“We need to get on that boat,” said Aldwyn. “Run!”
Aldwyn and Gilbert burst out from between the legs of one of the driftfolk and sprinted for the ferry. Behind them, Grimslade had stopped and was scanning his surroundings. The Olfax snout was sniffing wildly, a sure sign that what it was hunting had to be hiding somewhere nearby.
Aldwyn and Gilbert scurried beneath the guardrail and onto the ferry just as the dockhands finished untying the raft from the landing. Gilbert relaxed, convinced they were out of harm’s way.
“We made it,” he said.
“We’re not safe until the boat leaves,” replied Aldwyn.
A large juicy fly landed on Aldwyn’s back and Gilbert shot his tongue out, slurping it up.
“Gilbert, chickens don’t eat flies!”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
Anxiously, Aldwyn glanced back at Grimslade. And he was right to be anxious, because the bounty hunter had his eyes locked on the two of them. Clearly, Gilbert’s slip-up hadn’t escaped his notice. Then Aldwyn saw a trail of sooty gray paw prints in the sand leading to the ferry, and he knew that the game was up.
“Come on, come on,” said Aldwyn frantically even though he knew the dockhands couldn’t understand him. “Let’s go.”
Now Grimslade was running down the slope toward the water, his boots kicking up mud behind him. “Stop that ferry!” he shouted.
As the raft moved farther from the shore, Grimslade charged into the river. He pulled his crossbow from his shoulder and took aim at Aldwyn, firing off a steel-tipped bolt.
It whizzed across the surface of the water and embedded itself in the wooden side rail, missing Aldwyn by mere inches. The boat was picking up speed now, putting a safe distance between them and Grimslade, who was wading in deeper, but to no avail. When he was up to his chest in water, the bounty hunter stopped and simply stared at Aldwyn and Gilbert, silent and menacing.
Aldwyn exhaled, relieved to have narrowly escaped capture yet again. But he was certain this would not be the last time he would find himself the target of Grimslade’s deadly crossbow.
11
THE BRIDGE OF BETRAYAL
Aldwyn and Gilbert sat on the edge of the raft, still disguised as a gray cat and a chicken. They stared down at the clear blue waters of the Ebs as the ferry glided toward the dock on the other side. The raft shook as a wave hit it, and Aldwyn realized he hadn’t felt seasick during any part of the voyage. He thought of what Jack had asked him during their bedtime conversation and couldn’t wait to tell his wizard companion that he’d be well suited to make many a long ocean journey with him into the Beyond. Aldwyn hoped Marianne didn’t have a similar wish to travel the world, as Gilbert had appeared nauseated from the moment they had hit their first wave.
Two sturdy men carrying pickaxes, whose shoulders were as wide as wagon wheels, walked up to the side rail. One of them held the Wanted poster in his hand. His fingernails were crusted with silver ore.
“Animal fugitives?” he asked his fellow miner. “What do you suspect they did? Chewed up the royal slippers?”
The two let out a nasty laugh.
“The queen hasn’t been right in the head for months,” replied the one with the cracked boots, whose feet, Aldwyn couldn’t help but notice, smelled like spoiled bacon. “I heard she dismissed all the Council elders and replaced them with servants too fearful to question her.”
“As long as the mines keep hiring, it don’t matter to me.”
Aldwyn gave Gilbert a tug and pulled him to the other side of the raft, away from the scary-looking miners who would have grabbed them in a heartbeat if they realized the prize that was sitting at their feet.
As the ferryman guided the boat through the shallows, Aldwyn observed how different it was on this side of the river. A green forest came down toward them, reaching all the way to the shore. Scribius had drawn this on the map and called it the Hinterwoods. The air felt different here, too, drier and filled with the smell of fallen pine needles. The Peaks of Kailasa towered behind the forest, appearing far closer than they actually were.
When the ferry reached the landing, one of the raftsmen leaped to the dock and tied the boat fast. Passengers began to disembark and unload their cargo, and Aldwyn and Gilbert darted off in the midst of the crowd. Surveying the port, Aldwyn didn’t see any sign of Skylar, but he did notice two buildings: one a small shop selling mining equipment, the other a place to dine and rest, with tables and hammocks inside. A red mud road led away from the river, carving a twisting path through the Hinterwoods to the mountains.
