The Familiars Page 3

  “Let me see,” said Marianne as she ran up to Jack. “What did you get?”

  “A cat. And his eyes are the same color as mine. He’s still got his claws, too. I bet he could do a lot of damage in a fight.”

  Aldwyn was jolted from his comfortable resting position as Jack thrust him out for the older kids to see. Held by the scruff of his neck, Aldwyn’s legs dangled helplessly beneath him.

  “He’s a little skinny,” said Dalton, “but so are you.”

  “Am not.”

  Dalton ruffled Jack’s hair, then turned to the blue jay.

  “What do you think, Skylar?” he asked the bird.

  Hold on, thought Aldwyn. Did the boy, Dalton, expect a bird to answer his question? How bizarre was that? Aldwyn had always been able to understand humans, but as far as he knew no human had ever understood him.

  Skylar whispered something back into Dalton’s ear, and the boy chuckled to himself.

  “That’s not fair,” said Jack. “What did she say?”

  “That your cat looks like he could use a bath.”

  “Another thing you two have in common,” joked Marianne to Jack.

  “Very funny, Sis,” replied Jack, who continued to grip Aldwyn by the fur on the back of his neck.

  “Come along,” said Kalstaff. “We’ve had a long day. Let’s have some supper and get an early night’s rest.”

  Dalton and Marianne turned back for the cottage. Jack sighed, looking disappointed.

  “Already? But I haven’t even shown him how I can levitate stones over the pond with a hover spell. Or taught him how to cast a smoke burst.”

  “There will be plenty of time to show off your skills tomorrow,” said Kalstaff. “But, remember, familiars are meant to use only their natural animal talents. Casting human spells is frowned upon. It’s much too dangerous for them.”

  Jack reluctantly put Aldwyn down and sulked off. Kalstaff and the two older wizards in training followed him to the cottage. But Marianne’s frog and Dalton’s blue jay lingered, curious to meet the newest resident of Stone Runlet. The bird carried herself with a certain aloofness, back arched and beak held high. Her feathers were exquisitely unruffled and she wore a jeweled anklet. The frog had big bulging eyes that gave the impression that he was in a constant state of surprise. The suction pads on his toes made wet blurping sounds with every step. As Aldwyn approached them, the blue jay got a closer look at his fur.

  “Are those fleas?” she asked.

  Aldwyn glanced down at the tiny black specks on his white patches.

  “What? No, those are freckles,” he responded.

  “Then why are they moving?” she asked as one of the specks jumped off his fur.

  Aldwyn quickly brushed them away before extending a paw.

  “I’m Aldwyn,” he said, eager to change the topic.

  The blue jay reluctantly put out her wing for a shake.

  “I’m Skylar,” she said, “and this is Gilbert.”

  “But you can call me Gil, or Bert. Gilbert is fine, too,” said the frog eagerly. “Do I have any flies in my teeth?”

  Gilbert opened his mouth for the others to see.

  Skylar simply rolled her eyes, and continued. “Well, if you’re serious about being a great familiar, there’s no better place to learn than here,” said Skylar with a hint of pride in her voice. “Of course, some would make an argument for Turnbuckle Academy, or possibly studying with Sorceress Edna, but I just don’t . . .”

  Though Skylar kept talking, Aldwyn’s mind had wandered. He was thinking about Grimslade and how the cold-blooded bounty hunter was probably still scouring the streets of Bridgetower looking for him. One thing was certain: he’d never find him here.

  After letting this pleasant thought roll around in his head for a minute or two, Aldwyn turned his attention back to the conversation.

  “. . . and Kalstaff has a spell library that would rival any in the queendom,” Skylar was saying, still not having come up for air. “He’s a master sorcerer, skilled in multiple circles of magic. Necromancy, conjuring, abjuration.”

  “And he makes a tasty beetle soup,” said Gilbert.

  Skylar just shook her head at him.

  “What? That’s important, too,” Gilbert added defensively.

  Skylar shrugged and turned back to Aldwyn, who was doing his best to hide the fact that he had no idea what she was talking about. “Kalstaff was one of the three great spellcasters who helped defeat the Dead Army Uprising, but that’s common knowledge. Which legendary battle is your favorite? Kalstaff was in all of them, you know.”

