by Trevor Pryce
“Right now?” Darel asked, his nostrils tightening in despair. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
“I was dreamcasting while you told your tale, Darel. Dreamcasting is a discipline of the mind; we do not require webs and poisons and chants.”
“Oh.”
“Now, hush.” The king closed his eyes. “I must concentrate.”
Then nothing happened.
The surf crashed. The hatchlings tumbled into a big hole they’d dug. A long-necked turtle trundled past with a coral cart.
And still, nothing happened.
Gee tossed a shrimp into the air, caught it with his tongue, then whispered to Yabber, “What’s he doing?”
“Well, he’s not practicing the backstroke,” Yabber replied. “He’s dreamcasting.”
“That’s dreamcasting? He just closes his eyes?”
“Not impressive enough for you?” Yabber waggled his scaly eyebrows. “You’d prefer that the king dance around a bonfire while twenty-seven sandpipers beat upon his shell? ‘Just closes his eyes?’ You try it, longlegs!”
“I would,” Gee muttered, “but I’d probably fall asleep.”
Darel stretched out on the beach as the sun warmed the morning, his mind miles away. Instead of seeing the crystal water, he saw the huge scorpion encampment, the rows of brutal troops with poisonous stingers. He also saw the Amphibilands, the tadpool nursery and marketplace. He heard the peaceful burble of water and the chirp of tree frogs. He saw his mother sitting in her shop, chatting with a customer as she arranged a bouquet.
Finally, King Sergu opened his eyes. “I’m too late.”
N THE PEAK OF THE OUTBACK HILL nearest the desert, Pigo watched as Queen Jarrah wove a spiky web between a boulder and the branches of a crooked tree. The strands glistened with droplets of poison in the morning sun.
“Some spiders weave orbs,” the queen told Lord Marmoo, as she spun. “Some weave funnels. Others spin tubes or domes.”
“And what is that?” he asked, bending his forelegs for a closer look.
“A tangle web. See how messy, how chaotic? But every strand has purpose and power. This, Lord Marmoo, is the web that will crush the Veil.”
As she spun arcane patterns into the web, her ladies-in-waiting lofted strands of silk into the air, thin lines that floated into the sky, arching over the still-hidden Amphibilands until the glinting threads disappeared from view.
The spider queen breathed on the tangle web, and a loud whine sounded from the strands. A stench crept into the morning air while Jarrah crooned under her breath, stroking the web. In a circle around her, the ladies-in-waiting dropped venom onto the silk they were loosing into the sky.
Invisible things seemed to slither in the air. A few of Pigo’s warriors clenched their pincers nervously, but he kept his face impassive even as Jarrah’s power oozed around him.
Then an ear-piercing whine echoed over the hills, the sound of the nightcast web scraping at the Veil, and Jarrah’s chanting grew louder and madder, her hands a blur on her web, strumming smoky, nightmarish shapes from the poison silk, until suddenly—
Silence.
No sound, no wind, no stench. No earthquake of nightcast power.
And into the quiet, the queen spoke. “The turtle king is reaching out from the Coves, trying to stop me.” Her triumphant laugh rang in the hills. “And he is failing. Oh, he slowed me a little, but soon I’ll rip his Veil into shreds—”
With a whip crack of thunder, the whine started again, the ladies-in-waiting spooling silk into the sky and the queen spinning at a furious rate.
N THE QUIET BEACH, THE TURTLE king sighed. “I’ve protected the frog nation for a hundred years. I’ve watched generations grow from tadpole to frog. The Amphibilands is my greatest achievement, a safe and unspoiled sanctuary.”
“But—” Darel’s eyes bulged. “But you’re too late?”
King Sergu nodded sadly. “I can’t stop Queen Jarrah, not from this far away.”
“So they’re going to invade,” Darel said. A sick feeling rose in his gut. “They’re really going to invade. You have to do something. My mom’s there, and the triplets—”
“My whole family,” Gee croaked, kicking the sand.
“And Coorah and the chief, and … everyone.”
