The Familiars #3: Circle of Heroes Read online

Aldwyn could sense the monkey’s renewed vigor as she grabbed the long reins that were attached to the moth’s head.

  “To the Gloom Hills,” Banshee howled, giving the reins a firm tug. The giant insect took to the sky, with even Skylar perched atop it for the ride.

  It didn’t take long for Aldwyn to realize that riding a moth was very different from flying through the air by way of magic wand. He had seen moths bob and weave around candle flames before, and he had found it dizzying to watch them. Now he was hanging on for dear life as the large insect tipped and tossed through the night sky. Gilbert had gone extremely pale in the face. Banshee, meanwhile, was grinning from ear to ear.

  The Forest Under the Trees began to fade away behind them until it looked like nothing more than a green mountain in the distance. The familiars were one step closer to gathering the animal descendants needed to form a circle around the glyphstone. But if Banshee was supposed to be the easy one to find, Aldwyn wondered how they would ever manage to collect the rest before it was too late.

  5

  GLOOM HILLS

  As the gigantic moth zigzagged through the darkness, passing birds desperately tried to steer clear of it. Gilbert had his face buried in his hands.

  “Just go to one of your happy places,” said Aldwyn, trying to comfort him.

  “None of my happy places fly above the clouds,” replied Gilbert.

  Just then they took an unexpected dip, soaring into a haze of fog that prevented them from seeing anything past the tip of the moth’s antennae. It had been an exhilarating ride thus far for Aldwyn, but now he was overcome with melancholy. Missing Jack and thinking about his parents and sister, he wondered if he should be on this mission at all.

  Turning to his companions for comfort, Aldwyn noticed that they also seemed disheartened. Even Banshee, so exuberant at the beginning of their flight, had lost her joy.

  “Can you feel it, too?” Skylar asked Aldwyn.

  “Yes, a deep sadness,” he replied.

  “Try not to let it overwhelm you,” she said. “It’s the mist of the Gloom Hills.”

  The moth began spiraling downward, blindly heading for a landing.

  “Whoa, girl, whoa!” cried Banshee, pulling up on the reins. But the insect ignored her, spinning downward too quickly. The howler monkey turned to the familiars. “It must be affecting her, too. She’s not responding.”

  The moth was no longer flapping its wings, as if all hope had vanished. Aldwyn dug his claws into the furry patch on the moth’s back. The others prepared for a rough landing as well. But it was only seconds before they crashed into the ground. When the creature made impact, Aldwyn lost his grip, rolling off its back and hitting the dirt with a thud. He could barely bring himself back to his feet; not because of injury, but because his heavy heart was weighing him down like an anchor.

  Once he finally dragged himself onto all fours, Aldwyn was unable to see either the insect or his friends through the thick mist.

  “Gilbert, Skylar!” he called out weakly.

  “Over here,” responded Skylar without emotion.

  “I’m so depressed,” called back Gilbert. “What’s happening to me?”

  Aldwyn dragged himself in the direction of their voices. He should have been excited when he finally reached his friends, but he didn’t feel anything. Gilbert stared ahead sadly.

  “I feel worse than the time I almost threw Aldwyn off the Bridge of Betrayal over a backpack full of flies.”

  “That was a horrible day.” Skylar curled up into a feathery ball and tucked her beak into her wing. “Go on without me,” she said.

  As Aldwyn looked at his sad companions, he nearly forgot that Banshee was still unaccounted for.

  “Banshee,” he said. “She’s out there somewhere. All alone.” Aldwyn dropped to his knees, eyes clouding with tears. “She must be so afraid.”

  “Don’t cry,” said the tree frog. “If you cry, I’m going to cry.”

  Aldwyn began to sob.

  And soon the two were both weeping loudly.

  Gilbert moved over to Aldwyn and wrapped his webbed arms around him, burying his face in the cat’s fur.

  Suddenly, Aldwyn felt a surge of relief, as if the sadness was starting to lift and he was becoming himself again.

  “Thanks, Aldwyn,” said the tree frog. “I feel better.”

  Just as Gilbert was about to back away from the embrace, Aldwyn reached out and stopped him.

