Amphibians' End

by Trevor Pryce

  “Don’t tap your poison!” Old Jir called from his stretcher. “You’re too drained—all of you!”

  “In that case—” Burnu jumped onto Pigo’s tail and hurled his boomerangs. “Frog toss!”

  Pigo snapped his tail, launching Burnu into the thick of the ghost bats as spiderwebs flashed past.

  Burnu twisted like a tornado, shredding the bat swarm. On the rock tower behind him, Quoba held one fighting stick in each hand . . . and launched at the ghost bats fleeing from Burnu, her sticks flinging them in every direction.

  Then Burnu landed—on his face. Frozen into a bizarre position by three tick bites on his back.

  “Ch-amphiblood!” the ticks chittered. “Ch-ch, tasty.”

  “Get those off him!” Darel shouted, smashing another tick. “Someone, quick!”

  “Don’t bother,” Burnu slurred, his face on the ground. “I’ll handle it.”

  His eyes darkened and he started to glow faintly.

  “Burnu, no!” Old Jir yelled. “If you tap your poison, you’re dead!”

  “If I don’t,” Burnu mumbled, “we’re all dead.”

  A hail of rocks slammed into him, smashing the paralysis ticks. The triplets cheered from behind Darel’s mom . . . then they saw that one of the rocks they’d thrown had knocked Burnu out.

  “Oops,” Tipi said.

  Dingo leaped up beside Burnu, twirling her bow to protect him, just as Darel swerved toward Pigo. He landed in front of the big scorpion, directly between his pincers, and bashed the ticks on the ground while Pigo’s pincers flashed above him, taking out ghost bats.

  For a long moment, neither spoke. They just grunted and struck, fighting together with a deadly precision.

  “We’re a good team,” Darel panted.

  Pigo grunted. “It’s an honor to die in your service,” he said gruffly.

  “Well, that’s not very cheerful—”

  Darel heard a ch-ch-ch and realized that Pigo’s pincers weren’t moving anymore. They were frozen in place, and ticks were swarming across his carapace—and leaping directly at him.

  With a flash of panic, Darel spun away. But he was too slow. A tick bit his knee, and he collapsed onto his side.

  The world tilted, his vision turning everything sideways. He saw the ticks on Dingo’s arms sideways, as ghost bats enveloped her. He saw the triplets sideways as they fled from ticks. He saw Coorah and Pirra and the bullfrogs and spiders and scorps sideways, all paralyzed and motionless.

  Darel scrabbled against the red earth with his good leg, squirming toward his mom and siblings an inch at a time. It couldn’t end like this. Not after they’d come so far.

  Then Quoba bounded from the boulders, and Darel felt a spark of hope. He heard the slash of her fighting sticks, and the enraged hissing of bats. Then she flashed into view, frozen in a crouch—paralyzed in the middle of a jump—and smashed into the rock tower.

  Darel winced as she plummeted, hit the boulders, and bounced a few times. Then only Gee still fought, using a whip to slash at the ticks swarming Pigo. The ticks fled, and Gee leaped after them, cracking his whip.

  Except it wasn’t a whip.

  “Eat possum, ghosties!” Gee screamed, holding the burly possum’s arms and snapping his tail into the air.

  Two ghost bats flopped to the ground . . . but a third one slammed Gee from behind, and a wrinkled tick jumped on him.

  “Ch! Ch!” The wrinkled tick jabbed its piercing mouthparts into Gee’s shoulder. “Juichiest frog ever!”

  Only a dozen ghost bats remained airborne, but a tide of ticks still poured toward the frozen refugees. “Warm ch-blood,” they chittered. “Fresh ch-blood.”

  Then a green light sparked near the rock tower, and Quoba slowly stood, her eyes turning black.

  “No,” Darel whispered. “You’ll burn out.”

  She smiled faintly, then glowed brighter—and rocketed at the ghost bats in an emerald blur. When she landed, the bats were gone, but her skin had turned a pale green, and her glow was fading fast. Still, she turned toward the ticks and tapped her poison again. So deeply that the blackness in her eyes seemed to spread to her face.

  “Don’t!” Darel called. “No, Quoba!”

  She saluted him with one of her fighting sticks and leaped at the ticks, tapping even deeper into her poison.

