Amphibians' End Read online

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Pryce, Trevor, author.

  Amphibians’ end : a Kulipari novel / by Trevor Pryce, with Joel Naftali ; illustrated by Sanford Greene.

  pages cm

  Summary: The Spider Queen is dead, but the powerful scorpion Lord Marmoo and his fearsome army are still a threat to the Amphibilands, especially as the Rainbow Serpent has told the frogs that they must lower the veil that protects them—so the young wood frog Darel and his friends must search the Outback for answers in the quest to bring peace and water to their land.

  ISBN 978-1-4197-1648-5 (alk. paper)

  1. Frogs—Juvenile fiction. 2. Scorpions—Juvenile fiction. 3. Animals—Juvenile fiction. 4. Magic—Juvenile fiction. 5. Water—Juvenile fiction. [1. Frogs—Fiction. 2. Scorpions—Fiction. 3. Animals—Fiction. 4. Magic—Fiction. 5. Water—Fiction. 6. Fantasy.] I. Naftali, Joel, author. II. Greene, Sanford, illustrator. III. Title.

  PZ7.P9493496Am 2015

  [Fic]—dc23

  2015004203

  Text copyright © 2015 Trevor Pryce

  Illustrations copyright © 2015 Sanford Greene

  Book design by Alyssa Nasser and Sara Corbett

  Published in 2015 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact [email protected] or the address below.

  115 West 18th Street

  New York, NY 10011

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  TO ANYONE WHO’S WORKED ON THE KULIPARI SERIES IN ANY WAY. THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.

  —T.P.

  TO MY WIFE, LESLI, AND OUR SONS, MALCOLM AND MASON.

  —S.G.

  CONTENTS

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  ABOUT THE AUTHORS AND ILLUSTRATOR

  OMMANDER PIGO SKITTERED BESIDE Lord Marmoo as they trekked through the outback toward the Amphibilands. His main eyes scanned the darkness for threats, but his side eyes kept drifting toward Lord Marmoo’s face.

  Toward Lord Marmoo’s ruined face, scarred from the frog chief’s attack.

  Pigo had to admit that he almost admired the frog’s cunning. Even after the spider queen’s magic had made his lordship nearly invincible, the frog still managed to trick Lord Marmoo into swallowing the burning pepperbush.

  Now Lord Marmoo’s mouthparts were twisted, his jaw was half-melted, and two of his side eyes were a cloudy white. He looked more like a nightmare than a warrior. He seemed to be losing his mind, too, but Pigo didn’t say anything—a scorpion always obeyed his commander.

  So while Lord Marmoo ranted in the darkness, Pigo just murmured, “Yes, my lord” and “Of course, your lordship.”

  “They think they’ve won?” Lord Marmoo said now, slashing a bush with his pincers. “They haven’t won . . .”

  “No, my lord.”

  “I don’t need an army.” He gestured to the empty hillside behind him. “I am an army. I don’t need a spider to tear down the Veil. All I need is a rip large enough for me to enter . . . And that much still remains.”

  “Yes, Lord Marmoo.”

  They approached the peak of the first of the Outback Hills, and a damp breeze washed away the harsh scent of desert. Pigo’s mouth watered, and Lord Marmoo made a hungry noise in his throat.

  “Recognize this?” Lord Marmoo asked when they came to a rocky outcropping with only a few trees.

  Pigo looked at a boulder and then at the branches of a crooked tree. “This is where the spider queen wove her web.”

  “And beyond is where the frogs defeated us,” Lord Marmoo said, an edge of hatred in his voice.

  “The Kulipari are strong, Lord Marmoo. They’re a powerful enemy—”

  “They are nothing! They’re pond scum! It’s that pathetic, mud-stinking grub Darel, who’s defeated me twice now. This time, I will crush him in my pincers.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  Lord Marmoo gestured in front of them toward the moonlit hillside. “And the path is still open, the Veil is still torn. I’ll have him soon.”

  “But the frogs have been building defenses for weeks.”

  “Nothing can defend against me,” Lord Marmoo snarled.

