The Legend of Frog

by Guy Bass

  3. Princes are good because goodness is princely

  4. Princes must allways make the rite choice

  5. Princes are green

  “So, if there are no anythings at the End of the World, then you must be a figment of my— Hey!”

  Frog looked down. The sheep had started to chew the stick on his belt.

  “Stop that!” exclaimed Frog. “You do not nibble on the mightiest, most first-rate unbreakable sword in the world!”

  “Baa?”

  “That’s all right, you weren’t to know – you’ve probably never seen a top royal sword before. You’ve probably never even seen a proper prince before,” Frog mused. He tugged up his catastrophe pants and puffed out his chest. “Well, look upon my greenness and know that I am Your Royal Majesty, Lord of all Kingdoms, Rightful Ruler of the World … Prince Frog!”

  The sheep stared at Frog through blank eyes.

  “Behold my mighty jumping legs!” Frog cried, showing off a skinny thigh.

  The sheep continued to stare.

  “Observe my princely power!” Frog continued, triggering his camouflage. The next moment, he seemed to disappear in front of the sheep’s eyes. (Except for his catastrophe pants, which remained unmistakably visible.)

  The sheep watched a spiderfly buzz round its head.

  “And feast your eyes on my most royal of complexions – I’m green!” insisted Frog, reappearing. “I’m glorious, green Prince Frog!”

  The sheep began chewing on a tuft of grass. Frog peered at it – then he looked at the teeth marks on his stick. An idea – an unimaginably significant idea – dawned upon him. He reached out a long, green finger and poked the sheep on the nose.

  “You are here, aren’t you? I mean, you’re actually, really, fully here. And if you’re here…” Frog wrinkled his brow. He looked about again – and his eyes grew wide. “No scorched earth … no blackened skies … no catastrophe! The world hasn’t ended after all!”

  “Baa,” the sheep added.

  The Not-So-Ended World

  “This is definitely going in my diary,” said Frog, shaking his fists with excitement. The sheep cocked its head to the side. “Don’t you get it, sheep? The world hasn’t ended! Imagine the looks on people’s faces when they realize their mighty Prince is all alive and well and ready to claim his rightful throne! I’ve got to tell Buttercup – she thinks it’s scorched earth and so on. How do I get back up the waterfall in the sky?”

  The sheep looked away, searching for grass to graze upon.

  “I probably just need a magic talisman or something to get me up there; Buttercup said the un-ended world was bursting with magic business – the King and Queen even had their own skilled-up wizard.” Frog looked up at the waterfall. “Unless – wait … unless I claim my throne first and then send my loyal subjects to go and get Buttercup… They could collect her in my most excellent royal raft. Then she’d arrive at the royal palace to see me on my throne all crowned up and princely looking!”

  Frog turned back to the sheep, which chewed on a thick clump of grass.

  “You know, sheep, I could do with a guide to show me. Giddy! Giddy!” repeated Frog, kicking the sheep again. And again.

  “Giddygiddygiddygiddygiddygiddygid dygiddygiddygiddygiddygiddygiddy!”

  There was a pause in the proceedings while Frog pushed out a grumbling sigh. “Why aren’t you giddying?”

  “Baa,” said the sheep.

  “Hmm … you’re probably intimidated by how extra princely I am,” he mused, hopping off the sheep. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll be proper skilled up and steed-looking by the time we get to the palace. This way!”

  Frog raced down the riverbank like an excited toddler. The sheep swallowed the bit of grass it was chewing and trotted after him.

  Frog and his trusty steed, Sheriff Explosion (Frog had named his sheep to make it sound more impressive), made their way assuredly towards the palace. After all, how could a prince not find his way to his own palace?

  The Not-So-Ended World was an almost unimaginably vivid and sprawling landscape, and Frog found himself unprepared for its majesty. The world was drenched in colours, textures, sounds and smells – an irresistible feast for Frog’s keen senses. One moment, he was clambering through a dew-dropped forest, thick with the scent of pine and flowers – the next he found himself wandering through an arid desert, watching vulture-crabs fight noisily over bones. In the morning he crossed a rickety bridge over a vast lake of belching, purplish ooze – but by the afternoon he was striding atop a great mountainous gorge, a warm, golden-hued breeze settling on his skin in an aura of light as he stared down at swooping sunbirds.

