by Jeffrey Hall
And if it was that bad, why hadn’t Lavender taken something else?
The questions poured into him as he stared at his partner, but Rive’s voice quickly pulled him back. “We should not dally. It is only a matter of time before those botamancers arrive and pull a tree onto our heads.”
He was right. Later, after they had the box securely in their hands, then he and Moso could have a long discussion and get to the bottom of the truth. For now, there was a job that needed to be done, and quickly. He doubted that it would take the Limbs long to dig themselves out of the mess they’d created.
He renewed his attention to the search. Wish went to the edge of the ruins and looked out across the pond. A thousand frog heads floated atop the surface. Silver-toes and lover’s aids were among them, he had no doubt, but it was difficult to tell which were which due to the glare of the great fire on the white liquid. He looked about the others that were perched upon the stone, but saw neither species. He needed to fish them out.
He climbed back aboard the boot boat, knelt, and started to use the makeshift paddle as a makeshift net, scooping out the well-fed frogs onto his boat and sorting them like he’d seen children do with stones collected from the bottom of Young Nori.
“What do they look like?” cried Rive as he continued to pluck out the frogs.
“Silver-toes have round red eyes, black skins, but feet as silver as rings. Their tongues will be black too.” Wish leaned over the edge and snatched at a black frog lurking near the surface, but when he pulled it onto his raft he could see the speckles of purple running down its back. He threw it back. “Lover’s aids have a pink belly, and have a song like they’re playing a fiddle.”
Rive’s ears perked up. “I think I can hear them over the din of this place.”
“Follow it and you’ll find one.”
Together, they pulled up dozens and dozens of brilliantly colored frogs, each croaking or singing their discontent with being disturbed from their feast. But the inconvenience didn’t last long. They threw them back and left them to resume their easy existence. Well, at least Wish did. For every frog he pulled up and let go, Rive broke one’s back and let it float to the top of the pond as if it were an offering to the bugs of that place. A chance for them to feast on the creatures that so easily feasted upon them.
The work was agonizing, not because of the tax it put on Wish’s body, but rather thanks to the constant swarm he had to contend with. Every direction he turned there was some new pack of bugs coming to investigate him, landing on his nets, impeding his vision until he would brush them away and once more return to scooping up the pond.
Sweat accumulated heavily on his brow, only attracting more curious insects. Though he had only been on the pond for minutes, it felt like hours. But at last he scooped up a new batch of six frogs and saw one stick its black inky tongue at him as if it was telling him to fuck off. He jumped on the creature, almost sending himself into the milk, but steadied himself before he did. With the frog’s two legs securely in his hands, he placed it in an empty pouch and continued to looking for the lover’s aid.
“I’ve got the silver-toe,” he said to Rive.
“And I think I have the lover’s aid.” Rive plunged his hands into the pond and plucked out a large frog with a pink belly. It squirmed angrily, peeping a noise that sounded like a song the Singer would sing on a cloudless night.
“That’s the one,” said Wish. Rive stuffed it into his pouch, and they reconvened on the ruins. They stood together without words, catching their breaths, letting the droplets of soured milk pour off their nets and limbs. As they did, Wish glanced over at Moso, whose tail flashed angrily at him.
You’ve had enough rest, he said, rolling his finger as if to indicate him to hurry.
Why are you really in such a hurry? thought Wish. Is Lavender coming for you even now?
“Come, we’ve greedy children that need to be fed,” said Rive.
They climbed back into the tunnel, a series of loud croaks bellowing up through the darkness as they did like a welcome back. They scurried along the cramped corridor only to find the plant and frogs exactly as they had left them.
“What now?” said Wish, looking over the frogs.
“Let’s let these hungry mouths feed,” said Rive.
“No, not that,” said Wish, suddenly coming to a realization. “How will we decide who gets the box?”
