Amphibians' End Page 3

  Then she heard the croak of Dingo’s laughter. “There! Now you’re dressed for a party!”

  When Pippi opened her eyes, everyone was looking at her and smiling—even Old Jir—because Dingo’s arrows had pinned pretty white flowers with red speckles to her fur, as if she were wearing a dozen corsages.

  Her bill curled in embarrassment. “I look dumb.”

  “You look pretty,” Darel said.

  “No,” Gee said. “She looks platypretty.”

  Pippi smiled shyly. Then everyone grabbed plates of grilled shrimp, and Ponto and Gee argued about barbecue recipes. Pippi switched to fly chips when her mouth started to burn from the spicy marinade, and she complimented Old Jir on his potato grub salad.

  After a while, the conversation turned to the inevitable scorpion invasion.

  “We could stomp them into jelly,” Burnu said. “Except Quoba and I aren’t at full power.”

  “You can’t beat Marmoo,” Old Jir said, gesturing with a toothpick. “Nobody can beat him now.”

  Burnu snorted. “I’d take him with one leg tied behind my back.”

  “Sure you would,” Dingo said, tossing a shrimp into the air and catching it with her tongue. “You’re the golden frog, Burnu. You’re just disguised as a wart-head.”

  “I knew the golden frog, and even he couldn’t have beaten Marmoo,” Old Jir said. “Not since the spider queen wove nightcasting into Marmoo’s carapace.”

  “Wait!” Darel’s eyes bulged. “You actually knew the golden frog?”

  “What’s a golden frog?” Pippi asked.

  “Ancient history,” Old Jir told her with a dismissive wave of his pale hand. “Which cannot help us now. We need to focus on survival.”

  “We need allies.” Darel set his plate aside and explained what he’d told Pippi and Gee. “And we need to bring them here before Yabber takes down the Veil.”

  “Except we don’t know when that’ll be,” Dingo said.

  “As soon as he can,” Darel told her. “Just like the Serpent said. Yabber thinks he’ll need at least a week, maybe more.” He rubbed his face. “Anyway, Pippi says maybe the possums can help.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Pippi said as she toyed with a flower behind her ear. “What about the land crayfish?”

  “Do you know them?” Darel asked Quoba.

  She shook her head. “No, we stayed near the Coves and the swamp.”

  “The land crayfish . . . ,” Old Jir said thoughtfully, looking to Pippi. “I haven’t heard of them since before the Veil rose. You think they might help?”

  She shrugged. “The Stargazer says they’re nice.”

  “How about the paralysis ticks?” Dingo asked. “We’ve seen them a bunch of times.”

  “We’ve fought them a bunch of times,” Quoba reminded her. “They’re loyal to the spiders.”

  “Oh, right,” Dingo said. “There’s the burrowing cockroaches?”

  “Yuck,” Ponto said with a shudder. “I’m sorry, but—yuck.”

  “Lizards,” Darel said. “They know how to fight, and Captain Killara already helped us once.”

  “They’re mercenaries,” Burnu said sourly. “I wouldn’t trust them as far as you could throw Ponto.”

  “What about birds?” Pippi asked. “Herons or kingfishers?”

  “No way,” Darel said. “No birds.”

  “Yeah.” Gee patted his gut. “This belly is irresistible to flying death beasts.”

  Pippi ducked her head. She’d forgotten that frogs were afraid of birds of prey. “Not just any birds! The Stargazer sometimes talks about the harrier hawks. And the ghost bats might still come after us. We need an ally who flies.”

  “She’s got a point,” Ponto said.

  “She’s also got flowers in her fur! Birds aren’t going to help us. Pippi’s platyposterous!” Gee paused, hoping for a laugh. “Get it? Platyposterous?”

  “So that’s the plan,” Burnu said, ignoring Gee. “Search for allies, beg them to join us before the Veil falls, and keep our finger pads crossed that Darel’s not going to get us all killed.”

  ORTOISE HEADS TURNED AS YABBER emerged from the surf and crossed the beach. Friends and neighbors nodded greetings, their eyes warm and welcoming, even if no one spoke. Yabber smiled in return. His people didn’t say much—well, aside from him—but that was okay; he understood them.

