The telegate was closing, but before it shut completely, a dozen ferocious jackal zombies managed to slip through. Then the portal disappeared.
One of the jackals propelled itself toward Marati, but Navid shot out a venom blast that made the zombie’s bones disappear in midair.
“Go ahead,” Navid called to the familiars. “Marati and I will take them.”
“After all we’ve been through, now you decide to reveal yourself for who you truly are?” said Marati.
“What’s that?” asked Navid.
“A friend,” Marati said. “Now let’s see which one of us can send more of these ugly beasts back to their graves.”
Standing back to back, the king cobra and white-tailed mongoose used venom and claw to fight off their attackers, while the Three ran for the stairs.
The sound of Navid and Marati doing battle faded fast as the three familiars reached the second floor of the Shifting Fortress. The huge room had ceiling-high shelves crammed with spell scrolls, more than Aldwyn had ever seen in any one place. Although there were no windows, the library was brightly lit by the multicolored flames of Protho’s Lights. Painted portraits of the previous kings and queens of Vastia hung on the walls, and it appeared to Aldwyn as if they had recently been slashed.
Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert moved swiftly across the chamber to the next flight of stairs, racing to the tower’s third story. Here they found a room cluttered with alchemical tools: vials and beakers swirling with differently colored liquids; worn cabinets that smelled of the thousands of herbs and flowers stored inside; and a large cauldron bubbling with who-knew-what inside. Glass tanks held hideous evidence of Paksahara’s early failed attempts at raising the dead.
The familiars never slowed down, continuing on to the fourth floor, which seemed to be the evil hare’s command center. A map covered an enormous table, with ruby-headed pins charting the Dead Army’s progress across the land. One stone statue marked where the third glyphstone still stood. Shattered pieces of two others represented the stones in Bridgetower and Jabal Tur that had already been destroyed.
The familiars raced up another flight of stairs, reaching yet another windowless room. A long reflecting pool with images of winged eyeballs carved into its walls stood at the center. The still water gave the otherwise dark room an eerie glow. Images rippling on the surface caught Aldwyn’s eye, and he stepped forward to take a closer look. He saw that each image displayed a different snippet from the battlefield outside. Some showed the tree frogs of Daku valiantly fighting a skeletal elephant; others displayed Warden and his Turnbuckle disciples fending off the warthogs who had retreated from the fire caused by Anura’s good luck; worst of all, Aldwyn could see Paksahara’s zombie army closing in on the glyphstone. It would be only a short time before it was toppled.
Aldwyn glanced from one swirling image to the next. There was Orion, cut and bruised, but running swiftly regardless. Galleon and Banshee were faring better. Their combined magic was more than Lothar and his pack of wolverines could handle: all of them had been captured. A glimpse of his uncle Malvern’s face looming. Urbaugh and his fighting force battling on despite casualties … Then Aldwyn did a double take—the picture of Malvern was so vivid. The eyes a ghostly white. The broken sword tip pierced through his rotting ear, glinting in the ever-changing light. The image kept getting bigger, larger than any of the other spyball visions. And why did Aldwyn smell rotting flesh? That’s when he realized that the image of his uncle in the pool was not a vision, but a reflection. Malvern was directly behind him!
With no time to react, Aldwyn felt Malvern’s claws dig into the back of his head, and his face was pushed down. He tried to grab a breath before going under but instead got a lungful of water. Aldwyn thrashed and struggled, but the force of his uncle’s skeletal paw kept him submerged. Underwater, Aldwyn kept his eyes open, and the spyball visions all seemed to overlap, bleeding into one another. He could hear the strange, almost disembodied, voice of Malvern through the water.
You put up a good fight. Just like your mother did.
The words filled Aldwyn with a rage greater than any he had ever known. He continued to flail, attempting to wrestle free from his undead uncle’s grasp, but to no avail. His eyes scanned underwater for any object he might be able to lift telekinetically and use to his advantage, but there was nothing. His air supply was dwindling, but rather than panicking, Aldwyn relaxed. His uncle had taught him how to channel his innate talent, and that it was not just solid objects that could be moved. Aldwyn used his mind to push all of the water to one side of the pool, away from him and Malvern. Then he made it rise up like a tidal wave, knocking them back with the watery blast. Both cats slammed into the ground. Aldwyn hit chest first, and the impact from the stone floor shattered the three whisper shells that dangled from his necklace.