Rive crept towards the plant, his hand on his pouch. “My employer doesn’t care so much that the boxes are in my possession at the end, but rather that the boxes have just been found and accounted for by someone.” Rive pulled a red frog from his pouch. The splatter frog spat a dribble of red blood onto the face of one of the giant bullfrogs as if in some form of minor defense. “The box can go with you so long as you let me have its tracing so that I may help along the next one.”
Wish thought for a moment. “That seems like a fair deal. Who is your employer?”
“Confidentiality is another part of my contract.” Rive raised his eyebrows. “So a deal?”
Wish nodded. “Deal.”
Rive brought the splatter frog up to his mouth and whispered, “Excellent. I knew the jungle put you and I together for a reason. Shall we feed these starving creatures?”
“Go on,” said Wish.
Rive turned back to the bullfrogs. “Alright, my children, who’s hungry?” He dangled the splatter frog in front of the greater frogs like Wish had seen owners do with meat for pets. The greater frogs watched the morsel that swayed in the jungle-diver’s hands, shifting anxiously, croaking loudly. Rive tossed the splatter frog to the nearest one and it snatched the frog out of the air, choking it down its gullet with two chomps of its gumless mouth. It squirted the last of its blood as it was gobbled down, a fruit squeezed of its juice. He quickly took out a small spider frog and repeated the process, not letting the thing dally in his hand long enough to be affected by its poison. The second of the great bullfrogs swallowed it whole.
The two fed frogs quieted, burying their faces into their forelegs as if preparing for a nap. Behind them, the mother plant unfurled its petals, as if relieved. Some of its children were finally satisfied. She could finally rest.
“See? Well fed and happy. Well, almost.” He took out the lover’s aid next and fed the third.
Wish stepped forward, undid his pouch, and pulled out the silver-toe. The poor creature stuck out its black tongue like one final curse before he tossed it to the last of the unsettled bullfrogs.
The greater frog swallowed it down, and it too settled along with the rest of its brethren, burying its face deep in its cradle where it would sleep for only the gods knew how long and give the eternal mother her rest.
Wish and Rive watched with anticipation, waiting for something to happen. At last, the mother plant’s flower rested its petal head against the stone. Its entire stalk seemed to relax, and with it, the cluster of roots at its bottom untangled. A box lay at its bottom, one whose cover was filled with etchings of large leaves that looked like wings and thorny branches whose prickers looked like beaks.
“There she is,” said Rive, licking his lips as if he was just presented a meal. He caught Wish looking at him. “What are you waiting for? After you.”
Wish stepped forward, knelt, and lifted the box away from its nest. As he had with the others, he marveled at its craftsmanship, at how well preserved the wood was even after the years it was probably kept in such conditions. He ran his fingers over the etchings, the wood so soft it felt like skin. He carefully picked it up, relieved that he had it in his possession without trouble from botamancers or anyone else who wanted his blood. He exhaled as he stood. He went to turn, but tripped, his feet suddenly stuck to the ground. He collapsed, the box skidding from his hands as he collided with the cavern’s floor.
His eyes swam as his jaw clacked, but as they realigned he saw the culprit.
Rive lifted his axe from the cavern floor and snatched the box from Wish’s hands before he ev
en realized what had happened. He ran a finger over the spider totem etched into his axe’s side and pointed to a string of web stretching across stones like a white infection.
“I would say I’m sorry, Djinn, but you of all people know the jungle does not issue apologies.”
“You trit!” snarled Wish, trying to move his boots. The web on the ground was too strong. Despite how hard he fought he could not peel his feet away.
“Call me what you will, it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one with the box.” He flipped the box in his hand, and Wish lunged, toppling into the string of web below him, his elbow connecting with the sticky substance. He tried to move, but his nets were stuck to the ground. He tried to scurry out of them, but they quickly turned into a tangled knot amidst the web below. Soon he was wrapped in the nets. Trapped. Rive knelt to look him in the eyes. “You are far too trusting to be an agent of the jungle. Perhaps the reason the forest put me on this mission was to wash you away from it.”
