by Jeffrey Hall
Wish and Moso watched it go, more distracted by the sight of it than the abundance of creatures that flittered about right before them. When they could no longer see it they finally broke free of their trance.
You think we’re the first ones here?
Wish surveyed the ruins rising from the middle of the pond. They looked empty save for the countless frogs that perched and croaked along their ledges. He paced the pond’s edge, batting away a large pink buzzing beetle that flittered in front of his face as he strived for a better view. He almost turned away, satisfied that they were alone, but stopped as he saw a piece of wooden debris floating amongst the milk.
He would have called it just that, another piece of the broken forest fallen into the spoiled liquid, if not for the shape of it. It was a cluster of limbs tied together by vines. An improvised raft, similar to the ones he and Moso had crafted many times before when dealing with the many waterways that crisscrossed the surrounding jungle of Fangmora.
“Looks like we’re late.”
Moso squinted, batted away a few of the flies hovering about his face, and saw the raft. You think that belongs to the other jungle-diver?
Wish pulled the bug net tighter around his skin. “You think we could make something similar?”
You want to make the old boot boat special? signed Moso. It was a name given to the rafts because of the materials they used, things they found kicking about their feet.
Wish nodded.
Moso tightened the nets around him. He reluctantly spoke. Fine, but I’m staying put and covering our teekas. You can go splashing about the milk.
Wish raised his eyebrows, never knowing the Chassa to refrain from an adventure. “What for?”
I’d rather not have a horde of botamancers sneak up our backsides, nor do my ribs equate to safe swimming. Besides, I hate milk.
“Really?” said Wish, already scrounging the ground for loose debris to make the raft.
It spoils too quick. Why put something so weak into your bones? I prefer rum. It lasts forever.
Together they hastily put together the raft, brushing aside the constant barrage of bugs that swarmed in front of their faces, occasionally cursing when one of them found a way beneath their nets and bit. Soon after they put the boot boat into the milk pond, where it floated upon its surface, a misplaced lilypad without a flower. Wish climbed aboard, steadying himself with the help of a makeshift paddle made from a downed frond found within the nearby forest.
Remember, if you start to drown just drink your way out.
Wish pushed himself away from the shore. The milk below him gurgled as small curd divided in the wake of his paddle.
“Yell if there’s trouble.”
Do you really think you’ll hear me? If there’s trouble, perhaps then I’ll have a reason to dive in.
Wish nodded, not expecting anything else. Slowly he paddled his way towards the ruins. Occasionally frogs would pop their heads up from the white depths of the pond, their colorful and metallic scales gleaming like curious, unblinking eyes as the milk slipped from their skins. Some even hopped aboard his raft, mistaking it for a perch they could hunt from or as a way to achieve relief from the milk.The smell did not cease. Though he had become accustomed to the sour stench, it did not make it any easier to stomach. It invaded him, occupying his mind, making his innards roil with revulsion. He tried to push it aside and concentrate, but it was impossible to do.
Find the fourth box and you’ll be out of here in no time, he told himself, and he was able to bear it a little longer.
Finally he made it to the ruins and docked his raft on one of the larger blocks of stone leading towards the center construction. The stone itself was sticky and covered in a barely visible fuzz, as if it were fledgling beast still growing its first coat of fur. He ran his fingers over it. It seemed to be a fungus or a moss that used the constant dampness of the milk to flourish. He looked back and saw Moso along the pond’s edge, furiously batting away insects.
Hurry the fuck up, he signed angrily beneath his nets.
Wish swallowed the urge to sign a rude gesture back at him and returned to the task at hand. He climbed the ruins, nudging aside the dozens of fat frogs that called the stones their home, all angrily croaking at him as they slipped back into the milk or waddled out of his way. He made it to the stone where the other boot boat had been tied up.
Through the frogs and the curtain of bugs swarming about his feet he was able to see slight depressions in the fuzzy growths of the ruins.