  Plus, the soft sand underfoot felt like home as he made his way toward the lagoon. He wanted to curl up and sleep while the sun warmed his shell, but urgency drove him onward. At least until a few hatchlings scooted around him, chanting, “Yabber’s back, Yabber’s back!”

  “My back is what?” he asked, blinking innocently.

  “Your back is back!” a little one said.

  Yabber laughed and rapped the hatchling fondly on the shell.

  When he reached the lagoon, his long-necked clan served him jellyfish on abalone shells around a driftwood fire. As the sun set, Yabber told the tale of the Snowy Mountains. He described the cave paintings showing the Hidingwar, and the one depicting the Rainbow Serpent arching over underground water holes.

  He told of the fight with the spider queen and Tasmanian devils, and of melting the snow to wash them away. When he recounted his recent battle with Marmoo, mending the Veil an instant before Marmoo stung him, most of the turtles shrank slightly inside their shells.

  Finally, as hatchlings snored in the shelter of their parents’ flippers and moonlight glinted over the waves, Yabber said, “And now the Amphibilands prepares again for war.”

  “So you will strengthen the Veil,” an old turtle said, nodding.

  “King Sergu raised the Veil to save the Amphibilands,” Yabber told her. “But he never wanted it to stand forever. He never wanted the frogs to live apart from the rest of the outback. He once asked, ‘Does the Veil keep the scorpions out, or the frogs in?’”

  The old turtle thought about that. And thought about it, and thought about it . . .

  “He was convinced,” Yabber continued, when he realized the old turtle wasn’t going to say anything, “that one day the scorpions and frogs and spiders would live together in harmony. In fact, he’d hoped that Queen Jarrah would lead her people to join us in peace. That’s why he taught her to dreamcast.”

  “But she betrayed him,” a sea turtle said.

  Yabber nodded. “But now there’s been a vision.”

  “Of what?” a turtle mother asked, rubbing the belly of a hatchling sleeping on his back beside her. “What did you see?”

  “I saw the Rainbow Serpent,” Yabber said. “But someone else talked to it.”

  Murmurs of wonder sounded around the fire. The turtles honored the Rainbow Serpent, the ancient spirit who spread life across the outback, but they hadn’t spoken with it since the days of legend, when the Serpent taught them dreamcasting.

  “Who?” the old turtle asked. “The platypus Stargazer?”

  “Darel,” Yabber announced.

  A voice in the darkness said, “Who?”

  “Darel the wood frog.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Yabber curved his neck peevishly. “The one who hopped all this way to ask for King Sergu’s help!”

  “Oh!” the voice said. “You mean the chubby one.”

  Yabber sighed. “That’s Gee.”

  “Right. The wood frog.”

  “That’s not important.” Yabber looked at the flickering flames. “What’s important is that the Rainbow Serpent told him to take down the Veil.”

  A stunned silence fell, and the first rays of sunrise crept over the horizon before someone said, “How will the frogs survive?”

  “I don’t know,” Yabber admitted.

  “Does this Darel know what he’s doing?”

  “I, uh . . .” Yabber swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I think he does.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “Take down the Veil,” Yabber said. “But I need your help.”

  BUTCHER-BIRD CRIED AS THE SCORPIO
NS marched through the swamp toward the spiders’ mountain.

  “The spiders tore the Veil once,” Lord Marmoo muttered. “They can do it again.”

  Pigo didn’t respond. He just stayed in position, his tail held high, as night creatures hooted in the gloom and tree branches cast shadows like skeleton arms.

  “The spiders tore the Veil once,” Lord Marmoo murmured an hour later as he stepped from the swamp. “They can do it again.”

  Pigo still didn’t respond. He simply led the squad of red-banded soldiers uphill, keeping them in a disciplined row. Lord Marmoo had repeated the same phrase all day and Pigo had stopped replying an hour ago, telling himself that his lord was merely determined, not losing his mind.

  When they reached the mines, a squad of spider archers swung down from the trees. “L-L-Lord Marmoo?” the one in front asked.

  “The spiders tore the Veil once,” Marmoo told the spider, his main eyes dark with purpose. “They can do it again.”

  The spider bowed nervously. “Are . . . are you here to see the new queen being crowned, my lord?”