Malvern picked himself back up onto his feet and spit out a broken tooth. He looked down at the broken shells with a sneer. “Such a pity. The last reminders of your family gone.”
Aldwyn coughed up the water he had swallowed and quickly filled his lungs with air. “I know where my sister is. We’ll be reunited soon.”
He charged toward Malvern and leaped paw first, pushing his uncle back. Malvern’s skull cracked into the wall and he was left momentarily dazed.
Aldwyn glanced around and saw that his uncle was not alone. Two Maidenmere zombies had accompanied him. One was holding Gilbert facedown at the end of the pool, while the other was trying to drown Skylar. Malvern was still recovering from the shock of the blow. It gave Aldwyn a chance to help his companions. But who should he help first? The choice was easy, and not because he cared for one more than the other. No, it was easy because Gilbert had a lot more experience holding his breath underwater.
Aldwyn pounced at the skeletal cat holding Skylar down, tackling him to the floor and allowing the blue jay to come up for air. Then he telekinetically pulled the valor staff off Gilbert’s back and clobbered the tree frog’s attacker with it. And not a second too soon: Malvern was back on his feet, stalking toward Aldwyn.
“It’s an amazing thing,” said Malvern. “Once you’re dead, you lose all fear. And once you do that, you become truly dangerous. Let me show you. And your friends.”
He leaped forward, slashing at Aldwyn with his claws. As they struggled, Aldwyn furiously scratched at his uncle. He nicked the spike dangling from his ear and swatted at what was left of his face. Then he slipped out from under the zombie cat.
“There’s a special place in the Tomorrowlife for traitors like you,” said Aldwyn.
“Oh, I know. I’ve already been there and back. That’s why I plan on staying here a very long time.”
“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” said Aldwyn.
His eyes narrowed, and he telekinetically tore the spike from Malvern’s ear. Aldwyn brought it to his side and then shot it forward like an arrow, sending it hurtling right between his uncle’s eyes. The metal spike cut through flesh and bone, killing Malvern for a second time. His bones fell limply to the ground.
“Neat trick,” said Skylar, who was still catching her breath.
“Tricks are for circus monkeys,” replied Aldwyn, echoing the very retort Skylar gave him when the two first met in Stone Runlet.
The two companions smiled at each other as together with Gilbert they raced up to the top floor of the Fortress. They reached the landing but instead of an open room they found the casting chamber sealed shut by a heavy iron door.
Aldwyn focused, and the tumblers inside the lock began to spin until they fell into place with a click. With a nod to Skylar, he pushed the door open.
Immediately the three familiars were met by an energy blast that burned a hole in the wall behind them. Paksahara was already conjuring another attack, but by the time she unleashed it, the familiars were inside.
The three ducked behind a pedestal with a box full of black powder on top. Aldwyn took a moment to survey the surroundings. The casting chamber was a cold
square room, colorless but for one exception: a floor-to-ceiling crystal urn holding different-colored wisps of magical essence within. There was a stone funnel whose tube bent into the wall; this was the mighty summoning horn through which all of Paksahara’s dark magic was spread. A huge, wide-open window looked out onto the battlefield below, where the fight continued to rage on. The evil hare herself stood before a small spyball pool. She wore a carved wooden bracelet around her paw—the bracelet the woodpeckers had been tricked into carving to enable man to bring forth the Fortress on their own.
“Of all those in Vastia who tried to stop me, it was three animals who came closest,” said Paksahara. “I would have expected nothing less. We are, after all, superior to humans.”
“That doesn’t mean we should oppress those who are different from us,” said Skylar. “And besides, whatever happened in the past is done. Humans today are not our enemies.”