“We’ve got to get back.” Gee looked toward the mangrove swamp. “Help them fight and—”
“No,” Darel interrupted, puffing his throat in agitation. “What we need is the Kulipari.”
“Indeed we do,” the turtle king said.
“Where are they?”
“They’re here. They’ve been in seclusion, Darel.”
“They’ve been training,” Yabber added, stretching his neck high. “With the king. He teaches ’em how to tap into their poison—that’s the key. Now, you’re both wood frogs, you don’t have poison, but—”
“So they’re still around?” Gee blurted. “The Kulipari?”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” Yabber nodded emphatically. “Most of the Kulipari didn’t survive the Hidingwar, and those who did … well, they depleted their faculties.”
“They what-ed their what-ulties?” Gee asked.
“They ran out of poison,” Yabber explained, “and now they’re ordinary frogs. There’s a new generation, though. That’s who His Cartilaginous Majesty has been training, a new generation of Kulipari that—”
“Where are they?” Darel said, hopping in impatience. “Have you called them? You need to call them. Where are they?”
“I’m not sure they’re ready.” The turtle king spoke slowly, his eyes thoughtful. “They’ve just finished training, and—”
“Not ready?” Darel interrupted. “The Amphibilands isn’t ready, either. I wasn’t ready; Gee wasn’t ready. Ready or not, we need them. We need them now.”
“You’re right.” King Sergu nodded. “The time has come for the Kulipari to fight again.” He turned to Yabber. “Come along.”
The turtles waddled into the surf, then shot gracefully through the water toward the coral reef.
AREL GAZED EXCITEDLY ACROSS the bay to the broad coral avenue where the king and Yabber were rising from the water. He was finally going to meet the Kulipari! And they’d save the Amphibilands.
He watched as the two turtles climbed a spiraling tower to a conch shell poised on top. The king blew a series of notes.
“What’s he doing?” Gee asked.
“Calling the Kulipari, I guess,” Darel said, grinning happily. “Now we just have to wait. They’ll handle the scorps. Pass me a snack.”
“I don’t know,” Gurnugan said, tossing a shrimp for Darel to catch with his tongue. “You think the Kulipari can handle all this? They almost went extinct last time, and the scorpions never joined with the spiders before.”
“There are probably a hundred Kulipari by now, maybe two hundred!” Darel’s eyes bulged at the thought of an army of elite warrior frogs. “Sure, they never faced a horde this big—but a hundred Kulipari can do anything.”
They sat on the beach, eating from Yabber’s stash of food until their stomachs bulged. A few turtle hatchlings came to stare, and Gee made them giggle by telling them he was a turtle who’d lost his shell and begging them to help him find it.
Finally, Yabber and the king returned to the beach.
“Are they coming?” Darel asked.
“They’ll be here any moment,” the king assured him.
Darel stood at attention. “Do I look okay?” he asked Gee.
Gee goggled at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Darel mumbled, his nostrils flared in embarrassment. “I just can’t believe I’m going to meet the Kulipari.”
Darel scanned the lagoon eagerly, anxious for his first sight of the superpowered frogs. Were there a hundred of them? Two hundred? Would they accept him as a trainee? He’d happily sharpen the weapons and polish the shields. Well, at least at first.
And suddenly … there!
Frogs. A small squad of Kulipari a
pproached from the direction of the swamp, probably the advance scouts, only four of them.
Still, Darel stared eagerly, memorizing every detail, puffing his throat in excitement.
The one in front looked fierce. He prowled closer, with the assurance of a predator. He was the second tallest of this squad, his skin glossy green, with orange and black markings. He wore a billowing cloak, and two big boomerangs were strapped in an X across his back.
“That’s Burnu,” Yabber said. “The squad leader. He’s completely fearless, the most skilled fighter among them.”
“And the most arrogant,” the turtle king muttered.
Darel’s wide-eyed gaze switched to the largest of the squad, a huge frog with broad shoulders and arms that rippled with muscle. He wore spiked bracers on his wrists and a bunch of pouches on his belt that reminded Darel of Coorah’s.
“What’s in that big guy’s pouches?” Gee asked, apparently noticing the same thing.
