by Tracey Hecht
“The jerboas? Those little brown rodents?” Polyphema paused, lost in thought. Then, with a glance at the mountain, she nodded. “Well, I suppose they’d be fine….”
Dawn furrowed her brow, confused by the reptile’s sudden change of heart. But there was no time to question things—they had to move quickly. “Bismark, Tobin, you must leave now. Bring help as fast as you can.”
Tobin glanced at the fox. “Wait a moment,” he started, his brow creased with concern. “What about you? Aren’t you coming with us?”
“No,” replied Dawn. “I will stay here and instruct the animals as they arrive.”
The fox smiled sincerely at Tobin, then slyly at Polyphema. “Besides, with this giant beast on the loose, no one should be alone.”
“Come along, comrade!” cried Bismark, giving Tobin a pat on the back. “With my brain, my brawn, and your, well, sturdy scales, we have nothing to fear—nada! Though it does pain me to leave these loveliest of lovelies, I must admit.” He gazed at Polyphema and Dawn and let out a sigh.
“Come on, Bismark,” urged Tobin, nudging his friend with his snout.
“Right, right. Off we go.” As he trudged away, Bismark glanced longingly over his shoulder. “Toodleloo, Tutu! Au revoir, Dawn, mon amour! Fare thee well, my sweet bellas!”
As Bismark and Tobin’s shadows disappeared in the distance, Dawn and Polyphema stood in tense silence. They squinted at each other, neither blinking despite the wind and the ash that swirled around them.
“I’m going to go get some rest,” said Polyphema. “It’s been quite the evening.”
Dawn gazed up. The sky was stained black and the moon hung at its peak. “Aren’t you a nocturnal?” she asked, puzzled.
The tuatara nodded. “Yes.” Her voice slightly cracked. “I’ve just…well…I’ve been quite tired.”
“Better get some rest, then,” said Dawn.
Was Polyphema lying? Something about her excuse seemed false, but the fox did not let her doubt show. “I’ll be collecting things we might need for the net,” she said smoothly.
The animals spun on their heels and walked in opposite directions through the scorched plants and trees.
But not for long. Glancing over her shoulder, the fox waited for Polyphema’s form to fade. Then, she switched her course and stalked the strange tuatara through the darkness.
Careful to keep plenty of distance between them, Dawn followed the reptile’s tracks, tracing the snaking line of her tail in the ash. Soon enough, she found herself at the edge of the mountain. The fox slowed to a crawl. The rocky peak blocked the moon, and the night felt heavy and dark.
Dawn circled the mountain until she reached its opposite side. Then, suddenly, she stopped. Polyphema’s tracks had led her to a wall made of large rocks. It was the strange structure they’d seen earlier from the mountaintop! The fox looked every which way, hoping to spot the reptile, or at least to pick up her tail line in the ash. But she was nowhere in sight, and the track ended here. Dawn furrowed her brow—there was only one possibility.
Crouching low in the shadows, the fox lifted her head to gaze up.
There she was—Polyphema—climbing the fortress’s wall. The tuatara moved quickly and confidently, gripping the rocks with her claws, ascending the slope with ease. Step after step, stone after stone, she climbed higher, until finally she reached the top. For a moment, she paused. Her scales flickered under the moon and she drew in a breath. Then, in a quick flash of silver, she ducked into the tower, her tail vanishing below the stone rim.
Dawn stepped out from the shadows. What was the tuatara doing here? What was inside that stone fort?
She raised a paw to the rock, ready to make the climb, but then her paw slipped on the shaky surface, and the stone tumbled down to the ground. Dawn froze. She could hear rustling inside the fortress. Had Polyphema heard her outside? Nervously, the fox waited for any sign she’d been caught. But after several moments of silence, she relaxed and took a small step back.
Perplexed, Dawn gazed at the stone wall. She was nimble—able to climb almost anything. But this fortress was steep and unstable. How did the tired, old tuatara scale the wall with such ease? It didn’t make sense…unless the trek was routine—something Polyphema did all the time.
The fox circled the structure. There had to be some sort of entrance—an opening that she could squeeze through—but the stones were stacked tightly with little to no room between. She sighed, discouraged. But then she heard something—a mumbling of sorts. Her heart leaped in her chest.
