“I’d beg to differ,” she said.
“And I would gently, but respectfully, argue the point.”
Khara laughed. “Spoken like a true ambassador.”
“Well, I’ve had a bit of experience.”
“We did the best we could, Byx,” said Khara. “And that’s all we ever need to know.”
42
Travels with Tobble
At dawn, I saddled Achoo and prepared to leave.
The night before, I’d firmly explained to Tobble that I would be traveling solo. He was my dearest friend, I told him. But the task before me was a grim one, and I couldn’t ask him to join me.
At which point Tobble explained to me, also very firmly, that I was going nowhere without him.
I knew better than to argue with a wobbyk.
We’d hoped to make a quiet departure without waking anyone, but we found Renzo by Achoo’s side, double-checking the pony’s readiness for travel.
“You didn’t have to see us off,” I told him.
He reached for our packs. “I wasn’t about to let you sneak off without saying goodbye.”
“You hate goodbyes,” said Tobble.
“True.” Renzo paused to adjust Achoo’s bit.
“We’ll see you soon enough,” I said. “I hear that an event is in store.”
“You’d better be there,” said Renzo, grinning. “I may need moral support.”
“What event?” Tobble demanded.
“It’s a secret,” I said.
“I hate secrets,” Tobble grumbled. “Almost as much as goodbyes.”
I mounted Achoo, and Renzo gave Tobble a boost. Standing back, hands on hips, Renzo shook his head.
“Stay out of trouble, you two,” he said. “Unless I’m there for the fun.”
We rode past the circle of tents and over a small hill. The morning was hushed, fresh with a frosting of snow. Our breaths made little clouds as we moved.
“It’s so quiet,” Tobble said.
And for a few minutes it was.
Until it wasn’t.
We turned a sharp right, past a stand of dense trees, to a stunning sight.
The Army of Peace was arrayed in perfect order on both sides of the road. General Varis was there, and Bodick. Maxyn, Sabito, Gambler, and Naleese were waiting, too.
As we passed, each soldier came to attention. General Varis cried, “Three cheers for two great heroes!” and wild cries rang out.
Khara waited at the end of the line. A breathless Renzo was there as well. I sent him a questioning look and he winked. “I took a shortcut.”
With her good arm, Khara drew the Light of Nedarra and held it aloft. I suspect she wiped away a tear, but since my own eyes were streaming, I couldn’t be sure.
Half a league on, Tobble spoke for the first time. “Poor old General Varis, he made a mistake. I hope he’s not embarrassed.”
“Mistake?”
“Yes, he meant to say ‘three cheers for our hero,’ but he said ‘two great heroes.’”
I turned around and gave Tobble a playful shove. “Sometimes, Tobble, you are a bit slow to grasp the obvious.”
Our journey took weeks, uneventful travel tracing many of the same roads and paths we’d once followed while in peril. Khara had ensured that we had jewels and gold coins for our journey, so we bought food from farmers along the way, and some nights we even stopped at inns. Frequently we were offered beds in the homes of perfect strangers, who, much to my embarrassment, knew us by reputation.
I had become “the Truth Teller,” with capital letters, as though it were my official title. And Tobble was known far and wide as “the Prince of Wobbyks.”
As we rode away from one particularly enthusiastic village, Tobble said, “I wish people wouldn’t call me Prince of Wobbyks. I really don’t enjoy that at all.”
“Tobble?”
“Yes?”
“Tobble, what species am I?”
“You’re a dairne, of course.”
“Yes. And what special ability do dairnes possess?”
A long pause followed. “I would like to withdraw my earlier remark.”
“Yes, I thought you might.”
The farther we got from the capital and the battlefields, the less people knew about everything that had happened in the north. The land was less populated, with fewer farms and more forests and meadows. The climate was warmer, too. The trees still had leaves and flowers still bloomed, filling the air with the sweet scents of jasmine and moonflower.
One afternoon, we rode through the Forest of Null, eating what we had in our saddlebags, along with berries we’d picked along the way.
“This is all seeming more familiar,” I said. It was a melancholy feeling. I’d been raised in this part of Nedarra, but we’d had to stay on the move constantly. No one place had ever truly been home. Home was simply wherever my family happened to be.