Wish swiped out with his one free hand, and Rive simply backed away. The Fangkind stood and swung his axe into the side of the tunnel. A piece of old stone shifted, letting in a dribble of milk.
“You dokaless hoatzin!” shouted Wish as the milk began to fill in beneath him. He tried to pry his arm away, but couldn’t. He was pinned to the ground.
“Ask the jungle for your escape, Djinn. We’ll see if you really do make wishes come true.” He swung his axe again, and this time an entire piece of the wall broke. Milk flooded the tunnel. It rushed over Wish’s head like a spoiled fall, coating him in its stench as Rive hurried down the hallway, leaving him to drown beneath the milk.
Wish fought against the spray, putting up his one free hand to try to stop the thousands of gallons of milk pouring in. It did little to stop the fall. He sputtered and retched as frogs, from deep beneath the surface, came with it, flopping into the tunnel.
Wish yanked at the totemic web, his skin threatening to peel away from his body if he pulled too hard. The milk filled in around his ankles. It wouldn’t be long before the entire cavern filled with it. Wish grabbed hold of one of the stones, propped himself upright, and pushed as hard as he could. It wouldn’t budge.
And when that wouldn’t work, he unsheathed his machete and hacked away the nets. The flood of milk washed away the chopped up fabric, leaving only tendrils of it still clinging to his body, yet his arm and boots were still stuck. He scurried free of his boots and put his bare feet into the ankle-deep muck. He tried to pull away his elbow, hoping the gush of milk would easy the stickiness, but it wouldn’t budge. He had to turn his face so the horrid milk didn’t enter his mouth. With no other choice, he put his machete beneath the white liquid and pressed its tip into where his arm and the spider web met. He wiggled the blade, felt it go hot and the burning sting of it against his skin. He would have cried out, but the milk filled the corridor, and he had no choice but to hold his breath and plunge beneath its surface.
The world became white and thick. He felt things scurry by him, using his back as a platform to skitter about the new world the creatures had been sucked into. He jammed the blade further beneath his arm and pumped it like a lever. He felt it burning, he felt it loosening, all the while the milk pooled around him. At last he tore his arm away and fell back. He staggered upright, coming to stand within the chamber, the milk now up to his chest.
In the madness of it all he glimpsed the four bullfrogs and the mother plant, still and silent, relieved and content even as the pond came to swallow them.
That will not be me, he yelled inside his head as he dove down into the cramped corridor, the white liquid coming up to his neck as he knelt, an army of frogs and snails floating atop its surface alongside him like debris after a storm. He swam, pushing against the stone with his feet when the current didn’t sweep them away. The ladder was feet away but it felt like miles. Soon the milk was so high that it flirted with his mouth again.
He swallowed a deep breath, droplets of the sour spoiled substance coming with it, and plunged beneath the surface once more. He pushed forward, using his injured arm to navigate the white world he was in, every so often slapping a submerged frog as he did.
His lungs burned. The flavor lingering on his mouth was unbearable. He fought harder than he ever had in his life to reach the end of the tunnel. When at last his hand brushed the rock of the corridor’s end, he swam upright. He burst through the surface, gulping in fetid air. Croaks filled his ears. Everywhere he looked there were the colorful heads of frogs, riding the rising milk to the surface. Above their heads he saw the indentations of the ladder cut in the stone and lunged. He grabbed hold of holes and rose from the fast-rising milk.
It didn’t take long for it to catch him. Stones crumbled all around him. The milk poured in from everywhere. He had just reached the top when the pond caught up with him.
It spilled out over the edge as he perched there, taking his feet with it. He slipped and fell onto the lower stones. The slight reprieve was short lived.
Without the nets, the bugs descended upon him, savoring the opportunity to sample his salty flesh now saturated in the sickly sweet marinade of milk. He batted them away, but could do little against the swarm that came for him.