  “It’s amazing,” Frog replied, his eyes glistening with tears. “It’s so much better than the island. Seven times more … or maybe a million. And it’s all mine.”

  The Rarewolf

  Frog and Sheriff Explosion clambered across a sea of smooth, weather-hewn rocks, covered in a shifting kaleidoscope of brightly coloured moss. They had been walking all day – the sun was beginning to dip behind the horizon.

  Frog suddenly stopped. He looked down at his itching toes and gave them a wiggle. It was the same feeling he always got moments before the storm hammered the island. He stared up into the cloudless sky.

  “Here comes the storm, Sheriff Explosion,” he exclaimed. “My toes knows!”

  “Baa?” the sheep bleated.

  An ocean of water immediately fell from the sky. Frog watched lightning strike the ground in front of them. The sheep panicked and ran for the cover of a nearby outcropping.

  “Don’t worry, Sheriff – turns out it’s not the End of the World,” said Frog, retrieving his trusty steed. “At least, I’m pretty sure it’s not. Come on.”

  Frog dragged Sheriff Explosion through the storm, impatient to continue to the palace, wherever it may be. They made their way down a deep ravine overlooked by tree-sprouting crags on either side. Then, in the distance, Frog saw the shape of a huge, unmoving creature. As lightning struck the ground behind it, the beast was silhouetted against the dwindling light of dusk.

  “What is that?”

  The great, grey beast took a few steps forward. It was a wolf – or as close to a wolf as any description Buttercup had given. It had four legs, thick, grey fur and a long, stern face … but this beast was huge – bigger than any animal he had ever imagined. Frog barely came up to its underbelly.

  As he stepped closer, Frog realized that the giant wolf’s fur was dry – the raindrops did not touch it as they fell.

  “Hello!” Frog cried. “Look upon my greenness and know that I am Your Royal Majesty, Lord of all Kingdoms, Rightful Ruler of the World – Prince Frog!”

  He strode towards the creature and did not stop until he could feel the giant wolf’s hot breath on his face. Its piercing, plate-sized eyes examined him with knee-weakening intensity. An impressed grin spread across Frog’s face.

  “Buttercup said that the King and Queen of Everything ride newnicorns,” continued Frog, wiping the rain from his eyes. “That’s basically just a horse with a horn… Think how mighty and excellent I’d look turning up to the royal palace riding you.”

  The wolf grunted – a low, guttural growl – and then spoke.

  “I have been waiting for you,” it said, its rumbling voice echoing down the ravine.

  “You can talk! Great!” cried Frog. “Buttercup says that means you’re either a person or a gobbin or an unfairy … or maybe the Lord of All Newnicorns.”

  The creature growled so loudly that Frog was blown back a step.

  “I am a rarewolf,” it said. “I am the last of the rarewolves.”

  “A one-off, eh? That makes you an even better royal steed,” Frog replied.

  The rarewolf growled again, baring a set of intimidatingly sharp teeth. “Did you really imagine you could leave the island without me noticing?” it said. “I know all the secrets of this—”

  “Except … I already hav
e a royal steed,” Frog interrupted. He pointed to his sheep, which shivered in the driving rain. “I know he’s not much to look at – and he’s not really got the hang of royal steeding yet – but it would be un-princely to go back on my word. I know you must be disappointed…”

  “Turn back,” the rarewolf snarled. “Return to the island – or suffer the consequences.”

  “Go back to the island? Not a pant’s chance! I just got here,” replied Frog. “Anyway, there’s a shined-up throne and a bunch of loyal subjects waiting for me. D’you know the way to the royal palace?”

  “Do not defy me!” The rarewolf lunged forward, teeth bared, mouth open. “I am a rarewolf! Guardian of the land! Lord of the storm!”

  With that, thunder clapped in the sky and a lightning bolt struck the ground a few paces from where Frog was standing.