Dawn pressed an ear to the wall. There it was again! Mumbling… a voice…
Polyphema wasn’t alone.
The tuatara was definitely speaking to someone.
But who?
Chapter Twelve
SKREEEEEEEK!
Dawn listened closely. She pressed her ear tighter to the wall and tried to make out the words. Then…
SKREEEEEEEK!
A shrill squawk rang out through the night. Immediately, the mumbling inside the fortress stopped. For a moment, there was pure quiet. Then, there was a frantic rustle—a scramble, the sound of claws against stone. Polyphema was leaving the fortress… and fast!
Dawn’s heart started to race. I can’t let her know that I followed her, she thought. I can’t let her see me! The fox drew in a deep breath. Then, as fast as she could, she sprinted the way she came, around the base of the mountain and away from the mysterious fortress.
Dawn pushed herself to the limit, dashing across the ash-covered ground at breakneck speed, kicking up huge clouds of dust as she ran.
When she reached the crater nobody was there. She glanced behind her. No sign of Polyphema. Good. She had escaped unseen. For a moment, the fox sat and caught her breath. Then, from the shadows, she heard the snap of a twig.
She drew in a worried breath.
“Helloooooooo, amiga!”
With a grin on his face and his flaps outspread, Bismark appeared, twirling and hopping his way toward Dawn. Behind him, Tobin sputtered and coughed, struggling to keep up with his friend.
“Come on, mon ami! Chop-chop!”
Dawn took a step toward Bismark. “Where are the others?” she asked. “Did you bring help?”
“Y-yes,” Tobin gasped, placing a claw on his heaving gut. “They’re…coming. Just…a little…behind.”
“I sprinted the whole journey back!” Bismark announced proudly. “I could not stand another moment away from my love, or from our new three-eyed friend.” He batted his eyes. “Did you two have fun while we were away? Where is that lovely Tutu, anyway?”
“I’m here,” said a low, raspy voice. The tuatara stepped out of the darkness into the moonlight. She was panting. Nervously, she looked up at the sky. “I was trying to sleep,” she lied, “but then I heard a strange noise. It… it sounded like a bird!”
“That is the sound of help, amiga!” Bismark spun toward the shadows. “Hurry, slowpokes! Vámanos! Pick up the pace!”
The animals Bismark and Tobin had gathered from the valley approached the crater, shrouded in a large cloud of dust.
Polyphema craned her scaled neck toward the group. Her tail nervously twitched in the ash.
Dawn, with her keen amber eyes, looked out at the crowd. “Everyone’s carrying vines,” she observed. “Good work. Although—the fox shifted her gaze toward Bismark’s empty paws—“now I see why you got here first.”
The sugar glider crossed his arms over his chest. “Excusez-moi, muchacha, but these flaps were preoccupied by tasks far more important than vine transport. You see, I, Bismark, maestro extraordinaire as you might recall, was busy leading the way.”
Tobin sighed and shook his long snout. Dawn raised a tawny brow.
“Please, bella Dawn,” he continued. “I know you like looking at me, but perhaps you should direct your attention to all the other empty-pawed folk. Our scaly amigo, for instance? And the birdies?”
“I knew it!” cried Polyphema. “I knew I heard
birds!” She glared at Bismark and Tobin. “You said you were only bringing jerboas!”
“Why should it matter?” said Dawn, narrowing her eyes. “We should be grateful to everyone here and make sure that they all feel welcome.”
Polyphema shook her head. “The beast won’t like this one bit,” she said. Her third eye shot open and twitched with every beat of her heart. “No, he won’t like this at all.”
“Oh goodness,” cried Tobin. “We’re sorry! We didn’t mean to do anything wrong!” The pangolin’s body slumped with guilt, and he took a worried step back.
Bismark, however, leaped forward and stroked Polyphema’s creased cheek. “Calm down, Poly-poo! The more, the merrier. These animals are here to help!” The sugar glider gestured toward the crowd. They had finally arrived, wheezing and sweating. “And look,” Bismark continued, “I’ve got them totally under my flaps. Regardez.” The sugar glider cleared his throat. “You may leave your vines here!” he shouted, extending his flaps with a flourish. The animals dropped their cargo to the ground. Bismark beamed at the crowd’s obedience. Then he looked to his friends for approval. “You see that, Tutu? That’s what we call respect.”