  The faint ribbiting of sleepy frog guards sounded in the darkness, and Pigo gazed toward the sound and saw the tear in the Veil. A wide, jagged shape like a cave mouth opened among the shrubs on the hilltop, and the night seemed sharper and more vivid beyond. When Pigo looked through it, he saw moist, leafy foliage in the moonlight—as well as sharpened logs, lined up like fence posts, and tangle-vines draping across branches.

  Lord Marmoo stalked forward, through the tear and into the Amphibilands itself, and Pigo followed dutifully along. The croaking stopped when the frog guards spotted his lordship—then Lord Marmoo smashed a sharpened log in half with a swipe of one pincer.

  Frogs gasped and shouted, and a dozen dark shapes sprang at Lord Marmoo—bullfrogs in reed armor, swinging curved swords. “For the Amphibilands!” a female shouted. “For the—”

  Lord Marmoo smashed her with a pincer, then knocked the others away with swipes of his segmented tail. “Throw yourselves at me, croakers, and I’ll tear you apart! Or hide and I’ll hunt you down. Those are your only two choices.”

  “I hate to be disagreeable,” a mellow voice said in the dark night. “Especially on such a lovely evening. I mean to say, with the moon glowing and the owls hooting—”

  “Yabber!” Lord Marmoo roared. “Show yourself!”

  Torches burst into flame in the darkness, revealing Yabber, the long-necked turtle dreamcaster. He peered at Marmoo and said, “The pepperbush has left its mark. I’ll try to heal you, Marmoo, if you stop all this—”

  With a growl, Marmoo sprang toward Yabber. Tangle-vines whipped at him from the trees, entangling his legs and tail and pincers—but Marmoo simply flexed his carapace, unconcerned. A dozen tree frogs shot at him from the cover of trees, holding the other ends of the vines.

  Lord Marmoo’s stinger flicked and his pincers flashed. “You should thank me for such easy deaths! I had plans for you that aren’t so kind as my stinger.”

  “Plans change,” Yabber said, and his eyes started glowing golden.

  “No dreamcasting!” Marmoo bellowed.

 
He leaped at Yabber over a hole full of burrowing frogs, snapping the vines entwined around his legs and tail. The frogs’ spearheads sparked against Lord Marmoo’s underbelly, but couldn’t pierce his carapace as he sprang closer to the turtle.

  Yabber’s eyes suddenly glowed brighter, and the air shimmered with a rainbow sheen. A swell of power thrummed through the night and blasted Lord Marmoo backward, past Pigo. A moment later, the dreamcast explosion hit Pigo, shoving him through the tear.

  He landed on four knees, with his other legs splayed, and stood unsteadily. “M-m-my lord!” he stammered, dizzy and disoriented. “He’s fixing the Veil . . .”

  The turtle’s voice echoed from all around. “What is torn apart can be woven back together.”

  Pigo shifted all his eyes toward the turtle, but he couldn’t see him. The frogs were gone, too. Completely vanished. The pointed spikes, the dangling vines—even the scent of torch smoke was gone.

  “He did it,” Pigo gasped. “He closed the tear.”

  For a long moment, Marmoo stared into the darkness, his eyes glinting with madness. Then he spun and marched past Pigo, toward the outback. “The spiders tore the Veil once,” he snapped. “They can do it again.”

  “But Queen Jarrah is dead,” Pigo said, his voice soft. He knew better than to mention that Lord Marmoo himself had killed her.

  “So they need a new queen.” A tattered sneer spread across Marmoo’s face. “Or a king.”

  VERY FROG IN THE AMPHIBILANDS gathered at Emerald Pond for Chief Olba’s funeral. The branches of the trees bowed under the weight of tree frogs, while burrowing frogs clustered on a mossy hill and bullfrogs watched from the shallows.

  They all croaked together, a song of love and loss. Instead of standing with the wood frogs crowding the banks, Darel found himself sitting between Quoba and Burnu, their backs against the trunk of a banyan tree. To Darel’s surprise, Quoba sang slightly off-key, and Burnu had a deep, resonant singing croak.

