The Familiars: Secrets of the Crown

by Adam Jay Epstein

  By mid-morning the next day, the queen’s royal carriage was rolling south, across the Brannfalk Pass and towards the rolling hills that hugged the east bank of the Enaj. Without the aid of Loranella’s swift-step spell, the horses pulling the coach could only travel as fast as their own hooves could gallop. The queen had decided to leave at dawn, concerned they wouldn’t be able to find what they were looking for by moonlight alone.

  From inside the gold-trimmed carriage, Aldwyn stared out at the lush green slopes and flocks of sheep, whose wool had taken on the same emerald hue as the grass they ate. He sat on Jack’s lap; his loyal looked eagerly out of the window as well, for as little of this land as Aldwyn had seen, Jack had glimpsed even less. Dalton and Marianne were seated beside them, along with Skylar and Gilbert. Marianne had dozed off, her head slumped on Dalton’s shoulder. Skylar studied a pocket scroll on necromancy, reading the words silently to herself as she prepared for the task ahead.

  “Even muttering Wyvern and Skull’s chants in your head comes at a price,” warned Feynam. He stretched his arms out from beneath his black robe, revealing dark, twisted veins on his hairless arms. “I’ve read from those scrolls too often.”

  The elder was sitting on the bench opposite the young wizards, next to Queen Loranella, Sorceress Edna and Stolix, who had dozed off round Edna’s neck. Feynam had been invited along to lead them to the location where the Shifting Fortress had been originally built – the same spot from which it was believed Agorus could be summoned from the Tomorrowlife. Aldwyn hoped Feynam’s expertise in necromancy would be useful, but right now the elder was just giving him the creeps.

  Gilbert had his attention fixed on the charcoal-coloured snake curled up on the floor across from him. This was Feynam’s familiar, Ramoth, whose scaly body was capable of turning to flames at will.

  “I don’t like the way he’s looking at me,” Gilbert whispered to Aldwyn. “I know that look. He’s picturing me between two slices of bread.”

  Normally, Aldwyn paid little attention to Gilbert’s paranoia, but there was something about the way the reptilian familiar was licking its lips that made him think that perhaps frog wouldn’t be the only thing on the snake’s menu if it got hungry.

  “It’s just over this next rise,” Feynam called out to the coachman who held the reins of the four horses.

  The carriage pulled to a stop, and Dalton nudged Marianne awake. She looked at him with a shy smile, then spotted some drool left behind on his shoulder and quickly wiped it away.

  “I don’t normally drool in my sleep,” said Marianne, blushing.

  “It must be a side effect of Paksahara’s spell,” said Dalton.

  Aldwyn had seen these two playfully tease each other before, and he was coming to learn that this was how young boys and girls showed affection.

  Sorceress Edna pushed her way out of the carriage first, which was no surprise, since she had complained most of the way about feeling cartsick from the bumpy ride. The others followed, Gilbert making very sure to keep his distance from Feynam’s serpent as he hopped down to the ground.

  They all walked from the road to the top of a small hill, where a large grey stone jutted out from the green. It was polished smooth and stamped with a circle with eight lines jutting out from it. Embedded in the ground beyond it was the sunken imprint of what looked like a long-disappeared castle. The massive indentation had four long sides and burrowed several feet deep into the earth. The architectural fossil had now been filled in with the same grass that covered the hillsides.

  “This is the cornerstone of the elusive Shifting Fortress,” said Feynam, gesturing to the grey obelisk with his bony hand. “It was left behind as a monument to remind all where the grand tower first stood.”

  “And you believe the spirit of Agorus resides here?” asked Loranella.

  “Every departed soul has a gateway to the Tomorrowlife,” explained Feynam, “a place of profound importance to them. I am confident this is that place for the mighty architect of the impossible.”

  Skylar fluttered from Dalton’s shoulder to the base of the stone. She unrolled the scroll at her feet, then grasped a talonful of silver powder from her satchel.

  “Silver dust is a weak substitute for obsidian,” said Feynam. “You’ll be lucky to hold this spell long enough to get any answers at all.”

  Skylar seemed undaunted and ignored the elder’s words. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and then started her incantation.

