The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown (7 page)

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?” asked Skylar. “What is it you speak of and where is it now?”

“We have defended this temple for over eight hundred years,” said the totem bear, “acting as the sole guardian of the Spheris – made from the same ore as the Crown and for ever magically linked to it. Whoever possesses it gets pulled to the Crown like iron drawn to a magnet. Together with the Song of the First Phylum, the Spheris is the only way the quest for the Crown can be accomplished.”

“Song of the First Phylum?” asked Gilbert.

“The nursery rhyme,” said Skylar.

One of the eagle heads spoke up in a scratchy voice that sounded as if it had not been used in a very long time.

“Three years ago, another made his way through the traps of the temple. A clever and resourceful one, for many had failed before him.”

“After he dropped his blood into the bowl, we deemed him worthy,” added the second eagle head in a drowsy monotone.

“And then he took the Spheris from my paw,” said the totem bear.

Aldwyn looked at the bear’s raised paw and noticed the rounded indentation where the Spheris must once have sat.

“So that’s it?” asked Aldwyn. “Isn’t there another one?”

“No,” said the bear. “There is not.”

Aldwyn couldn’t believe their journey had led them to this dead end. It seemed they had all risked their lives for nothing. What hope did they have of stopping Paksahara’s sinister plot now?

“How could you just give it away?” asked Skylar. “All of Vastia is in danger. Finding the Crown is the only way to save the queendom.”

“Tell us who you gave the Spheris to,” said Aldwyn. “We’ll track him down. We’ll do whatever it takes to find him.”

Then the tortoise spoke up for the first time, in a whisper that made the animals lean in closer to hear him. “It was a cat. His was the blood of destiny.” With these hushed words, the tortoise turned its stone eyes to Aldwyn. “The same blood that runs through you.”

“I don’t understand,” said Aldwyn.

The tortoise gave Aldwyn a piercing stare. “The one who came here seeking the Crown was your father.”

Your father.
The tortoise’s words had been echoing over and over in Aldwyn’s head, drowning out any other thoughts. Aldwyn had never believed in fate, but what other explanation could there be for his father, a complete stranger to him, setting off on the same quest he was on now? The probabilities were impossibly unlikely, yet here he stood, just outside the Tree Temple, presumably not far from where his own father had stood three years earlier. But whether it was destiny or sheer coincidence mattered little. Aldwyn’s heart wanted answers to different questions. Who was this cat that he had never known, and why did he abandon him to the river Ebs?

The Odoodem had pointed the familiars to a secret exit – a tunnel that led from the spheris’s antechamber directly back to the surface. The group walked a short distance from the dogwood tree before Skylar spoke up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked Aldwyn.

Aldwyn didn’t know what there was to say, except for the obvious.

“Why would my father have been looking for the Crown?”

“Maybe he was searching for some stylish headwear,” said Gilbert. Then he saw Aldwyn’s look and added, “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Clearly he, too, was trying to summon the Shifting Fortress,” said Skylar. “The question is, for what reason?”

Aldwyn hoped deep in his heart that it was a noble one, but he knew that in the wrong hands – the hands of someone like Paksahara – the Fortress could bring terrible evils upon the land.

“Whatever the motive, without finding your father and the Spheris, we’re back to square one,” continued Skylar.

“How do you suggest we do that?” asked Aldwyn.

“We go to Maidenmere,” she said.

The thought of returning to the plateau north of Kailasa, home of the telekinetic cats, filled Aldwyn with mixed emotions. He had been there once before, pretending to be magical, and was banished. Now that he knew he was one of them, what kind of welcome would he receive? Would his tribe greet him with open arms, or shun him?

Aldwyn nodded with a heavy but hopeful heart. “Let’s go,” he said.

They headed back towards the river again, and by the time they reached the waters, it was night. The trio camped along the bank, taking turns keeping watch, and awoke at the crack of dawn the next morning to resume their trek.

The familiars followed the Ebs north, walking along its rocky west bank as the hours of another day sped by. Their journey was peaceful and uneventful; at times it was easy to forget that the world was in peril. But in peril it was – Aldwyn knew that, throughout the cities and across the countryside, life was becoming more and more difficult as the effects of the disenchantment were making themselves felt. And somewhere, Paksahara was plotting to rain even more terror on the land. A terror that would plague the queendom just five days from now.

As the familiars came round the north side of Kailasa, they were presented with a majestic view of the grand Torentia Falls. The last time that Aldwyn had heard its mighty rumble, he had been in no position to admire the strength and beauty of this wonder of the queendom. Instead he had been tumbling through the air and paddling for his life through the water’s fearsome rapids. He liked the view from here better, safe on dry land, only getting the occasional spray of mist.