Footprints.
He followed them with his eyes and saw that they led along a path into the center of the old stones, climbing the toppled ruins as if they were steps made for a giant.
Wish followed them, having to push aside an old, yellow-eyed bullfrog to crest the top.
A hole waited for him there, a vertical shaft in the center stone like something big had burrowed through the rock centuries ago and time did not have the tools to fill it. A rudimentary ladder had been carved into its side. Wish could tell by the fuzz that grew along the indents that it too had been there for a while.
Croaks emanated from the shadows. Perhaps it was only the shape of the tunnel and the way noise traveled within it, but they sounded larger than anything he’d heard before, as if the frogs down there were kings and were letting the other lesser creatures that surrounded them know who ruled.
He glanced once more back at Moso, and thanks to the volume of the buzzing nearby, needed to make a gesture that he was going inside.
Moso’s tail flickered, I’ll be waiting.
He nodded, took one more glimpse at the surrounding forest, and started his decent. Darkness took him. The light of the great fire above could do little to follow him so deeply into the ground. Though the stench of the milk pool still lingered heavily down in the tunnel, a new smell of dankness and mildew came stronger. It was only thanks to the phosphorescent snails that littered the ground that he was able to see when the ladder ended at all. A corridor awaited him.
Its ceiling hung low, and he had to bend slightly to prevent his head from hitting it. The snails inched lazily along the walls, leaving green, glowing traces that faded the further their trail went. It made it seem like the tunnel was alive and pulsating with veins of life.
Small frogs lined the corridor’s path, things only as large as his thumb with backs the color of gold and silver and bright blue, all frogs he knew from the jungle, but had never seen living together in such close quarters. They all shuffled to the side and peeped as he advanced, like commoners parting ways for a ruler. But they were not the culprits of the loud booming croaks. Those came from still further within the tunnel.
He went deeper.
Soon the peeps and croaks were replaced by a murmur. A few steps further and he heard a familiar voice echoing from further down.
“Which ones could they be?” Rive’s whispers found him at a bend in the tunnel. “What would happen if I were to guess wrong?”
Either the jungle-diver had an accomplice or he was madder than he originally looked. Wish crept forward, putting his hand on his machete out of habit, and saw the end of the tunnel.
A chamber grew out from the corridor, exchanging its cramped architecture for a large room made of stone. White dribbles of milk flowed through some of the cracks, pooling upon the earthen ground. A cluster of blue moths frolicked near a lone white plant that grew from one of the cracks. At the room’s center was Rive.
The jungle-diver stood with his arms crossed. Blood matted his fur, no doubt from injures he had sustained in his escape from the botamancer’s attack at Boz’s shop. He had not bothered to clean himself or bandage the wounds, probably in too much of a hurry to stay one step ahead of the Limbs just like Wish and Moso were. A small sack squirmed at the side of his belt, as if he held something live within it.
But Wish’s attention was quickly taken away from him in favor of who he directed his questions to.
A plant, if that’s what one
could call it, grew out from the stone walls, its stalks coiling over one another, bending and stretching to form a skeleton of green. Wish squinted with disgust and horror. There were its ribs, a collection of leaves bending back in towards the long, main stalk that was its spine. There were its legs, two thin roots burrowing into the floor bending inwards halfway down like crooked knees, its feet tangling together to form a nest. And there was its head, a tired looking flower with two limp pistils like eyes, its purple petals like withered flesh sagging on its face, with other, whiter pistils flowing off its top like hair. But worst of all were its arms, four long, winding stalks stretching out into leafy cradles, beds of vegetation that held four of the largest and strangest frogs he had ever seen.
They were mounds of black flesh, with golden eyes that shone brilliantly despite the darkness. Their uncontainable girth expanded into warty protrusions on their backs and sides like bubbles on the brink of bursting. When their throats swelled they filled with the same golden light as their eyes, a clever ploy no doubt used to attract the millions of meal-worthy things that found their way into the tunnel.