  “Gosh, there are so many to choose from,” said Aldwyn, trying to stall. Skylar waited for a response. “But if I had to pick, it would probably be the one where he used the magic.” She continued to stare at him. “. . . To defeat that scary thing . . .” Still staring. “. . . On the mountain.”

  Her attitude changed instantly. “Oh, the Clash of Kailasa,” she enthused. “A little-known engagement but noteworthy for his use of weevil dust.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Aldwyn.

  Just then, Gilbert’s tongue shot out from his mouth and plucked a juicy horsefly right off Aldwyn’s tail. He swallowed it whole, then looked up guiltily.

  “I hope you weren’t going to eat that.”

  “Nah, it’s all yours,” replied Aldwyn.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Skylar. “He’s amphibiously challenged. Now where was I? Oh, yes. I was telling you how lucky you were to be here. Kalstaff’s students go on to do great things: serve her glorious majesty Loranella, become temple masters, or explore the Beyond. And their familiars are always at their sides, aiding their loyals in any way they can. The last student, Galleon, graduated from here a few years ago. He and his familiar, Banshee, have been defending the town of Split River from sea monsters and elven pirates ever since. Very heady stuff.”

  The prospect of having to fight sea monsters and elven pirates didn’t exactly fill Aldwyn with joy, but for the moment, Stone Runlet seemed like paradise—especially given the difficulties he was leaving behind in Bridgetower. Of course, passing himself off as a familiar was not going to be easy, even for a clever alley cat such as himself.

  Skylar looked over to see smoke beginning to drift out of the cottage’s chimney.

  “Gilbert, let’s see if we can’t be of assistance to our loyals,” added Skylar. “Aldwyn, you might want to wash yourself off down by the runlet first. See if you can’t do something about those freckles.”

  With that, she beat her wings and flew off toward the cottage to catch up with Dalton.

  “Is she always like that?” asked Aldwyn.

  “No,” said Gilbert. “Today she’s positively cheerful.” He put a webbed foot on Aldwyn’s shoulder. “But she’s not all bad. Get past the high-and-mighty, know-it-all attitude, and you find a bird who will always have your back.”

  “So, what’s for dinner?” asked Aldwyn, whose whiskers were once again all atingle.

  “I like the way you think. I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends.”

  “Hurry up, Gilbert!” called Skylar from the open doorway of the cottage. “You’re going to let in the wind fairies.”

  “I just try to block out the sound of her voice,” said Gilbert. “It makes the day go by a lot faster.”

  Gilbert hopped ahead, but Aldwyn hesitated. Although the prospect of a dip in the runlet sounded most disagreeable, it seemed unwise to ruffle Skylar’s feathers.

  “Aren’t you coming?” asked Gilbert.

  “You go ahead,” said Aldwyn. “I think maybe I will freshen up after all.” Gilbert shrugged and continued toward the cottage.

  Aldwyn took a turn back for the runlet, which split the meadow in two. In spite of the absence of the crowded streets and marble towers of Bridgetower, this open and empty place already felt strangely like home to him. He trotted ahead, each step cushioned rather pleasantly by the soft grass beneath his feet. His paws, hardened from a life o
f pounding the city’s cobblestoned streets, could get used to this!

  Aldwyn reached the bank by a shallow part of the runlet, where he could sit comfortably on the shore while splashing himself gingerly. He began flicking his paw, sending drops of icy water onto his fur. Then something upstream caught his attention: a school of odd-looking tadpoles. Aldwyn rose up on his hind legs to take a closer look at the unusual swarm of baby amphibians. They had white, egg-shaped bodies with veins of red streaking through them. As the tadpoles passed by, something strange happened: they seemed to slow down and stare right at him. That’s when Aldwyn realized that these were not tadpoles: they were swimming eyeballs. Their optic nerves wiggled through the water behind them like tiny tails! By the time this shudder-worthy vision had fully registered with Aldwyn, the school of eyes had been taken swiftly downstream by the current.