“Oh, you silly little bird,” said Paksahara. “When will you learn that those on two legs will always keep you from what you desire most. Join me and I will give it to you. I’ll help you bring back your sister from the Tomorrowlife.”
At these words, the usually poised blue jay seemed momentarily disarmed.
“Yes, I have many friends in the Noctonati,” continued the gray hare. “Animals who were present in the caves west of Mukrete. They told me everything about the questions you asked and your obsession with raising the dead. That’s my specialty, you know. You could fly beside your sister once more. And she wouldn’t be reborn as a zombie like the others. With time, we could learn to summon her whole. Flesh and blood.”
Paksahara’s words were clearly making a strong impression on Skylar.
“Don’t let her tempt you,” said Aldwyn. “I know how much you’ve wanted this. But nothing is worth an alliance with her.”
“She’s my sister,” said Skylar. “I’m the one who was responsible for her death.”
“And it won’t end there,” said Paksahara. “All the libraries of Vastia will be open to you. Together we can unlock the secrets to every spell humans have ever known.”
“What about the people that are still here?” Aldwyn urged Skylar. “What about Gilbert and me? Your mom and dad? Dalton?”
“Last chance, little bird,” said Paksahara. “I won’t ask again. Stand beside me or suffer the consequences.”
Aldwyn had pleaded his case. Now it was up to Skylar. After a brief moment, she took Aldwyn’s paw in one wing and Gilbert’s webbed hand in the other.
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” she said to her companions.
Just then a blast struck the pedestal, throwing the familiars off their feet and sending pieces of the pedestal and the box of black powder flying. Through the mist of obsidian now swirling in the air, Aldwyn watched as Paksahara transformed into an eight-foot-tall cave troll. Save for the pink glint in its eyes and the wooden bracelet encircling the tip of its giant finger, it would have been impossible to tell that this troll was indeed the gray hare. She swung her boulder-sized fists down at the three animals, narrowly missing them and leaving a large crater in the floor.
Gilbert reached into his flower bud backpack and removed some nightshade and juniper berries.
“I got this,” he said.
“Send a flame from whence you came!” incanted Gilbert.
Aldwyn knew what Gilbert was attempting to do. Whenever the tree frog tried to conjure a flame fairy, the spell would accidentally self-destruct. He was hoping to use his poor spell-casting abilities to their advantage.
Just then a thumb-high flame fairy materialized, creating enough heat to warm Gilbert’s toes.
“Hey, wait a second,” said Gilbert. “That’s what the spell is supposed to do. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You sure picked a lousy time to get better at casting magic,” said Skylar. Then she turned to Aldwyn. “Remember what Loranella said. The receiving vessel has to be destroyed to reverse the disenchantment. That crystal urn holds all human magic.”
Aldwyn nodded and telekinetically lifted the fallen pieces of pedestal debris, launching them at the urn. But before they could make contact, Paksahara stomped forward and batted them away with her huge stone hand.
“Nuh-uh-uh,” said the cave troll Paksahara.
Aldwyn sent a second barrage at her, but she shape-shifted again, changing from a cave troll into a day bat. She bared her fangs and soared above the flying rocks.
Aldwyn narrowly missed being scalped by the clawed foot from which the bracelet now dangled. Running past the casting tower’s wide-open window, he suddenly stopped. A funnel of gray ash was rising into the sky: the third glyphstone had been destroyed.
The day bat hissed in triumph, and Paksahara’s voice could be heard: “My Dead Army has done what most thought impossible. We have destroyed the three glyphstones once and for all!”
Then the bricks of the tower began to disappear. Within seconds, the walls surrounding them were gone.
“What’s happening?” asked Gilbert.
“We’re shifting,” said Skylar.
The ceiling was now floating above them. Then the floor teleported. The next moment, Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert were looking out at lightning snow. Paksahara had moved the Shifting Fortress to one of the three trident peaks of the Kailasa mountains.
