The Sleeping Turtle Island
On their third day in the Shimmering Expanse, the Sun-Skimmer’s water barrel gave one last hollow slosh.
“We have half a cup left,” Kalinga said.
“Excellent,” Tara replied. “You drink the cup. I’ll drink the handle.”
A green island lay ahead, with trees on its hills and a waterfall spilling down one side. They rowed ashore with every empty barrel they could carry.
The beach rose beneath their feet.
It rose again.
Then the island gave a thunderous snore, and six palm trees bent flat in the breeze from its nose.
One enormous golden eye opened beside them.
“I am Kurma-Raja,” rumbled the island, who was clearly a turtle. “Answer three riddles before I fall asleep again, and my streams are yours.”
“How long do we have?” Tara asked.
Kurma-Raja yawned. A flock of birds flew out of his mouth.
“Not long,” said Kalinga.
The turtle’s first riddle rolled across his shell:
“I hold cities with no houses, forests with no trees, and seas with no fish. What am I?”
Kalinga glanced at the glowing pieces beneath the compass glass. “A map!”
One stream began to trickle.
Kurma-Raja’s second eye drooped as he asked:
“I have a bed but never sleep, a mouth but never eat, and I run without feet. What am I?”
Tara watched the trickle race downhill. “A river.”
A second stream splashed over the rocks.
“Third riddle!” Kalinga called.
No answer came. Kurma-Raja was already snoring.
“He forgot it!”
“An ancient turtle does not forget his own riddle,” Tara said. She climbed a mossy ridge as the giant shell rose and fell. With every breath, patches of moss slid apart, revealing golden letters.
Kalinga ran to the other side. Half the lines were visible from his ridge, half from hers. They shouted them back and forth:
“I dance without feet—”
“I roar without a mouth—”
“I eat wood for supper—”
“And water sends me out!”
They answered together. “Fire!”
Kurma-Raja’s eyes popped open. All three streams burst into waterfalls, and a silver map piece tumbled into Tara’s barrel with a plink.
They filled every barrel. Unfortunately, Kurma-Raja fell asleep again before they could climb down.
His shell tilted. The siblings, the barrels, and their dinghy shot down the waterfall in a roaring, spinning rush and splashed safely into the sea.
Kalinga surfaced with a lily pad on his head.
From the island came another giant snore.
“I think,” Tara said, hauling herself into the dinghy, “that means goodbye.”