One of the frogs belched a tremendous croak, and the snails crawling overhead retracted into their shells. It only made Rive’s smile widen. “Yes, yes, you are hungry, I know. But what to feed you, my fat little children?”
Wish shifted within the tunnel, holding his machete tighter, preparing to show himself to Rive, but four pairs of golden eyes turned towards him along with the pistils of the old looking plant.
Rive turned to follow their gaze, his arms never unfolding, his eyes falling upon Wish unsurprised, as if he’d always known that he would arrive.
“Ah, Djinn. I should have known you would pop out of thin air like that.” He snapped his fingers and it made all four of the giant frogs twitch. “You are more resourceful than I would have guessed to be able to find your way out from a nest of botamancers. Though it looks as though you’ve taken their vines with you with all those nets you’ve thrown over yourself.”
Rive’s attentions fell upon Wish’s machete and his hand that lingered there.
“Planning on planting that in my back? I thought we had come to an agreement.”
Wish dropped his grip from his weapon and stood fully in the chamber. “It’s just precautionary habit. I thought you might not be alone.”
“I’m not. This mother and her children have been here to keep me company for the many hours I’ve spent in this stinking place trying to figure out our friend’s riddle.”
“No luck finding the frogs?”
Rive raised the pouch alive with commotion from his belt. “I found the splatter and spider frogs easily enough. But our fine wood-whispering friend Tabari has made a deal with this plant that will feed all four of her children, I’m sure of it. Once we find the other things the riddle is requesting...”
“What else does it say?” Wish drew closer, and as he did he could see the frogs more clearly. The plant had sewn its limbs into each of the creature’s backs, tying them tightly in place so they could not escape their leaf-made cribs. Rive was right. They were a brood of made-up children, things captured or made to replace the one the plant creature had lost. Things that would never leave the plant’s side. He could see a white liquid oozing down the semi-translucent limbs. A milk meant only for the plant’s children.
“Look at them. What else could they possibly need?” said Wish, surprised the frogs could even eat anything else without bursting.
“They are greedy, spoiled little things. They may have milk, but look at them. They are not children anymore. They all need meat.”
Wish clenched his injured hand uncomfortably, wondering if the other part of the riddle would ask for a part of his body to appease the grotesque frogs before him. He swallowed and asked, “What kind of meat?”
“More frogs,” said Rive. He unrolled a parchment, cleared his throat, and read the last line of the riddle.
“A black tongue, a willy song sung...”
Wish opened his mouth to speak, but caught himself. Wish knew the frogs the riddle mentioned instantly. He’d spent enough time around the Fangmoran waterways to pick up the common terms for the creatures that often littered their edges. But could he really trust the man?
He saved your life, he told himself. If you can’t trust him, then who can you trust?
He heard his father’s voice next, begging him to take a chance and embrace other people.
Besides, what was the alternative? Fight? Spill each other’s blood over the boxes? Wish was exhausted and injured; if they were to fight he would surely lose.
Rive scratched his head, restating the last line of the riddle. “A black tongue. A willy song sung... Do you know what we’re looking for? I’ve snatched dozens of frogs and haven’t found a single one with a black tongue or that sing songs I would call ‘willy.’”
“She’s referring to a silver-toe and a lover’s aid.”
Rive smiled. “Look at what the jungle has taught you.”
“It wasn’t the jungle. It was the fisherman that I used to take jobs from around Ilonga Lake. They used to skewer the silver-toes when they popped their heads up and flashed their black tongues out, thinking they were cursing them, but used to catch the lover’s aids. They said their song would attract a thousand females when sung.”
“So that is what is meant by willy?”
Wish nodded, already searching the tunnel for both species.
“Hmmm a strange term for something I would call a pimp.”
“Language is funny like that.”
“Can you find these devilish things?”
“I think so.”
“Allow me to help.”