  Tears swam in Darel’s eyes. He couldn’t watch Quoba destroy herself. He couldn’t watch his family and friends slaughtered at the end of the world. But there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  AREL BLINKED HIS INNER EYELIDS AND stared hopelessly at the rock tower. Afraid to look at Quoba’s last stand. Despair filled him. Fear, anger, defeat, and helplessness. Then the tears finally started . . .

  And he gasped. “No way: the blob . . .”

  With his tear-blurred, sideways vision, the rocky tower looked exactly like the “blob” in the cave painting in the Snowy Mountains! This was the place. Not just from his dream, but from his father’s cave paintings. The Rainbow Serpent had led him here for a reason. Except, why was the rock standing upright, instead of lying on its side?

  “The underground rivers all point here,” he said. “But what about that frog below the blob? The frog with a pointy tail . . .”

  He crawled one-legged toward the boulders, scraping his skin against the pebbled ground. When he reached the lowest boulders, he pulled himself upright with his finger pads and glanced behind him.

  Everything was still. The slumped forms of bats and ticks dotted the ground—and Quoba, hunched beside the tadpoles, her head bowed. Alive but pale, fishbelly-white like Old Jir. She’d never use her power again.

  She’d sacrificed herself, just the way his father had.

  Darel clenched his jaw. He wasn’t going to fail her, not now. He wasn’t going to fail any of them. He dragged himself higher across the mound of boulders, crawling feebly toward the base of the rocky tower.

  Then he stopped. “The tower’s on the boulders. So if I move the boulders . . .”

  The tower would fall. Sideways. Exactly like the “blob” in the cave painting. So he needed to shift the boulders—but how?

  He crawled from boulder to boulder, running his finger pads over every crack and crevice. His world shrank to the length of his arms and the rasp of rough stone on his skin. First he checked the biggest boulders, directly beneath the tower. Massive, mighty rocks that might hold massive, mighty secrets. He found nothing. He checked the medium-size rocks next, and still found nothing.

  Finally, the weight of failure heavy on his heart, he checked the smallest rocks crammed together at the base of the mound of boulders. Boring little nothing rocks . . . until his probing finger pads touched a slit in a stone.

  A small slit in a small boulder, wedged under a few middle-size boulders, which supported one massive one.

  He tried to shove the small boulder. It didn’t budge. He leaned back and kicked with his good leg, but the rock still didn’t budge. It was jammed in too tight.

  Darel looked closer. Except for the slit, it was an ordinary rock. Boring and useless—like the wood frog of rocks. Nothing special, not weighty, not powerful.

  Ordinary frogs have power, too, the turtle king said, in Darel’s memory.

  “Maybe ordinary frogs do,” Darel grumbled. “But not ordinary rocks.”

  How could a boring little rock topple a stone tower the size of a mountain? Not possible. No way.

  Except . . . the Rainbow Serpent hadn’t chosen an extraordinary frog like Burnu or Quoba or even Chief Olba. The Rainbow Serpent had chosen him, an ordinary wood frog. So maybe the biggest changes started with the littlest things.

  “And that frog looked ordinary,” he said to himself. “That pointy frog in the cave painting wasn’t special except for—”

  Darel bit his lip. Except for the pointy thing. Maybe it wasn’t a tail; maybe it was a weapon—a blade. He pulled the dagger from his belt, and the reflection of sunlight against the red rock tower glinted on the blade.

>   Like a rainbow.

  Darel closed his eyes. This is for Arabanoo. For Pippi and Yabber. For King Sergu and Chief Olba and Princess Orani. For all the fallen frogs and platypuses. For the possums and geckos and trapdoor spiders. For the harrier hawks and the land crayfish, wherever they are. And for the scorpions, too.

  “Takes all kinds,” he said. “And one in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

  Then he slid his dagger into the slit in the rock.

  OTHING HAPPENED.

  Darel looked at the huge rock tower. He looked at the boulders, then at his dagger, buried to the hilt in the small rock.

  “Come on,” he said.

  He jiggled the hilt. Nothing happened. Then he turned the dagger like a key . . . and the rock shifted! He just needed leverage to move the rock away from the bigger rocks on top. Bracing his leg, he turned the hilt harder . . . and—grrrrrrrrch!—the rock popped from the pile and rolled away.

  “Ha!” Darel said. “Gotcha!”

