The Legend of Frog

by Guy Bass

  To Ruth

  Guy Bass

  To the Princes and Princesses in my life, and my own personal Rarewolf, for putting up with me and keeping me drawing

  Oda

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Once Upon the End of the World…

  The Island on the Edge of the World

  The Storm

  The Inbetween

  The Waterfall in the Sky

  The Sheep

  The Not-So-Ended World

  The Rarewolf

  The Prophecy

  The Palace

  The Throne

  The Princess

  The Hall of Kings

  The Curse of a Vivid Mind

  The Distracting Miracle of Death and Rebirth

  The Secrets of the Lake

  The Bipods

  The Prince’s Fate

  The Five-hundred-and-thirteenth Son

  The Return of Prince Frog

  The Beginning of the End of the World

  The Scorched Earth

  The Blackened Sky

  The Excellent Plan to Save the Princess and After That The Whole World

  The Mighty Sword

  The Battle on the Bridge

  The Duel

  The Calm After the Storm

  The Sixty-Four-Thousand-Polished-Sandwiches Question

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Once Upon the End of the World…

  The Incredibul Legend of Prince Frog

  Chapter One

  One upon a tyme there was the KING AND QUEEN OF EVERYTHING. They rooled over all of Kingdomland and lived in a palase and had thrones and crowns and all the polished sandwitches they could eat. Their palase looked really speshul and was chock-filled with loyal subjects.

  Their favourit loyal subject was called Buttercup who was good and clever and wize.

  But the King and Queen of Everything were sad. They longed for a chilled child more than anything in the wurld. Then one day a golden egg appeered out of the lake in their garden. It was all shined-up and speshul looking and the King and Queen of Everything said great! A goldun egg! Soon it will hatch and owt will come a prince because that is where princes come from.

  Then the wurld ended.

  Buttercup said HEY LOOK EVRYONE THE WURLD IS ENDING LET’S GET OUT OF HERE AND LEAVE! But no one would lissen, not eaven the King and Queen. So Buttercup took the speshul goldun egg and she ran to the island at the edge of the end of the wurld to get away.

  After the End of the Wurld happuned, Buttercup was all on her own and sad for ages. But then her goldun egg hatched and owt came a royal green prince.

  Buttercup raized the prince like he was her own son. The prince was the best and mightiest prince. He grew up in no time flat. In one yeer he was strong and fast and he could jump highly on his mighty legs and had the cleverrest brain by a milliun and could make himself camoflarged cammoflarjed invisible like a magic ninja.

  Except there was no Kingdomland or palase or servants bringing him crowns and polished sandwitches because the wurld was ended. The prince spent his hole life on a farty little island on the Edge of the End of the Wurld. His howse was not even a bit like a palase. It was small and had no thrones and all the prince had to eat was vegetabuls that tasted of burp. And he didn’t get to see anything for real, only in the stories Buttercup toled him.

  Then the prince thort what is the End of the Wurld like? So then he said to Buttercup please can I go and see what the End of the Wurld is like but Buttercup said NO! DON’T EVER EVER go to the End of the Wurld! It is all SCORTCHED EARTH and BLACKUNED SKYS and CATASTROFEE! She said it in that voice she only uses when she talks about the End of the Wurld. So the prince couldn’t go and see what the End of the Wurld was like.

  Which means he definitly can’t tell Buttercup when he does.

  I don’t know what happens next. But I’ll tell you when I get there.

  The Island on the Edge of the End of the World

  Frog replaced his quill pen in the inkpot. “Now for Chapter Two.”

  “What are you writing, Frog?”

  Frog slammed his book shut. He turned to see Buttercup’s head poking round the door. She looked nothing like Frog. She did not share his bright, mottled green skin or his bulbous yellow eyes. She had ears and a nose – which Frog lacked – and long, brown hair, while Frog had not a single hair on his head. In fact, Buttercup looked decidedly human – there wasn’t a hint of anything amphibian about her. But then Buttercup had not hatched from a golden egg.

