Frog

by Joffre White

‘It’s not that I’ve had a choice. Although it has been a great adventure for me. Scary, but exciting,’ said Frog.

  The wizard turned to him. ‘You’ve always had a choice, young Frog. You could have left us at any time and not come back.’

  ‘I don’t understand. How?’ he asked.

  ‘Free will. Had you closed your mind to us, had you refused to take up the task and the responsibility, then you would have crossed back through the Slipstream and into your world, even before you were given your sword,’ explained Gizmo.

  ‘What would have happened to Castellion?’ asked Frog.

  ‘I think it would have been a very different future for us all,’ mused the wizard.

  They both sat there, wizard and boy, watching the wolves as they were encircled by the defenders of Castellion. Some leapt in attack and died, some turned on each other in bloody frustration, until eventually they cowered and grovelled in submission and surrendered.

  ‘What will happen to them?’ asked Frog.

  ‘I’ll put a restraining spell on them and they’ll be made to collect and bury their dead. After that they’ll be put to work repairing the damage that they’ve caused,’ said Gizmo.

  ‘But surely you’ll never be able to set them free?’ asked Frog.

  ‘Things can change, young Frog, you never know. Someday we may be able to trust a wolf,’ replied Gizmo.

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said a menacing voice behind them.

  They both turned to see the tall and repulsive Fangmaster, a wickedly sharp spear in his hands, its point only centimetres from the wizard.

  ‘One twitch and I’ll run you through old man,’ he said menacingly.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked the wizard.

  ‘You must have the Rune Stone. Give it to me.’ He pressed the spear so that the metal blade was touching the wizard’s throat.

  Frog slowly slid his hand to the hilt of his sword.

  ‘I wouldn’t even try if I was you,’ warned the wolf. ‘Or I’ll have you searching a dead wizard’s robes for the Stone.’

  Frog moved his hand away from the sword and Gizmo reached inside his robes and brought out the Rune Stone.

  ‘Give it to me, now!’ Fangmaster reached out and snatched it from the wizard’s hand.

  ‘Now, you, little boy. Come and stand in front of me,’ he ordered.

  Frog climbed to his feet and approached the wolf who, in a swift movement, dropped the spear and grabbed Frog, spinning him around so that his back was pressed against the wolf’s stinking and matted chest. The crooked blade of a hunting knife appeared in his hand and came to rest at Frog’s throat.

  ‘Where that fool Maelstrom failed, I will succeed. At my hand, the blood of this little boy will be spilt onto the Stone. I will inherit the power!’

  ‘Don’t call me little!’ shouted Frog and brought the heel of his boot down onto the wolf’s bare foot with all his might. He felt the bones crack. The wolf emitted a ferocious howl and as his grasp relaxed, Frog twisted himself free and dived between the beast’s legs, but not before the knife had sliced through the air and caught his hand, a cold tingling sensation searing through it.

  The wolf spun around as Frog scrabbled backwards along the ground, trying to free his sword which had become caught up in his cloak.

  ‘Enough!’ screamed Fangmaster as he plunged the knife forwards.

  Frog stared helplessly into the slavering grin of the wolf when, suddenly, it was gone. The long hairy arms dropped to the wolf’s sides, the clawed hands released the knife and the Rune Stone, and they fell to the ground. The body stood headless and motionless for a second or so and then slowly crumpled sideways into a heap on the grass.

  Frog looked up to see Sir Peacealot, Logan and Lady Dawnstar, astride their horses, her long sword stained with the wolf’s blood. Then, from behind the horses, two figures ran out, shrieking and shouting with glee.

  Ginger and Fixer fell on Frog, hugging and embracing him until his breath was taken away. He hugged them back with all his might, all three of them with unashamed tears of joy rolling down their cheeks.

  Fixer was the first to notice the blood.

  ‘You’re hurt, you’re bleeding!’ she said in alarm.

  Frog brought up his hand and held it out. Blood pooled in his palm and he noticed that his little finger was now a bloody stump.

  ‘I hate blood,’ he said. Then he fainted.