The walls began to reassemble around the familiars once more, and the shift was complete. An icy breeze billowed in through the open casting chamber window, and at the same time Aldwyn felt something constrict around his leg. He looked down to see a frost python with pink, glistening eyes. Paksahara had transformed yet again, this time into a white-colored snake with fangs made of ice. As the creature tightened its grip on Aldwyn, Gilbert took out his valor staff and had the flame fairy light the wooden tip. He leaped on the python’s nose and began jabbing at its teeth, melting the frozen incisors before they could bite down on Aldwyn. Paksahara was forced to release him from her grasp.
Outside the open window, the mountains disappeared, and in a flash the Fortress stood in the center of a jungle. The tip of the casting tower was high above the tree line, but Aldwyn could see below that the jungle itself was filled with flesh-eating plants. There were giant flower heads with rows of teeth lashing out at any passing creature.
Paksahara shape-shifted into one of the carnivorous plants and thrust a thorny tendril, striking at Skylar’s wing. The force of the blow sent the blue jay straight out the open window. With one wing now injured, she struggled to keep herself in the air. The plant monsters waited hungrily for her on the jungle floor below. Skylar was moving herself back toward the window through sheer force of will when the Fortress began to shift again, the stone bricks of the tower rapidly disappearing.
“Skylar, hurry!” Aldwyn shouted as Skylar desperately winged her way to the opening.
Gilbert bounced over to jab at Paksahara with his spear, while Aldwyn dashed to the window to reach out a paw to grab Skylar before she was left behind at this deadly location forever.
Just as the floor began to teleport away, Aldwyn pulled her back inside, and the tower made its next leap to the Aridifian Plains. When they turned around, they came face-to-face with Gilbert. And … Gilbert.
The tree frog’s valor staff and Paksahara’s wooden bracelet had both fallen to the ground. The two Gilberts looked identical, making it impossible to tell them apart. Even the pinks of the gray hare’s eyes were undetectable.
“I’m Gilbert,” said one of the tree frogs. “The other is a fake!”
“Don’t believe her!” said the second. “I’m the real one.”
It took Aldwyn only a moment to discover who his true companion was. He pointed at the second Gilbert.
“That’s the imposter,” he said. “That’s Paksahara.”
“How do you know?” asked Skylar.
“Because the real Gilbert has seven toes on his right foot.”
Sure enough, there on the first Gilbert was a webbed foot w
ith seven toes. The other tree frog had four toes on each foot. Paksahara wasted no time in tackling Gilbert and sending both of them tumbling back through the cloud of obsidian dust still floating in the casting chamber. When they emerged from the cloud, both Gilberts had seven toes and it was truly impossible to tell one from the other.
“Ow, that really hurt,” moaned one of the Gilberts.
“What are you complaining about?” asked the other. “You’re the one who tackled me!”
Aldwyn was studying the two tree frogs, and they really were identical. He didn’t know what to do. Then he looked at Skylar and heard the blue jay speak.
Think, Skylar. There must be a way to tell them apart.
Aldwyn was confused. He could have sworn that her lips hadn’t moved. He looked back at the two Gilberts. He turned to the first and heard Paksahara’s voice.
Continue to play the fool. Sooner or later they’ll come to suspect the real Gilbert as me.
Then Aldwyn looked to his right, at the other Gilbert. This time Gilbert’s voice called out.
I really hope I live through this. I’d hate to miss my date with Anura. I can’t believe she wants to hear my poetry. Wait. Stay focused, Gilbert!
What was going on? And suddenly, Aldwyn understood: he had inherited not only his father’s talent of telekinesis but his mother’s gift of telepathy, too. He could read minds!
It wasn’t Grimslade’s voice but his thoughts that Aldwyn had heard in the murky waters of the sewer market; then Simeon’s before they left on their past walk; and finally Malvern’s while his head was being thrust into the spyball pool.
“It’s that one!” Aldwyn shouted to Skylar, pointing at the fake.
“How can you be sure?” asked the blue jay.
“Because I can read minds.”
Paksahara knew she had been discovered. She conjured a ball of spikes and hurled it at Aldwyn, just missing his head.
“When the two of you suck in your final breaths, I want the last face you see to be that of your best friend,” said the evil hare.
The Familiars #3: Circle of Heroes Page 16