  “Wait,” he said. “I think the comfort of a friend combats the mists. Hold on to me.”

  Gilbert planted his hand firmly on Aldwyn’s back, and the cat walked over to Skylar. He extended his paw, placing it on Skylar’s wing. He could see the effect of his gesture immediately; she pulled her head out from beneath her wing and looked up.

  “See,” said Aldwyn. “It’s working. As long as we all touch one another, we can make it through here.”

  “We need to find Banshee,” said Skylar.

  “Banshee!” shouted Gilbert.

  Aldwyn spied the enormous skid mark of where the moth had slid along the ground. He followed its trail, with his tail touching Skylar and the tree frog’s webbed hand still clinging to his back, and they found the insect lying limply in the mud. Beside it, Banshee was crumpled up in a heap. The familiars ran over to her.

  “Banshee,” said Skylar.

  Aldwyn got a lump in his throat, unsure if it was from the mists or the possibility that they had already lost their new companion. They gently turned the monkey onto her back and saw that she was still breathing. But the look on her face was so empty that she might as well have been dead.

  “Is this the Tomorrowlife?” asked Banshee.

  “No,” said Skylar, flying over and landing gently on the howler monkey’s shoulder.

  Banshee cheered up when she felt the friendly contact. Her eyes filled with life once more.

  “We must not leave each other’s sides,” explained Skylar. “Otherwise the mists will fill us with gloom once more.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Banshee. “And while you’re up there, feel free to pick some fleas out of my neck fur.”

  “I think I’ll pass on that,” said Skylar.

  “So, where do we find this bloodhound?” Banshee asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said Skylar. “All I know is that Simeon has made the Gloom Hills his home since his loyal died.”

  The four animals split into two pairs: Skylar and Banshee taking the lead, Aldwyn and Gilbert trailing behind. Leaving the giant moth where it had fallen, the group walked through the dense mists. They came upon three women wearing long brown dresses and veils over their faces, all holding hands and moaning under their breath. The women’s sandals dragged across the ground at a somber pace. They didn’t even look in the animals’ direction; they simply kept walking, disappearing into the haze once more.

  “People come here to mourn on the anniversary of a loved one’s passage to the Tomorrowlife,” explained Skylar. “Some come just for the day. Others stay a week. And many never leave. They remain on the hilltops, listening to the voices of the deceased, hoping to catch a glimpse of their spirits.”

  They followed the sound of the three women, getting lost in the mist. Soon, Gilbert hopped over to a stagnant stream at the base of a slowly rolling hill, pulling Aldwyn behind him. He dipped his face in to take a drink. After a swallow he spit most of it out.

  “Ech, it’s salty,” he said, wincing.

  “It’s said that the stream that circles the Gloom Hills is made of tears,” replied Skylar. “Tears of the living and the dead that have rolled down the hill and settled here.”

  “Couldn’t you have told me that thirty seconds ago?” asked Gilbert, wiping off his tongue.

  Skylar and Banshee continued ahead. Gilbert just stood there, his feet still ankle-deep in the water. His webbed fingers tugged Aldwyn, keeping him from continuing on.

  “If you’re thinking about a bath, I wouldn’t recommend that, either,” said Aldwyn.<
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  “Nuh-uh,” said Gilbert. “I see something.”

  Aldwyn immediately understood what this meant: Gilbert was having a puddle viewing, conjuring a vision of the past, present, or future in the pool of tears.

  “Is that Skylar?” asked Aldwyn, glancing down at his vision.

  And indeed, the image that had appeared before Gilbert was unmistakable in this calm water. It showed Gilbert frozen in his tracks as his blue jay companion hovered in the air across from him, her eyes staring at him icily.

  “She looks even more annoyed with me than usual,” said Gilbert.

  “Astula Yajmada!” incanted the blue jay.

  With a mighty flap, Skylar touched her wing tips—one blue, one singed black—together, and a crimson spear materialized. It shot forward and impaled Gilbert straight through the chest.

  Gilbert—the one looking at this vision—jumped back in horror as his likeness in the puddle collapsed to the ground.

  “Ahhhhhhhh!” screamed both Gilberts.

  Then the image in the water swirled away.