  When the world came swimming back into view, he was propped up on Lady Dawnstar’s lap, the sour taste of Logan’s elixir on his lips.

  ‘For someone who likes to live dangerously, it’s a bit late to be afraid of blood,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘My hand?’ said Frog, bringing it up to inspect it.

  It was wrapped in some of the special leaves, bound up with a thin material that looked like cobwebs.

  ‘Don’t worry my boy, those leaves and my Magik will soon have it healed, although you’ll have to make do in future minus most of your little finger. I’m afraid we couldn’t find it, otherwise I’d have popped it back on for you,’ said Gizmo.

  While Frog recovered, they all sat and exchanged stories, filling in gaps for each other, sharing the loss of the king and of Sir Dragonslayer. Recounting the dangers and the victory.

  And so it was, on that grassy hill, with a clear blue sky above them and a warm sun shining, that they stood reunited, holding hands in a circle. The wizard, Sir Peacealot, Lady Dawnstar, Logan, Fixer, Ginger and Frog.

  The golden light returned, but this time it radiated from the Rune Stone that Gizmo had placed in the centre of their circle. Its brilliant tentacles reached out and touched their foreheads, bringing Ginger and Fixer into the Chosen. Anyone looking up from the vale below could have been forgiven for thinking that a second sun had risen over the hilltop.

  22

  10.38

  Over the coming months, Castellion Stronghold was repaired and all of the valiant and brave survivors from Castellion’s armies returned to their lives and homes scattered throughout the land. This was not before a mass victory celebration was held with great ceremony and procession, inside and outside the grounds of Castellion. The scene was very much the same as it had been during the gathering of the armies prior to the great battles. The meadows and plains outside the Stronghold were filled with tents, marquees and pavilions, the colours and ensigns of the knights and clansmen dominated by the emblem of Castellion, a pale blue background with a golden-rayed sun in the centre which seemed to radiate a sense of new-found security and strength.

  Frog returned to his position with the other squires at the stables and on his return was overjoyed to find his horse, Thunder, in one of the stalls. He was well fed and nourished and Frog could find no evidence that he was any the worse for wear from his journey back to Castellion Stronghold, indeed all of the horses from the expedition had safely returned.

  Frog, Ginger and Fixer had happily and proudly regaled the stable hands and young squires with their adventures but not until it was recognised that there were losses among them. Lofty and Snoop had perished in the confrontation with Lord Maelstrom – both had insisted on going to the front lines with their knights and they died carrying out their duties to the end. Ginger and Fixer were particularly sad at the news as they had grown up with the boys, and as a mark of respect, banners bearing the insignia of Lofty and Snoop’s knights were hung on the stable doors.

  Indeed, a ceremony was held to remember all of the fallen. Gizmo assembled the Chosen, gathering them together on the hill where Fangmaster had met his sudden and just end. In the centre of the hill, a deep, oval pit had been excavated, surrounded by colourful, roped garlands. From this point, the wizard’s voice carried out to the assembled throng around him and in the fields below.

  ‘There is no victory without sacrifice. We stand here today through our courage and belief, but those that are not with us gave their lives as forfeit, without question, without condition. On this hill will be erected a monument, not only to
our fallen king but also to the lost squires, servants and stable hands, the clansmen and women of this realm. Over the coming days, a token of remembrance for each life will be put into this barrow and sealed beneath the monument. Today, we will place the first of many such items.’

  He raised and presented King Hector’s crown into the air for all to see and then gently dropped it into the pit. A dragon master approached and presented a delicately carved dragon broach to the assembly.

  ‘The clasp of our lost dragon master, Sir Dragonslayer,’ he announced, solemnly dropping it to join the crown.

  A small procession of commanders from the ranks of Maids, Rangers and bowmen followed, each one presenting some item of a fallen comrade.

  Over the next week or so, numerous friends and kinsmen of the fallen visited the barrow to place a personal article in respect and dedication.

  Numerous banquets and celebrations followed and Frog, Ginger and Fixer attended as many as they could. They did so not because they were required, but as they had endured so much together, they wanted to experience the company and stories of those that they had not had the honour of fighting alongside.

