The Familiars: Animal Wizardry. Adam Epstein
put a reassuring hand on the young boy’s shoulder.
“But what’s most important is that you find a connection with your familiar,” he said. “Its magic skills won’t help you, however impressive they may be, unless you share this deep bond. You’ll know when you feel it.”
The shopkeeper gestured to the cage before Aldwyn’s, with the large-eyed lemur—or whatever it was—still hanging upside down.
“This one came from the jungles north of Vastia. It can see through solid objects. Nifty talent, but impossible to get any privacy.”
Jack only half heard, as he had already moved on to Aldwyn. The boy bent down and looked straight into his eyes. Aldwyn was attempting to lie low and not call any attention to himself, but here he was being singled out. He tried to look bored and as uninteresting as possible.
“This cat’s got green eyes, just like me,” said Jack.
The shopkeeper walked over and looked at Aldwyn.
“I don’t remember where I got that one. Must have been one of the telekinetic bicolours I picked up from Maidenmere.”
“Ooh, I want to see!” exclaimed the boy.
They all waited expectantly, but Aldwyn just lay there.
“The truly powerful don’t need to put their talents on display,” said the shopkeeper. “His gifts must be especially strong.”
Aldwyn couldn’t believe just how mistaken the store owner was. He was an ordinary alley cat, whose only real talent was for getting into trouble.
“I’ll take him,” Jack blurted out.
Aldwyn thought he hadn’t heard right. Had the young wizard apprentice, in this shop filled with countless amazing animals, each one more magical than the next, really picked him as his familiar?
“Are you sure?” asked the shopkeeper. “This is not like a wand or a hat. A familiar must be chosen very carefully.”
Jack reached into the cage and stroked the underside of Aldwyn’s chin with the backs of his fingers. Aldwyn instinctively nuzzled his cheek against the boy’s hand and a little purr of pleasure escaped from his mouth. He felt his tail curl, something that rarely happened. He didn’t know why, but Aldwyn felt a connection to Jack, an instant sense of belonging that could only be described as magical.
A smile crossed Kalstaff’s face. “He’s sure.”
The bald wizard handed the shopkeeper a leather purse filled with coins and Jack pulled Aldwyn out into his arms.
“I’m going to name him Mittens!” he said excitedly to Kalstaff. Aldwyn shuddered at the thought.
“This is no ordinary pet,” replied the old wizard. “You don’t name them. Familiars reveal their names to you.”
“But how?” asked the boy.
“Vocarum Animale, a simple but powerful spell created by Horteus Ebekenezer, the great forest communer. You’ll see later.”
Before they reached the door, the shopkeeper called out to Jack with one last piece of advice.
“Don’t expect too much from him at first,” he said. “He will reveal his powers when the time is right.”
With Aldwyn in his arms, Jack nodded and followed Kalstaff back out onto the street. Aldwyn spied Grimslade lingering on the corner, his crossbow poised menacingly in hand. A most distressing image flashed through Aldwyn’s mind: his own fur laid out on Grimslade’s sitting-room floor as a catskin rug. Quickly, Aldwyn nestled deeper into Jack’s arms, hoping he would remain hidden and out of sight.
“Let’s pick up some fish for your new friend before heading home,” suggested Kalstaff.
Aldwyn felt his whiskers tingling and couldn’t hold back another happy purr. It had been a rough start to the day, but at long last things were looking up.
As promised, before leaving Bridgetower Aldwyn had enjoyed a delectable piece of fresh fish. Then, tucked in the crook of Jack’s arm, he’d been carried across the wide stone overpass built above the moat that surrounded the easternmost wall of the city. Upon reaching the other side, the old wizard led them along a dirt road that wound its way towards the highlands. It wasn’t long before they passed a caravan of driftfolk, tattooed travelling merchants selling beads and spices out of the back of their mule-drawn wagons. As the driftfolk crowded around the trio, Aldwyn caught a whiff of orange-mint and cumin clinging to their garments. Kalstaff purchased a small pinch of nightshade before they continued on their way.
Their journey took them through hills cloaked in emerald whistlegrass humming an outdoor symphony as the wind blew over the rolling slopes. Aldwyn listened as Kalstaff told Jack how every field had its own song. Each told a different story, some playing triumphant marches in honour of battles fought there long ago, others whispering lullabies for those who had slept soundly under the starlight.
They left the whistlegrass behind them, and, having veered off the main road, made their way across the Aridifian Plains, an expanse of rock and sand where what little vegetation remained had been singed black. Aldwyn quickly spotted the reason why: volcano ants! These bright red insects had built thousands of anthills, with tunnels that stretched down to the earth’s very core. The magma that spat out from the tiny hills had charred everything green in its path and a traveller had to be extra careful not to set their boots on fire while stepping through these parts.
Aldwyn thought himself a fairly knowledgeable cat, but he was already realising just how little he knew of the natural wonders that lay outside Bridgetower’s walls.
The last hour of the trip had been nothing but field after field of half-harvested crops. The barley stalks hung limply, a result of the sudden hail of snow and ice that had fallen on that otherwise warm summer day. During the long walk back home, Kalstaff and Jack had only taken a short rest to shake the sand out of their leather boots. Now, as the sun was setting, they were crossing a tiny stream and heading for an isolated meadow whose name, Stone Runlet, was written on a signpost.
Stepping out of the runlet’s ankle-deep water, they entered the low-lying field. Up ahead, Aldwyn spotted a small stone cottage on the edge of a wood. Fruit trees, berry trees and oak trees with leaves the size of pie crusts lined the glen. A boy around the age of fourteen with a square jaw and broad shoulders sat under one of the trees reading an oversized book bound in a beautiful leather binding. Above him, a girl, who also appeared to be about fourteen, sat on a thick branch juggling three walnuts. Ringlets of blonde hair were falling over her face.
“Marianne, Dalton, we’re back!” Jack called out.
The girl swung down from the tree, making a perfect landing on the ground below. The boy carefully marked his page before closing the book, then stood up. The two walked over to welcome the returning travellers.
Aldwyn could now see that both the boy and the girl were accompanied by animal companions of their own. A blue jay sat on Dalton’s shoulder, its feathers a deeper shade of blue than the sky itself. Marianne was joined by a red-eyed swamp frog, its bright orange feet clinging to her cloak. Aldwyn couldn’t help but wonder what special powers these two familiars possessed.
“Let me see,”