The jungle-diver removed a net from one of the packs along his hip, unfurled it, and put himself beneath it.
“What?” said Rive, catching Wish staring at him. “You didn’t think I’d let this pond’s army feast upon me without a fight, did you?”
“You seem crazy enough where I thought you just might.”
Rive laughed. “Crazy, yes. Stupid? No.”
Together they backed out of the tunnel in search of the frogs. They reemerged into the infestation of insects. Back on land, Moso was still pacing the pond’s edge impatiently. Wish couldn’t blame him, though. The insects, the stench... it would infect even the most impenetrable of nerves. He clapped his hands and snapped his fingers, hoping to gain his partner’s attention over the din.
Finally Moso looked up and saw Rive standing beside Wish. Why didn’t you just kill him? his tail flashed impatiently. Beneath his nets, Wish could just make out what he was saying.
Wish shook his head.
“Ah, your partner. The infamous Moso Orini.” Rive emerged behind him. “He looks angry.”
“That’s not uncommon,” said Wish.
Hurry the fuck up, said Moso, slapping at more bugs.
“He doesn’t like waiting.”
“Then let’s not make him wait any longer, eh? I’m sure his debts are doubling as we speak.”
Rive started down the ruins.
“How do you know about his debts?” Wish followed.
“I’ve spent enough time at Lavender’s and heard enough whispers through the constant grumble of that place. Heard he is beneath water quite deeply these days. Or should I say beneath milk?”
Wish brushed the edge of the pond with his toe, hoping that the current would stir up a new frog from the milky depths. Nothing. “Was beneath water,” said Wish. “He had a run the other night, put all his debts behind him. And if we do this job, then he’ll be able to build a wall of lunars so high he’ll never be able to see the Leg Holes again.”
“Are you sure about that?” Rive knelt over the pond and snatched a frog from the milk. The thing squirmed and croaked, but Rive just squeezed, forcing the creature’s mouth open. He squeezed harder until there was a crunch. He tossed the creature’s limp body back into the milk, where it rose to the surface like a colorful error upon the pon
d’s white skin. “No black tongue.”
“What do you mean?” said Wish, still churning over what Rive had just said.
“Its tongue was pink like a flower. Not this silver-toe we seek.”
“Not about the frog. About Moso and his debts.”
Rive rose and looked out at the rest of the pond. Rive shrugged. “I do not wish to become the peeper monkey in the canopy, ratting out a jungle cat before it pounces on a mouse.”
“Speak,” said Wish.
“I was there long after you left that night we met. There was still more music to be heard, more beer to be drank. It was a raucous evening. It reminded me of times in the jungle when great migrations of creatures would converge upon a forest stream and life exploded like a maelstrom out in a place that should never have seen so much of it.”
“What about Moso?” said Wish, impatiently. His attention was no longer on the frogs or the boxes.
“I saw your partner’s luck change. I saw his celebration decline into one of inebriation and disappointment and desperation. I saw him go back to Lavender’s room, beg for lunars like a deviant, only to lose those same lunars as quickly as he came across them as the wrong beetle plucked out the eye of that poor, captured cara cat.”
Wish chewed his lower lip, still hoping that Rive had misheard or been too drunk to remember correctly. “Maybe he made it up later in the night.”
Rive shrugged. “Perhaps. I eventually retired to the jungle, where I slept like a primate beneath the highest, most comfortable limb I could find. But before I left, his debt was so high and the loans he was getting so small that I would be surprised if he could ever dig out of such a hole...”
Wish peeked over the edge of the nearest ruin to see his partner swinging one of his daggers at a beetle that hovered in front of his face. Was this new debt the reason why he had been acting strangely? Why hadn’t he told Wish? Was he too scared of his reaction? Was his debt so deep this time that there was no way he could recover it? They had faced the results of his bad bets many times together and they had always defeated it. Shouldn’t that have earned his trust, no matter how steep it may be?