  It was on one such visit to a camp fire feast that some Rangers, who had been scouring the southern battlefields for lost companions, returned, their horses weary and their wagons dusty from the long journey.

  They joined the gathering, eagerly helping themselves to food and drink, sharing news both sad and welcome. One of the Rangers approached the group that Frog was sitting with. He was carrying something, cradling it, wrapped up in his cloak.

  ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ asked a fellow Ranger.

  ‘He’s poorly hurt, I found him lying amongst a group of dead wolves, his fur all matted and caked with blood. How he got to be in such a place, I don’t know. There’s a long, deep gash to his side, how he’s survived at all is a miracle.’ The Ranger pulled back the cloak to reveal a weak and injured black cat.

  ‘Storm!’ shouted Frog.

  ‘You know this animal?’ asked the Ranger.

  ‘He’s the wizard’s cat,’ said Frog. ‘We need to get him to the wizard. He’ll be able to heal him.’

  The Ranger carefully wrapped the cloak around Storm and handed him to Frog.

  ‘I think that’s a task for yourself,’ said the Ranger. ‘I’m not too sure if the wizard will take too kindly to me handing him his half-dead pet.’

  Frog carried Storm to Gizmo, as quickly as his legs would carry him, shouting out the wizard’s name in his mind, sending out images of Storm.

  In less than an hour, Storm was stretched out in front of a roaring fire in the wizard’s apartments, having been fed a concoction of raw meat and Magik by Gizmo.

  ‘He’ll live,’ beamed Gizmo. ‘Although I suspect he’ll have to take on smaller prey in future and he may be a bit slower than he used to be.’

  Frog knelt and ran a careful hand along the cat’s fur. An unnaturally loud growl of pleasure escaped from Storm. Frog slowly pulled his hand away and stepped back.

  ‘I don’t think that I could ever get used to that,’ he admitted.

  The wizard was now facing Frog. He held a cloth bundle and a small carved wooden box.

  Frog looked at the box. ‘Are my things in there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And, are those my proper clothes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it time for me to go home?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gizmo, smiling kindly. ‘Follow me.’

  The wizard took them down a long spiral staircase and along passageways and corridors until they emerged through a small door in the castle walls and out into the bright moonlight. The path that they took led them up to the now familiar hill, a newly-built, tall, golden obelisk at its summit.

  Waiting in silence were Fixer, Ginger, Logan, Lady Dawnstar and Sir Peacealot.

  Frog bit his lip and put on a brave face.

  ‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this, people will talk,’he said jokingly.

  Five puzzled faces stared back at him.

  ‘Frog-world humour,’ explained the wizard.

  ‘I’m not in a laughing mood,’ said Fixer. ‘I’m going to miss you. We’re all going to miss you.’ She let one small tear escape from the corner of her eye.

  ‘Frog’s time here is now fulfilled,’ said Gizmo. ‘He must return to his own world, his real life.’

  ‘But why can’t you stay? If time doesn’t move in your world, then it doesn’t matter how long you stay with us,’ pleaded Ginger.

  ‘Eventually, he will grow old enough that it will show when he returns. Nothing can stop him ageing, in either world, in any Dimension,’ explained Gizmo. ‘Besides, Frog has family, he has sacrificed more than enough time without them. His heart yearns for them.’

  ‘I want to stay, but I must go home, can you understand that?’ asked Frog.

  Lady Dawnstar knelt in front of him. ‘It is hard for us to lose something precious. You have given us much more than friendship and you will remain with us, in our hearts and minds. You will not be forgotten.’

  She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. This time, Frog didn’t blush. He threw his arms around her and squeezed with all his might. After a few moments she gently pulled away and stood back.

  Frog put his hand into his leather pouch. ‘I’d better let you have this back,’ he said holding out the glass whistle.

  She folded his fingers over it. ‘It’s yours to keep,’ she said.

  Frog looked at Gizmo, who nodded in agreement.

