by Trevor Pryce
Coorah grabbed her supplies and hopped back toward the fighting: She needed to be close in case anyone required treatment. By the time she reached the ridge, though, the clamor of battle from the second hill had ceased.
In the pale moonlight, she crept toward the hilltop, trying to find the source of a faint moaning. There was no sign of scorpions, but a dozen frogs lay in dark humps on the ground.
As she moved to help a wounded warrior, Arabanoo stepped from the cover of the thick brush. “They’re gone,” he told her, as he helped apply a poultice.
“Who were they?” she asked.
“Scouts. A few scouts. We got completely slammed by a few scorps, Coorah. There’s no way we’re going to win when the whole army attacks.”
AREL WOKE IN THE DARK WITH A jerk. Where was he? What was that noise?
Sounded like a beast charging at him. An angry beast with small red eyes and big curving tusks. He reached for his dagger but instead touched something soft and warm—and realized that the grunting beast was just Gee snoring.
He smiled and blinked a few times. In the first faint light of the Australian dawn, he checked his surroundings: He was hunched in a makeshift tent in the middle of nowhere.
Except not really the middle of nowhere. They were at least halfway to the Turtle Coves.
Before leaving the scorpion encampment the previous day, Gee had clung to a tent peg with his toe pads and refused to budge. “We’re going to warn the turtle king,” he’d said. “That’s final.”
“You’re too weak,” Darel told him again, though he’d longed to see the Coves and warn the king. “You might not make it.”
“Sometimes you need to make hard choices, Darel,” Gee said, his voice soft but determined. “This isn’t just sticking up for me with Arabanoo. The entire Amphibilands is at stake.”
Darel had realized that Gee was right—and was braver than he’d ever known. They needed to warn the turtle king—even if it meant death for them both.
His mind still fogged with sleep, Darel peered uneasily at the sky. How long had they slept? Were they too late already?
“Gee!” he said, nudging his friend. “Wake up.”
“What? Where?” Gee woke with a snort, then yawned hugely. “What are we doing in—” His eyes bulged as he remembered. “Oh! The turtles.”
“Yeah. How’re you feeling?”
“Good. Better.” He thought for a second. “Hungry.”
Darel handed him a bag of dried beetles.
“Eww,” Gee said, after tasting a couple. “What’re these?”
“Scorpion food.”
“No wonder scorpions are so cranky.” Gee tossed a beetle in the air and caught it with his tongue. “If they ate honey snails, maybe they’d stop trying to kill everyone all the time.”
Darel stretched. “You can suggest that to the turtle king when we meet him. We’ll throw snails at the scorps.”
“Honey snails,” Gee corrected. “Regular snails wouldn’t work. But first we’ve got to find the turtles. Can we get there in time?”
“I don’t know,” Darel said, chewing a beetle as he hopped out of the tent. “We’ve got to try.”
“Yeah.” Gee hopped out beside him. “And when we reach the Coves, everything’s going to be pill-bug custard and cherry pie. I heard that the streets are paved with—”
“Swamp,” Darel said, peering into the distance.
“Paved with swamp?” Gee croaked. “No, paved with—”
“Swamp,” Darel repeated, pointing.
There, just ahead, the scrubland turned to mangrove swamp. First, the low shrubs grew taller, and then, boom, they exploded into dense green giants. And an instant after Darel saw the swamp, he smelled it: a briny, moist, muddy scent.
“Whoa,” Gee gasped. “The Coves are on the other side of that?”
“Yeah, on the coast.”
“I guess that’s why the scorps don’t invade. There’s no way they could march through that.”
“Not with all the sea snakes and crocodiles that live in there. They’d eat the scorps alive.”
“In that case,” Gee said, “it’s good to be a frog! At least we can swim!” He bounded toward the mangrove swamp with Darel fast on his heels.
They scampered from the hardscrabble hills into a maze of green bushes at the outskirts of the swamp. The morning breeze carried the scent of salt water as they shoved through the bushes, then stopped at the bank of a wide, slow-moving saltwater river.
Mangrove trees towered on the far bank, with drooping branches and looping roots that arched above the water before disappearing below the brackish surface.