  “I’m – uh – I’m just writing down our story,” replied Frog. “About the golden egg and the mighty prince.”

  “It’s most royal of you to practise your quill-craft,” she said, “but it’s past both our bedtimes and we have a big day tomorrow: the flower needs watering, the potato needs picking, the clouds need counting…”

  “We did all that yesterday – and the day before,” huffed Frog.

  “We could always practise your camouflage,” Buttercup suggested.

  “What do I have to hide from? There’s no one here but us,” said Frog, unleashing a loud and deliberate sigh. He hopped down from his chair and into bed.

  “So, what story would you like?” said Buttercup, as she tucked him in. “I could tell you about the time I rode the Queen’s newnicorns? Or the time the King out-farted the imp-O-lights? Or when the sunbirds gave the Queen a ray of light for her birthday?” She glanced at Frog’s story. “Or about the golden egg that hatched a mighty prince…”

  “You could tell me about the End of the World,” Frog said.

  “Again? There’s nothing more to tell,” Buttercup sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Scorched earth … blackened skies … catastrophe.”

  “Catastrophe,” repeated Frog, in a reverie. “Does anyone live there?”

  “Of course not,” sighed Buttercup. “How could anyone live at the End of the World?”

  “I don’t know, it’s just – I’m a prince,” said Frog. “Do I really have to stay on this island forever? It feels like I’m meant for something more … princely.”

  Buttercup stiffened. She took a deep breath and looked at her feet. By the time she looked up she had put on a smile. “What did you dream last night? Do you remember?” she asked.

  Frog remembered his not uncommon dream immediately. “I was in the sky, higher than everything, higher than the stars, looking down on the world,” he replied.

  “Did it feel real?” she asked. Frog nodded. “So, can you fly higher than the stars?”

  “No, but—”

  “No. Just because you feel something doesn’t make it real,” said Buttercup quickly. “You were destined to be a great ruler, Frog – I’m sure you would have been. But that world is gone. The World has Ended. We and this island are all that is left. I brought you here and built you a home and kept you safe. It’s just you and me, forever and ever.”

  “I know, but … forever is ages,” huffed Frog.

  Buttercup let out a chuckle. “You’re a good boy, Frog,” she said, kissing him on the head.

  Frog knew what she would say as she put out the lamp – she had said the same thing every night since he’d hatched from his golden egg.

  “Sleep well, Royal Majesty, Lord of all Kingdoms, Rightful Ruler of the World … Prince Frog.”

  The Storm

  Two hours passed before Frog was sure Buttercup was asleep.

  “Stay here forever? Pfff – not this prince,” he whispered. He reached under his bed and pulled out a wooden box. From it he took all he would need on his journey to the End of the World: one pair of catastrophe pants.

  Catastrophe Pants

  Made of the most excellent best mat
ereals EVER, CATASTROPHE PANTS combine princely fashun with apocalips-busting usability. With a pair of CATASTROPHE PANTS you get to say “no” to no-frills – you’ll look stylish and sofisticated even when you’re up to your nees in the End of the Wurld. CATASTROPHE PANTS…

  For the prince on the move!

  Following a moment’s proud inspection, Frog put them on. They were an odd patchwork of mismatched, sewn-together materials. Not for the first time, Frog admired his reflection in the mirror.

  “Looking good, Your Majesty,” he said, puffing out his chest. Despite being little over a year old, Frog looked more like a boy of ten – though definitely a lot greener. His huge, yellow eyes blinked back at him and his broad smile spread across his entire face.

  Time to address my loyal subjects, he thought. He turned to his table, upon which sat a crudely stitched teddy bear, a stuffed sock-snake with buttons for eyes and a rock with a face drawn on it. Frog cleared his throat and placed his hand on his heart.

