19

THE PROPHESIZED THREE

Jack and Aldwyn were walking through the walled courtyard of the New Palace in Bronzhaven. A flag billowed from a pole overhead. With every flap of the wind, the canvas changed color, showing a different coat of arms from Vastia’s many cities, including Bridgetower’s double-headed eagle with the bow and arrow in one talon and wand in the other. Jack, bathed and dressed in a clean tunic and leggings, crossed a tiny arched bridge with a freshly brushed Aldwyn. They came to sit on a patch of moss beside a rock garden. Long, golden eels swam peacefully in the neighboring pond.

It was hard to believe that only three days ago the familiars and their loyals had been reunited. They had left the Sunken Palace, sneaking past the sleeping hydra and Grimslade, who was still snuggled up to the head of the black tooth. Then, under the light of the moon, they left behind the buried city of Mukrete, and traveled to the hillside manor of Sorceress Edna, confident they could trust Kalstaff’s fellow teacher of young wizards. Fortunately she had just returned from one of her field trips beyond the Borderlands. After listening to Dalton recount their story, Edna took it upon herself to secretly enter the palace and return Loranella to her rightful state, reversing the shape-shifting spell that had turned her into a hare. Once the queen was herself again, she had welcomed the young wizards and their familiars with open arms.

“Aldwyn, look,” said Jack as he held his palm facedown to the ground.

“Extollo!” he commanded.

A fist-sized stone rose from the garden and levitated in the air.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” said Aldwyn.

“Now you try,” said Jack.

Aldwyn channeled his energy and made ten rocks lift from the pond and spin around in circles like heavenly bodies orbiting the sun.

“You’re going to have to teach me how to do that,” said Jack, impressed.

Aldwyn let the stones fall back into the water. He was still marveling at his newfound ability as well. He was a telekinetic cat, and that could mean only one thing: that his birthplace was in fact Maidenmere. He had been thinking a lot about his recurring dreams, and the pieces were starting to fit together: a small kitten on a bed of twigs, traveling down a river, to later wash up before a wall of white. Were those the outside walls of Bridgetower? It certainly would make sense. He had been born in Maidenmere and abandoned, cast off from his home. But why? he wondered. And that female voice he heard in his dreams, could it be his mother’s? What reason would she have had to rid herself of him? One mystery solved had opened up countless others.

“I still can’t believe you fought a cave troll all by yourselves,” said Jack, smiling. “How big was it again?”

“Before or after Gilbert accidentally gave it the colossus sap?”

“After.”

“Big,” said Aldwyn. “Really big.”

Jack’s eyes lit up. The only thing that would have made these amazing adventures better, Aldwyn thought, was if he and his loyal had shared them together.

From across the courtyard, Aldwyn could see Marianne and Dalton heading toward the rock garden. Skylar and Gilbert were right by their sides. Skylar’s wing was almost completely mended, thanks to the raven healer kept by the royal cleric; and Gilbert appeared relaxed, fresh from a bath in the palace’s seaweed springs. Scribius, now polished and clean, glided along the ground behind them, making happy swirls as he followed in their path.

“I seem to recall the only one who didn’t cry was me,” said Marianne as she chased Dalton.

“I already told you—I’m allergic to dungeon mold.”

“It’s okay. I was scared, too,” she said, reaching out to touch him. “Oh, there you are,” she continued, spotting her younger brother and Aldwyn. “We were wondering where the two of you had gone.”

“We were just out here practicing our magic,” said Jack.

“Did you see the wishing web over by the everwillow tree?” asked Dalton.

“No, we must have walked right past it,” said Jack, who was already leaping off the rock and running toward it.

“Careful,” called out Marianne, “you don’t want to wish on the wrong spider.”

Skylar and Gilbert came up beside Aldwyn.

“You missed all the fun,” said Skylar. “Sorceress Edna gave us a tour of the queen’s library.”

“I don’t know if I would call it fun,” said Gilbert, “unless your idea of a good time is having excerpts from the botanical diaries of Phineus Pharkum read to you.” Gilbert’s eyes turned to the pond. “Ooo, are those golden eels?”