  “Agorus, hear my call and speak once more,” she chanted to the sky. She tossed the powder into the air and intoned: “Mortis communicatum!”

  Nothing happened for so long that Aldwyn thought Skylar’s spell must have been unsuccessful. But then a bluish mist began to form in the air and curl round the stone. It grew more and more solid, and Aldwyn saw a faintly glowing figure emerge from it. As the spirit became more concrete, Aldwyn was taken aback: what had taken shape in front of him was not a man, but – a beaver!

  “I knew it,” said Feynam. “There is no way a bird could cast such a powerful spell!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Skylar to the four-legged creature. “I was trying to commune with someone else.”

  The beaver looked at her, exasperated.

  “You mean to tell me you’ve woken me for nothing?” he said. “I was in the middle of the most peaceful sleep.”

  “Perhaps you can still help. Is there a man who lingers by this stone in the Tomorrowlife?” asked Skylar. “A famed architect who goes by the name Agorus.”

  “Now you’ve got me confused,” said the beaver. “Are you looking for a man or for Agorus?”

  “They’re one and the same,” said Feynam, growing impatient.

  “Then you’re out of luck,” replied the beaver. “It’s a shame too. If you had been here looking for a beaver named Agorus, you would have found him.”

  The group stared back at him in disbelief. He smiled and gave a little wave.

  “You are the famed architect Agorus?” asked Feynam.

  Aldwyn had known at once that it was true, recognising that yet again they had made a wrong, very human, assumption – that man was responsible for the greatness of Vastia’s past rather than animals.

  “You’re a beaver,” exclaimed a startled Gilbert, giving voice to the surprise that could be read on everybody’s face.

  “Well, I should hope so,” said Agorus. “That’s how I left this life, and that’s how I’ve stayed. Although if reincarnation were a possibility, I always wondered what it would be like to come back as a gazelle – a handsome, elegant creature indeed. Now tell me, blue bird, how many years have passed since the Turn? Two, three?”

  “A little over four thousand,” said Skylar.

  “Huh. Time goes fast in the Tomorrowlife. It seems like just yesterday I was overseeing the team of Farsand lifting-spiders who built the Shifting Fortress. I’m sure you noticed their insignia carved into the stone.” Agorus gestured to the circle on the cornerstone with the eight lines sticking out of it. “Amazing creatures. Ten times the size of regular spiders, with webbing strong enough to carry a boulder. But none of it would have been possible without my meticulous design. And the Fortress – what a miracle of engineering it was, if I do say so myself! Walls as strong as steel, a casting tower that could spread magic from Liveod’s Canyon to the southern tip of the ever-flowing Enaj, and a teleportation globe buried into the glass floor, randomly spinning so the Fortress never appeared in the same place twice, making it impossible to ever lay siege to it.”

  “We come with a question in dire need of an answer,” interrupted Skylar. “Is there another way to summon the Shifting Fortress beside the wooden bracelet?”

  “Wooden bracelet?” asked Agorus. “I’m not sure what a wooden bracelet has to do with the Shifting Fortress.”

  “My bracelet,” said Queen Loranella. “It was a relic possessed by my great-grandfather, the king. I retrieved it from the Sunken Palace during the Dead Army Uprising.”

&nbs
p; “You speak of a history I am unaware of. Back in my day, the Shifting Fortress was not summoned by some wooden trinket. There was meant to be only one way to bring forth the mighty tower. Seek the Crown of the Snow Leopard! That is how the First Phylum intended it.”

  “Please, slow down,” said Skylar. “First Phylum, Crown of the Snow Leopard… knowledge of these things has been lost to time.”

  “The First Phylum are the seven tribes that ruled over Vastia,” said Agorus with an exasperated sigh. Suddenly, his faint glow began to disappear. “The strongest and most powerful wizards of the…”

  “Wait, don’t go,” pleaded Skylar.

  But it was too late. The mist pulled Agorus away. His voice trailed off as his form dissipated into the Tomorrowlife once more.

  “I’m afraid your components were too weak to hold the spell,” said Feynam.

  Aldwyn thought there was no need for the elder to rub it in – he could see that Skylar was disappointed in herself by the way her wings slouched and her beak hung down.