  “Wait, are you doing this weather? That’s pretty skilled-up magic,” said an impressed Frog. “Hey, do you make all the storms? Did you make the ones on the island? Could you work some of that for when I arrive at the castle? For a proper dramatic entrance, I mean – KA-FLASH! FWA-THUNDER! Here comes Prince Frog!”

  “I could just eat you,” the rarewolf said. “Swallow you whole and be done with it.”

  “Pfff – eat a mighty prince? Good luck with that,” scoffed Frog, taking his stick from his belt and waving it around. “I’d hand you your tail in three seconds flat. I’d bring so much defeat to your door that you’d have to move house!”

  “You…” began the rarewolf, its teeth bared. After a moment it snorted loudly and turned away. “You cannot imagine the trouble you have caused.”

  “Trouble? You must have me confused with someone else – I’ve been stuck on a farty little island my whole life – it’s hard to get into trouble when all you can do is count clouds,” said Frog. “Well, not any more – it’s all big, wide world from now on. I’m destined for greatness!”

  “Destined…” repeated the rarewolf. It sighed and stared upwards. Within seconds the rain had stopped and the clouds began to part. “My brothers and sisters were right – no matter what I do, the prophecy unfolds.”

  “What prophecy?” asked Frog.

  The rarewolf stared at him. “Sit down, child,” he said, gesturing to a large rock next to him.

  Frog rubbed his chin. “OK, but no funny business – I don’t want to use up any of my mightiness before I get to the palace,” he said, taking a seat. He slapped his hands on his knees. “So, are you going to tell me a story?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” the rarewolf replied. “It is the story of the End of the World.”

  The Prophecy

  “The End of the World?” repeated Frog. “I already know this one! You don’t need to worry – the world’s not even ended. You know how I know? ’Cause there’s stuff and things everywhere – look!”

  The rarewolf sat slowly back on its haunches and looked up into the darkening sky. “Do you know, I have been waiting for this moment – waiting for you – for a thousand years.”

  “A thousand?” repeated Frog with a grin. “I must be the most important prince ever.”

  The rarewolf managed an amused snort. “We rarewolves were the first creatures, born in the first moments of the world,” the rarewolf continued. “We were the guardians of the land and, in return, the land gave up its secrets to us – secrets of the past and the future. At first we thought it was a gift, but believe me, it is a great burden to know what is coming.”

  “Pfff – if I’d known the world was still here I’d have left that island a yonk ago,” replied Frog. “I’d have been doing royal business left, right and centre. Just you wait till I get to the—”

  “Then the day came when we foresaw the End of the World,” added the rarewolf insistently. “A prophecy of doom. Scorched earth … blackened skies—”

  “Catastrophe!” interrupted Frog. “That’s just what Buttercup said – she must have heard the same thing. She’s going to feel like a burpy turnip when she finds out it’s all still here.” Frog looked back to Sheriff Explosion, waiting nervously behind a shrub. He gave the sheep a wink, drummed his fingers on his knees and went to get up. “Speaking of which, I have a throne to sit on, so…”

  “The other rarewolves begged me not to interfere – they said that it would only lead to more destruction – but I had to do something,” the rarewolf continued. “I went against their wishes and in doing so … I doomed them all.”

  “What did you do?” asked Frog, his interest suddenly piqued by talk of destruction and doom.

  “I tried to save us! Am I not a guardian? What else could I do? It is not easy to leave the fate of the world to someone else,” replied the rarewolf. It stared out across the ravine and watched the sun dip behind the horizon. “Others will try and decide your fate, Frog. But you must choose for yourself … you must choose your own destiny.”

  “Wait, is that what this is about?” tutted Frog. “I know what my destiny holds. I’m going to find the royal palace and then it’s all crowns and loyal subjects and polished sandwiches forever! Now are you going to point me to the royal palace or not?”

  “Destiny, Frog … the fate of the world,” the rarewolf repeated, slowly and firmly. “It is in your hands.”

  “Which is why I’m trying to get to the palace,” sighed an impatient Frog. “Destiny fulfilling is top of my to-do list…”

  The rarewolf let out a long, resigned grumble. It pointed its great head to the sunset.