Aldwyn smiled. He wasn’t really paying all that much attention, his mind elsewhere, still racing with questions.

“Skylar, can I ask you something?”

“Fire away,” she replied.

“Why did these powers only come to me now? And so suddenly? I still don’t understand.”

“Ofttimes, a familiar’s talent does not reveal itself until his or her loyal is in great peril,” explained Skylar.

Aldwyn thought about Jack and how close Paksahara had come to killing him. At the moment when everything seemed to be lost, his powers of telekinesis had awakened.

“Or maybe there was something else at work,” added Skylar. “Something we’ve yet to comprehend.”

Aldwyn decided to ponder this mystery another time. He noticed Gilbert staring intently into the pond, and wondered how fascinating those golden eels could really be. He walked up beside him and glanced into the water to see that Gilbert was having a puddle viewing. There on the shimmering surface of the pool was an image from Daku: Gilbert’s dad stood alone in the Quag, placing a valor staff into the ground. On its side was Gilbert’s symbol, a circle with a star inside it. Gilbert beamed with pride.

Aldwyn smiled before stepping away, not wanting to intrude on his friend’s personal moment of triumph.

“You can’t make me tell,” squealed Jack, as he ran back from the wishing web toward the rock garden, trying to avoid Marianne’s tickling fingers. “If I do, it won’t come true.”

“Oh, come on,” she urged. “Don’t be so superstitious.”

Dalton cleared his throat, and brother and sister fell silent at once. Queen Loranella, the real Queen Loranella, was approaching from the palace. She wore a long golden gown and a narrow crown on her white, shoulder-length hair. While she looked identical to the impostor Loranella that Paksahara had shape-shifted into during the battle at Stone Runlet, this queen didn’t walk with the same arrogance.

“Hello, young wizards, familiars,” she said formally but not without kindness. “I hope you have recovered from your adventures.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, we have,” said Dalton, speaking for all of them.

“Walk with me,” said the queen, as she began to stroll through the courtyard toward the far garden wall.

Wizards and familiars walked alongside her.

“Once again, you have my thanks and the gratitude of all Vastia,” said Loranella. “Unfortunately, Paksahara remains at large, and she is clever, frightfully so. She stole from me a very powerful bracelet that belonged to my ancestor King Brannfalk. Its possessor can summon the Shifting Fortress, a secret stronghold that never appears in the same location twice. A spell cast from within those walls can affect all Vastia. It is where I conjured the enchanted fences, weather-binding spells, and other protective spells that have kept our lands safe for so long. One can only wonder what kind of darkness and destruction Paksahara hopes to rain down on the land from its highest tower. She must be stopped.”

The queen walked across a stone path toward a bas-relief chiseled into the wall. The wizards and their animal companions joined her to see the carved image depicting a young Kalstaff, Loranella, and Mountain Alchemist standing beneath three twisting stars shooting across the sky.

“Sixty years ago, we were the prophesized three,” said the queen.

Aldwyn looked up at the three legendary figures: Kalstaff, the mentor he had known all too briefly; the Mountain Alchemist, who had become their reluctant ally; and Loranella, whom they had first falsely seen as an enemy but had in fact always been a friend.

“Together, we fulfilled our destiny,” she added. “Now three young spellcasters from Stone Runlet are called upon to take our place.”

 

 

Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert turned to their loyals, bursting with pride to be standing at their sides. Skylar held her head particularly high.

“We are honored to carry on your legacies,” Dalton said.

“That’s very noble of you, Dalton,” said the queen. “But you, Marianne, and Jack are not the three chosen by the heavens to protect Vastia. Paksahara made the same mistake when she assumed so.”

The queen turned to the familiars.

“It is you, Aldwyn, Skylar, and Gilbert. You are the prophesized three.”

Jack turned to his magical companion with a new sense of awe and wonder.

Aldwyn couldn’t believe what he had just heard. The fate of the entire land had been entrusted to him and his fellow familiars. His whiskers began to tingle, not for fish guts or chicken gizzards, as they had in the past. No, now they were tingling because he was hungry for something else—his next adventure.