  “But it was enough time to get a clue,” said Queen Loranella. “The Crown of the Snow Leopard,” she repeated aloud. “If we find this magical item, perhaps the tide can still be turned.”

  “In all my years of study, I have never heard of such a crown,” said Sorceress Edna. “And my memory is like that of a steel trap. Nothing escapes it.”

  Though Skylar had succeeded in contacting Agorus, they were left with new mysteries – what was the Crown of the Snow Leopard? Where would they be able to find it? What did it have to do with the Shifting Fortress? And what was the First Phylum? Aldwyn knew he wasn’t going to be of much assistance in answering these questions, seeing how his knowledge of all things magical was still in its infancy.

  “Hmm-hm hm hm-hmm hm hm…” someone began to hum.

  Everyone turned to see who the off-key tune was coming from: it was Gilbert.

  “Sorry,” said the tree frog when he felt everybody’s eyes resting on him. “I don’t do well with uncomfortable silences.”

  “We’ll have to search through the dustiest of tomes to have any chance of learning about the Crown and its whereabouts,” said Queen Loranella. “I suggest we start at the Vastian Historical Archives.”

  Skylar was still collecting her components, and Aldwyn couldn’t help but notice that she looked rather drained, almost as if her blue sheen had lost a little of its lustre. As she took to the air, a pair of her tail feathers dropped to the ground. Feynam walked up alongside her, and Aldwyn overheard him whisper, “Remember what I said, little bird. There will be consequences.”

  The wizards’ and familiars’ arrival at the Historical Archives, just outside Bronzhaven, marked a reunion with an old friend – Scribius. The enchanted quill pen, which had helped guide the familiars on their quest to the Sunken Palace, had spent the last month happily transcribing the details of their adventure on the Vastian time line. Upon seeing its former companions, the metal and feather writing tool glided across the long wooden tabletop where it’d been working and executed an elegant curlicue before them.

  “Scribius!” exclaimed Gilbert. “So this is where you’ve been keeping busy. Pretty fancy for a pen from the Runlet.”

  Indeed it was. The Historical Archives was more than just the grandest library in all of Vastia; it was a two-storey museum of the queendom’s past – the most recent past, anyway. Hanging against the red velvet wallpaper were large tapestries of old kings and early maps of the countryside. Pear-shaped globes sat on pedestals around the room, and they would have been spinning had it not been for Paksahara’s disenchantment spell. Open cabinets were stuffed with history scrolls. And there was no lack of books – shelves of them on the walls, piles stacked fifty high on the floor, and tables with tomes too heavy to lift. Only a handful of dedicated scholars were studying the folios during this time of crisis, so the team of magical animals and their loyals nearly had the run of the place. One or two of the civilians recognised the queen and bowed before her, but there was little time for formalities.

  “Let’s all split up,” said Queen Loranella. “There’s an awful lot of ground to cover if we hope to find some mention of this Crown of the Snow Leopard. Feynam, peruse the Encyclopedia of Artifacts. Edna, you and I shall check all the diaries of kings and queens of yore. Children, see if there’s anything in the old Wizard Almanacs. Start with the earliest editions.”

  Everyone dispersed. Feynam headed for the second floor with Ramoth, his firescale snake, slithering behind him. Loranella walked to a far wall of sheepskin journals and started reaching for the ones at the very top. Sorceress Edna, much shorter than the queen, began at the bottom. Stolix remained coiled round her neck, fast asleep. Marianne approached the meek librarian who was sitting behind the front desk.

  “Excuse me,” she asked. “Could you point us to your Wizard Almanacs?”

  The young woman looked up from the Archives’ book roster, which she was busily updating. “Most of them are in the Reference section. I’d start there.” The librarian was about to return to her administrative task, but became sidetracked by a slither of bookworms crawling in through an open window. “Pesky little creepers,” she muttered as she grabbed a broomstick to sweep the purple parasitic worms back outside.

  Marianne, Gilbert, Dalton and Skylar made their way through the stacks. Jack and Aldwyn followed behind. Jack slowed as he passed by a counter cluttered with conch and snail shells.

