Free Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) by Clay Held

rolling his eyes. “I brought an entirely different one all the way out here, just for fun. The real boy is still back at the fire.”
    The frog eyed Nathan. “Tamerlane. Always too much trouble for too little return. Where do you want to go?”
    “The Gate,” Nathan said. Simon’s neck tingled.
    The frog croaked quietly to himself. “That’s not so far. Why you call the wild?”
    “The land is hot,” Nathan said. “ Dominion hounds are after us. We need the safety that only you and yours can offer.”
    “Hot land, eh?” The frog rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Must be big.”
    “Mystic,” Nathan said. “Can we count on you?”
    “Heh,” the frog said, a small smile creeping across his lips. “All will be that was, no?”
    “Don’t mock the Freemancers,” Nathan said. “We have business, and if you would, we would have you render us to our destination.”
    “Not so fast!” The frog jumped off his lily pad onto the sandy shore. “You bring dis, dis big trouble, to me, and why do I offer you my help?”
    Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “Because you know what’s at stake,” he said, stooping down. “Besides, you have never paid me for your nymph problem two summers back.”
    “Didn’t I now?” The frog scratched his head. “I seem to remember giving you two vials of werewolf’s blood--”
    “That deal was for five,” Nathan said. “I can forgive the debt, Lungwort , if you would grant us safe passage down your river.”
    Lungwort clucked his tongue thoughtfully. He eyed Simon, his tiny black eyes examining every inch of him. “Very well, Tamerlane.” The frog hopped on his lily pad. “I will take you, but not without first the formalities!” The frog shook his twig at the two of them. “You know the order of things, Tamerlane. You know the rites. Your family helped write most of them, and I will not be without them tonight, of all nights!”
    “The rites?” Simon looked at Nathan. The whole conversation between Nathan and Lungwort had left him utterly lost.
    “I’ll explain later,” Nathan said. “Follow my lead.” He turned to face the frog. “My name,” he began. “Nathan Alan Tamerlane. Born in a summer storm, raised in the rain.” He followed with a glance at Simon. “Simon?”
    Simon was still at a loss. “Huh?”
    “Your name, boy,” Lungwort said. “Full name, and don’t try to skip on any of your middle names. I’ll know if you carry extra of them. It won’t taste right.”
    Simon was confused, but he obliged the frog. “Simon. Simon Theodore Warner.” He looked at Lungwort, who eyed him hungrily. “No extra middle names.”
    “The rest!” Lungwort shouted.
    “That’s all,” Simon said. “I don’t have any other--”
    “You’re mantle, boy!” Lungwort removed his hat, threw it to his feet. “I said no tricks!”
    Simon drew a complete blank. He stood dumbfounded, staring at the frog. “I--”
    “He doesn’t know,” Nathan said. “He’s never been told.”
    Lungwort eyed Simon again. “Never told, eh? What game you play, Tamerlane?”
    “He’s been in the Quiet his entire life,” Nathan said.
    “No excuse,” Lungwort said. His eyes were laced with something frightening. “I still require his mantle.”
    Nathan let out a deep sigh, then spoke. “Simon Theodore Warner. Born in a snowstorm, raised in a forest.”
    Absolutely none of this made any special kind of sense. “I was born in March,” Simon said.
    “I know,” Nathan said. “Freak snowstorm. It was special. That’s how we knew.”
    “Is this so?” Lungwort rubbed his chin. “Theodore. Snowstorm and the Forest.”
    Simon nodded, unsure really what to say or do. Around them the cicadas chirped louder then before.
    Lungwort finally smiled. “Well, then, boy, let that be the last time you give yourself so freely!”
    “He’s right,” Nathan said. “Your name, your mantle too, it’s all you, just, another way of you. Handing it out can be dangerous.”
    Embarrassment and