Potion of the Turtle Master

by Maggie Marks

  As they passed the farm, Mason spotted a farmer milking a cow. The man waved at the boys, and this time, Mason waved back.

  Then he saw it—a tiny brick house on the other side of a field dotted with sunflowers. It was smaller than he remembered, and even from a distance, he could see the windows were boarded up. “Do you know where we are?” he asked his brother. “Do you recognize that house?”

  Asher blinked. “No.”

  Mason shook off his disappointment. “Let’s get closer,” he said, “and then maybe you will.”

  But as they reached the edge of the overgrown yard, Asher shook his head. “I’ve never seen this house before.”

  “Yes, you have!” Mason said, throwing out his arms. “We lived here. This was our house, with Mom and Dad. See that window there? That was our bedroom. Let’s see if we can go inside.”

  As he stepped onto the dilapidated porch, he held his breath, hoping his feet wouldn’t break through. “Be careful,” he called to Asher. “Step only where I’m stepping.”

  When Mason reached the door, he tried the handle. It wouldn’t budge. Then he noticed the oak planks nailed across the door at the very top and bottom. Someone might as well have hung a “Keep Out” sign. “We can’t get in,” he said, his hopes sinking.

  “Let’s try the windows,” Asher said as he hopped off the porch and disappeared around the corner.

  But every window had been boarded shut. As Mason stood beneath the bedroom window, he noticed a crack in the boards. Could he peek through? He searched for a log or a box—something he could stand on to get a better look. A rusty bucket lay half buried in the dirt where the garden had once grown. Mason dug it out and placed it below the window, pulling himself up by the windowsill.

  As he peered through the crack, he waited for his eyes to adjust. At first, he saw only shadows. Then he made out the shape of a bed. My bed? he wondered. It had been stripped of its mattress and blanket, and turned carelessly on its side.

  Beyond the bed, Mason could see a crib with a broken rail. Asher’s crib. He had been just a toddler when they lived here. No wonder he can’t remember! thought Mason.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d seen enough—enough to know that nothing remained of the home he’d once known.

  As he jumped off the bucket, Asher began to step up. “No,” said Mason. “Don’t bother. There’s nothing inside.”

  But Asher’s face was already pressed to the boards. “I can’t see,” he said, his voice muffled. “Wait, this board is loose.” He pried it away from the window.

  “Asher, be careful!” said Mason. “There are rusty nails in that thing.”

  Asher yanked the board away and tossed it on the ground. Then he peered through the broken shards of glass. “You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “There’s nothing inside. This place is a dump.”

  Mason winced at the words. “It wasn’t always,” he said sadly. “You just don’t remember.” He suddenly felt very much alone.

  Asher shrugged and hopped off the bucket. “Now what?” he asked.

  Mason glanced at the sun, which had slid westward. “Now we go back to the swamp,” he said wearily. But as he turned to go, something scritch-scratched against the wall behind him.

  Maybe they weren’t alone.

  “Is someone there?” he asked, his voice cracking. He held his breath, listening.

  Asher was already back on the bucket, ready to find the source of the noise. He leaned toward the window.

  “Wait!” cried Mason. Over his brother’s shoulder, he saw red eyes glowing from within the abandoned room.

  Something screeched an eerie warning.

  Then the spider burst out.

  CHAPTER 9

  As Asher toppled backward, the furry-legged mob leaped on top of him.

  “No!” Mason cried, pulling his trident. As he struck the spider’s body, the beast squealed. It scuttled away from Asher, its eyes trained on Mason now.

  “Come and get me!” he cried, leading the spider away from his brother. “Show me what you’ve got!” He spat the words, suddenly furious at the mob that had attacked his brother. The mob that had been living in the house. Our house, Mason thought, tightening his grip on his weapon.

  When the spider charged, Mason was ready. He swung his trident. Thwack!

  The mob squealed and glowed an angry red.

  Mason struck again, pushing the beast backward into the field. Thwack, thwack, thwack!

  He chanced a look back at Asher, who was still sprawled on the ground. Get up! Mason willed him. Please be okay!

  Then he took one last wild swing at the spider, barely grazing its body. Somehow, it was enough. The mob’s legs buckled, and with one last horrifying screech, it fell.

