The Familiars #4: Palace of Dreams

by Adam Jay Epstein

  “They said they have evidence, Aldwyn,” Gilbert croaked. “Components, hexes, diaries filled with our plans.”

  “Someone obviously wants us to take the fall for this,” Aldwyn replied. “The question is who.”

  “The palace chef has had it out for me ever since I criticized his beetle soup.”

  “I think this might be a little more complicated than that,” Aldwyn said.

  Aldwyn’s mind was racing through the possibilities. There were the strangers he had met at the celebration. Then there were the animals who remained loyal to Paksahara but still were unaccounted for. And the humans who never liked the decision made by Loranella to share her throne with Galatea. That hardly narrowed it down.

  Just then, something on the ground caught Aldwyn’s eye. A line was being drawn in the dust and grime clinging to the stone floor, as if an invisible finger was moving just below the surface. At first Aldwyn figured it was nothing more than a phantom slug. But after a moment he realized that letters were being written, from right to left. Already woyt had been spelled, and the letters were coming faster now. Just to the left of the w came a d, then s, o, and u. The finished word spelled uosdwoyt.

  “Gilbert, come look at this,” Aldwyn said.

  The tree frog hopped over to Aldwyn’s side and looked down at the floor. A second word had already formed to the left of the first: udpjbm.

  “Udpjbm uosdwoyt?” Gilbert asked. “What does it mean? I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I,” Aldwyn replied.

  “You mean you’re not using your telekinesis to do that?”

  “No.”

  More words were forming in the dirt. Aldwyn and Gilbert just stood there watching until whatever was writing them was done. Then Aldwyn read the words aloud:

  “Spuowbip wjots sby udpjbm uosdwoyt. I think it’s some kind of message for us.”

  “But who from?” Gilbert asked.

  “I don’t know. Another prisoner or a spirit from the Tomorrowlife? The castle itself. It could be anyone.”

  “Well, whoever sent it must think we speak gobbledygook,” Gilbert said. “Because that doesn’t make any sense.”

  Down the hall they saw another Truth Seeker carrying Skylar to the cell. The bolka-dur unlocked the door and the blue jay fluttered out from the cage to perch again on the protruding brick. The dungeon keeper slammed the cell door shut once more, relocking it. The bolka-dur then followed the Truth Seeker toward the dungeon exit, where she placed the open cage back on its hook before being led outside.

  “You okay?” Aldwyn asked Skylar.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Well, you got back just in time,” he continued. “I think somebody’s trying to tell us something.”

  Again, she just sat there quietly.

  “Come on, Skylar, I need you to look at this,” Aldwyn said, growing impatient. “It’s written in some other language.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Gilbert asked.

  Then, before their eyes, the blue jay vanished.

  By the time Aldwyn and Gilbert realized what had happened, Skylar had flown out from the cage hanging down the hall and was hovering just outside their locked cell door. She had tricked them all with a clever illusion. The real Skylar had been in the cage the whole time.

  “We have to hurry,” she said. “The dungeon keeper will be back shortly.”

  “How are you going to get us out?” Gilbert asked. “He has the only key that can unlock this door.”

  “Not the only one,” she said.

  Skylar raised her wings and focused on the keyhole.

  “What are you doing?” Aldwyn asked.

  “Remember what Hepsibah was able to do over Liveod’s Canyon?” Skylar replied. “The most powerful birds at Nearhurst can create illusions so convincing that they can momentarily take solid form.”

  “I thought only five-feather master illusionists could do that,” Gilbert said.

  “Well, I’ve been practicing. Now be quiet. I need to find my focal point.”

  She concentrated and soon a key began to materialize. Aldwyn did a double take. He couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. The key found its way into the lock and gave a twist. Then the cell door opened.

  “Wait,” Aldwyn said. “Before we go, there’s something you need to see. A message, written on the floor of our cell. It just appeared out of nowhere.”

  Skylar glanced over and repeated the strange words aloud.

  “Come on,” Skylar said. “I’ve already memorized it. We’ll figure it out later. Now let’s go.”