“Herbs,” the turtle king said. “That’s Ponto. He’s a healer.”
“A healer?” Gee snorted. “Looks more like a hurter.”
“He’s that, too, when necessary. He’s as tough as a leatherback’s shell and as strong as a tidal wave.”
Darel hopped from one foot to the other, looking at a third member of the squad, a red-and-black frog with a longbow strapped across her chest and a quiver peeking over one shoulder. In a flash, she leaped ahead of the others. She somersaulted twice in the air, laughing at something Darel didn’t hear.
He laughed, too—from the excitement of actually seeing them in person.
The Kulipari. They were everything he’d imagined, and more.
“That’s Dingo,” Yabber announced.
“Like the wild dog?” Gee asked.
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Yabber told him. “Or she’ll stick your toe pads to your forehead. She’s the fastest one of them, like lightning on a deadline—and that’s before she taps her poison.”
“She must learn to curb her tongue,” the king said. “And not treat everything like a joke.”
“Dingo knows when to get serious,” Yabber said.
“I hope so,” the king grumbled.
“Who’s the fourth one?” Darel asked in an awed whisper, staring at a green frog in a hooded cloak, carrying a tall, gnarled staff.
She moved gracefully, like a dancer—or a hunter. Her pretty face and slender build didn’t disguise her strength.
“There are only three of them, Darel,” Gee said, then immediately corrected himself. “Oh! I didn’t notice her at first.”
“Yes, she does that,” Yabber said, with a chuckle. “Her name’s Quoba. She’s the second-in-command—and the scout.”
“Pretty good at sneaking around, huh?”
“She could shave a nervous chipmunk before it knew she was there!” Yabber said. “Not that she ever would. I mean, what good is a bald chipmunk?”
Darel laughed and turned to Gee. “See? I told you! The scorps don’t stand a chance.” Then he looked back to Yabber, his eyes bulging. “Where are the rest of them?”
“The rest of whom?”
Darel hopped a few times in excitement. “Of the Kulipari! How many are there? A hundred? Two hundred?”
“Oh.” For the first time since they’d met him, Yabber seemed speechless.
“This is all of them, Darel,” the king said. “Only four Kulipari remain.”
The world spun, and Darel felt suddenly light-headed. Only four? Only four Kulipari to fight Marmoo’s endless horde and the spider queen’s evil magic?
Dozens of Kulipari had died in the Hidingwar. How could four defeat an even stronger enemy?
“We’re in big trouble,” he said.
FTER TALKING WITH JARRAH, LORD Marmoo skittered over to Pigo, a hard glint in his malevolent eyes.
Pigo resisted the urge to shift uneasily at his lordship’s expression. “Yes, my lord?”
“I am running out of patience with that eight-legged freak,” Marmoo said, his mouthparts moving into a snarl.
“Is the turtle king slowing her down?”
“So she claims,” Marmoo said. “Though she also claims she’ll finish ripping the Veil to shreds before the sun sets.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“Oh, I believe her.” Marmoo snapped one of his claws closed. “She wouldn’t dare lie to me. But I refuse to wait for sunset. At least here in this corner of the Outback Hills, the turtle king’s magic is completely crushed. Look around, Pigo.”
Pigo obediently surveyed the craggy hilltop with his main eyes while glancing with his side eyes at the ravine with green leaves, which led deeper into the hills, closer to the heart of the Amphibilands.
“You’re looking at an open door,” Marmoo told him. “There’s no reason to wait for the Veil to fall completely—we’ll pour through these hills in killing waves.”
“Yes, my lord. However, the army is positioned in a wide circle around—”
“So reposition them!” Marmoo’s tail whipped in the air.
Pigo stared in surprise. Most scorpions couldn’t change their minds as easily as that. Once they made a plan, they stuck to it even if the circumstances changed. But then, Lord Marmoo wasn’t like most scorpions.
“We’ll attack from a single point instead of surrounding the frogs,” Marmoo continued, his scarred face alight. “Instead of invading this evening, we’ll invade in a matter of hours … And tonight, little brother, we’ll feast.”