  Lord Marmoo stung the spider, and flung the body aside. “The spiders tore the Veil once,” he announced. “You will do it again.”

  The other spiders didn’t raise their bows or uncoil their silk. They simply stared at Lord Marmoo in frozen terror as he marched past.

  On the mountaintop, the spider queen’s castle rose like an immense pile of boulders. Black webs draped the rocky spires, to honor Queen Jarrah’s death, and dark cobwebs shrouded the front doors. Pigo cleared a path across the silken moat for his lordship, then skittered into the great hall—and scowled.

  A mesh of cobwebs filled the huge chamber, like the thick foliage of the Amphibilands or a supernaturally dense fog.

  “Spiders,” Pigo groused, as he hacked a path through the cobwebs.

  He headed for the stairway that rose to the rooftop throne room, swiping and snipping with his pincers. Lord Marmoo trailed behind Pigo, making no sound except for the clicking of his feet on the floor. The silence worried Pigo, but he focused on his task, clearing a trail until he reached the rooftop.

  Then he glanced at his lordship—and swallowed a cry of shock.

  Lord Marmoo was covered with elaborate swirls and dotted lines, eerie patterns etched into his carapace where the feathery cobwebs had touched him.

  Pigo felt his mid-legs buckle slightly. “My lord? The webs . . . Should I brush them away?”

  “Leave them,” Lord Marmoo told him. “They’ll show these crawlers what I really am.”

  What are you? Pigo wondered.

  “Born with a scorpion’s strength,” Marmoo continued, “and reborn through a spider’s magic.”

  They strode past parapets and terraces as they approached the throne. Pigo tensed at the sight of spiders massed around a high polished platform. Moments ago, they must have been watching the throne on top of the platform, but now all the spider warriors were staring at Lord Marmoo.

  Lord Marmoo didn’t seem to notice. He kept walking, and the spiders parted for him.

  Seated on the throne was a spider Pigo recognized. She’d been one of Queen Jarrah’s ladies-in-waiting, and he’d spoken to her while they had waited for Jarrah to return from the Snowy Mountains. She’d been a good source of information at the time, but she looked more aloof now, as her own lady-in-waiting stood beside her, holding a silver crown.

  “Welcome, Lord Marmoo,” she said in a chilly voice. “I am Lady Fahlga, soon to be Queen Fahlga.”

  The patterns along Marmoo’s carapace gleamed. “The spider queen tore the Veil once. You will do it again.”

  A hint of uncertainty crossed Fahlga’s face. “I am not—yet—as powerful as Jarrah was.”

  “The spiders tore the Veil once,” Lord Marmoo repeated. “You will do it again.”

  “I’m not sure if I can.”

  “Then you’re not fit to rule,” Lord Marmoo said, batting away spiders as he strode toward the throne.

  “Stop him!” Fahlga cried. “Stop him!”

  Webbing flashed at Marmoo—but when it touched his web-etched carapace, it dissolved into dust. The spiders hissed and scuttled in dismay, and Lord Marmoo leaped atop the high polished platform and snatched the crown from the lady-in-waiting.

  “The day of the spider is done!” he declared. “You are now part of the scorpion kingdom!”

  “Not so long as I am queen,” Fahlga snarled.

  “You aren’t.” Lord Marmoo raised the crown above his own head. “And never will be.”

  A shock ran through the spider ranks—and through Pigo’s heart as well—when Marmoo lowered the crown onto his own head. “M-m-my lord,” he stuttered. “Is it right for one species to rule another?”

  Lord Marmoo tilted his head as he examined Pigo. “Beware, little brother, that you don’t grow soft and weak.”

  Fear tightened Pigo’s stomach. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Well, my lady?” Lord Marmoo asked Fahlga. “Will you bow to your new king?”

  She stood from her throne, quietly defiant, though Pigo thought he saw fear in her eyes.

  “Commander Pigo,” Marmoo said, “sting her.”

  Pigo whipped his tail toward the spider lady’s thorax—then stopped, an inch away.

  “Are you disobeying me?” Lord Marmoo snarled to Pigo. “Explain yourself!”

  “M-m-my lord,” Pigo said. “Lady Fahlga helped us when you were at the mercy of the queen’s magic.”