  “Tell me you didn’t see that,” said Gilbert to Aldwyn.

  Aldwyn stood there quietly for a moment.

  “Um … which part?”

  “It’s not possible,” said Gilbert. “It can’t be possible. Skylar is going to kill me?”

  “Gilbert, let’s not overreact here,” said Aldwyn. “It’s just a puddle viewing.”

  “Just a puddle viewing? Easy for you to say. You’re not the one getting murdered by your best friend!”

  “Well, you’ve said yourself that your visions aren’t always perfect.”

  “Not perfect,” said Gilbert. “But they always come true. The gray hare who turned out to be Paksahara, the warning in the Time Stream that was sent back to your father—and now this!”

  “Hold on,” said Aldwyn. “Didn’t Skylar say you once had a vision of being attacked by little hippopotamuses, but it turned out they were just floating sour dills in a pickle barrel?”

  “That’s true,” admitted Gilbert after a long pause, but he didn’t sound entirely comforted.

  “And since when does Skylar cast spears from her wings?” asked Aldwyn. He put a comforting paw on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Never,” said Gilbert.

  “And does she have a black feather on her left wing tip?”

  “No.”

  “And do you really think Skylar would ever get so angry with you that she would kill you?”

  “Probably not,” said Gilbert, still not sounding fully convinced.

  “Let’s go, you two,” called Skylar from up ahead.

  Gilbert jumped as soon as he heard her voice.

  “Yes, ma’am, coming ma’am,” he croaked. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Aldwyn and Gilbert had caught up with Skylar and Banshee. All were now coming up over the first ridge of the Gloom Hills. Through the moonlit haze they could see hundreds of mourners camped along the hillside, some sleeping in the open, others walking in little circles.

  A bearded man near Aldwyn was yelling at a rock: “This is my spot. I’m not leaving until my Gertie comes back!”

  Aldwyn looked up the slope and could see more figures standing on the hilltops, shouting their grief into the mist. As they continued deeper into the crowd of mourners, Aldwyn began to hear voices, whispers and ramblings. The sounds overlapped one another so he couldn’t make out any single one clearly.

  “What are they saying?” asked Gilbert.

  “That’s the curse of the Gloom Hills,” said Banshee. “Visitors come here hoping for a message from the Tomorrowlife, but instead all they get is this.”

  “That explains why so many have gone mad,” said Aldwyn.

  Skylar approached a potbellied pig sitting quietly nearby.

  “We’re looking for a bloodhound named Simeon,” she said to the hog. There was no response. Skylar spoke louder to get the pig’s attention. “Have you seen a dog with brown fur, black paws, long, droopy ears?”

  “Everybody’s looking for someone here,” replied the pig sadly. “How long has he been dead for?”

  “He’s not,” said Skylar.

  “Oh, so he’s one of us, another mourner,” said the pig. “Hm, Simeon, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Do you know when he first got here?”

  “Years ago, I’ve been told,” said Skylar.

  “You’ll want to check the crest, then,” said the pig, pointing to the hilltop. “That’s where the truly crazy reside. The people and animals who have really lost it.” His attention was suddenly drawn to an empty area a few feet from where he was sitting. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my family is calling. It’s dinnertime.”

  The pig went and sat down by himself.

  “Please pass the gruel,” he said to no one in particular. Then he seemed to scoop a helping from a plate that existed only in his imagination and began eating it. “Mm, everything tastes delicious.”

  Aldwyn and the others decided to leave the pig to his heartbreaking delusions. They headed uphill, passing through an ever denser crowd of human and animal mourners.

  Suddenly, Aldwyn’s head was again filled with whispers and voices, only this time they seemed to be speaking directly to him. To make things worse, he was beginning to think he could see spiritlike figures moving through the mist, too. He saw a black-and-white cat among them. For a moment he was convinced it was Baxley, his father, who had met a cruel death at the hands of Necro, the beast tamer who turned him into glass. Aldwyn broke away from Gilbert’s grasp and began chasing the spirit. But just as the ghostly figure got within reach, it disappeared, swallowed up by the mist again.