Aldwyn, Skylar and Gilbert climbed the sloping hill to the top of the plateau. Upon reaching the summit, Aldwyn could make out the floating rock formations that marked the entrance to the Maidenmere Pridelands in the distance. His heart began to beat faster. His previous visit to the plateau had ended with him being outed as an imposter, but now that he had discovered his telekinetic powers, even if he was not completely in control of them, he was hoping his reception would be more welcoming.

After a short walk across the plateau, the familiars entered the village, passing below the hovering stone islands. Each island had rocks leading up to them that were suspended telekinetically in the air like stairs. These were the homes of the Maidenmere cats, hanging high above the ground, safe from predators, floods, or fire. Unlike the first time the familiars had crossed this plateau – when the dens were crowded with black-and-white felines peering down – now they were empty.

“Where are all the cats?” asked Gilbert.

Aldwyn knew that they could not be far, for his nostrils were filled with a comforting and familiar scent – that of baking river flounder, his favourite fish! It was dinnertime for the Pridelands’ bicolours, and it was clear that their taste in food was similar to his. Apparently his culinary preferences were hereditary.

“This way,” said Aldwyn, following his nose as much as his heart.

He led them beneath the maze of rocks, which reflected the golden light of a desert dusk. After rounding the community cave, they stopped behind a stout desert yucca tree. Up ahead, close to a hundred cats sat round a large bonfire. Above it, fish rotated on their own, slowly cooking with neither spit nor spear holding them aloft. If the flames began to dip at all, another stick would float into the pit, keeping the blaze raging.

Standing at the centre of the gathering was a striped black-and-white cat with a spike through his ear and braids dangling from his tail.

“Do not feel guilty for being blessed with this bounty,” he said. “Though man suffers now, time will bring things back into balance.”

He spoke to the group with a persuasive purr, exuding a charm and confidence that left no doubt about why he had become their pride leader. This was Malvern, the cat who had exposed Aldwyn’s lie during his first visit to Maidenmere and banished him from the Pridelands for ever.

“Vastia has experienced many changes in its long history,” Malvern continued, “and while this may seem like a dark cloud, perhaps there is light in it as well.”

Aldwyn looked at this band of cats with different eyes than on his previous visit. Now every face and fur in the crowd looked similar to his own. Was it possible that his mother or father was sitting among them?

As Aldwyn stood there, lost in thought, Malvern glanced over and made direct eye contact with him. Immediately, a dozen flaming branches from the bonfire lifted into the air and flew across, surrounding Aldwyn, Skylar and Gilbert. Aldwyn swallowed hard. This was not how he had planned to make his entrance.

“What are you doing back here?” Malvern called out. “I told you never to return. Maidenmere is no place for imposters.”

Every eye turned to the familiars. The heat of the hovering fire sticks inched closer to the trespassing trio, making Aldwyn break out in a sweat.

“Let this be an example to any who falsely claim the divine gifts of the bicolour cats,” said Malvern.

Aldwyn nervously lifted a paw, and with the gesture a circle of sand swirled from the ground, rising into the air and engulfing each of the threatening, fiery torches. The burning embers were extinguished all at once, and the sand, along with the branches, dropped to the plateau floor.

Malvern’s expression changed. “How did you do that?” he asked.

“I am a cat from Maidenmere,” said Aldwyn. “I was born here, but I was sent away when I was just a baby, put on a pile of twigs and cast adrift on the Ebs. I am not an imposter, even if I didn’t know it when I came to you the last time.”

A murmur stirred through the crowd, then everybody fell silent.

Malvern studied Aldwyn closely, examining him, thinking. The silence seemed to go on for ever until finally the leader of the cats of Maidenmere spoke. “That means you are Corliss’s child. The one she never let anyone see. The son of Baxley. There is no other explanation.” Malvern walked up to Aldwyn. Aldwyn wasn’t sure what the imposing, intimidating cat was going to do. And then Malvern’s paws embraced him. “You are my nephew.”

Aldwyn remained in the clutches of this striped cat, the only blood relative he had ever known. It was safe there. It felt comforting to know he wasn’t alone in this world.

“Welcome home, fellow Mooncatcher,” said Malvern.