But Polyphema paid no attention to the sugar glider’s antics. She was distracted, rapidly blinking her eyes and frantically searching their surroundings. “Where are they?” she cried. “Where are the birds!?”
“Why all the attention on our winged friends, dear Tutu? Are you attracted to creatures who fly, like myself?” Bismark lifted his flaps and strutted proudly.
“Yes…” began Dawn, ignoring him. “What’s going on here? Why so much interest in birds?”
“Just show me where they are,” hissed the reptile. “I need to know… for the beast!”
Bismark sighed in exasperation. “Well, there are some right there, Poly-poo!” He gestured with a flap toward a group of round, ungainly birds, bumbling at the rear of the pack. “Mon dieu! For a creature with a whole extra peeper, you sure don’t see much.”
Polyphema followed the line of his paw toward a huddle of brown birds, short and squat with long beaks. Clumsily, they teetered through the ash, poking around for roasted worms, often stepping on each other’s feet. “You mean those things?” she asked in disbelief. “They don’t even have wings.”
“Oui, yes, it is a terrible truth.” The sugar glider sighed. “The kiwis don’t have wings. What can I say? Not all creatures are blessed with extraordinary features like mine.”
Polyphema’s lips curled in a grin, and a sound—almost like laughter—escaped from the edge of her mouth.
The fox cleared her throat. “What’s so amusing?”
Quickly, the tuatara erased the grin from her lips. “N-nothing,” she stammered. With serious eyes, she gazed at the fox. “You’re right. We should make everyone here feel welcome.”
Dawn studied Polyphema. She couldn’t figure her out. But she would have to worry about that later.
The fox took a deep breath and climbed atop the large heap of vines. From that height, she could see everyone who had come to help. At the front, the jerboas squeaked and nervously scratched at their ears. Behind them, the kiwis whispered and wobbled in the thick layer of dust.
Dawn opened her mouth, prepared to speak to the crowd. But then, before she could begin, a gust of wind hit her face and a dark, looming shadow swept over the ground.
SKREEEEEEEK!
Chapter Thirteen
A TERRIBLE WARNING
SKREEEEEEEK!
The shrill sound came from above.
Everyone gazed up to see birds of prey soaring through the sky in a perfect V. A dramatic whoosh filled the night as hawks, falcons, and owls flapped their long wings in unison. Their sharp cries echoed through the dark. There were so many of them, their feathered silhouettes hid the moon.
“No!” A terrified scream pierced the air.
At once, the animals gasped and focused their eyes on its source—Polyphema.
For a moment, she froze, as though startled by her own cry. Then she bowed her head in embarrassment. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice low. “I’m sorry. I… I….” Suddenly, she perked up. “I had a vision!” she said. The tuatara bowed to reveal her third eye. “An image of the past. Of terrible battles from long ago between the birds and the beast. And then a vision of things to come. Blood… feathers… broken beaks!” Her milky orb gleamed.
“Oh goodness!” shrieked Tobin.
“The birds do not stand a chance,” warned Polyphema. “They must leave. The visions are growing more urgent. And they are never wrong.”
“We’ve been over this,” said Dawn, glaring at Polyphema. “No one is going anywhere.”
The two females stared at each other. Finally, Polyphema’s third eye twitched. She broke the fox’s gaze. “You will regret this,” she hissed. “And so will the birds.” With a huff, the tuatara stepped away from the crowd.
Dawn narrowed her eyes at the reptile then quickly refocused. She had to remain calm and in control. It was her job to manage the others.
She looked down at the helpers, who had grown in number. The birds of prey gathered around them, framing the smaller creatures in a band of bronze, gray, and pure white. The hawks scratched at the earth with their talons. The falcons darted their yellow-rimmed eyes. The owls swiveled their heads in quick circles. Feathers bristled and rippled like waves as the birds discussed the tuatara’s warning.