  “Goodly loyal citizens, the time has come for your prince to answer the call of destiny,” began Frog. “The day is upon us – the day that I embark upon my royal adventure. I must brave the scorched earth and the blackened skies and the catastrophe … and see what the End of the World is like. But fear not, I shall return! And I’ll bring you back something nice.”

  He waited a moment, imagining rapturous applause (since his “loyal subjects” remained unmoved). Then he returned to his bed and drew a short, gnarled stick from under his pillow.

  “Basil Rathbone,” he said. “No adventure to the End of the World would be complete without a mighty sword – and you are my most first-rate and unbreakable of top weapons. You will never leave my side …not even when I need a wee.”

  Frog slipped the stick into his belt and crept out of his room. On the way out of the house he put his head round the door to Buttercup’s bedroom. She slept as soundly as ever – snoring like a drain. Frog tiptoed to the back door and opened it. The moon was a curved notch of light, whittled out of the black sky. He opened the back door. The Inbetween shimmered silver in the moonlight. This great expanse of water was all that lay between him and the End of the World.

  Frog had only just stepped out of the door when he felt a familiar tingle in his long, webbed toes. He looked down and wiggled them. It could mean only one thing.

  Frog glanced up at the sky. “Not now,” he groaned. “The toes knows…”

  Thunder clapped in the sky so loudly that he felt his teeth shake. The next moment, it was as if an ocean tumbled from the sky – rain fell in a great, heavy torrent and lightning struck the ground only a few paces from the house.

  Frog looked back to check that the noise had not woken Buttercup … but it seemed she really could sleep through anything. “The storm is the End of the World trying to reach us,” Buttercup would tell him. But this was no time for Frog to shy away from his destiny – the rightful ruler of the world wasn’t about to spend his whole life on a farty little island.

  Frog took a deep breath and stepped out into the storm. He was immediately drenched from head to toe. He hurried round the back of the house, dodging the lightning bolts that forked down from the sky and battered the ground. He raced across the burp-smelling vegetable patch and down to the end of the garden. From under the largest and bushiest bush in the garden, he retrieved his Raft of Ideas. The raft was no more than five crudely bound logs with a makeshift sail, but Frog had spent weeks building it in secret and couldn’t have been happier with the result.

  “Yoiks!” Frog cried as a bolt of lightning lit up the ground only paces away. “Time to go!”

  He dragged the raft to the edge of the Inbetween. The dark waters crashed against the shore as if trying to turn him back. Undeterred, Frog pulled the raft on to the water with an almighty heave and clambered on.

  The raft was quickly buffeted across the water. After a few moments Frog looked back at the shrinking island, lightning striking its only tree.

  “Just you and me now, Basil Rathbone,” he said, holding his stick aloft. “Onward, to the End of the World! The adventure begins!”

  The Inbetween

  “The … adventure … is so … boooring!”

  The raft had been floating serenely across the Inbetween for hours. The storm had long since passed and taken the night with it – the light of dawn illuminated the silvery stillness, stretching in all directions.

  “Stupid Inbetween goes on forever!” continued Frog with a shrug. “We must be getting close to the End of the World by now; I thought at least things might be getting a bit choppy or bumpy or EXPLOOM! KA-FLAME! Where’s the scorched earth? The blackened skies? Catastrophe?”

  A breeze tugged lazily at the raft’s sail and a whistle fish bobbed to the surface. It whistled a gleeful “wheet!” and then bobbed back under the water.

  Frog called after it. “Hey! Which way to the End of the… Wuh?”

  Something on the horizon caught his eye. A wave had began to swell as it moved slowly towards the raft…

  “This is it! An apocalyptic tidal wave, the likes of which no one has ever seen!” he cried. “The first sure sign of the End of the World! Brace for impact!”

  But the wave remained decidedly un-tidal and the raft bobbed gently as it passed harmlessly beneath them.

  “What the … what? What does a prince have to do to get a little End of the World around here?” growled Frog. “I might as well have stayed on the island if all I was going to see was— Wait … what’s that?”

