Free Oddest of All by Bruce Coville Page A

frog’s feet until he appeared to be standing in a small cloud. He grinned at Dennis. “Nice entrance, huh, kid?”
    â€œAmazing! Um, who are you?”
    â€œDon’t tell me you never heard of Murklin the Mudgician. Oh, forget it. I don’t wanna know. Here, drink this.”
    He extended the steaming goblet to Dennis.
    â€œWhat will happen if I do?”
    â€œIt will release your inner frog,” said King Urpthur happily, “and make the destiny written in your blood clear for all to see!”
    Dennis continued to stare at the goblet, which burped and blurped with little pops of muddy liquid. “What if I don’t want to release my inner frog?”
    An angry murmur rose behind him. “Traitor,” he heard low voices croak. “Ingrate!”
    The king raised a hand to silence the court. “We will not force you to do this. But if you refuse, you will forever bear the knowledge that you abandoned both kin and king in their hour of need. You will know you let fear, not courage, rule your heart. You will forever remember yourself as one not willing to shed your skin for a greater cause.”
    â€œBut I don’t
want
to be a frog!”
    â€œPart of you already is. A small part, granted. But part of you, nevertheless. Besides, it’s not permanent. You’ll only be a frog sometimes.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œThe night before and the night after the full moon are what we call frog moons. On those sacred nights you can rise in frogly glory to confront the villains who are poisoning my subjects. Oh, Dennis, Dennis—think of it! To how many men is it given to find the secrets hidden in their blood, to wear two shapes, to live two lives? To how many men is it given to speak truth to power, to be a voice for their people? How many, how many, are allowed to croak for the good of others?”
    Inspired by the king’s words, Dennis reached for the goblet. Its warmth felt good between his hands. He gazed into it.
    The bubbling, popping brew looked like a miniature swamp.
    This is my destiny
, he told himself, lifting the cup to his lips.
Besides, it’s only a dream, so what difference does it make?
    The brew smelled of the swamp, of wildness, of magic. The first swallow was difficult. Then the potion took hold of him. Surrendering to it, Dennis drained the cup to the last drop.
    The assembled frogs burst into ribbiting cheers as the world swirled green around him.
    Â 
    When Dennis woke he was lying at the edge of the swamp, the hot sun beating down on his face, his clothes clean and dry.
    Beside him sat the five-legged frog. Dennis reached for it, but it leaped away, disappearing into the swamp with a small splash.
    He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, muttering, “What a weird dream. I must be coming down with something.”
    Â 
    â€œDennis, where have you been?” cried his mother when he came through the door. “Dinner was ready half an hour ago!”
    â€œI was out visiting some . . . friends.” Then, on a whim, he asked, “Mom, did we ever have any royalty in our family?”
    His mother smiled. “Well, according to Gramma Wetzel, your nineteenth great-grandfather on my side was a genuine prince.”
    His horrified reaction must have shown on his face, for she said quickly, “What’s wrong, Dennis?”
    â€œNothing! I just don’t feel very well.”
    It
was
nothing. It had to be nothing.
    He clung to that thought all night.
    Even so, when he went to his room after supper, he opened his window and pushed up the screen—just in case he needed to get out later on.
    Eventually Dennis fell into a fitful sleep, marked by dreams that were strange and soggy. When he awoke, the moon was shining through his window. As he remembered from the night before, it was round and nearly full—nearly, but not quite.
    A frog moon.
    Suddenly Murklin’s potion began its strange work. Dennis’s