“I should start by saying that this is not a happy story,” said Malvern. Aldwyn and his uncle were walking across the plateau in the moonlight; a strong wind was blowing in from the empty plains to the north. After Aldwyn’s revelation at the bonfire, he and his companions had been welcomed warmly, with overjoyed hugs and a feast that took on a festive atmosphere. Given that the safety of the queendom was hanging in the balance, Aldwyn’s mood was not entirely celebratory. But he was sure that even Jack would want him to enjoy this unexpected reunion. Having eaten until they could eat no more, which in Gilbert’s case had meant until his stomach was as round as one of the driftfolk’s crystal balls, Skylar and Gilbert had been escorted to the community cave to sleep. Aldwyn had remained awake to seek answers to the questions he had ventured from the Hinterwoods to discover, answers to the questions that had plagued him his whole life. Not only did he need to know why his father had been searching for the Crown of the Snow Leopard, but also who his parents were and why they had abandoned him.

“I need to know everything, Uncle Malvern,” said Aldwyn.

Malvern nodded. “You shall. But understand that whatever you hoped your parents to be, I’m afraid the truth will only disappoint you.” Then, taking a deep breath, he began.

“Your father, Baxley, was my older brother. We were the only two born to the Mooncatcher bloodline. Your grandfather was our village’s elder lifter, your grandmother its den matron. Much was expected of us. I knew from an early age that protecting this tribe would one day be my responsibility. Baxley, on the other hand, wasn’t born to lead; he was interested in more
independent
pursuits. Stealing from the community cave, playing practical jokes with his telekinetic powers, searching the Pridelands for secret passageways and unmapped territories.”

Aldwyn felt a momentary sense of connection. He, too, possessed these very same mischievous traits.

“But these youthful follies took an ugly turn as he grew older,” continued Malvern. “Playful curiosity turned into obsession. My brother’s desire to possess unfound treasures consumed him. And ultimately it’s what led him away from you.”

“The Crown?” asked Aldwyn.

“Yes. The call of such a mythical artifact was too strong for him to resist.”

“But why did he want to find it?”

“Glory. Fame. Selfish reasons with no merit.”

Aldwyn felt a deep hurt at the thought that someone who should have loved him had left him for the pursuit of such a petty goal.

“And my mother?” Aldwyn asked hopefully.

“Her story is even more tragic, I’m afraid. Corliss was a great beauty. No tom could deny that, but only Baxley desired her as a mate, and she desired only him. She was a member of the Wind Chanter tribe, a family of bicolours whose mental powers extended beyond that of mere telekinesis, to firestarting, mind control and astral projection. Unfortunately, they also had a tendency towards madness. Baxley ignored my warnings and pursued her anyway. Their love was strong, but not as strong as your father’s ambition. He left Corliss immediately after your birth to search for the Crown. Alone and without the companionship of Baxley, your mother began to imagine things, growing paranoid and fearful. I tried to watch over her, but even I had to sleep sometimes. She had been keeping you hidden, and one night, gripped by delusion, she brought you to the river. I awoke to your crying and ran to your rescue. But it was too late. You were drifting rapidly downstream, and before I could restrain Corliss, she threw herself into the river as well. I jumped in after you both, but the currents were too severe. My telekinesis was no match for the rushing waters. You were gone, and your mother was swallowed by the river.”

Aldwyn’s insides were twisting. He felt anger and remorse, confusion and sadness. The emotions were almost too much to bear.

“But the gods have reunited us,” said Malvern. “It’s a miracle.”

“Did Baxley ever come back? Is he even alive?”

“He was never seen again. Whether he’s still out there is anyone’s guess.”

Aldwyn had spent his whole life fearing the worst about his parents, so in some sense Malvern’s story felt more like validation than a crushing disappointment. He was quick to bury any lingering resentment, and tried to focus on the people he knew cared for him: Skylar, Gilbert, Jack, his loyal and now his uncle. And yet he was unable to completely ignore the feeling of abandonment that Malvern’s story had left in him. But this was not the time to bemoan his fate.

“None of this changes the importance of finding the Crown,” said Aldwyn. “I imagine word has reached Maidenmere about Paksahara’s evil deeds.”

“Of course it has.”

“We must stop her, and we have discovered how we can. We need to summon the Shifting Fortress, and to do so we need to find the Crown of the Snow Leopard. Without it, Paksahara is going to raise a new Dead Army that will devastate all of Vastia.”

“So the rumours that have been spreading are true,” said Malvern. “These are indeed dark days for the queendom.”

“But not hopeless,” said Aldwyn. “Three years ago, Baxley discovered the Spheris – some sort of compass – that would guide him to the Crown. We need to retrieve it.”