“On second thought,” Gee said, “I’d rather be a bird. We’ve got to go through that?”
“Yeah—and fast.”
With the sun rising behind him, Darel waded into the river, his hand on his dagger. Despite the calming, salty coolness seeping through his skin, he kept his eyes alert for any sign of danger.
“Cannonball!” Gee croaked, and splashed into the water beside him.
So much for stealth.
They swam across the river with powerful frog-strokes, then hauled themselves into the roots of a mangrove tree and wiped the water from their faces.
They slipped from the roots of that tree to the next one, following the path of a narrow waterway, a curving river inside the swamp.
As the dawn grew brighter, the overhanging leaves were reflected in the rippling river, and the water looked like a fat green snake. Strange noises sounded in the distance: the call of a bird Darel didn’t recognize, and a moist, sucking sound.
At a sudden splash, Darel and Gee froze. A moment later, a swirl of water moved past them. Darel peered into the depths but couldn’t tell if he’d really seen scales and claws and teeth or just imagined them.
But a few minutes later, as they followed a river bend, he knew he wasn’t imagining the slitted reptilian eyes watching them from the water.
“Hey, Darel,” Gee whispered. “You see him?”
“I see them,” he answered, and gestured to the two other sets of eyes.
Gee bit his lower lip. “Maybe these are friendly crocs.”
A spout of water erupted at them, and a massive pair of jaws lunged forward. Teeth glistened and mud splattered as the crocodile came right at the frogs.
Gee jumped straight up—faster than Darel had ever seen him move—and grabbed a thick, vine-draped branch with his finger pads. Darel swiped his dagger at the croc, but the beast kept coming, his close-set eyes glittering with malice.
Darel tensed to leap away but was afraid that the moment he was in the air the croc would snap his jaws closed around him.
“Hey!” Gee croaked. “Scaly-butt!”
The croc roared and lifted his head, snapping at Gee’s dangling legs.
Gee yelped and pulled himself higher in the mangrove tree—and Darel leaped onto the crocodile’s ridged back, then flung himself into a neighboring tree.
He scrambled higher, breathing heavily. “I guess these aren’t the friendly ones,” he said once his breathing had returned to normal.
With Gee muttering that they weren’t tree frogs, they hopped from branch to branch, staying high above the swirling swamp. The three crocodiles followed them below, lazily swishing their powerful tails through the water.
Darel and Gee wandered deeper into the swamp, until they finally lost the crocs, then followed the flow of the sluggish water toward the coast. Darel pushed himself faster as the sun rose higher in the sky. The scorpions were invading the Amphibilands today, and he and Gee hadn’t even found the turtles yet.
Had the spider queen already destroyed the Veil? Were the scorpions swarming through the Outback Hills? Were they hunting frogs in the eucalyptus forest or closing in on the triplets in the nursery pools? And what about Coorah and his mom?
Without the Kulipari, they didn’t have a chance.
In the distance, Darel heard the sound of surf. He opened his nostrils wide and sni
ffed. “What’s that?”
“Sounds like waves,” Gee said. “We’re close.”
“No, I mean the smell.”
Gee closed his inner eyelids and inhaled. “That’s you, Darel. You need to wash behind your ears.”
“Not me! That’s … that’s freshwater.”
“Weird.” Gee sniffed again and nodded. “Coming from over there.”
They started toward the smell. The sound of the surf grew louder as they followed the swampy river, and in the distance they saw where the trees stopped and the clear blue sky started.
“We did it!” Gee cried. “We reached the Coves!”
“I hope we’re in time.”
Darel bounded ahead, three quick leaps—and a huge crocodile mouth broke the surface of the water directly in front of him.
Gee croaked a warning, and Darel spun in the air and pulled his dagger, his blade no bigger than one of the croc’s teeth.
Too late. The gaping jaws snapped around Darel.
HE CROCODILE’S TEETH CLOSED around Darel—very gently, like a mother cradling her tadpoles.
Gee bellowed a desperate war cry and slammed face-first into the croc’s snout. Then he fell with a splat into the mud and groaned faintly.