  Mason didn’t bother to search for the drops the spider left behind. He sprinted back toward Asher, whose face had never looked so pale. “Asher!” he cried, patting his brother’s face. “What’s wrong? Did it bite you?”

  As if in answer, Asher’s eyes rolled back into his head.

  Mason’s heart raced. His little brother had been bitten, which meant he’d been poisoned and would need an antidote. Mason searched his memory, trying to recall what Luna had once said about treating spider bites. He didn’t have her potion of healing, but there was something else he could use.

  “Milk!” he shouted, remembering. “I’ll get you milk. I’ll be right back.” He gave his brother’s face one last look. “Stay with me, little brother. I’ll be right back.”

  Then Mason began to run, faster than he knew his legs could even move. He raced through the field of sunflowers, dodging them left and right. He ran toward where he had last seen the farmer, hoping he was still there—with a bucket of milk to spare.

  “Moo-OO!” The cow sounded alarmed as Mason sprinted toward its pen. But where was the farmer?

  Mason searched the pen for a bucket, hoping the farmer had left it behind. There! A silver bucket shone from a corner of the pen. But as Mason reached for it, he immediately knew it was empty. That meant only one thing. He was going to have to milk the cow himself.

  “Moo-OO-oo!” The cow’s eyes widened. It sidled sideways, as if to say, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen.

  “Easy, buddy,” said Mason, raising his hand. He crept slowly toward the cow. “My brother needs help. You’ll help us, won’t you?”

  He crept closer and crooned until the animal stopped shifting. It stood still and began to once again chew its cud.

  Now what do I do? Mason wondered. He squatted beneath the cow and reached for its teats. They felt warm to the touch, and wet. Because the farmer just milked her! Mason realized.

  He gave a quick squeeze, hoping there would be enough milk left. Only a tiny trickle dribbled into the bucket.

  Oh, no. Mason hung his head.

  “Can I help you?” the farmer’s voice boomed.

  Mason stood so fast, he knocked over the bucket. “M-milk,” he stammered. “My brother was bitten by a spider, and he needs milk!”

  The farmer sprang into action. He ducked into the barn and came out with a pail so heavy with milk, it sloshed side to side. The farmer carefully dipped a glass bottle into the bucket and corked it. “Is that enough?”

  Mason grabbed the bottle and began to run. “Thank you!” he called over his shoulder. He could see Asher’s lifeless shape lying in the yard. Please be okay, please be okay . . . Mason chanted to himself as he covered the last bit of field between himself and his little brother.

  He dropped beside Asher and lifted his head. “You need to drink this,” Mason said, pouring a few drops of milk into his brother’s mouth. “Wake up, Asher. Drink!”

  The milk dribbled sideways down Asher’s face.

  Mason patted him gently. “Open your eyes, Asher. I’ve got something to show you!” He thought fast. “I’ve got, um . . . buried treasure. Asher, open your eyes and see the treasure!”

  Asher groaned. His eyelids fluttered and then open
ed, but only a crack.

  “Good!” Mason said. “Drink this, and then I’ll show you the treasure.” He offered more milk and was relieved when Asher finally drank it.

  Asher coughed and struggled to sit up. “Where . . . ?” he asked in a raspy voice.

  “We’re in the sunflower plains,” Mason explained. “At our old house. You were bitten by a spider.”

  Asher shook his head. “Where . . . is the treasure?”

  Uh-oh. Mason searched the ground, hoping he could find something that would interest his brother—at least keep him awake until the milk restored his health. Mason spotted something wet and slimy in the grass. He shuddered. It would have to do. “Here!” he cried. “A spider eye—just for you.” As he scooped up the sticky eyeball, he nearly gagged.

  Asher’s face lit up. “Cool!” he said, reaching for the spider eye. He studied it as if it were a diamond or emerald, fresh out of a treasure chest.

  Mason blew out a breath of relief. But as he glanced back through the broken glass of the bedroom window, he shivered, wondering what else lurked in there.

  He corked the bottle of milk and tucked it into his backpack. Then he lifted the pack, feeling the weight of the watermelon inside. As he strapped it to his back, he felt like a turtle with a very heavy shell.

