The Ominous Eye Read online

  Chapter Four

  THE STRANGER

  “Show yourself at once!” Bismark commanded. He tightened his grip on the fox’s hind leg, only daring to peek out for a moment. “We are prepared to fight, no matter how long your fangs or how sharp your spikes!”

  Terror filled Tobin’s eyes. “We…we are?” A small poof escaped from his rear.

  “Mon dieu!” Bismark exclaimed, plugging his nose with his paw. “Can’t you at least aim the other way? Toward the ferocious fiend that approaches us?”

  A sudden harsh wind swept through the air, sending a chill down the pangolin’s spine and kicking up the soot at his feet. The wind continued to blow, and soon enough, the Brigade was cloaked in a thick, sandy spiral of dirt. Flying bits of stone, some as large as chestnuts, swirled all around them.

  “I can’t see!” Tobin cried as he curled himself into a ball.

  “Well, I can’t breathe!” Bismark coughed. “Your stench has completely surrounded me! And now a fleck of ash has flown into my big, beautiful peepers!” The sugar glider crouched and covered his eyes with his flaps.

  But Dawn remained standing, determined to see through the dust. Determined to see the creature that headed toward them. She ducked, dodging a black rock that whistled overhead. The swirling ash played tricks on her eyes, making monsters appear and disappear out of the churning air. Reluctantly, the fox hunkered down and covered her face with her paws.

  When the wind had at last eased, the Brigade remained huddled close. They could hear the sound of shuffling footsteps.

  “Oh mon dieu!” With his flaps still shielding his face, Bismark prepared for the worst. “Is it close?” he sputtered. “I think I feel its breath on my neck! Mon dieu! Mon dieu! I hope it’s not hungry!”

  Dawn opened her eyes just a crack. “Look,” she whispered.

  Though the shadow had drawn closer, it looked smaller now.

  What was the creature’s true size? Dawn, Bismark, and Tobin wondered, holding their breath, waiting to see.

  Finally, the figure stepped into a lone beam of moonlight. The Brigade-mates exhaled. It was no larger than Tobin.

  “Ha! That’s the puny thing you two were scared of? I knew this monster was all shadow, no substance!” The sugar glider gave a light-hearted wave of his flap and tossed his head back in triumph.

  Dawn, however, stood steady as a stone and sank her claws into the ground. Tobin remained close to her side, though he had to admit, there seemed to be no reason for his fears of giant monsters. But as he glanced back at the crater, he could feel doubt gnawing at his gut—something must have caused it, after all. Something big.

  “Come, ma chérie,” beckoned Bismark. “Let us approach as a couple.”

  The fox took a single step forward and squinted into the dust. The reptilian creature drew closer, its features growing clearer. It had greenish-gray skin, and the angular jaw of an iguana. Its long, spiked tail whipped behind it with every step.

  Bismark spun and twirled, trying his best to make an impression. “Well, hello there, newcomer!” He raised his flap in an awkward salute. “Please, por favor—state your name and your purpose.”

  The creature paused just a flap’s length away from the sugar glider, but it did not speak.

  Bismark scanned the foreigner with his round, dark eyes. “Hmm,” he mused, mischievously stroking his chin. “I have a feeling she’s of the female persuasion, amigos. I’ll handle this.”

  He cleared his throat. “Buon giorno, beautiful stranger.” He lowered his high-pitched voice so it sounded as romantic as possible. Looking over his shoulder, making sure Dawn could see, he scrunched his nose and shook his head. This creature was no beauty.

  With her glassy dark eyes and fearsome spikes, her appearance was stony and cruel—like an ancient being from an old, forgotten time. But as frightening as she appeared, it was difficult for Bismark to look away from her. Her features were remarkable: the orange dots around her thick neck, the neon-blue streaks lining her eyes, the eerie sheen of her skin. And most of all, the mysterious flicker of light, like a halo, that gleamed from the top of her head.

  “Do not be so shy, my spiky sugar plum, my ravishing reptile.”

  The stranger still said nothing.

  “Mmm, I see,” murmured the sugar glider. “The strong and silent type. Me gusta!”