  “But now the queen is dead. Sting her!”

  “As you command, my lord,” Pigo said, drawing back his tail for the killing blow.

  “I have information!” Fahlga blurted. “Information you need.”

  “Tell me,” Lord Marmoo demanded.

  “The frogs trekked high into the Snowy Mountains—”

  Lord Marmoo scoffed. “That’s old news.”

  “But this isn’t,” Fahlga said, straightening slightly. “They met the Rainbow Serpent on the mountaintop. And I know what the Serpent told the wood frog named Darel.”

  There was a sudden chill in the air, and Pigo cringed. Lord Marmoo hated the Rainbow Serpent and the young frog with a blind rage, and sometimes he rampaged at the mere mention of their names. But this time, Marmoo simply hunched inside his carapace and glowered.

  “The Serpent wants the frogs to lower the Veil,” the spider lady said.

  Suspicion flickered in Marmoo’s ruined face. “No. You lie.”

  “I vow that this is true.”

  “Is that so?” Marmoo snorted. “Did the frogs tell you?”

  “I’m not Queen Jarrah,” the lady told him. “I don’t rule as she did. I keep in touch with the spider tribes scattered across the outback. A tiny spider in a hidden web can overhear a great many things—and, eventually, the news comes to me.”

  “And from this point forth,” Marmoo said, “everything you learn, you will share with me.”

  “I will,” she said, bowing her head. “My king.”

  “They are going to lower the Veil themselves?” Marmoo’s side eyes narrowed. “Even frogs are not that stupid.”

  “They are. You have my word as a nightcaster . . . and a loyal subject.”

  Lord Marmoo stared at her for a few seconds. Then his triumphant laugh echoed across the rooftop, and he lowered Pigo’s tail with one of his pincers.

  “They’re serving themselves to me on a platter!” he crowed. “Without the Veil, they’re not an army of frogs—they’re a meal.”

  HE VILLAGE WAS QUIET, ALMOST AS IF it were holding its breath. Darel hadn’t expected a parade, but the stillness made him a little nervous.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked Gee as they walked toward the billabong to meet Ponto.

  “You mean about searching the outback for anyone dumb enough to help us when we let the scorpions invade?” Gee asked. “Not totally.”

  “Well, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so good.”

  Gee grinned. “How
about, uh, ‘Seeking brave warriors to help us follow the Rainbow Serpent’s plan’?”

  “That’s way better,” Darel said with a snort. “But I meant, are you sure you want to come?”

  “I have to. Last time you went off alone, you almost got eaten by a Tasmanian devil.”

  “Good luck, boys,” a burrowing frog called from his hole. “Stay safe.”

  Other burrowing frogs croaked, “Good-bye,” and “Try not to get killed,” and “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Farther along, a crowd of somber wood frogs wished them well. Then one said, “We’re trusting you, Darel. Don’t let us down.”

  “I won’t,” Darel said, and barely kept himself from adding I hope.

  When he and Gee reached the billabong, Arabanoo was sitting on a low branch, watching Coorah mess with her backpack below him.

  “What’re you doing?” Darel asked her, hopping closer.

  “Organizing my supplies. Bandages here, pastes here, splints here. Ointments, powders—” She slung the pack onto her back and stood. “I’m coming.”

  “Your dad said it’s okay?”

  “Of course. Traveling with you two is the best way to learn to heal bleeding gashes and broken bones.”

  “‘Bleeding gashes and broken bones,’” Gee repeated with a moan.

  “Plus,” Coorah said brightly, “there are wasps out there that sting eggs into your brain! I’d love to learn how to dig those out.”

  “Suddenly I don’t feel so good,” Gee muttered.

  “Actually, Dad wouldn’t let me come until Old Jir talked to him,” Coorah admitted.

  “Old Jir said he needs me in the village,” Arabanoo told them. “Working on the defenses.”

  “Standing guard is noble work!” Dingo strolled toward the billabong. “You and me, tree frog.”

  The earth shook when Ponto landed beside Coorah. His spiked bracers looked freshly sharpened, and his pouch of herbs was almost as full as Coorah’s.

  “Everyone ready?” he asked in his deep rumble.

  “I am,” Coorah said, taking a breath.