwyn could tell that Skylar’s words weren’t exactly the reassurance the tree frog was looking for, but before he could say anything else, Skylar sucked in a big lungful of air and dived beak-first into the swirl of mud. Her blue feathers were quickly swallowed up as she disappeared. Aldwyn looked back at Gilbert, then to the sinkhole, wondering if his web-footed friend was the only one of them thinking clearly. But if Skylar was right, she would be inside that tree waiting for Aldwyn, counting on him. He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and leaped into the hole. Immediately, he was swallowed up by the brown muck.

Aldwyn landed with a thud. He gasped for air and used the backs of his paws to wipe the thick mud from his eyes, then carefully opened them just wide enough to see. If he was dead, then Skylar had joined him in the Tomorrowlife because she was right beside him, covered from head to toe in slop. The two were inside a hollowed-out earthen tunnel. Ahead of them, Aldwyn could see the tunnel beginning to slant downwards; lightning bugs were dimly illuminating the path.

“Luckily, it looks like you were right again,” said Aldwyn.

“Whatever we’re looking for must be down there,” responded Skylar, gesturing beyond the flickering light.

The two picked themselves up and began their journey into the bowels of the tree, but they didn’t get far before they heard a familiar voice echoing behind them.

“Ahhhhhhh!” screamed Gilbert as he came tumbling out of the mud ceiling, crashing to the floor below.

“Gilbert,” cried Aldwyn, “what are you doing here?”

“Phantom lurkers,” said the tree frog, out of breath. “I saw blades of grass moving all around me.” He spat out a mouthful of mud. “Of course, it might have just been the wind. But I wasn’t going to take any chances.”

“Well, so much for our back-up plan,” said Skylar, although she didn’t really sound annoyed at Gilbert. Aldwyn, too, had to admit that a part of him was glad that the three of them would be exploring the tunnel together.

The familiars started their descent, and soon the ground turned from hard mud to polished wood, carved and sanded with expert care. Aldwyn realised that they must have entered the base of the dogwood itself, and however great the tree appeared above ground, it was even greater beneath. The tunnel expanded into a large circular room with glyph marks carved into the walls, and paintings of animals not unlike those they had seen hidden in the mountain cave of Kailasa on their previous adventure.

“I think we’re heading in the right direction,” said Skylar. She pointed her wing towards the image of a sleeping snow leopard – with the rolling curves of its back and a crown atop its head – drawn above the doorway on the far side of the room.

With all the fantastical beasts living within Vastia, it was curious to Aldwyn that none of the great cats of yore – lions, leopards, or tigers – still roamed inside its borders. Some said they had gone extinct, while others speculated that they had just left, seeking out grander hunting grounds. Aldwyn thought it would be a fine honour to meet one of these storied felines at the end of their quest.

They crossed the smooth floor of the richly decorated room. Aldwyn was certain that more forgotten animal history was depicted on these walls, but deciphering their meaning would have to wait for another time. He followed Skylar into a dark passageway that opened up before them right underneath the image of the snow leopard. There were fewer lightning bugs down this corridor, just enough for them to make out a wooden staircase at the end of the hall.

“It smells like the inside of Kalstaff’s sweater closet,” said Gilbert wistfully. “I caught a lot of moths in there.”

Aldwyn couldn’t suppress a smile – no matter how dangerous the situation, it was impossible for Gilbert not to think about food. At that very moment, he heard a high-pitched whistling sound, and his smile froze on his lips. A dozen arrows had shot out from the far wall and were zipping straight towards the familiars. Just a split second before the steel tips impaled them, Aldwyn stopped the arrows telekinetically in midair. They hung there for a beat before he let them drop to the ground.

“Thanks,” squealed Gilbert. “I nearly got turned into a shish-kefrog.”

Aldwyn glanced down at the fallen arrows and noticed what he hadn’t before – that the ground was covered with bones. It was becoming increasingly clear that this was a sacred place and that someone had made very sure that unwelcome visitors would be kept out. A pair of lightning bugs landed on the skull of a nearby skeleton, its ribcage pierced with several arrows. The remains appeared to be those of a young boy. A string of clay charms was still dangling from his bony neck.