  He had to get another look; his first had been so fleeting he couldn’t be sure if what he had seen was really true. Aldwyn hurried along the shore, trying to catch up to the fast-traveling eyeballs. Were they moving freely on their own? Were they the gruesome remains of some hideous crime? Ahead, Aldwyn spied a log that crossed the runlet. If he could reach it in time, he might be able to pounce upon it to get a better glance. He sprinted faster and then took a jump for the length of fallen tree. His claws dug into the wet bark as he steadied himself on the slippery birch. Aldwyn peered down to see the escaping eyes rush past him, under the log, and into the light rapids beyond. Aldwyn made a desperate attempt to grab the last of the bobbing and weaving eyeballs, but in his haste took a tumble and found himself neck deep in the freezing runlet. By the time he had waded back to shore, any evidence of his mysterious encounter had disappeared.

  On the walk back from the runlet, Aldwyn shook the wet from his fur and gave some thought as to whether or not to speak of this most recent brush with the unbelievable. Would his new companions think him crazy? Best not to find out, he decided. He still wasn’t sure how much trust he could place in these strangers. Aldwyn knew from his experiences in Bridgetower that most animals were only out for themselves, and he found it hard to believe that these two would be any different.

  Aldwyn approached the front door and entered the cottage. It was a quaint dwelling if ever he had seen one. Kalstaff and the young wizards were sitting on vine hammocks strung up to the ceiling in front of a fireplace, eating dried mushroom salad. The uneven floor appeared to be made of tree roots woven together, long twisting coils of birch and oak that created a solid surface to stand upon. A collection of antique weapons was mounted on the wall, mostly tarnished swords but also more unusual tools of combat like a spiked club, trident, and halberd—trophies from the valiant battles of Kalstaff’s past. In the center of the room hung a hive of twigs and wax, glowing from the lightning bugs that swarmed inside and around it.

  Aldwyn poked his nose about a bowl of gizzards that had been left out for him, but an unexpected wave of exhaustion overcame him. For the first time in his life, he was too tired to eat. Which made sense, given all the day’s excitement: he had been chased by Grimslade and his demonic shadow hound, seen animals perform feats of extraordinary magic, ventured miles beyond the walls of Bridgetower, and discovered that he would be a young wizard’s familiar. Not to mention his encounter with the swimming eyeballs. He could only imagine what other surprises were in store for him tomorrow. Suddenly, Aldwyn’s eyelids became very heavy, and before he could even find a cozy place to curl up on the floor, he fell into a deep sleep.

  4

  STORM BERRIES AND BOOKWORMS

  Tiny kitten paws hovered above the grass. It felt as if he were flying…or was he being carried? The sound of a river current came nearer. Then his own face was staring back at him in the water. He was much younger, though, and the missing part of his ear was still there. A nest of twigs was floating by. And then he was falling. Falling . . .

  Aldwyn awoke from his slumber with a start. He had had this dream before; it visited him on nights of deep, uninterrupted sleep, but its meaning remained a mystery. As he opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was at first. He expected to be surrounded by rooftop shingles and cooing pigeons, but instead found himself on a twisted-root floor in front of a still-crackling fire. Confusion soon gave way to memories of the previous day and its haunting conclusion down by the runlet. There was something foreboding and sinister about the mass of spying eyeballs that made him think he should tell the others about it. But once again, Aldwyn chose to keep the unsettling encounter to himself. He stretched luxuriously and then walked outside, where he was surprised to find the sun high in the sky. When was the last time he had slept this late?

  Aldwyn saw that Marianne, Dalton, and Jack were already outside the cottage, each holding big, thick volumes of parchment bound by twine in front of them. Kalstaff was sitting with them by a row of tree stumps in the meadow, where a tablet of slate was leaning up against a rock. Aldwyn noticed that it was covered with all kinds of intricate symbols and letters written in chalk. The students sat down in this strange outdoor classroom, and Kalstaff began the morning lesson, tapping the glass ball at the tip of his rod against the board three times. A second later, the chalk symbols began to rearrange themselves into an orderly figure-of-eight.

  Aldwyn came up beside Gilbert and Skylar, who waited eagerly nearby to see what assistance the wizards would need during today’s tutorial.

  “Look at what the cat dragged in,” said Skylar rather stiffly. “That was a joke,” she added, seeing Aldwyn’s straight-faced reaction. “You know, because you’re a cat and you were late.”