  Next, Logan placed his hands on Frog’s shoulders. ‘You’d make a good Ranger with a little more training,’ he smiled. ‘But as I won’t have that pleasure, I’ve had this made for you. I’m sure with some practice, it will be useful, even in your strange world, which, by the way, was the scariest adventure that I’ve ever had, but it was worth it for the taste of your chocolate!’

  He produced a small leather whip from his cape, presented it to Frog, stepped back and bowed.

  Fixer and Ginger moved in front of Frog and without tears or sadness all three embraced each other.

  ‘We haven’t got anything to give you, I’m afraid,’ said Ginger.

  ‘Except our pledge, that should you ever need us, in this or any other world, we will find a way to reach you,’ continued Fixer.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Frog. ‘It goes without saying that I will gladly do the same for you.’

  Sir Peacealot knelt, as Lady Dawnstar had, placed one hand on Frog’s shoulder and looked into his eyes.

  ‘You are a remarkable young man. You rose to every challenge and accepted responsibility. Your courage and friendship has been beyond value and I am proud that you have been my squire. I will adopt your colours and emblem in honour of our bond. You freed me and brought me home and now it is time for us to free you and send you home. Farewell, my young friend, and thank you for bringing the Light that freed us from evil.’

  ‘Turn to me now, young Frog,’ said the wizard. ‘I give you back what is rightly yours.’ He handed Frog the bundle and the small wooden box. ‘Just whisper your name to it and it will open and close at your will, this is my gift to you. Take all that we have given you as a testament to your valour. Now, draw your sword.’

  With a shaky hand, Frog pulled the short sword from its sheath. The blade was burning with the now familiar blue and white light.

  ‘Return the sword to the earth and take your journey home,’ instructed the wizard.

  Frog took one last look at the six faces that now encircled him, then he plunged the shining steel blade into the ground.

  This time, a curtain of light wrapped itself around him and he was enveloped in a transparent beam. He could still see the others, watching him as he was lifted by a rush of air and up the narrow tube of light. As he rose, the ground fell away into darkness and above him he could see a small orange disc, growing ever closer, ever larger, ever brighter. It wasn’t long before he realised that the disc was in
fact the sun, its brightness reflecting on the light around him, turning it hues of gold and red. He closed his eyes against the glare, expecting to be thrust onward and upward when, suddenly, he was standing still and on solid ground.

  He felt his sword, still in his hand, but free of the earth. As he clutched at his bundle, he brought a hand up to shield his eyes as he tentatively opened them.

  Dappled sunlight greeted him, a soft warm breeze shifted the leaves on the branches above him. Something moved against his leg and he looked down.

  ‘Tabby!’ he cried in excitement.

  He dropped the bundle and sheathed his sword, sitting himself cross-legged on the ground and scooping the cat up on to his lap. He sat there hugging and stroking the purring animal as he looked back up through the trees to the house.

  ‘I’m home, Tabby. I’m home,’ he said.

  He allowed himself a while to clear his head and gather his thoughts. Finally he looked at his watch. 10.38.

  ‘It’s amazing. I still can’t believe it,’ he said out loud. ‘Two minutes. I’ve only been gone two minutes!’

  Putting the cat down, he gathered his things and crept up towards the house. He reached the wall beneath the kitchen window just in time to hear his mother approach the back door and enter the kitchen. He held his breath, weighing up his options.

  His mother’s voice sailed through the open door.

  ‘Gone to save the world, indeed,’ she said as she read what he had written on the note earlier. ‘If you’ve gone out, my boy, it’s you that will need saving. Chris. Chris!’ she shouted as her voice receded into the house.

  Chris quickly decided that he could not risk going into the house, let alone try to get into his bedroom. He headed for the shed and slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. Unfolding the bundle, he took out his clothes. As he changed back into them and put on his trainers, he realised how strange it felt to be wearing them again. He had got so used to the loose-fitting attire of Castellion that his jeans felt tight and uncomfortable and his trainers felt stranger still.

  He used the sacking that they were wrapped in to bundle up his Castellion clothes and folded them around his sword, the dragon-skin waistcoat and the whip.