DECIBELLE

Chapter 1

Forbidden Fruit

        Decibelle stared at the sleeping reptile, fascinated by the intricacy of its patterned skin and thrilled by how close they were to its massive strength. The python’s body was thicker than her own waist. To get too close at the wrong moment…
      She pushed away the mind-image of a twisting, coiling, squeezing carpet snake and leaned down to the Green Tree frog’s ear. ‘Are you sure this is safe?’ she whispered.
      The python’s body stretched in a wide loop under the feijoa tree. On the sun-dappled grass around it lay the fallen fruit. In the tree above the snake a constant buzz of insects circled.
      Wark’s amber-gold eyes sparkled with glee and his mouth opened into a wide grin. ‘Fast asleep I should think it is. See that lump in its belly? Something wasn’t quick enough last night. Or went to sleep in the wrong place. It’ll be snoozing for ages.’
      Decibelle’s stomach rumbled. It’d been early when she’d left the tintookie settlement to meet Wark. The feijoa fruit were at their most perfect – fat, juicy, sweet and soft inside. Her mouth watered. But what about the python? One never knew what mood to expect from a carpet snake when interfering with their routines. Was it worth the risk?
      The fruit’s fragrance, a mix of honey, pineapple and mint, wafted across in the breeze. With it came the sweet, rotting smell of the ones stung by fruit-flies – the frog’s favourite.
      Wark’s tongue slipped out of his mouth to lick his lips and Decibelle smiled. He was probably thinking of the juicy, fruit-fly maggots he’d soon be licking out of the feijoas.
She had thought of a plan, but it’d be risky; needing precise timing.
      ‘Let’s do it, Wark,’ she said. ‘You stay this side and watch its eyes, but keep well back. I’ll come in from the other side, grab what fruit I can, stuff them in my dilly bag and then we’re out of here.’
      Wark blinked his eyes in agreement and squirmed further away from the python. ‘I’ll warn you if it moves a single scale,’ he croaked. ‘Just be careful.’
      Decibelle crept through the ferns to the other side of the feijoa tree. The snake wasn’t the only thing they should be wary of on the rainforest’s edge. Humans worked between the rows of tropical fruits in this orchard. Not that they ever saw them this on this far side, and their dwelling – Wark called it a Packing Shed – was far out of sight.
      The feijoa’s seed had most likely been dropped by a fruit bat on the rainforest boundary and it’d taken root many seasons ago. Now, it was here for the picking. Or rather, the dropping. Decibelle grinned – nothing was as good as slurping on a ripe feijoa.
      She bent to gather what fruit she could carry. As she dropped them into the small dilly bag hung over her shoulder the bag’s magic twisted and flickered through its fibres in iridescent blues and greens; its capacity increasing with each fruit, but not its weight; it also tickled her skin and made goose-bumps along on her arm.
      Where patches of sunlight touched the python’s still body, patterned scales glistened. Beneath the skin beat the tiny pulse of the reptile’s heart. Next to it on the grass sat the largest, juiciest, ripest feijoa of all.
      Decibelle crept closer. Nearer and nearer to the fruit. She stooped to pick it up.
      Suddenly, a ripple of movement spread along the carpet snake’s skin.
      Wark gave a startled hiccup, followed by his warning, ‘WAAARRRKKK’.
      The snake lifted its head and swayed.
      Decibelle whispered the three words of a masking spell. She crouched as still as a rock, not daring to breathe.
      
(c) Sheryl Gwyther