“Hey, over here,” they heard Skylar’s voice call from a low-lying tree branch.
Aldwyn and Gilbert turned to see a black beak sticking out from behind the green leaves and hurried over. With Scribius’s map unfolded at her feet, Skylar was busy plotting their next move.
“We’ll follow the road here,” she said, gesturing to a bridge on the map. “This is the only way to cross the gorge that separates us from the Peaks of Kailasa.”
“It’s nice to see you, too,” said Gilbert.
But Skylar continued, ignoring him. “Then we’ll have to make our own path to the Mountain Alchemist.” She looked up at them and stopped, trying to hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry, but have the two of you looked at yourselves recently?”
Aldwyn peered down to see he only had patches of gray left on his black-and-white fur. Gilbert fared no better: the carrot beak was hanging off his face at an odd angle, and patches of green skin were visible where feathers had once been stuck.
“It was a long trip,” said Aldwyn.
“Well, you won’t be needing disguises where we’re headed,” said Skylar. “Fortunately, few dare to brave the unknown horrors that lurk in the heart of the mountains.”
“Fortunately?” asked Gilbert in a state of alarm. “What’s fortunate about that?”
“We should keep moving,” urged Aldwyn, glancing up at the peaks. “This looks like a steep climb.”
Aldwyn’s first concern was rescuing Jack and the other loyals, who were chained up in the dungeon of the Sunken Palace. But now he had Grimslade to worry about, too. He knew full well that the bounty hunter would be traveling on the next ferry across, if he wasn’t taking a different boat even sooner.
The sounds of men and horses had long faded into the distance as the familiars hiked up the red mud road toward the mountains. Aldwyn had brushed the remaining soot from his fur and Gilbert pulled every last chicken feather from his cornmeal-covered body, yelping every time he removed one.
“So, when you said ‘unknown horrors,’ what exactly did you mean?” Gilbert asked Skylar as he looked nervously to the eerily still woods on either side of the road.
“Well, if I knew what they were, they wouldn’t be unknown, would they?”
Gilbert gulped.
The path was getting steeper now and the air thinner. The tree line of the Hinterwoods was behind them, and from this high vantage point, Aldwyn could see just how far he had come; leagues upon leagues of East Vastia spread out below them, all the way back to Bridgetower, which from here appeared to be just a dot on the Ebs. Aldwyn’s eyes slowly retraced their trail along the river back to the gray and green brush of the Weed Barrens. His leg muscles still ached from the tight grip of the octopot’s tentacles. Then his gaze shifted ever so slightly to the swamps of Daku, and he wondered if Gilbert’s father was watching them right now—or rather, he corrected himself, in the future. North of Daku, past the windswept fields, was the outpost town where Tammy had allowed him to feel like himself again. He certainly wouldn’t mind having another moonlit stroll with her at some point. Finally he glanced down to the river, where the ferry was making another crossing. How quickly a journey could be made in one’s mind when the travels by foot took so long!
Gilbert, huffing and wheezing, found a spot to stop along the side of the road. He dug into his flower bud backpack of flies and maggots that h
is mother had given him. Although the meal itself seemed quite unappetizing to Aldwyn, the thought of a snack was tempting. He decided to search Jack’s pouch, hoping to find something to eat inside. Since Agdaleen had poked a hole through the top, Aldwyn had been extra careful to keep it upright. And sure enough, not a single item had spilled from it during their trek. He pawed through the steel marbles, ground glow worm, and clover to see what might be hiding beneath them. He discovered a whittled stick, a piece of chalk, and a small square of white taffy. Taffy was a sugary treat for a boy but a tooth-sticking, stomach-twisting bad idea for a cat. On a previous hungry day in Bridgetower, Aldwyn had made the mistake of scraping a gob of mint taffy off the bottom of a bench and eating it. For a week after, he had a sore belly and aching teeth. He chose to leave the sweet alone, but before he tightened the strings of the pouch, he spied a folded-up piece of parchment. Aldwyn gently plucked it out with his teeth and flattened it with his paw. There on the page was a picture sketched in charcoal of Aldwyn sleeping by the fire in Kalstaff’s cottage. Jack must have drawn it while Aldwyn was dreaming that first evening in Stone Runlet. The words My Familiar were written above the drawing. This picture and those two simple words gave Aldwyn a warm tingling deep in his chest. This, he thought, is what it must feel like to be loved.