  “Bismark,” hissed Dawn. “Stand back.” The fox shifted her weight. She had never seen a creature like this before. Warily, she eyed the row of spikes that ran from the newcomer’s head to the tip of her tail. The longer, sharper prongs in the middle line of her back looked particularly wicked, though the shorter barbed bands on either side appeared menacing as well. The fox’s breath caught in her throat.

  Tobin looked at the creature, standing small and still in the ash. Though he trusted the fox, a twinge of sympathy stung his heart. Yes, the reptile was unfamiliar. But he had once been a stranger himself, timid, scared, and alone.

  Carefully, he ventured toward this outsider and looked kindly into her eyes. They were gold with black slits for irises. “Can…can we help you?” he asked.

  The reptile met Tobin’s gaze and repeatedly blinked, as though studying the presence before her. Finally, she opened her mouth and spoke. “No,” she replied. Her tone was flat and low. “But I can help you.” Slowly, she closed her eyes and bowed her head, revealing the top of her scale-covered skull. Then, without warning, the grayish-green surface burst open, exposing a gleaming, round orb. The creature had a third eye.

  Chapter Five

  THE THIRD EYE

  Tobin froze in surprise. Though the creature also stood still, the moonlight flickered off the top of her head, making it seem as if she were moving. As the clouds above shifted the shadows, the pangolin grew aware of his silence.

  Make her feel welcome, he thought. He was usually quite good at that. But when he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. Unsure of what else to do, the pangolin stepped away from the creature, his jaw still hanging slack.

  But while Tobin moved back toward the fox, Bismark bounded forward, mesmerized. The stranger remained still and calm.

  Interpreting her silence as permission, the sugar glider eagerly stood on his toes, bent over the mysterious eye, and stared into its depths. It shone with a strange glow, as though lit from within. “Mon dieu! It’s like a moonstone,” he said, leaning closer, captivated by his milky reflection.

  “Bismark,” snapped Dawn. With a sharp flick of her head, the fox gestured for him to back up.

  The reptile smirked. “Don’t worry, fox,” she said smoothly. “This reaction is not unusual.”

  The hair on Dawn’s neck pricked on end. With her gaze still fixed on the reptile, she extended a paw toward the sugar glider and pulled him back by his flap.

  “What?” Bismark squealed, innocently shrugging his shoulders. “You heard the…uh, reptile. My reaction was not unusual!”

  “But she is,” hissed Dawn.

  The sugar glider shuddered at his friend’s steely tone and eyed her tight grip on his flap. “Don’t be jealous, amore,” he chuckled. “She has nothing on you! Well, besides that extra eye, I suppose.” The sugar glider paused and tilted his face up toward Dawn’s. “But look at us!” he exclaimed. “I have two eyes, you have two eyes—we were made for each other!”

  The fox released her hold on the sugar glider and took a bold step toward the stranger. “You said you could help us.”

  The reptile grinned, exposing three rows of teeth: two on top, one on bottom.

  “Holy smokes!” Bismark gasped. His eyes ran the length of the creature. “Do you have three of everything?”

  Eyeing the stranger’s fangs, Dawn bared her own, each as sharp as a needle.

  “Let’s start over,” offered the reptile. Though her voice sounded kind and polite, her eyes remained hard and cold. “My name is Polyphema and I am a tuatara.”

  “Tutu-what?” Bismark asked. “Tutu-who?”

  The strang
er released a warm laugh, exposing her teeth once again. Although she had many, there were gaps between them where some were missing. And a large number of those that remained appeared to be worn down to nubs. “A tuatara.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tobin said bashfully, “but I’ve never heard of a tuatara.”

  “That’s no surprise,” said the reptile. Her smile quickly turned down at the sides. “There are nearly none of us left.”

  “Oh goodness,” gasped Tobin. “That’s awful.”

  “Yes, it is,” replied Polyphema. “But I prefer not to dwell on all that.” She lifted her chin toward the moon.

  “Why are you here?” demanded the fox. She took another step forward, stirring a small cloud of ash. The wind picked up a little, throwing a stinging wave of tiny rocks over them all.

  Tobin drew in a breath. There was an obvious edge to Dawn’s voice, and it made his heart lurch in his chest. Why was she being so harsh?