Dawn stared at the many eyes looking up at her—orange and gold, big and small, oblong and round. They all shone with wonder and worry, and they were all fixed on her gaze. She felt a sudden swell in her chest. Then, the fox cleared her throat.
At once, the stirring ceased, and a hush fell over the crowd.
“Welcome,” she said. “Thank you for coming. As you may know, there’s—”
“A monster!”
“A terror!”
“A beast!”
The crowd erupted, buzzing and flapping with fear. The ash fluttered and swirled in the chaos.
“I told you not to alarm them!” Dawn said, shooting Bismark a glare.
The sugar glider’s face burned a deep pink below his fur. “It—it was Tobin!”
The innocent pangolin raised his scaly brows in alarm.
Dawn rolled her eyes at Bismark, gave Tobin a knowing nod, and turned back to the crowd. “Yes,” she said as calmly and evenly as she could. “There is a strange creature afoot. And it is responsible for the destruction you see.”
The animals gasped as Dawn, the voice of reason and truth, confirmed what the dramatic, slightly less trustworthy sugar glider had told them earlier in the night.
“The children!” A kiwi’s shrill voice rang from the rear of the crowd. “How will we save the children?” The distraught bird buried her beak in her husband’s soft, hair-like feathers.
“Everyone, listen. There’s no need to panic.” Dawn’s voice grew stronger and louder. “We will triumph over this beast. That’s why you’re here—to make a trap so we can catch it.”
The hawks nodded their speckled heads. The owls hooted in agreement..
“Let’s begin right away,” Dawn continued. “The plan is to take the vines and make a net so that we can fool the beast into falling into the crater. Jerboas, remain here and begin weaving these vines together. Kiwis, travel to that far-off cluster and untangle those vines with your beaks. Owls, falcons, hawks—gather the vines from the kiwis and fly them back here.” The fox paused and straightened her spine. “Does everyone know what to do?”
Despite their worry and the hard work that they faced, the crowd cheered.
“Woo-hoo!” Bismark yelped. “This calls for the flaps!” The sugar glider extended his wing-like flaps and prepared for a celebratory flight. But without the help of the wind, he barely rose off the ground before tumbling down in a heap. “Ahem….” Bismark scrambled to his feet and hastily dusted his coat, hoping that no one had seen. “Right…” he stammered. “like I was saying…let’s trap
this monster!”
Chapter Fourteen
ON THE HUNT
The fox descended from the mound of vines, and the animals began the hard work of making the net.
“Perfecto,” sang Bismark. “Now that the workers are busy, only we, the elite, the special few, remain. Time to observe, instruct, and be glorious! Come, amigos. Tobin, Dawn, Poly-poo…” The sugar glider extended his flaps to beckon his friends. Then he scrunched his small face in confusion. “Uno momento…where’s Tutu?”
Dawn scanned the surrounding landscape. It was buzzing with animals already at work, but Polyphema was nowhere in sight. “Strange,” the fox murmured. “She was just here a moment ago. Very strange.” She narrowed her amber eyes and searched the ground for the tuatara’s tail markings. But she could detect not a single trace. “Well,” said Dawn, “as long as we’re alone…there’s something I need to share with you.” The fox paused, making sure no one lingered nearby. Then she leaned close to her friends. “Something odd happened while you were gone. Follow me.”
Dawn led her friends toward the mountain.
Bismark eagerly bounded after the fox. “Where are you taking us, ma chérie? Have you found the beast? A pomelo tree? A romantic hideaway?” The sugar glider’s face brightened, and he trailed the fox even closer so the fur on her tail swept his face.
As they walked farther around the mountain, Tobin realized how tired he was. “Oh goodness, it is getting late, isn’t it?” He gazed at the sun, peeking over the horizon, and yawned. There had been so much traveling and alarm in the course of a single moon, and now it was past his bedtime.
“Just a little farther,” urged Dawn, sensing her friend’s exhaustion. She, too, was tired and her legs ached, but she needed to take her friends to the fortress. They had to find out who Polyphema had been talking to. Dawn quickened her pace, despite the pain in her limbs.
At last, with heavy breath, the Brigade arrived at the stone tower. In the early light of the morning, its rocks shone a pale orange.