The Prophecy and the Familiar

FOUR

The Queen sat upon the threshold of her witch's home, tail giving an occasional lazy undulation. She was a large Cat, long of coat and limb, with piercing yellow eyes. A few silver hairs in her black coat were the only evidence of her age. A notch in the tip of her left ear was the only indication of the epic battle she and her mistress had fought against a most dangerous foe.

They hadn't been able to save the life of Ivy's mother, or her mother's master, though.

"Ivy Whisperfoot."

Ivy bowed, stretching one of her front paws out and lowering her nose to the ground. When the Queen touched her paw with her own, she straightened, trying not to quiver as she met the Queen's gaze.

"Is that pest of a dragon with you?"

Ivy managed not to stutter. She hadn't known the Queen knew that much about her. Ivy was a Cat—not just a cat, so her mother had said—but an anonymous one. "No, my Queen, he is in the rafters of the barn back home."

"Excellent." The Queen flicked her ears. "I strongly suggest you not take him with you where you are going."

Ivy couldn't stop a mewling squeak as she spoke. "Where...where am I going, my Queen?"

"To the Standing Stones, kitten. There is a prophecy concerning you and a certain human healer." The Queen turned and sauntered into the house, tail raised and waving at its tip. "Come."

*     *     *

The Queen led her to a cozy, comfortable room that seemed dedicated to books.  The farmer's wife had a few books, but not this many, and Ivy couldn't imagine an entire room set aside for so frivolous a purpose as reading.  Shelves full of leather bound volumes lined the walls, and others lay open on the furniture.  What space remained on the walls was occupied by various tools and instruments, and several fine paintings.

Scents of herbs and flowers and other, more nebulous odors met her nose.  Perhaps not just a room for reading.  An iron cauldron, large enough to stew a dozen chickens, was suspended over the fire.  She doubted, though, that it contained chicken stew.  

Ivy halted in the doorway. She wanted to turn and run. 

The Queen's mistress—the witch, Isabella—turned from a giant book on the heavy wooden table and smiled at her. She pushed her spectacles to the tip of her nose and said, "Ivy, my dear. Don't be afraid, my sweet one. Come up here and sit. I have something to show you."

The Queen sat at her mistress' feet and stared at Ivy, pinning her ears. The message was clear.

Ivy crept to the table and leapt upon it, careful not to knock over the witch's cup of tea or any of her burning candles. There were runes carved into the surface of the dark wood; Ivy's mother had taught her a few before she had been killed, but they were lost in her memory.  Another painting sat at the corner of the table, where the witch could look upon it easily: a portrait of a man with a kind face, and a dark-haired, dark-eyed child.

"Don't be afraid," Isabella repeated. She reached out and stroked Ivy's back. "You are so like your mother. She was a good Cat. A good Familiar."

Ivy lowered her head in respect. 

The Queen said, "She can hear if you speak, kitten."

The younger Cat looked up with wide eyes. "She can?"

Isabella laughed. "Of course I can. Now, look upon this passage. Rowan tells me you read well."

Rowan? Ivy thought, then shook herself. Of course, the Queen must have a real name. She shuffled closer to the witch and looked down at the old pages of the tome, all yellowed and smelling of aged leather and ink. She put her nose almost to the page, following Isabella's long, elegant finger to the words.

The words spoke of an orphan Familiar who would travel to another world. In that other world, she would find a healer.

A healer who would put things right.

Put what right?

Isabella said, "We keep our little corner of this world safe, Ivy.  Though I'll admit, it's a thankless calling at times.  But tonight, we must keep more than just our world safe.  You must keep more than just our world safe."

Ivy raised her head, her eyes beseeching the witch to close the book, throw it in the fire, whatever it took to take away the prophecy.

"I...I can't..." she whispered.

Queen Rowan grumbled, but Isabella only stroked Ivy's head gently. "You can, my dear. You have your mother's strength, even if you don't know it yet. Trust yourself..."