“These are rain charms,” said Skylar.

Aldwyn got a chill down his back. This was no boy, but the elvin warrior from the story in the
Wizard’s Almanac
. And if any more proof was needed, there, strapped to his belt, was the crocodile-tooth dagger the
Almanac
had mentioned.

“He, too, was searching for the Crown of the Snow Leopard,” said Skylar. “But his quest ended here. And the traps of an ancient temple only get more devious, the deeper you go.”

“I should have taken my chances with those phantom lurkers,” moaned Gilbert.

The three tiptoed past the remaining bones. Clearly others beside the elvin warrior had risked life and limb for the same treasure they were seeking and had ended up just as dead. Aldwyn nicked his paw on an unexpectedly sharp fragment from a small mammal’s skull. He decided to ignore the pain; there was no time to stop and lick his wound. He quickly caught up to Skylar and Gilbert at the foot of the stairs. The single beam of light that penetrated the gloom from some hole far above was the only thing keeping them from being in total blackness. They began their climb down into the darkness, only able to see five steps ahead of them and five steps behind.

“Nice work with those arrows, by the way,” said Skylar to Aldwyn.

“Thanks,” he replied, somewhat reticently.

“What is it?” asked Skylar, who must have sensed the doubt in Aldwyn’s voice.

“It’s hard to describe, but stopping those arrows was like trying to catch wind in my teeth. I still don’t feel like I have any real control over my powers. You and Gilbert were trained since birth to use your natural gifts,” explained Aldwyn as the familiars continued descending the stairs. “But I’ve had to figure this all out on my own.”

“Guys, sorry to be interrupting, but does it seem like this staircase is going on for ever?” asked Gilbert.

Aldwyn and Skylar had been too busy talking to notice, but Gilbert was right – they had circled down flight after flight after flight, but the steps appeared to have no end.

“They have to end at some point,” said Skylar.

The next hundred steps down didn’t help to prove her point. They seemed no closer than they were before.

“These must be the stairs with no bottom,” said Aldwyn. “Remember the second verse?
Between the root of all roots, Where every fear sinks away, Are stairs with no bottom…
”

“…
Unless eyes find sun’s ray
,” Skylar completed the verse. “Maybe we have to follow the ray of the sun.”

“Up again?” groaned Gilbert. “We really need to start thinking about these clues in advance from now on. My extra toes are giving me blisters.”

The familiars reversed their course and began ascending the staircase. They took the steps two at time, racing upwards. Higher, higher, higher. Until they were back where they had started!

“Well, it sounded like a good idea,” said Aldwyn.

“At least sharp, pointy things aren’t flying at us,” said Gilbert brightly.

“
Are stairs with no bottom,
Unless eyes find sun’s ray
,” said Skylar to herself, repeating the verse in the nursery rhyme again.

Aldwyn thought to himself how none of these clues were what they first seemed. Barking dogs that turned out to be giant trees, quickmud that was actually a secret passageway. How else could this riddle be interpreted?

“What if we tried walking down the steps backwards, while our eyes looked up, finding the sun’s rays?” asked Aldwyn.

Nobody had any better idea, so the three familiars began to cautiously descend the staircase backwards. Skylar, unable to fly in reverse, hopped from step to step, keeping her beak held high in the air. Aldwyn kept his eyes fixed on the tiny pinhole of light that seemed to be miles above them.

After a dozen stairs, Aldwyn fell on his bum. His feet felt for more steps behind him, but there was only flat ground. They had reached the bottom. Another puzzle solved!

“Hey, we’re getting pretty good at this,” said Aldwyn.

The trio found themselves in a kind of antechamber to an ornately decorated hall. Roots twisted through the ceiling, creating a latticework of delicate wood. Silver leaf was embedded into the walls, accenting the already elaborately drawn glyphs that covered them. Aldwyn had a hunch that they were getting closer to the Tree Temple’s inner sanctum. As they stepped into the hall, Gilbert stopped by a patch of moss growing from a crack in the ground. His tongue plucked a mouthful of albino ants from the furry lichen.