“Oh!” a voice said. “Terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you! Well, if you are frightened. Perhaps you’re not. Perhaps that was a scream of glee—or a greeting! Perhaps that is how frogs say hello to crocodiles—headfirst.”
Darel gingerly slipped from the crocodile’s mouth and peered past the beast’s huge head. There, on a saddle strapped to the croc’s back, loosely holding reins, was a turtle. A youngish turtle, by the look of him, with a broad brown shell and an extremely long neck.
At the end of the long neck, a round face smiled at Darel—and kept talking.
“Now, turtles, being perhaps less creative than frogs, usually shake flippers in greeting. Or wave. Or say ‘Hello’ or ‘How do you do?’ If we’re in a more formal setting, we might say ‘Pleased to meet you’ or ‘The pleasure’s all mine’ or— Oh, are you stuck in the mud?” The long-necked turtle chortled. “No, no! We don’t say that, not in formal settings! I mean you down there, frog in the mud. Do you require assistance?”
Darel glanced at Gee and saw him standing knee-deep in the muck.
“Um,” Gee said, his eyes bulging nervously as he considered the crocodile.
Darel hopped to the riverbank. “We could use some assistance, yes,” he told the long-necked turtle. “We’re looking for Sergu—the king of the turtles.”
“Oh, thank goodness! I was afraid you were going to ask for assistance with—I don’t know—ribbeting or hopping or some such. I mean to say, with froglike behavior, and I wouldn’t have been any help at all. But if you’re seeking Sergu, well! Well, well, well!”
“Um,” Darel said. “Well?”
“Well, climb aboard!” The turtle beamed, patting his crocodile mount. “And I’ll take you to him!”
“You know King Sergu?”
“Know him? I am his apprentice! Well, one of his apprentices, though I’m his star pupil, if I do say so myself. Which I often do. Say so myself, I mean.” The turtle suddenly gasped. “Oh! Pardon me! Terrible manners, not introducing myself. My name is Yarban, but they call me Yabber. Some people think”—the turtle lowered his voice confidingly—“that I talk too much.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Darel said, suppressing a grin as he scrambled onto the croc.
“Is your friend coming?” Yabber asked.
“C’mon, Gee.”
Gee puffed out his throat and didn’t budge. “Do you honestly think I’m going to ride a croc?”
“A minute ago you were going to attack him. C’mon, we’re running out of time.”
“The only reason you’re not scared of the croc,” Gee grumbled, “is because you know it’d eat me first.”
Darel grinned and helped Gee onto the croc’s back. Then he said, “I’m Darel. This is Gee. We’re from the Amphibilands.”
“Very pleased to meet you!” the turtle cried, turning the crocodile toward the Coves. “Never met a frog from the Amphibilands before, but I can already tell I’m going to like you.”
Darel grabbed on to the saddle as the crocodile surged forward. It followed the brackish waterways until they emerged from the swamp. After the crowded darkness of the mangrove trees, the world seemed suddenly bright and open, and Darel shot his tongue at a passing fly for a celebratory snack.
“Now, shall I give you the tour?” Yabber asked. “To your left, you can see the freshwater lagoon; that’s where we long-neck turtles live.”
“That’s why we smelled freshwater,” Darel said.
“Ahead and to your right,” Yabber continued, “past the beach, is the ocean where the flatback turtles—such as our good king—live, in those lovely homes among the grassy shallows and, of course, in the coral reef. They are sea turtles.”
In Darel’s daydreams, he’d imagined the Coves as a grand and ornate city, but in reality it looked simple and comfortable. Turtles lolled around the freshwater lagoon, some basking in the morning light, while sea turtles swam in the ocean shallows between half-submerged homes built of long, swaying grasses and colorful coral.
“… pleased to invite you to a dinner of sea cucumber and striped shrimp,” Yabber was saying. “King Sergu is particularly fond of crabs—though I prefer worms myself, having a more delicate constitution. How does that sound? A feast, to welcome you as guests. And of course for dessert—”
“Yabber!” Darel interrupted. “This is an emergency. We’re here because we’re in trouble—the Amphibilands is in trouble. We need the king’s help.”
Yabber cocked his round head. “Oh, my goodness. Help with what?”