  Mason thought for a moment about the sea turtles, swimming back home to lay eggs. They can go home, back to their beaches. But I can’t, he thought sadly, staring at the broken-down shack that had once been his home.

  He sighed and straightened up. “C’mon,” he said to Asher. “Time to go. Time to go back to the swamp.”

  * * *

  “What’s wrong?” asked Asher. He looked more like himself now, with pink cheeks and a spring in his step. “Why are you walking so slow?”

  Mason shrugged. “Just tired.” The truth was, he couldn’t help thinking about what a mess he’d made of things. He had left Luna and Ms. Beacon to find a home that didn’t really exist anymore. Worse, he had put Asher in danger!

  Asher paused near a patch of sunflowers. “Want to rest?”

  Mason checked the sky and shook his head. “There isn’t time. We have to get back to the swamp before dark, or Luna and Ms. Beacon are going to be really worried.”

  Asher grinned. “Not when we show them all the potion ingredients we found!”

  “We didn’t find that many,” Mason said, although the melon in his backpack seemed to be growing larger and heavier with every step.

  “Yes, we did!” Asher argued. “I’ve got a spider eye.” He patted his backpack tenderly, as if carrying a pet inside. “And you have carrots, watermelon, and gunpowder. Maybe we’ll fight a creeper tonight and get even more!” He studied the hillside, as if hoping a creeper would spawn at any moment.

  Mason shook his head. “We should fight only when we need to,” he said.

  “Huh?” Asher furrowed his brow.

  “We should fight only when we need to,” Mason repeated. “That’s what Ms. Beacon says, anyway.”

  Asher threw out his arms. “Well, don’t we need to fight to get potion ingredients?”

  Mason thought about that, trying to sort it out. “Maybe not—not if we already have enough.” But his thoughts felt tangled, like fishing line caught in sea grass. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “That’s what Ms. Beacon says, and she isn’t here to ask about it, so . . .”

  Asher suddenly stopped walking. “Um, yes, she is,” he said, pointing.

  Mason studied the horizon. Two figures were walking up the hill toward them—a dark-haired girl and a woman in white robes.

  His stomach dropped, and he fought the urge to run the other way. Would Ms. Beacon be angry with him for sneaking off to the plains?

  CHAPTER 10

  As the boat rocked side to side, Mason’s stomach lurched.

  They’d been rowing now for half an hour, and Ms. Beacon still hadn’t said a word to him. Not back on the hill, where she and Luna had found Mason and Asher. Not during the walk through the village to the harbor, where she and Luna had docked the rowboat. Not a single word.

  Asher, meanwhile, babbled on about all the potion ingredients they had brought back from the sunflower plains. “Did I show you our spider eye?” he asked Luna, holding out his palm. “I wanted to fight the hairy mob, but Mason got to it first.” His eyes twinkled, as if he’d just had the best adventure.

  I didn’t get to the spider first, Mason thought. Actually, the spider got to Asher first. But instead of correcting his brother, Mason just kept rowing. The less I talk about fighting in front of Ms. Beacon, the better.

  “You already showed me the spider eye—twice,” Luna said, sounding weary.

  She’s probably tired from scolding us, Mason thought. While Ms. Beacon had stayed silent, Luna had listed all the things that could have gone wrong when the brothers sneaked off to the plains.

  Now, though, she looked like a deflated pufferfish. But as she rowed, she kept casting sideways glances at Mason.

  “What?” he finally asked. “Why are you staring at me?”

  She shrugged. “Did you find what you were looking for back there?” She gestured over her shoulder, back toward the sunflower plains. “Are you going back someday?” she added in a whisper.

  Mason shrugged. He wouldn’t be going back—not anytime soon. But he didn’t feel like telling Luna that. He didn’t feel like talking at all. “Let’s just finish the trip,” he said, staring straight ahead.

  He had promised to help find potion ingredients for Ms. Beacon, and that’s what he would do. They would row to the ocean monument, and he would help her gather gold for glistering melon and golden carrots. And then I’m done, he decided. And Ms. Beacon never has to speak to me again.