  “She doesn’t understand delivery,” said Gilbert. “See, what she should have said is, ‘Talk about a cat nap!’”

  Aldwyn let out a laugh. “Now that’s funny.”

  Skylar looked at them, confused. “I don’t get it. What’s the difference?”

  Without answering her question, Gilbert nudged a giant oak leaf toward Aldwyn, who looked down to see a few crumbs of cheese on it.

  “I saved you some breakfast,” said Gilbert. “But then, umm, I got hungry and ate most of it.”

  “Why didn’t anyone wake me?” asked Aldwyn.

  “Kalstaff believes that the natural sleep cycle should remain undisturbed, that we learn more with our eyes closed than we do with them open,” replied Skylar. “Of course, if that were true, Gilbert would be a genius.”

  “Thank you,” said Gilbert cheerfully.

  Aldwyn considered telling him it wasn’t a compliment, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

  Over by the tree stumps, Kalstaff began throwing sprinkles of crushed nightshade into the air.

  “Look, Kalstaff is preparing to conjure a fire spirit,” whispered Skylar. “We should gather some juniper berries and sage leaves. They’ll need them to cast the spell.”

  With a flap of her wings, Skylar soared off toward the woods, a tiny satchel slung across her back.

  By the time Aldwyn and Gilbert reached the boundary where the meadow met the woods, Skylar was already filling her satchel with ripe purple berries. Gilbert started plucking sage leaves. Aldwyn pretended to be busy giving his fur another once-over.

  “Aldwyn, since it’s your first day, I’ll leave the basics to you, something even an untrained familiar should be able to handle,” said Skylar. “See if you can gather some Juniperus phoenicea. I’ve got the oxycedrus covered. Kalstaff says a good blend of varietals creates a more potent invocation.”

  Aldwyn stared at her like she was speaking a different language. He wouldn’t know a juniper berry if it smacked him right on the nose, let alone be able to identify a Juniperus phoenicea.

  “Sure thing,” he said without missing a beat. One thing being an alley cat had taught him was to never admit weakness. “I’ll go get the focaccia.”

  “Phoenicea.”

  “Right.”

  Aldwyn scampered up a neighboring tree and walked across one of its low-lying branches. He reached out a paw and swiped a few tart yellow
berries from the twig. Within the blink of an eye, a gray cloud formed overhead, and a small thunderclap could be heard. Skylar and Gilbert both looked over to Aldwyn.

  “Why are you picking storm berries?” asked Skylar. Aldwyn thought there was a note of frustration in her voice.

  Before he could answer, a shower of rain poured down on the three of them. It only lasted for a few seconds, but it was enough to soak them from head to toe.

  “Don’t worry about it—I made the same mistake when I first got here,” said Gilbert. “I almost got struck by lightning.”

  Skylar shook the drops of water from her feathers and flew over to a small tree. She began pulling off a slightly darker-hued berry with her beak.

  “I suppose if you want something done correctly, you have to do it yourself,” Skylar said under her breath but making sure the others could hear. “Elementary education for familiars just isn’t what it used to be.”

  Aldwyn made his way back down to the ground, his damp fur already giving off the musky odor of week-old dish rags. It was evident that he was lacking even the basic knowledge needed to fit in here, but luckily he wasn’t expected to know everything about this world…yet. Of course, if he made too many mistakes, he’d be exposed as the magicless, talentless, utterly ordinary cat that he was, and his comfortable new life would be over before it had even begun.

  The sky was still a deep purple as dusk slowly turned to night, and the bald wizard was ladling second helpings of a homemade stew into Jack and Marianne’s wooden bowls. Kalstaff called it dining under the stars. It was a fancy way of saying what Aldwyn did every night back in Bridgetower: eat outdoors.

  Aldwyn warmed himself by the fire as he lapped up chunks of fish and potato from a dish of his own. Skylar sat perched on Dalton’s forearm, pecking at a pile of nuts and grubs in the palm of his hand. Gilbert was shoveling a bowlful of swamp flies into his mouth. Every so often, he let out a loud belch, barely stopping to take a breath before continuing.