“Well, do you know about the Veil?”
“Do I know about the Veil? What I don’t know about the Veil, my long-toed friend, would fit inside a prawn’s nostril! I’m the king’s star pupil, after all—did I mention that?—and the second-most-powerful dreamcaster in the Coves!” Yabber looped his long neck toward Darel. “Of course, saying that I’m the second-most-powerful dreamcaster is like saying that in a race between a slug and a hawk, the slug is the second fastest! Or in a fight between a crocodile and a possum, the possum is the second fiercest. Or in a—”
“We get the idea!” Darel interrupted, a little desperately. “Now take us to the king, please—as fast as you can.”
“And that’s just dreamcasters,” Yabber said, turning his croc toward the beach. “The spider queen is more powerful than me—than I? I think ‘than I.’ Is it me or I? She’s more powerful, but she’s a nightcaster, and of course nightcasting is a warped, evil offshoot of dreamcasting …”
Yabber babbled on. Darel only halfway listened to the turtle as they moved away from the lagoon and onto the beach. He watched as shallow waves in the protected bay washed through the sea turtle city, turned waterwheels, gently lifted unmoored buildings, and then receded.
Sea turtles swam with gliding strokes through the blue water, some busy at a sea cucumber farm, others ducking through coral arches. Young turtles lazed on the beach or waddled along sandy paths and slipped into the surf. Hatchlings dug through huge heaps of sand, building elaborate castles and forts.
Finally, Yabber brought his croc to a halt near a noisy bunch of hatchlings clambering all over an old turtle lying on his side in the sand. The little turtles were climbing high on the old fellow’s tilted shell, then sliding down.
As the hatchlings shouted with glee, Yabber said, “May I introduce you to His Glorious Majesty, the wisest reptile to ever wear a shell—King Sergu!”
Darel looked around. “Um. Where?”
IGHT THERE.” YABBER SLID from his croc to the beach. “I told him to expect you—I sent a message via dreamcasting, you know. I am the second-most-powerful dreamcaster in the Coves, after all. Perhaps I mentioned that?”
“Yes!” Gee said, hopping down beside him. “We know, we
know. Star pupil. Um, did you say something about grilled shrimp?”
“Do you like honey-glazed? I’ve got caramelized worms in the saddlebag, too. I’ll just—”
“Um, where’s the king again?” Darel asked.
“Here,” a deep voice said.
The old turtle whose shell the hatchlings were using as a slide raised his head and inspected Darel and Gee with gentle golden eyes.
That was the king? Darel had expected a grand and powerful ruler on a shining throne, not a sleepy old turtle dozing on the beach.
“Oh!” Darel said, with an awkward bow. “Oh, Your, um, Majesty. Hello, I, um, didn’t know that was you.”
“Well, of course you didn’t,” King Sergu said, solemnly. “We’ve never met. I’m sure I’d remember such a fine pair of wood frogs.”
“Yes, sir—erm, Your Majesty.”
“I recognize that dagger on your hip, though,” the turtle king told Darel.
“You do? It was my father’s.”
The king’s golden eyes brightened, and a smile creased his leathery face. “You are Apari’s son?”
“Yes! How did you—” Darel’s eyes bulged. “Wow. You knew my father?”
“He was a great frog and a good friend.” The king raised a flipper and touched Darel’s shoulder. “It was your father who saved my life in the war.”
“I—I didn’t know,” Darel said, a little stunned.
“Well, your mother is not one to brag. But why are you so far from home? Come closer and tell me what brings you to the Coves.”
Darel gathered his thoughts. “Well, Your Majesty … the Amphibilands is under attack. Gee and I saw a scorpion patrol in the Outback Hills, inside your Veil.” He told the whole story as Gee downed a dozen shrimp. He ended with “… and now the spider queen is destroying the rest of the Veil while Lord Marmoo’s scorpion army prepares to invade.”
Silence fell, except for the sound of the surf and distant shouts of hatchlings.
The king doodled in the sand with a flipper for what felt like a long time. Then he looked at Darel and frowned. “You are correct—the Amphibilands is in grave danger. Even as we speak, the spider queen is unraveling the Veil.”