  As the three animals took to the hall, prisoners from the neighboring cells ran up to their bars making a racket.

  “Hey, let us out, too!” a pockmarked man with no teeth shouted.

  “I don’t belong in here,” an elvin pirate called.

  “I’ll help you escape,” the firescale snake hissed from a cell with bars so tight even she couldn’t slip through.

  “You’re not going to leave without us, are you, brother?” the wolverine called out to Aldwyn.

  “I’m not your brother,” Aldwyn yelled back.

  The familiars hurried for the dungeon door. But they’d made it only halfway there when the bolka-dur burst through, spiked billy club in hand.

  “Shut your slop holes,” he hollered, banging his club against the first bars he could. Then his eyes fell on Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert running toward him. “How did you? It’s impossible.”

  He flung his spiked billy club down the hall like an ax. Aldwyn used his telekinesis to catch it in midair, then fired it back at the dungeon keeper. The blunt end struck the bolka-dur square in the forehead, knocking him out cold. His body dropped to the stone floor, his head landing against the bars of one of the cells.

  The familiars were now racing toward an open door. But no escape plan could go that smoothly. A wrinkled hand reached out through the cell bars and a witch’s fingernail sliced through the band of the bolka-dur’s leather collar. She lifted the key ring off his neck and unlocked the door to her dungeon cell.

  Reveling in her first taste of freedom, the witch threw the key ring into the air and incanted: “Otebrit vsechny dvere!”

  And with those words uttered, the keys broke off from the chain and soared through the air, until each one found its home in a different lock. Then the keys turned in unison, opening every last cell door in the dungeon block. Prisoners poured out into the hall. With a mob mentality, they turned on the fallen bolka-dur.

  Aldwyn came to a stop at the door.

  “Come on,” Skylar urged. “This is our chance. Let’s go.”

  But Aldwyn couldn’t just let the dungeon keeper get ripped to pieces. He eyed the spiked billy club and telekinetically lifted it from the ground, swinging it in a circle around the bolka-dur to ward off any attackers.

  Skylar and Gilbert reluctantly turned back to help.

  Suddenly a dozen palace guards were rushing through the dungeon door, drawing the attention of the prisoners. Aldwyn could tell by the way Skylar was holding her wing that these were mere illusions. He immediately focused all his mental energy on the bolka-dur and strained to tug him across the floor with his mind.

  All through the dungeon there was chaos. Bolts flew from the witch’s fingertips and flames blasted off the back of the firescale snake. Aldwyn was even nearly gouged by the sharpened tusk of the warthog.

  The familiars were able to escape through the dungeon door, dragging the bolka-dur behind them. The elvin pirate tried to slip through as well, but Gilbert bounced up and kicked him, forcing him to stumble backward. Aldwyn telekinetically slammed the door shut and sent the blockade bar crashing down across it. Leaving the still unconscious bolka-dur resting against the door, the trio continued on their way.

  They had successfully fled the dungeon, but they still had to navigate their way out of the castle and escape the city. The familiars had gone from being Vastia’s most celebrated to its most wanted.

  The Prophesize
d Three were fugitives.

  4

  ICARI WEED

  “This is the way they led us in,” Skylar said, soaring up to the base of a staircase.

  “Then that’s definitely not the way we want to go out,” Aldwyn said. “There must be other passageways, ones that are less traveled.”

  Aldwyn bounded down the hall, passing by the palace vault once more. Multiple corridors split off from the main stretch, each one looking identical.

  “Over here,” Aldwyn said, starting down one of the passages.

  Gilbert came to a halt.

  “Now doesn’t seem like the best time for guessing,” he said.

  “I’m not. I smell fish.”

  Gilbert and Skylar followed him, and sure enough, they came to another set of stairs leading upward. Aldwyn began climbing, with his companions right behind him. They ascended three flights before emerging into the palace kitchen.