“We’re going to find them,” said Skylar. She put a comforting wing over his shoulder.
Aldwyn nodded before returning the parchment to the pouch.
After consulting Scribius’s map once more, Skylar flew forward, with Aldwyn and Gilbert following. It looked as if no human travelers had ventured this far for some time, given the lack of footprints. As they went further still, a chill wind began to cut across the slope, blowing through Aldwyn’s whiskers and making it difficult for Skylar to fly. Then they saw four white hoofs coming down the mud road. The feet belonged to a bearded billy goat, who appeared before them. He had snow on his back and icicles dangling from the fur on his chin and eyebrows.
“Are you lost?” asked the billy goat. “I don’t see many who climb this high.”
“We’re heading for the Peaks,” explained Skylar.
“I’ve just returned from there. A month of prayer at the very top. Are you seeking spiritual guidance as well?”
“No,” replied Skylar. “We have more earthly matters to tend to.”
“Have you made this trip before?”
The familiars shook their heads.
“Well, I’d be careful if I were you. It’s winter up there. And a thunderstorm is already brewing. If you thought snow was bad, wait until it comes hand in hand with lightning.”
“We won’t be staying long,” said Aldwyn.
“Oh, and I hope you’re not planning on crossing the bridge together,” the goat said rather casually.
“It’s my understanding there’s no other way,” said Skylar.
“There isn’t,” said the billy. “But it would be wise for you to travel across one at a time.”
“Why?” asked Gilbert in a mild panic. “It’s not one of those rope bridges with the wood planks you can fall through, is it?”
“No, it’s stone and you won’t easily fall off.”
Gilbert gave a relieved sigh.
“Unless you’re pushed,” added the goat.
Aldwyn wondered if the billy’s lonely time in the mountains had made him a little crazy.
“Some call it the Bridge of Betrayal. You see, after the Uprising, two captains of old Vastia, best friends from the Royal Guard, traveled here to look for any remaining zombie soldiers of the Dead Army. They didn’t find any, but they did stumble across a map buried in the snow. A treasure map.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Aldwyn could see from Skylar’s intent gaze that this was a legend that even she had never heard.
“Unfortunately, while crossing the bridge, the friends turned on each other, both greedy for the fortune the map promised. They fought, and in their struggle, they threw each other over the side into the gorge below. Neither man nor map was ever found. Only their donkey lived to tell the tale. Since that day, the bridge has been cursed. Anyone who crosses it with others will betray their fellow travelers.”
With these words, the goat picked up his slow, solitary trot down the mud road. The familiars were left to ponder his warning as they continued up the steep slope.
Within minutes, the winds got even stronger and the air colder. A dusting of snow started swirling around the bigger boulders.
In the near distance, stretching across the seemingly bottomless mountain gorge, was the stone bridge. It looked majestic and quite safe, with brown brick walls as high as a man’s waist. It certainly didn’t appear cursed to Aldwyn.
“The wind is too strong. I can’t fly,” said Skylar. “I’ll have to walk across the bridge as well. I’ll go first. Then Gilbert. Aldwyn, you can—”
“There, nearing the bridge!” a voice called out.
Aldwyn whipped his head around to see two men dressed in leather armor, one carrying a net, the other holding a noose. Behind them came Aldwyn’s arch-enemy. Just as he had feared, Grimslade had tracked them down. The men were charging up the hill, racing toward Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert.
“Go, go, go!” shouted Aldwyn.