  He looked at his new acquaintance: nearly extinct, yet so strong. He smiled, admiring this strange tuatara. But then he saw his leader: determined, intense, and reliable. Suddenly, he was not sure what to think. Was he supposed to be taking sides?

  “I told you, I am here to help,” said Polyphema. “Do you see that?” she asked, pointing at the gigantic hole in the earth. “Do you see what’s at the bottom of it?

  The three Nocturnals turned back to face the crater. Tobin blinked. With the arrival of the strange, three-eyed creature before him, he had nearly forgotten about the large shape pressed into the earth below, the shape that had scared him so badly before.

  “Bien sûr!” replied Bismark. “How could we miss it? Just because we have two eyes and not three does not make us blind.”

  “Well, what do you see?” asked Polyphema.

  The sugar glider scratched at his bald spot. “Isn’t it obvious, Tutu? I see the monstrous mark of a beast!”

  “Yes,” the tuatara agreed, “but I see something more.” She paused, then dramatically closed all three eyes, as though searching for some sort of vision. “I see the beast itself.”

  “Oh goodness!” gasped Tobin. Quickly, he coiled into a ball. “Where?” His voice echoed from deep beneath his scales. “What do we do? Is it close?”

  “No, no,” Polyphema assured him. “It’s not here.”

  The pangolin breathed a short sigh of relief and uncurled his body. Then he scrunched his long snout. “I don’t understand, though,” he murmured. “You said that you see it.” He surveyed the land. His eyesight was poor so he never relied much on his eyes. And with the tuatara having one extra? He certainly trusted her vision over his own.

  “Yes,” said the tuatara, “I do.” She paused, and the scales on her speckled neck twitched. “I see it. I have only to concentrate and it comes to me, as if in a dream. I see you. I see everyone. I see the past, the present, the future. I see all with the power of my third eye. And there?” She nodded toward the menacing mark in the crater. “I see destruction to come. I see death.”

  “Death?” gasped the pangolin. He drew his scales close to his body and fought the urge to curl into a ball again.

  Polyphema leaned her head down low, revealing her third eye once more. “Yes, death.”

  “Oh mon dieu!” Bismark cried. He flailed his flaps, creating a whirlwind of ash. “We are doomed! Done! Fini!”

  Tobin took a deep breath. Then, suddenly, as if drawn by an invisible force, he gazed into the tuatara’s strange, milky orb. “What do you mean exactly?” he asked quietly. “Do you see this beast causing death?”

  “Yes,” said Polyphema. “And my power of sight never fails.”

  Dawn let out a skeptical grunt. She found Polyphema’s so-called visions difficult to believe.

  But Polyphema pressed on, unbothered by the fox’s distrust. “Don’t worry,” she said to the pangolin. Her spikes gleamed under the stars as she spoke. “I see death, as I’ve said.” Her mouth spread into a sly, toothy grin. “But I also see how to escape it. I can tell you how to fight the beast.”

  Chapter Six

  EYE TO EYE

  “Well, don’t just stand there, my mysterious, Tutu. Tell us how to stop this terrible creature!”

  Polyphema looked at the sugar glider and tilted her scaly neck. “It is really quite easy,” she said. “To defeat him, simply meet his demand.” She paused, flicking her two front eyes over her audience. Her voice was low and unwavering. “Everyone must leave,” she said. “The jerboas in the forest, the moles underground, even the birds in the sky. They all must leave the valley and never return.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Only the wind shrieked in the night.

  “What?” Bismark extended his flaps in disbelief, sending a whirlwind of ash through the air. “Impossible! Unworkable! Infeasipracticable!”

  “Kick everyone out of their homes?” Tobin asked. The pangolin rubbed his round belly, which had suddenly developed a knot. “Why would the beast want that?”

  “This is his territory,” said Polyphema. “He came here first, long ago. Now he’s returned to take what is rightfully his.”

  Dawn narrowed her eyes. “We will not force anyone out because of the demands of a selfish beast.”

  “I don’t see any other choice,” said the tuatara.

  Slowly, with purpose in her stride, Dawn moved toward Polyphema, spearing the ground with her nails. They stood face to face, eye to eye, with only a thin veil of ash hanging between them. “These animals are not going anywhere,” said Dawn. Her words pierced the air like shards of ice.