He regained his footing and dove back into the milk, the substance he’d so recently feared now his only safety. He swam forward, staying below the surface as much as he could, only coming up for a small gulp of air, giving the bugs a chance to nibble at him before going back under. He kicked and thrust, doing anything he could to get closer to the edge and remove himself from the awful substance and the creatures it brought.
At last he climbed atop the pond’s edge and sputtered, catching his breath momentarily before feeling a hundred insects land upon his skin. He gathered himself, ready to come to his feet, but the sound of hooves on the ground stopped him
Scattered along the pond’s edge were at least a dozen armored okapi, their orange, striped skin draped in thick leaf armor that looked like green spears upon their bodies. Atop of them, their riders did not look much different. Instead of nets, they wore pieces of armor crafted with red and white leaves, things that looked like broken bones, unfixed and unattended to. If it weren’t for the golden brooches upon their chests, Wish might have thought them a member of the tribes that inhabited the jungle.
The Limbs.
Pasa sat upon her okapi, glaring down at him through the slits in her armor. “You are a slippery thing, Wish Bibango. But I’m afraid our hold will be tighter this time.”
“You truly think you can get your hands on a djinn?” Wish followed the voice and found Rive there, his hands bound by a tie of vine. He did not have the box.
The now one-legged Gibbon did, the one Wish had maimed during his escape from the bulb garden. The Gibbon sat above Rive, a staff in his hands, glaring. But that was the least of his worries.
“Where is Moso?” Wish sputtered, a horde of flies landing on his cheeks. He could not find the Chassa between the hooves of the okapi, nor hiding in the anemic tree limbs. His partner was gone.
Pasa shrugged her shoulders. “Not here.”
“Gone back to save his own hide,” shouted Rive, before a botamancer kicked his throat. The jungle-diver lay on the ground, laughing.
“Worry not,” said Pasa. “We will find him too, along with Dathi and Gasini and the other boxes.” She leaned over the side of her okapi. “But first you will finish answering our questions.”
Wish saw it in her eyes. If he was taken back into their clutches, he would not escape them again.
He felt cornered. Trapped. A prey without escape, a thing he had seen countless times in the jungle. There were two choices: die or fight. The first had never been an option for him. Not when his father’s leg was broken and they’d had no way to survive other than for him to enter the jungle. Not when he’d faced the streaked one. Not when he’d stared down the eyes of a jagrall once long ago. All he had done his entire life was fight, and he wouldn
’t stop.
He planted his hands upon the spongy grass and rose. Blood, let loose from the bites of the countless bugs, and milk trickled down from him, mixing together to form dark falls over his skin. His wounds cried out, begging for him to stay down and let them heal, but he ignored them. All wounds ever did was nag. He drew his machete. It felt like he was lifting a mountain from his hip.
The botamancers looked to each other, smiles forming on some of their faces as if the whisper of his blade leaving its sheath was a joke told in the language they shared with their trees.
“What do you want to do here, Wish?” said Pasa. “Chop us all down like lumber? Look around you. An army surrounds you.” She pointed to the trees. “You are but one.”
He opened his mouth to tell her what she could do with that army, but found something else enter his brain.
I can feel your fear. It wriggles inside of you like a worm plucked from soil.
Wish’s eyes widened. He knew the voice instantly. The Red One.
You have something of ours.
Wish whirled, expecting to see the streaked one standing behind him. But only the milky pond glared back, the ruins in its center now mostly submerged. “I don’t have it anymore.”
“What?” Pasa sounded nearby, confused. But the Red One’s voice inside his head overtook any other distraction.
Then we will take it from your sinew.
Growls sounded across the pond, emanating out from the forest as if the shadows it created were angrily coming to life. The okapis stepped nervously. The botamancers exchanged worried glances and whispers. Wish searched the darkness, wondering if he was imagining the whole thing.
Rive stopped laughing. He knew what made the noise, and named them. “Streaked ones.”
I’ve been hunting you. As soon as you entered the forest, I knew, said the Red One.
“Perhaps we should go, Pasa,” said the Gibbon.