The three familiars raced as fast as paws, webbed feet, and wings could carry them, but still the distance between themselves and their pursuers was shrinking rapidly. They arrived at the foot of the bridge. Skylar looked back at the oncoming men, then at the long stretch of brown bricks, each stamped with a picture of a king’s throne.
“We’re going to have to cross the bridge together,” she said.
“But what about the goat’s—?” asked Gilbert, but he didn’t even finish the question before Aldwyn and Skylar had started to race across. The tree frog immediately began jumping after them.
Aldwyn felt the wind pounding at his ears, all but deafening him. He could barely hear himself think. Then he heard a voice.
They know your secret. They’ll expose you for who you really are.
Aldwyn stopped and turned around, but there was nobody there. Who was speaking to him?
Get rid of them. Start with the bird. She’s onto you. She knows you’re just an ordinary alley cat.
Aldwyn stopped again, trying to shake the crazy voice out of his head. Then he noticed that Skylar had halted in her tracks as well, and she was batting at the air above her with one of her wings. More troubling, she was talking to herself.
“I don’t need all the credit,” she said aloud. “So what if they share in the glory?”
She paused and seemed to be listening to words only she could hear.
“My name alone in the history books?” she asked. “Yes, that would be nice.”
She glared at Aldwyn menacingly. This was a look he had never seen from her before, and it was more than a little frightening.
Then the voice spoke to him once more. Do it. Rid yourself of the problem. Snap her wings. Then throw her over the edge.
Aldwyn felt his paws twitch. It would be so easy. He maintained control, though, and tried to think clearly. These were his friends. Why would he hurt them?
Aldwyn had a moment of realization: so that’s why the goat called this the Bridge of Betrayal! And the voices must have been talking to Gilbert, too, because now Aldwyn could hear him shout, “Don’t come any closer! These are my flies, and you can’t have them!”
He clutched the flower bud backpack tightly.
“Let’s all calm down,” said Aldwyn. “The bridge is doing this.”
“Don’t try your tricks on me,” replied Gilbert.
Now really wasn’t the best time for infighting. Grimslade and the other two bounty hunters were coming quickly toward them.
The familiars still had half the bridge to cross, but they were too filled with mistrust to continue forward.
“If I save the wizards,” said a possessed Skylar, “my name will be known all across Vastia.”
Now’s your
chance. Chuck her into the gorge. . . .
Aldwyn took a step closer to her.
“I see both of you eyeing my maggots!” yelled Gilbert. “Well, you can’t have them!”
He looked like he was about to charge at his companions. Aldwyn and Skylar were moving toward each other, ready to attack. Then, from behind them, they heard the sounds of a horrible struggle. They shifted their attention to see two of the assassins on the bridge with arms locked, wrestling each other. The net and the noose had been dropped.
“I’m the one who tracked them,” one shouted, his voice filled with hatred. “The whole reward should be mine.”
“Well, you never would have survived the trek up the mountain if it wasn’t for me,” replied the other.
There was no mistaking it: Aldwyn knew they were hearing voices in their heads, too. One was clearly stronger than the other, and he pushed his comrade so hard into the wall of the bridge that it knocked a few bricks into the gorge below. The bigger assassin pushed again, but this time, the smaller hunter moved quickly, grabbing the larger one’s arm and flinging him over the side.
Aldwyn could hear his scream as he fell to a most certain death.
This was enough to snap Aldwyn and Skylar out of the bridge’s curse. Gilbert, however, was still held by its power.
“You can’t have them,” he screamed. “No one can.”
“Gilbert, nobody wants your flies,” said Aldwyn, trying to calm the tree frog while watching the surviving assassin approach Grimslade with a bloodthirsty look in his eyes.
“Sorry, old chap,” the smaller hunter said. “I think it’s time for you to take a tumble as well.”
“You fool,” said Grimslade. “Now I’m going to have to kill you.”
With an outstretched gloved hand Grimslade seized the man’s throat. The hunter in the choke hold reached behind himself and grabbed a loose brick. He swung it across the side of Grimslade’s face, knocking him to the ground.
The Familiars Page 12