  Aldwyn had sneaked through many a cooking quarter in his day, from the tiny ones in the fishmonger shops in Bridgetower to the magically endowed one in Sorceress Edna’s Black Ivy Manor. But never had he been inside a kitchen as enormous as this. Had it been any other day, he would have explored every pantry and ice chest. Now he had to resist even the fillet of salmon cooking over the nearby fire.

  The kitchen staff tended to different pots and pans, while the palace chef barked orders and dipped his finger in a stew for a taste. The familiars tiptoed across the floor and exited into the dining hall, where an informal buffet was being served for those keeping an all-night vigil for the queen. Few of those gathered seemed to have much of an appetite, instead poking worriedly at platefuls of food with their forks.

  Skylar landed on Aldwyn’s back and beckoned Gilbert to join her. Once they were both aboard, Skylar waved a wing and Aldwyn could see in a mirrored wall that the three of them now appeared to be one of the many palace bulldogs that roamed the halls. As they walked through the room, Aldwyn could hear snippets of talk from those gathered around the table.

  “I hear that her heart is beating once every five minutes. And that her fingertips are cold enough to make water freeze.”

  “Few wake from the Wander. Without the right counterspell, she may remain trapped there for eternity.”

  “What’s the alternative? The Tomorrowlife?”

  Aldwyn slowed his pace to hear more.

  “Do you know if those without magic are allowed to join the wizards seeking out that spell?”

  “I’m sure Galatea would welcome any volunteers.”

  “There are already dozens of scholars poring over every text in the queen’s library. But her personal collection is limited. The most ancient spell books were destroyed when the Historical Archives were eaten by those bookworms.”

  “Perhaps that was all part of the familiars’ plan.”

  Those assembled nodded their heads in agreement. How quickly these lies had poisoned their reputation. Aldwyn gnashed his teeth angrily.

  Once he reached the other side of the room, Aldwyn slipped into the hallway. With Skylar maintaining the illusion, Aldwyn started toward the grand foyer.

  “We won’t survive for long out there without supplies,” Skylar said. “I need my satchel.”

  “Once the bolka-dur comes to, he’s going to realize we’re gone, and every last person in this palace will be hunting us down,” Aldwyn said. “You really want to take that risk?”

  “I don’t think he’ll be waking up anytime soon,” Skylar said. “And by the time he does, we’ll be long gone.”

  Aldwyn turned for the palace staircase and climbed to the top, where his paws touched the soft velvet carpeting that covered every floor on the second level. The familiars’ rooms were at the far side of the hall, by the northern tower. To get there, they would have to walk directly past Queen Loranella’s chambers.

  The temptation to run was great, but Aldwyn knew that a sprinting bulldog was sure to draw attention. So he kept a steady pace, fighting every instinct he had for urgency.

  As they walked, an old man pushing a cart filled with vials and potions passed them. He had a solemn look on his tattooed face. Aldwyn recognized the markings as those of the driftfolk. The glass beakers and goblets churned and gurgled, as if the multicolored brews within might bubble out at any moment. Aldwyn looked ahead and realized the man had come from Loranella’s room. Outside her door, a group of ravens and healers were gathered, all talking in hushed tones as they watched the old man depart.

  “That didn’t do any good,” one of the healers said.

  “What did you expect?” a raven asked. “He was a driftfolk charlatan. Half those potions were probably colored with beet juice.”

  “Then what was he doing here?” another raven asked.

  “We’re desperate,” the healer said. “The parasitic poison is spreading faster than we can contain it.”

  “Well, if we don’t figure out something, I won’t be able to keep her in the Wander for more than two, maybe three days,” the first raven replied.

  “An aardvark is on the way,” a second healer interjected. “Hopes to reverse the curse using mud from the bottom of the Time Stream.”

  “We really are desperate,” the second raven said.

  Aldwyn slowed as he passed the queen’s chambers. The door had been left open a sliver. Beneath the canopy of the large bed he could see Loranella. It looked like she was sleeping, but Aldwyn knew this was a sleep few ever awoke from.