  “But look what the beast has already done!” exclaimed Polyphema. With a flick of her head, she gestured toward the burned ground and the ragged crater nearby.

  Dawn shrugged. “There’s no proof that the beast did this,” she said.

  The moonlight peeked through the clouds, flickering off Polyphema’s scales. “Trust me. This is the work of an angry, powerful creature.”

  Tobin curled into a ball. With the exception of the wind’s lonely howl, the air hung heavy with silence.

  “Well then,” said Dawn, clearing her throat. “I will go talk to the beast. We will hear for ourselves exactly what he is planning, and exactly what he wants.”

  Slowly, Tobin uncoiled. He stared at the fox in awe.

  Bismark, however, let out a quick yelp. “Muchacha, no!” With a dramatic leap, he flung himself at the fox and clutched the red fur on her leg. “You can’t! You won’t! I won’t let you!”

  Polyphema’s eyes flickered. “We have to remove everyone from the area!” she exclaimed, her voice ringing with desperation. “We need to do what he says! I have seen the future.”

  “We will trust what we see for ourselves,” Dawn said coolly. With a confident turn of her head, she looked toward her friends. “Let’s go.”

  The tuatara gazed down at the ground for a moment. “You have no idea what you’re in for,” she murmured, sweeping the ash with her tail. And then, with a narrowed stare, she watched the Brigade depart into the dust.

  Chapter Seven

  UP

  As the trio left, Bismark turned for one last look at the reptile. With each step they took, she grew smaller and fainter, her scales fading into the ash. “Do not cry, darling Tutu!” he called over his tiny shoulder. “Though you will never meet another brigade like ours, nor another glider so handsome as myself, I am sure you and your magic eye shall survive well into the future!”

  Tobin edged alongside the crater. Timidly, he glanced over its rim at the monstrous print down below. His scales started to shudder. “I don’t know, Bismark,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like she needs us. It seems like we might need her.”

  The sugar glider threw back his head and placed a paw on his chest. “My silly amigo!” he chortled. “Everyone needs me. But I agree—I think we do need that triple-eyed Tutu.”

  Dawn let out a grunt of annoyance.

  “Don’t be jealous, princessa. I need you as well. It’s just—instead of your eyes
, I desire your heart.”

  “I’m not jealous,” she said. “I am wary.” The fox surveyed the lifeless, gray landscape and the deep crater beside her. Her gaze hardened. “I admit that I do not know who or what this beast is. What I do know, however, is that the tuatara’s ‘solution’ is no solution at all.” She took a deep breath, calming her racing pulse. “In order to solve this problem, we must go to the source.”

  Tobin gulped. “B-b-but the source of this problem is the b-b-beast.”

  “Precisely,” said Dawn. She turned her gaze toward the looming, black mountain ahead. “And our best chance of spotting him is from that peak.”

  “Oh goodness,” groaned Tobin. The pangolin was not the best rock climber. Compared to his friends’ legs, Tobin’s legs were stumpy and stout, which often caused him to fall behind. Nevertheless, he followed Dawn’s lead, past the crater, trudging through the vast field of ash until they reached the foot of the mountain. As he surveyed the steep slope, Tobin’s chest tightened.

  From afar, the mountain appeared dark and eerie, but its face, at least, had looked smooth. Up close though, its surface was rocky and jagged. Large boulders had splintered into razor-sharp shards that threatened to cut his paws.

  Tentatively, the pangolin extended a foot and touched it to the dark stone.

  “It’s okay!” Dawn called out. The nimble fox was already several ledges above on the slope.

  “Si, si, cautious comrade! Come along, now! It’s really quite easy!” Bismark cheered.

  Tobin squinted up at him. Bismark was perched comfortably on the arch of Dawn’s back. The pangolin sighed and slowly, carefully, started to climb.

  By the time he reached the halfway point, he was huffing and puffing. For as the height increased so, too, did the number of loose rocks sliding down from the top. And with every step he took, a thick, suffocating cloud rose around him. He was exhausted, and breathing in all this ash made his lungs feel weak.