  Frog got to his feet as he looked out over the Inbetween. A thick, grey wall swept across the water towards him. “OK, this time! The End of the World approaches! The Clouds of Catastrophe! Only the mightiest prince can possibly withstand its apocalyptic power!”

  The wall of grey engulfed him – a damp cloud of harmless fog.

  “Oh, come on! What’s catastrophic about fog? I get fog at home!” Frog wailed as he sailed blindly through the gentle waves. “Did I not mention I’m the Prince of Everything? I want the End of the World and I want it right—”

  The Raft of Ideas disappeared from under him. Frog screamed – but then he fell so far that he had to take a breath in the middle.

  The Waterfall in the Sky

  It took Frog a moment to remember how to breathe underwater. He was no longer in the calm waters of the Inbetween; a strong current was pulling him along and he could see banks of grass and hookweeds on either side of him – and below him a bed of sand. By the time he realized he must be in a river he was surrounded by whistle fish, darting around his head, gleefully wheet!-ing in the hope that he would play with them.

  Frog let himself sink until he felt the ground beneath his feet. He pushed hard with his mighty legs and launched himself upwards, scattering the fish and darting back towards the surface. He burst out of the water and scrambled on to the bank, spitting out a mouthful of water and a whistle fish that he’d accidentally swallowed.

  “What the … what?” Frog blurted. He rolled on to his back and peered upwards.

  Water tumbled from a bright morning sky. It was a vast, roaring, vertical river, flowing in a torrent from nowhere – through the clouds and down for what looked like miles. Finally, it met with an unfeasibly high cliff and crashed into the base of a wide river. Frog was sitting on the river’s bank, wet through.

  “I must have fallen forever,” he whispered, sitting up. A few logs bobbed past him in the river and he spotted his sail, tangled round a rock – all that remained of his Raft of Ideas.

  Frog leaped to his feet and counted his fingers and toes (a princely four on each hand and foot). Then he made sure that his trusty stick was still in his belt and checked his catastrophe pants for signs of catastrophe.

  “Not a scratch…” he noted. “Ha! Forever isn’t so far to fall. Call yourself catastrophic? Call yourself the End … of the… Wuh?”

  Frog looked around. The sky was a rich blue, and a fine spray of water from the falls created a sparkling ra
inbow in the air. Ahead of him, the shallow river shimmered with light and life and shoals of whistle fish, larger and more colourful than he had ever seen in the Inbetween, dancing out of the water as they dodged the hookweeds’ flailing tendrils. Behind him, Frog saw lush forest, as green as his own skin and aching with fresh, dewy life. And beyond that, soft, rolling hills, tall trees and vast, snow-capped mountains…

  “Wait, is this the End of the World?” he said. “Where are the scorched earth and the blackened skies and such? Did I take a wrong turn? Where—”

  “Baa.”

  Frog turned, slowly.

  There was a grubby mess of wool and legs staring back at him.

  “Baa.”

  The Sheep

  Buttercup had told so many stories of Kingdomland – painted so many pictures in Frog’s mind of the world that had existed before the End of the World – that the woolly white creature that stared up at him seemed almost familiar.

  “You’re a sheep,” he said.

  “Baa,” replied the sheep.

  “An actual sheep.”

  “Baa,” replied the sheep.

  “Except … you can’t be,” Frog added. “I know there are no sheep at the End of the World; I know there aren’t any anythings at the End of the World. And a prince knows what a prince knows. It is the second rule of princeliness:

  The Rules of Princeliness

  1. The Prince is Mightier than the Sord. He is also mightier than everything else, including giants

  2. A Prince Knows what a Prince Knows. None shall queschun the wisdum of a prince. (Except Buttercup. She can tell him to tidey his room or go to bed or do his chors or finish his vejetables and no I don’t care that it tastes like burp just eat it it’s good for you)