“Really?” asked Skylar. “You have to do that now?”

“I skipped breakfast,” replied Gilbert, mouth full of the colourless crawlers.

The animals reached a rectangular room with low ceilings that smelled of charred cedar planks. It immediately brought back a sense memory. Aldwyn wet his lips, thinking of the flame-licked fish he used to cook over the chimney tops in Bridgetower not so long ago.

Skylar flapped ahead and nearly got incinerated by a sudden blast of fire that shot down from the ceiling. It set off a chain reaction of a hundred flaming jets raining orange from above. She doubled back, with just the tip of her wing smoking, and quickly blew out the still-cindering feather.

“I should have sent out an illusion first,” said Skylar, frustrated with herself. “I was careless.”

“I don’t think one of your illusions is going to save us this time,” said Aldwyn. “Did you see that? Even if you tricked one jet of fire, another would surely finish the job.”

As Aldwyn and Skylar contemplated what to do next, Gilbert began to inch forward, his tongue preparing to lap up more albino ants from a stretch of moss growing out from the middle of the rectangular room’s floor. Aldwyn reached out his paw and stopped him.

“Gilbert,” scolded Aldwyn, “I don’t think albino ants are what you had in mind for your last meal.”

“Wait,” said Skylar. “This might be one time when it would be wise to follow Gilbert’s stomach.”

The tree frog seemed surprised but pleased by this. “It would?”

“Yes, look – there’s a trail of lichen that winds all the way to the other side of the room. It must have found the only path untouched by the gauntlet of fire.”

Aldwyn nodded. “You’re right. I’ll go first.”

“No,” said Skylar. “It was my idea. I’ll go.”

“Really, I insist,” countered Aldwyn.

“Nonsense. Besides, fur is more flammable than feathers.”

Then the cat and bird were talking over one another, with Aldwyn saying, “I’m faster,” and Skylar arguing, “I can fly.”

“I’ll go!” cried Gilbert.

They both looked at him.

“Anything to make the two of you stop fighting.”

Gilbert took the first jump along the path of moss. When nothing happened, he relaxed a little and leaped again. As his webbed feet touched the ground, a barrage of thousand-degree fireballs landed all around him, but Gilbert remained unharmed. Just as Skylar had speculated, the lichen was a safe zone, immune from the Tree Temple’s fiery wrath.

Aldwyn and Skylar followed Gilbert, careful not to stray from the lichen path, and wound their way through the deadly trap. With every step, more flames shot out. Aldwyn could feel his skin baking just from the proximity to the extreme heat. The room was like a giant furnace, with only a narrow slit not consumed by the inferno.

Once they reached the other side of the lichen trail, safe from the fiery blasts, the familiars found themselves in yet another cavernous room. Just how far, wondered Aldwyn, did the inside of this tree extend? There was a calm in the air, and he was quite sure that they had overcome their last obstacle. Across from them stood a totem pole carved from stone. At the top of the eight-foot-tall statue was a double-headed eagle, identical to the crest on Bridgetower’s flag. Chiselled beneath it was a bear, its eyes big and knowing. Below the bear sat a large tortoise whose granite head stretched out from its shell, with a jade bowl resting atop it.

They approached the idol cautiously. Aldwyn peered into the bowl, and he could see that its inside was stained red.

“It’s an offering dish,” stated Skylar. “And it looks like it requires a drop of blood.”

Aldwyn lifted his paw and saw that the cut from where he’d stepped on the shard of skull was still open.

“At least this cut will be good for something,” he said.

Aldwyn climbed atop the tortoise’s back and squeezed his paw until a few drops of blood fell into the jade bowl. At once the stone jaw of the bear opened wide and the statue sucked in a breath that sounded like wind blowing through a canyon. The two-headed eagle stretched its wings, while the tortoise remained motionless.

“For what purpose do you awaken the Odoodem?” asked a thunderously deep voice that spoke through the mouth of the bear.

“We seek the Crown of the Snow Leopard,” said Aldwyn. “It is the only way we can summon the Shifting Fortress.”

“There is no Crown here,” bellowed the totem bear. “And though we once protected that which could have guided you to it, you come too late.”