  “Did you hear that?” Jack asked his familiar.

  Aldwyn listened. Sure enough, he could hear faint voices coming from nearby. He approached the shelf with the shells resting atop it and the quiet murmurs got louder. Jack came up beside Aldwyn and lifted one to his ear.

  “They’re whisper shells,” explained Jack. “I’ve heard about these. They preserve voices spoken from long ago. Put your ear up to one.”

  Aldwyn jumped up on the counter and leaned his left ear – the one with the bite taken out of it – up to a rose-coloured spiral shell. Immediately, he could hear the sound of a voice speaking: “This is Derkis Toliver, local fisherman, speaking to you three years into the reign of the seventh king. I stand here at the port of Split River, watching the first spice vessel sail in, and I wonder if this will be a renowned harbour in the years to…”

  Aldwyn pulled his ear away. Not the most riveting recollection, but just the fact that the words were spoken centuries ago made the otherwise mundane message become vivid and real.

  “Maybe one of these shells will mention the Crown of the Snow Leopard,” said Aldwyn.

  Jack didn’t even respond, as his attention was drawn to a shelf labelled Tales of the Beyonders. He quickly began lifting snail shells to his ears. “What if my mum’s or dad’s voice has been captured in one of these?” the boy wizard asked.

  Jack had told Aldwyn how he and Marianne’s parents were Beyonders, lost at sea while on a secret mission ordered by Queen Loranella. The boy wished to become an explorer of distant lands too, one day, in the hopes of finding his mum and dad, who were perhaps waiting to be rescued on some deserted island. This desire to reunite with the family he never knew was one that Aldwyn could relate to, having only the foggy memories of his own parents that had come to him in dreams. He often wondered why his parents had abandoned him, sending him away from his home.

  “No,” Jack kept saying, as he listened to each shell for a brief moment before trading it in for the next. “No, no, no.” He moved through them quickly, then put the last one down with a defeated look on his face. “I knew it was a slender chance anyway.”

  “Don’t be discouraged,” said Aldwyn, trying to comfort his loyal. “I know how you feel.” He nuzzled his head up against Jack’s hand.

  “I wish I could hear their voices, just once,” said the boy, melancholy filling his voice.

  Dalton and Marianne walked up with armloads of books and scrolls, interrupting the shared moment between loyal and familiar.

  “Hey, Jack, we’re going to need your
help getting through all of this,” said Dalton, who dumped the selected materials on to one of the mahogany reading tables with a thud.

  What chance did they really have of coming across some mention of this mysterious Crown? Just scanning this first pile alone could take a whole day. To Aldwyn, it seemed like trying to find a single flea on the back of a gundabeast.

  Aldwyn had lost track of the time, but he could tell by the lack of light coming in through the windows that night was approaching. The only sound that he had heard in the past few hours was that of pages flipping and the occasional snore from Stolix, who seemed to steal naps even more frequently than Gilbert. Nobody had found any leads in their search so far, but everybody was determined to work through the night until they did. Without the convenience of Protho’s Lights to illuminate the Archives after dark, the librarian had gone out to purchase candles, a magicless alternative that could still be lit despite the dispeller curse. No other visitors remained inside the crimson-coloured walls.

  “Hm hm hm hm hm hm,” hummed Gilbert.

  “Would you give it a rest already?” snapped Skylar.

  “I didn’t even realise I was doing it that time,” said the tree frog.

  Skylar returned to her reading, but the silence only lasted a moment.

  “Hm hm hm hmm-hm hm.” Gilbert had started it again.

  “Gilbert!” snapped Skylar.

  “I’m sorry. This stupid tune is stuck in my head and I just can’t get it out.”

  Sorceress Edna set down her magnifying glass and rubbed her eyes wearily. Feynam poured himself a tall glass of water from a jug on the table.

  “Brannfalk’s Crown, the Golden Crown of the Clouds, the Twin Crowns of Yajmada,” said the Elder. “But nothing at all about a Crown of the Snow Leopard.”

  “Don’t lose faith,” said Queen Loranella. “An old friend of mine used to say, ‘You always find what you’ve been searching for in the last place you look.’”