  “A day’s walk in that direction.”

  “Really? Great! Ho, Sheriff Explosion!” said Frog. He barged past the rarewolf and his sheep hurried nervously after him.

  “Listen for the thunder… Look for the lightning!” the rarewolf called after them. “I will help you, if I can … but first you must choose.”

  “Thunder, lightning – got it!” called Frog, but in truth he was barely listening. He was one day away from the palace… One day away from his destiny.

  The Palace

  “Yesly, Yer Majesty…! What’s biddings, Majesty…? Sandwiches, Majest—uh?”

  Frog sat up with a start, princely dreams bouncing round in his brain. For a moment he thought he was back in his bedroom on the island. He could hear Buttercup singing in the garden and smell the burp of the vegetable patch wafting through his window. Then the loud buzz of a passing bumbleflea shook him back to reality. He rubbed his eyes.

  The cave in which he and his sheep had slept overnight was warm and clammy. The walls were coated in a gooey film of luminous nectar that bathed the cave in a soft, blue light. Excitement fluttered in Frog’s belly. He wondered what Buttercup would think if she could see him now – here, in the Not-So-Ended World – and how happy she would be when she finally saw him on his rightful throne.

  “Sheriff Explosion?” Frog said, looking around. He got up and stepped out into the morning light. “Sheriff? Where are you?”

  The sun was breaking through the clouds and shining down on to a wide, fertile valley. Above, a great mountain stretched up into the sky, obscured by clouds at the top. Frog squinted in the sunlight and spotted his trusty steed at the foot of the mountain.

  “Sheriff! Come back!” he cried. He raced after the sheep, crossing the valley in a few mighty leaps. Sheriff Explosion was gazing upwards as it chewed lazily on a mouthful of apple-green grass.

  “You can’t just run off like that, Sheriff – a prince and his trusty steed have to stick together, no matter what,” said Frog. “What if that stupid rarewolf started thundering and lightning-ing all over the place? You could be— What are you staring at?”

  Frog looked up and his wide eyes grew even wider. “The palace… My palace!”

  The clouds parted as if by royal command and bright sunshine streamed down upon the palace. It was magnificent. The imperial citadel stood proudly, as if it had sprouted from the top of the mountain like a majestic tree. Its walls were of a gleaming, pearl-white stone and a dozen lofty towers jutted into the sky,
shimmering brightly.

  “It’s even better than Buttercup described,” Frog whispered, a smile spreading across his green face. “It’s incredible … it’s magical … it’s good to be home.”

  “Baa,” said Sheriff Explosion.

  “You said it. Let’s go, mighty royal steed! Make with the giddying!” Frog cried, leaping on to the sheep.

  Sheriff Explosion did not move.

  “Fine,” sighed Frog, hopping off, “but I’m giving you some proper royal steeding lessons once we get to the palace.”

  The climb to the palace was long and gruelling – and eventually Frog grew tired of coaxing or dragging Sheriff Explosion up the mountain. He hauled the sheep on to his back and began leaping up the mountain in great, long hops.

  As soon as he reached the top, Frog spotted the majestically tall palace gates and sped towards them. He crossed a wide bridge, stretching out across a huge, dark chasm so deep that Frog could not see the bottom. By the time he reached the gates, Frog was breathless. He put Sheriff Explosion down, panting heavily, as two sentries in impractically cumbersome armour clunked and clanked in front of his path, crossing their spears.

  “Halt!” cried one of the sentries. “Oh, you have.”

  “The wait … is over!” gasped Frog. “I am he … His Royal Majesty, Lord of all Kingdoms, Rightful Ruler … of the World … Prince Frog!”

  The sentries turned to each other.

  “What is it – some sort of moss-gobbin?” asked one.

  “Could be a bog urchin,” said the other.

  “Would you just let me in?” continued Frog. “Don’t you know a prince when you see one?”

  “None may enter the palace of Kingdomland!” roared the sentries. One added, “Except by royal invitation of His Kingliness the King and Her Queenliness the Queen! Or unless they’ve brought another newnicorn for the princess.”