  Crrrrrrgghhhhh! The bigger boulders shifted with a grating roar like a mountain clearing its throat.

  “Jump!” Gee screamed. “You wart-head, jump!”

  “Avalanche!” Pirra yelled, while Effie chittered something about it looking like a trapdoor.

  “Darel!” his mom called. “Watch out!”

  “Crazy mud frog,” Burnu muttered as Pigo barked, “Retreat, my king!”

  Darel’s eyes bulged when he saw the entire ragtag army of refugees watching him.

  Well, watching him and shouting at him.

  Darel hopped onto one foot and leaped away as the rock mound collapsed in a landslide. Boulders tumbled and crashed together, sending rock chips flying. Inches ahead of the avalanche, Darel raced desperately on one leg, his other still frozen from the tick bite. He lost his balance, caught himself, and finally leaped sideways toward the others.

  He slammed to the ground beside Gee as the roaring wave of rocks churned past. Pain flared in his leg and his side—and the biggest rocks, the massive, mighty ones at the base of the tower, suddenly gave way.

  The tower tilted.

  Slowly at first, leaning lower as the earth trembled and the howl of grinding rocks filled the air. The tower crushed boulder after boulder, and Gee and Coorah leaped onto Darel to protect him, and . . . SLAM.

  The tower fell with a crash that rang in Darel’s ears. The ground heaved and wind blasted red sand across the scrubland. In the far distance, from the direction of the Amphibilands, a bright light shone straight upward, reaching to the stars.

  “What is it?” Pigo asked, his voice soft with awe.

  Darel blinked against the plumes of red dust, but before he could say a word, a shudder passed through Pigo and the scorpions. Then the spiders, the Kulipari, and the platypuses turned toward the Amphibilands. Everyone with poison gazed at the glow of the majestic pillar of light.

  Even Quoba, no longer poisonous, and Old Jir, who’d burned through his power years ago, seemed caught by the distant light.

  Then Darel’s breath caught. Because Old Jir’s eyes started to glow. Not the midnight black of a Kulipari, but a brilliant white. The kind of white that follows fire.

  Darel didn’t understand—and a moment later, the light faded in the distance, followed by the glow of the old frog’s eyes.

  “The Scrolls,” Jir whispered.

  Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. And that’s when Darel heard it: the first, faint gurgle of water.

  Through her tears, Pippi watched Marmoo raise his stinger to strike.

  “No!” she yelped, her bill curled in terror.

  Marmoo’s stinger stopped an inch from Yabber’s neck. “You want me to sting you first?” he asked her.

  “Please, no—”

  “You’re weak! Born in ponds and rivers!” His tail quivered. “Soft like water, not hard like rock, not—”

  A glug sounded, and Marmoo swiveled his ruined face toward the dam.

  Glug. Glug-glug.

  “Soft,” Yabber murmured, “is not the same as weak . . .”

  “Report in!” Marmoo bellowed to his troops atop the dam. “What’s happening?”

  GLUG. GLUG-GLUG.

  “The water, Emperor Marmoo!” a scorp called down. “It’s swirling in a circle, like . . . a drain!”

  “Draining?” Marmoo raged. “My water is draining away?”

  The dam creaked and crackled behind Pippi, and water seeped between the lashed-together trees. Creak . . .

  “The waves are bashing the dams!” the scorp yelled. “They—”

  A distant crack echoed across the Amphibilands, followed by the roar of water. Glug! Glug, glug, glug-glug.

  “A dam’s breaking!” another scorp screamed. “Emperor, the water’s free, it’s—”

  “It’s mine!” Marmoo roared, slashing at the dam in a fury, stabbing holes in the logs with his stinger. “Mine!”

  Pippi dove toward Yabber an instant before the dam broke. Webbing tore and vines snapped, and then the huge tree trunks shattered, whipping chunks of wood through the air. Scorpions screamed and water glugged, and in the distance more dam walls cracked.

  “Stand and fight!” Marmoo bellowed, slashing at a tree trunk. “Kill! Conquer!”

  For a single heartbeat, Pippi crouched beside the protection of Yabber’s shell—then the tidal wave hit. The first gush lifted her and Yabber like a huge watery hand, then slammed Marmoo in the thorax and swept him away.

  The shrieks of the scorpions grew panicked and desperate, but the pounding wave of cool, clean water felt like home to Pippi. She rode the onrushing flow as scorpions and spiders thrashed and tumbled in terror.