  A pair of Sun Temple worshippers knelt on mats placed by the window. They dropped flower petals into a bronze offering bowl sitting between them. Dawn was still a few hours away, but they wanted to be ready for the day’s first rays of sun. Aldwyn only hoped that their prayers would be answered.

  Anura sat on the pillow beside Loranella. The golden toad stroked the queen’s white hair tenderly. Anura’s good luck hadn’t brought Loranella back to life, but maybe it was all that was keeping her from already being dead.

  Aldwyn heard Gilbert sniffle.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, trying not to cry. “I just hate to see her like this.”

  “So do we,” Skylar assured him. “But we need to keep moving.”

  Aldwyn knew she was right and continued to Skylar’s room. A soldier stood at the door, presumably to make certain that no evidence inside was tampered with. Aldwyn kept walking.

  “In here,” Skylar said, giving Aldwyn’s ear a little tug to the left.

  He followed her none-too-subtle instruction, darting into a parlor two doors down from her room. Skylar lowered her wings and let the illusion disappear.

  “We won’t be able to get past the guard,” she said. “I’ll have to go in through the window.”

  Aldwyn saw that there was a window on the opposite side of the parlor, and Skylar was already flapping toward it.

  “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  With that, she flew out of the parlor. Aldwyn and Gilbert stayed behind, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Tomes were piled up atop a reading desk with titles on the spines reading Remedies for Every Malady, Astraloch’s A-to-Z Guide to Antidotes, and Porkivit’s Potion Primer.

  “Maybe the answer to the queen’s ailment is in one of those books,” Gilbert said, hopping onto the desk.

  “Gilbert, stay away from—” Aldwyn started to say, but it was too late.

  The tree frog had already flipped open one of the tomes, and as soon as he did, all the candles in the room flickered on and the organ in the corner began to play quiet, melodic music.

  “The parlor is enchanted with mood magic,” Aldwyn said.

  It was very pleasant for quiet study, but not good for hiding out. Gilbert slammed the book shut, but that didn’t stop the music.

  “Get off the reading desk,” Aldwyn called.

  Gilbert quickly jumped down and the organ silenced itself. The flames burning on the candles extinguished themselves. Aldwyn and Gilbert stood still, as if their silence would erase the noise that ha
d just filled the room. They listened anxiously, waiting to see if they had drawn anyone’s attention. Then the doorknob began to turn.

  “Window,” Aldwyn said, running for the other side of the parlor.

  Gilbert leaped behind him, and the two took to the ledge outside. Just as they pressed their backs to the palace wall, Aldwyn could hear someone enter the room. The heavy thud of boots pounding across the floor got closer.

  Still clinging to the ledge thirty feet above the courtyard, Aldwyn watched as Skylar flew from her bedroom window with her leather satchel slung over her wing.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “I told you to wait inside.”

  Then she heard the boot steps coming from the parlor. The Three froze, not daring to make the slightest sound. Aldwyn was practically holding his breath, until the noise faded and they heard the door close.

  They all exhaled.

  “Guys, look,” Gilbert said, pointing down below.

  Aldwyn could see Navid, Marati, and the rest of the Nightfall Battalion entering through the gate. The men, women, and animals wore black armor with faint silhouettes of the stars and moon on the shoulders. It appeared the assassination attempt on Queen Loranella had taken precedence over whatever mission they had been called to. In their short existence, the Nightfall Battalion had quickly become the stuff of legend. They had hunted and apprehended dozens of Paksahara’s most loyal followers, traitors to the queendom who had gone on the run after the Dead Army’s fall. Most of the prisoners filling the dungeon below the palace had been caught in their nets. Now Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert were their targets.

  Fortunately, none of them was looking up. At least not yet.

  Aldwyn eyed the dozens of paper lanterns floating in the air, calculating the space between them. They led across to a wall with a staircase winding down to the courtyard.

  “We should be able to make it across on those lanterns,” Aldwyn said.

  “It will be just like hopping lily pads back home,” Gilbert said.

  “Or rooftops,” Aldwyn added.