  When the song faded, Darel asked Quoba, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” she said with a quick smile.

  He didn’t completely believe her. She’d drawn on her full power to defend the platypuses from Lord Marmoo—maybe even more than her full power—and ever since then, she’d been afraid to tap her poison. Afraid that using any more of it would burn her out completely.

  But he knew she didn’t like talking about it, so he turned to Burnu. “How about you?”

  After a taipan snake bit Burnu in a cave in the Snowy Mountains, he’d spent days weak and feverish. But now he nudged Darel and scoffed, “At my worst, I’m still better than a mud frog.”

  “At least your personality is back to normal,” Darel said.

  Burnu nudged Darel again, almost knocking him over. “Why aren’t you off somewhere, tearing down the Veil?”

  “Because there’s a funeral going on,” Darel said with a glare.

  “And?”

  “And there’s something else we need to do before we lower the Veil.”

  Burnu snorted. “But you don’t know what it is.”

  “Nope,” Darel said, shaking his head.

  “And that’s why you told the loquacious reptile to repair the rip Jarrah made in the Outback Hills? Because it’s not time yet?”

  Darel didn’t know what “loquacious” meant, but he nodded. “Yeah. At first I wasn’t sure if he should bother, but I think . . . I think we need to keep the Veil strong until the right time.”

  “Do you really think there’s a right time to leave the entire Amphibilands defenseless? When’s the right time to let the scorps destroy everything you love?”

  “I don’t know.” Darel toed the ground. “But this isn’t only about us frogs. This is about the entire outback, about the future for everyone. This is about the Rainbow Serpent and—”

  The raspy note of a didgeridoo interrupted Darel.

  The crowd hushed as Ponto and Dingo pushed a raft into the water. The raft was mounded high with lily pads and lotus flowers, and dotted with leaf-bowls containing Chief Olba’s favorite foods: honey snails and lice cream, fish eggs, and all kinds of grub.

  Darel felt the hot prick of tears in his eyes as he watched the raft spin in the current, knowing that soon it would drift down the stream that flowed to the ocean.

  After a moment of silence, a bullfrog hunter stood up and told a story about Chief Olba. Then Gee’s father did the same. Frog after frog stood, sharing memories, and Darel was surprised by how many of the stories were funny. He hadn’t expected all this laughter, mixed with the tears.

  Finally, Old Jir limped forward and leaned on his cane. “Chief Olba loved three things. Food, laughter, and—”

  “More food!” someone croaked.

  Old Jir smiled, then lifted his cane, to indicate the frogs and the Amphibilands. “And all of this, all of you. She’d be proud that we remember her with songs and laughter. She lived to guide us . . . and she died to protect us.”

  The crowd hushed.

  “But this isn’t only the end of a life, it’s also the beginning of a new day. The chief knew that.” Old Jir looked across the pond. “And she’s not the only one.”

  “King Sergu knew it, too,” Yabber said. He’d quietly lumbered in to stand behind Ponto.

  “And they both trusted one young frog to guide us.” Old Jir’s pale gaze shifted to Darel. “Darel, why don’t you say a few words?”

  What? No way. Darel felt his toe pads clench, and his stomach twisted in nervousness. “I—I’m not—”

  Quoba prodded him with her elbow. “Stand up.”

  “Why don’t you stand up?” he grumbled.

  Burnu kneed him in the butt.

  “Ow!” he yelped, hopping to his feet. Then he raised his voice. “I mean, how, um, how nice to be asked.” He thought for a second. How could he put into words everything he felt about the chief’s sacrifice? “I just want to say that I miss the chief. I’d give anything to hear her voice again. Even if she was just scolding me for destroying the marketplace. But . . . she’s gone.”

  “And you want to tear down the Veil!” someone croaked.

  “I don’t want to,” Darel said, his face flushing. “The Rainbow Serpent wants us to.”

  “So you say! What if you’re wrong?”