AREL KEPT CATCHING HIMSELF gazing at the Kulipari—first at the leader, Burnu, and then at the others. Maybe there were only four of them, but they seemed to glow with strength.
He remembered his father looking that way back when he was a tadpole. Maybe this was his big chance, the one he’d been dreaming of all his life—a way to join the Kulipari. There were only four of them, so they’d need all the help they could get.
Meanwhile, King Sergu and Yabber briefed the Kulipari. Well, mostly Yabber briefed them, finishing with “… and His Majestic Turtleness did a little dreamcasting and discovered that Queen Jarrah has already ripped a hole in the Veil.”
“The scorpions are invading?” Burnu said. “Then what’re we waiting for?”
Gee looked up. “A plan? A sign? A stroke of luck? Reinforcements?”
“We don’t need any of that,” Burnu replied, with a cocky flick of his inner eyelids. “The four of us can defeat any army. We’ll—”
“My dad!” Darel suddenly blurted.
Everyone stopped and looked at him. “Yes, Darel?” Quoba asked. “Your father?”
The words came in an excited jumble. “He was a Kulipari. He was a unit leader—so was my grandfather—and I’ve been training for this my whole life.”
“Training for what?” Yabber asked.
“Nobody knows the Amphibilands like I do, every village and stream and—and …” Darel gulped hard. “I want to join. The Kulipari. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll work harder than—”
“Will you learn to tap your poison?” Burnu demanded, his brow cocked.
“Well, no,” Darel said. “I don’t have poison.”
“Of course not. You’re a mud frog.”
“A wood frog,” Gee said, sharply.
Burnu waved a hand dismissively. “Mud, dirt—whatever.” He inspected Darel. “You don’t have poison, so you don’t have what it takes.”
Darel’s face felt hot, and he looked at his feet and wanted to disappear.
“Have you ever fought a scorpion?” Gee asked Burnu.
“No, but when I do, I’ll win.” He glanced disdainfully at Darel. “Not like your friend Muddy over there.”
Dingo, who was walking on her hands in circles around the king, told Gee, “Burnu did pick a fight with a cricket once. He thought it called him a chirp.”
Ponto hopped in front of her, and she bounced off him like she’d hit a boulder. “Pay attention,” he rumbled.
“I was paying attention.” S
he rubbed her butt, then muttered, “Burnu’s not the only one who acts like a chirp.”
“A ‘chirp’?” Gee mouthed to Darel.
“I think she means ‘jerk,’” he whispered miserably back. “Or ‘chump.’ Or something.”
Burnu rolled his eyes. “Listen, we’re not wood frogs. We’re Kulipari—there’s poison running through our veins. Any one of us could beat a hundred scorpions.”
“That would be more reassuring,” the king said, “if you were fighting four hundred scorpions. However, you’re fighting thousands—and spiders, too.”
“Spiders?” Ponto asked. “Spiders don’t fight alongside scorps—they fight against scorps.”
“They used to,” the king said. “But this new scorpion lord has formed an alliance with the spider queen, my old student, Jarrah, who corrupted my teachings. She is a treacherous enemy.”
“We can take her,” Burnu said. “We can take all of them.”
“We must beware,” Quoba said, in her quiet voice, “of exhausting our power.”
Burnu patted one of his boomerangs. “We’re ready for this.”
“Ready and eager!” Dingo said, her tongue shooting out to catch a passing blowfly. “Let’s go kick some carapace.”
Ponto cracked his knuckles. “That’s right. There’s only one thing scorps understand—force.”
“But there’s more than one way to beat them,” Quoba said. “Look at Darel.”
“At Muddy?” Burnu said. “Why?”
“Because he walked into the scorpion encampment with nothing but a dagger and his courage. Being brave when you’re strong is easy; the real test comes when you’re weak.”
“Great, now I’m weak …,” Darel muttered.
“I’m simply saying,” Quoba continued, “that perhaps there is a better way to proceed than rushing into battle.”
“A better way than winning quickly?” Dingo asked. “You want to stretch this out like an emu’s neck?”