  She sped halfway across the Amphibilands in that first surge of water, keeping Yabber close, dodging legions of submerged scorps. Marmoo’s entire horde was being swept away by the water.

  Pippi swam for the surface, pulling Yabber with her, and gulped a breath of air.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” Yabber said, his eyes opening.

  “You didn’t do it?” Pippi asked.

  “I didn’t do a single thing, I’m ashamed to admit.” He straightened his neck, looking ahead of them.

  “Oh, my.”

  Just around the bend, three rivers crashed together, sending great plumes of spray into the air above a huge whirlpool. The water spun with tremendous force, churning with froth and debris . . . and Marmoo.

  His legs flailing and his pincers snapping, the scorpion lord lashed at the water, but the water didn’t care. The whirlpool flung him in tighter and tighter circles, faster and faster, deeper and deeper. He screamed, he raged, he battered the current with blows that no enemy could survive . . . and then the water dragged him under.

  As the current drove Pippi forward, a glimmer of golden light shone around Yabber’s flipper. He pointed toward the spot where Marmoo had disappeared, and a moment later the enraged scorpion lord rose above the water, suspended in a dreamcast bubble.

  “What are you doing?” Pippi shouted. “Don’t save him!”

  “Life is a gift from the Rainbow Serpent,” Yabber told her. “All life, even his. We must cherish this gift, and protect it.”

  “You did this!” Marmoo screamed, his scarred side eyes gleaming when he spotted Yabber. “I’ll tear you from your shell! I’ll hunt down every frog and destroy them one by one! I’ll burn your hatchlings to ashes!”

  Yabber’s face changed, until he looked cold and hard, as if he’d been carved from stone. “But sometimes, protecting life requires sacrifice.”

  He dropped his flipper and the golden glow vanished.

  Marmoo plunged back underwater. Waves frothed where the scorpion lord’s tail thrashed. His mouthparts opened in a silent scream. His pincers snapped and his legs churned fast and hard. Then his tail went limp, and his legs kicked slower and weaker. Until, finally, he stopped moving altogether.

  Marmoo had found the one thing he couldn’t defeat.

  “Take a deep breath,” Yabber told Pippi. “We’re g
oing in.”

  Pippi looked at the whirlpool. “In that? After what just happened to him?”

  “Marmoo fought the water, and died.” Yabber arched his neck. “We’ll ride the water, and live.”

  “How far down does it go?”

  “We’re about to find out!”

  “What if we run out of air?” she shouted as the current dragged them to the edge of the whirlpool.

  Yabber looped his neck toward her, and his eyes glowed golden. “We won’t.”

  The current whipped Pippi sideways, then tossed her in a circle—around and around as Marmoo’s limp form tumbled past.

  Then the whirlpool dragged her under.

  ED DUST FILLED DAREL’S VISION. He heard the liquid gurgle change to a trickle—and then the trickle change to a gush. The sound reminded him of water rushing through reed pipes after turning a spigot.

  The idea caught fire in his mind. A spigot. A faucet. That was it! The huge red rock acted as a valve! When he’d knocked the rock tower down, he’d turned on a massive spigot. With the help of the Rainbow Serpent’s magic, he’d triggered the underground tunnels that crossed the outback from here to the watery Amphibilands. Tunnels that acted like enormous reed pipes, filling with gushing, pouring, flowing—

  “Water!” Effie shouted joyfully. “Water, look!”

  “Seeping around the rock!” another trapdoor spider said.

  “Seeping around the everywhere!” Effie announced, laughing.

  “All I can see is red dust,” Gee grumbled.

  Effie chittered. “Silly frog-eyes!”

  “She’s right!” Pigo said, alarmed. “Watch out—there’s water coming from the ground!”

  “Scorpions!” Darel called, grinning at the worry in Pigo’s voice. “Follow my voice, onto the rock!”

  “Fall in!” Pigo barked. “Follow the Blue Sky King to dry land!”

  Darel took a step, and his leg buckled. “Maybe not my best idea ever.”

  “You’ve had worse ones,” Coorah said, laughing. “But can you smell that, Darel? Water. Fresh, cool water!”

  Excited croaks sounded through the dust, along with shrieks of glee: “Ooh! Water! Look at me, I’m all wet! Drink up!”