  Then from over Aldwyn’s shoulder he heard a recognizable female voice. “Aldwyn,” it said. He spun around and looked into the mist, where the spirit of a Maidenmere cat stood. He knew this voice. It was the same one he heard in his whisper shell so many times. It belonged to Corliss, his mother.

  “Mom?” asked Aldwyn.

  “Your sister …” Her voice trailed off.

  “My sister? What about her?” called Aldwyn.

  The faint voice far in the distance said one word. “Yeardley.” Then she was gone.

  With Gilbert no longer clutching his tail, the hills were taking full advantage of Aldwyn. His sorrowful feeling was returning, even stronger than before.

  Aldwyn turned to Banshee, Gilbert, and Skylar.

  “My parents,” he said. “They’re here. I saw both of them. And my mother, she was trying to tell me something about my sister.”

  “Yes,” Skylar replied. “But the messages from the dead are never complete. That’s why none of these mourners leave.”

  The blue jay might have been right, but Aldwyn felt so close to connecting with the mother and father he never knew, to getting answers about his missing sister—was her name Yeardley?—it was hard to pull away. A pat on the back from Gilbert snapped Aldwyn out of it.

  “You okay?” asked the tree frog.

  Aldwyn nodded. But his heart felt differently.

  The four animals continued their path to the crest, careful to maintain contact the entire way. The higher they ascended, the closer Aldwyn felt he was getting to the Tomorrowlife. With every gentle breeze it seemed as if a spirit passed them by. Aldwyn kept searching, hoping to catch another glimpse of his parents. But instead, he was surprised to see Kalstaff’s wise face staring back at him through the mists. The wizard’s mouth was moving, as if he was saying something, but the words he spoke were just out of earshot.

  “Kalstaff,” Aldwyn called out. He had to know: Would the prophecy of the three stars turn out like the others he wrote about in his journal? Were the Three destined to fail? “Will the—”

  But before he could finish, Kalstaff was gone.

  “The spirits come and go,” said Banshee. “It’s another cruel trick of the Hills.”

  “What did you want to know?” Skylar asked Aldwyn.

  Aldwyn hesitated, unsure if he should tell her.

/>   “I was just curious if the cellar was safe for our loyals,” he lied. “That’s all.”

  Before Skylar could probe any further, Gilbert excitedly nudged Aldwyn: “Look, it’s Zabulon,” he said.

  The others turned to see Kalstaff’s familiar barely visible through the mist. Gilbert hopped over to him. Aldwyn was sure that Zabulon would disappear before the tree frog reached him, but he didn’t, and Gilbert wrapped his arms around the bloodhound’s leg.

  Aldwyn, Skylar, and Banshee walked up to them, and Aldwyn noticed that Skylar was looking at Zabulon strangely.

  “Gilbert, that’s not Zabulon,” she said. “It’s his brother.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Gilbert. Then he took a closer look and realized his mistake. “Simeon?”

  The bloodhound had dark circles under his eyes and unkempt fur.

  “Silence,” he said. “Nine hundred eighty-one, nine hundred eighty-two, nine hundred eighty-three …”

  “What are you doing?” asked Skylar.

  “Every thousand seconds the voice of my loyal speaks out,” replied Simeon distractedly. “Nine hundred eighty-six, nine hundred eighty-seven, nine hundred eighty-eight …”

  “Are you aware of Paksahara’s plot against Vastia?” asked Skylar. “She’s raising a new Dead Army of animals to take over the land.”

  “Nine hundred ninety-three, nine hundred ninety-four, nine hundred ninety-five …”

  “We need your help,” continued Skylar. “In order to defeat Paksahara, we have to collect a descendant from each member of the First Phylum.”

  “Nine hundred ninety-eight, nine hundred ninety-nine, one thousand,” said Simeon.

  The bloodhound suddenly stood completely still, listening very intently. To Aldwyn the confusion of voices they were surrounded by sounded like a cacophony of whispers and murmurs, indistinguishable to even the sharpest of ears.

  “Follow?” Simeon asked aloud. “Follow what? What are you trying to tell me, Tavaris? Tavaris, speak to me.” But no answer came.

  The bloodhound lowered his head in frustration.

  “One, two, three,” he began to count again.

  “The voices have a tight grip on him,” said Aldwyn.