  When it was Asher’s turn to row, Mason gladly switched seats with his brother. As dusk fell, he let his eyelids droop. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept.

  Soon, the rocking of the boat lulled him into a dream. He was swimming behind a parade of sea turtles, each wearing a sunflower-yellow collar. He wanted to follow them, but they were so fast! They swam through a kelp forest, darting this way and that. And no matter how hard Mason tried, he couldn’t catch up.

  * * *

  Splash!

  Mason woke with a start. “What happened?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  “Your brother, that’s what,” Luna grumbled. “Asher, get back in here!” She leaned over the edge of the boat just as Asher surfaced.

  “I’m okay!” he said, treading water. “It’ll be easier to catch pufferfish if I’m down here in the water.”

  “It’ll be easier to get poisoned by pufferfish, you mean,” said Mason. “Seriously, Asher. Get back in the boat!”

  He glanced at Ms. Beacon, wishing she would back him up on this. Why wasn’t she ever stern with Asher? The old woman stopped rowing, but she said nothing. She stared ahead, as if charting an underwater path to the ocean monument.

  “Hand me my bucket!” called Asher. “I see two pufferfish. Wait, no, I see three. Give me my bucket—quick!”

  Against his better judgment, Mason dropped the bucket over the side. He saw the pufferfish, too—a whole school of them. And they saw Asher. The yellow fish instantly puffed up, their spikes extended. “Asher, get out of there!” Mason cried. “There’s too many of them. Let’s use our fishing rod instead.”

  Asher barely seemed to hear. As the pufferfish swam by, giving him a wide berth, he lunged at them. Splat! His bucket hit the surface of the water. As he scooped it back up, Mason heard something flopping around inside. “Got one!” Asher called. “Told ya!”

  But in the next instant, he yelped in pain.

  “Asher!” Mason leaned over the boat, but he didn’t dive in. Instead, he grabbed the oar from Luna’s hands and held it out toward his brother. “Grab on!” he called. “Hang on tight!”

  Asher did, allowing Mason to pull him slowly toward the edge of the boat. When he was close enough, Mason dropped the oar an
d reached for Asher’s arms.

  By the time Asher slumped down on the seat, his face had taken on a familiar shade of pale. Not again.

  Luna dug through her backpack, searching for a potion. But Mason moved more quickly. He tore open his pack, pushed the watermelon aside, and found the bottle of milk at the bottom. There wasn’t much left. Please let it be enough, he thought as he forced Asher to open his mouth and drink.

  As the color came back to Asher’s cheeks, he laughed nervously. “Maybe you’re right,” he whispered. “Maybe we should just use our fishing rod. Good idea.”

  Mason wasn’t laughing—not one bit. “First the spider, and now the pufferfish. You need to stop diving headfirst into danger, Asher,” he said, his voice shaking. “We’re out of milk now, and I won’t always be there to save you!”

  Asher hung his head, but Luna’s face brightened. “You found milk?” she asked. “Where?”

  While Mason told her about the farm near his old homestead, he noticed Ms. Beacon listening. She turned and looked directly at him. And . . . she smiled.

  Am I imagining this? Mason wondered. Did I get poisoned by a pufferfish, too? He pinched himself, just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. When Ms. Beacon spoke, he was all ears.

  “You fought the spider to save your brother,” she said. “And found milk to cure him.” She nodded her head appreciatively.

  Mason’s cheeks grew hot with pride, but when he tried to speak, he couldn’t even eke out a “Thank you.”

  Asher did, though. He threw a wet arm around Mason’s shoulders. “Thanks, bro,” he said. “I owe you.”

  “You do,” said Mason, finding his voice. “So promise me you’ll slow down and be safer from now on. Starting with the pufferfish.” He bent low to pick up a fishing rod from the bottom of the boat and handed it to Asher.

  His brother grinned and took the rod. Soon, thanks to the lure enchantment, he’d caught a bucket full of pufferfish—and hadn’t been poisoned by a single one.

  It was dark by the time the boat reached the ocean monument. The temperature had dropped, enough that Luna was rubbing her arms to stay warm. But Mason basked in the glow of the moonlight and in the memory of Ms. Beacon’s compliment.