  “I . . .” Darel swallowed. “I saw the Serpent on the mountaintop. And then again outside the platypus village, after the chief sacrificed herself to beat Marmoo. The Stargazer showed me a rainbow on the river—and that’s when I knew. That’s when the Serpent told me, Lower the Veil.”

  “Why?” a Baw Baw asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because we need to face our enemy once and for all. Maybe we need to stop hiding and rejoin the outback. Maybe . . . I’m not sure. All I know is, we have to have faith.”

  Darel ducked his head. For a moment, he heard crickets. Then a few tongues thwapped, and silence fell, except for a soft crunching. Darel sighed. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he couldn’t twiddle his finger pads any longer. He couldn’t wait around, hoping that he’d suddenly understand everything the Rainbow Serpent wanted.

  “We need a chorus,” Darel announced. “We need to decide this together, all of us.”

  Old Jir raised his walking stick. “Chief Olba always loved a sing-along. I can’t think of a better way to honor her than to have one last chorus, to decide if we lower the Veil.”

  A chorus was a village vote. The tree frogs peeped and the bullfrogs trumpeted, the wood frogs croaked and the Baw Baws rasped—they would sing and sing until they finally joined together in a single refrain, agreeing on a single decision.

  “We’ve faced dark times before,” Jir continued. “We were hunted almost to extinction before the Hidingwar. But in the end, the Serpent never let us down.”

  Darel took a breath. “So let’s hear both sides of this question.” He gave what he hoped was a wry smile. “Well, we all know why tearing down the Veil is a terrible idea.”

  “Be
cause without it, the scorps will tear us apart,” a bullfrog rumbled. “Marmoo will kill us all.”

  “The Rainbow Serpent will protect us,” another frog said.

  “What’s the Serpent going to do?” a tree frog peeped. “Dazzle the enemy with pretty colors?”

  Other frogs muttered around the pond: That young wood frog knows what he’s doing, and He fought them off once already, and If we listen to him, we will lose the Amphibilands.

  A glow washed over Darel from behind: Burnu’s colors shining brightly. Then the Kulipari leader’s voice echoed across the pond. “If not for Darel, there would be no Amphibilands, not anymore.”

  “The chief trusted Darel,” Quoba said, putting her hand on Darel’s shoulder. “The turtle king trusted Darel. And the Kulipari trust Darel.”

  “Chief Olba chose Darel to keep us safe,” Old Jir said, watching the flower-laden raft float in the pond. “That’s good enough for me.”

  “Thanks,” Darel said. “But it has to be good enough for all of us.”

  “Then tell all of us why we should lower the Veil,” Coorah called.

  “There’s only one reason,” Darel admitted. “And that’s because we have faith in the Rainbow Serpent. Because even though this is scary—terrifying, even—and dangerous, we trust the ancient spirit who brought life to the outback.” He straightened, and looked at the crowd. “Maybe . . . maybe the choice isn’t between staying safe and risking everything.”

  “Of course it is!” someone croaked.

  “Maybe we’re not safe inside the Veil,” Darel continued, shaking his head. “Maybe Marmoo will find another way inside. Maybe he’s already weakening the Veil. Maybe if we try to hide behind it, thinking we’re safe, he’ll catch us by surprise, totally undefended. We don’t know. All we can do is trust the Serpent.”

  When he stopped speaking, a hush fell over the crowd. Then Old Jir said, “Those are our options! Do we trust the Rainbow Serpent and lower the Veil? Or do we keep the Veil and stay hidden?”

  “Keep the Veil!” a burrowing frog called.

  “Stay hidden!” a tree frog peeped.

  “We think of the tadpoles,” a wood frog croaked, “and we stay in the Veil.”

  Dozens of frogs joined the chorus, and a loud refrain of “Stay safe, stay hidden” echoed across the pond. Darel croaked, “Trust the Serpent,” and heard the Kulipari joining in with him. He almost smiled when he saw his mother singing “Trust and faith.” Gee and Coorah sang, “Lower the Veil,” and Arabanoo and his tree frogs sang along in the branches, in surprisingly sweet voices.