On a section of the trail hemmed by thick undergrowth, I caught the scent of something disturbing on the wind.
“Do you smell that, Tobble?” I asked.
He sniffed the air. “Yes. And I hear movement in the woods to either side.”
A man stepped into our path. He was stocky, dressed in green garments meant to mimic the color of the trees. He had a long sword in his hand and was resting it casually on his shoulder. “Halt!” he cried.
More men rushed onto the pathway behind us.
“Poachers!” Tobble whispered.
“Yes. The same band that Khara once traveled with.”
“The same band that very nearly killed you, Byx.”
I reined in Achoo, who, true to his name, sneezed enthusiastically. “What is it you wish?” I asked the first man, feeling surprisingly calm.
He laughed. “Dairne pelt and wobbyk stew, of course.”
I turned to Tobble. “I believe this poacher means to harm us. Do you suppose he remembers the young, dark-haired lad who used to scout for him?”
“What about him?” the man asked suspiciously.
“Well, first, he was no lad, but rather a young woman.”
“So he was a she. So what?”
“So she is now a lady. In fact, the Lady, ruler of all Nedarra. We’re her friends, and I should probably tell you that if any harm came to us, she’d be here in an instant, with an army of soldiers who worship her and love us.”
The poacher licked his lips nervously. A voice from behind yelled, “They lie!”
“She’s a dairne,” came another voice, this one tremulous. “They aren’t able to lie.”
It wasn’t strictly true, but I didn’t see any need to correct him.
“And if that’s not enough to make you step aside . . .” I drew my short sword. “I must mention that although I despise violence and wish only peace, I have taken a life.”
The poacher laughed, but uncertainly. He was a trapper, not someone interested in the business of sword fighting. “Whose life did you take?”
“The life of the Murdano of Nedarra.”
The poacher blinked. Of all the things I might have said, he surely didn’t expect that answer.
“I’m not proud of it,” I added. “And I hope never to take another life. But if you don’t stand aside . . .”
I let my words hang in the air. After a minute, during which the poacher tried his best to look bold and threatening, he stepped away.
I sheathed my sword. “There’s peace in the land,” I said, softening my voice. “The harsh rule of the Murdano led many men to earn a living by robbing or poaching. But the Lady is not the Murdano. A man willing to do work will find it. A man willing to live under the law will see that the law is his shield. Go to the Lady and make your peace with her. She’s merciful.”
To my surprise, the man took off his hat as a sign of respect and said, “Peace? That word has a good sound to it.”
“Tell the Lady that Byx has sent you. She may find a use for you and your men.”
When we were well away, Tobble said, “That mi
ght have been a good time to mention you’re the Truth Teller and I’m the Prince of Wobbyks.”
“You know that’s just a title of honor, right? It doesn’t grant you any power.”
“Power? Pff. I have no desire for power. Or wealth. Or fame.”
“Tobble.”
“All right. Once again, I’d like to withdraw my earlier remark.” He sighed. “It’s no fun traveling with a dairne.”
When we came at last to a particular oak, broad-limbed and welcoming, I reined in.
“Why are we stopping?” Tobble asked.
“Because I remember that tree. I know where we are.”
“Ah.”
“This next part I wish to travel alone,” I said, and for once Tobble did not argue.
43
Returning
I cannot, will not, tell the full story of my next few hours. I’ll only say that I found what I knew I must: the sun-bleached bones of everyone I’d once loved.
Even knowing what I would find, I was unprepared for the knife of pain that cut through me. I half fell, half dismounted, from my pony.
Kneeling on the ground, I gave in to the grief I’d held at bay for so long. I howled like an animal. I beat my fists against my chest. I wept.
I don’t know how long it went on. Time disappears, I suppose, when you need it to.
At last I stood, squeezed the last of my tears from my burning eyes, and wiped my face. I found Achoo munching grass not far away, and unpacked the shovel I’d brought for just this purpose.
I began to dig.
It was hard labor, but I took grim satisfaction in it. It distracted me from the dread of what I had to do next.
I dug a single hole. I made it less than my own height, so that I could climb out without too much difficulty. When I surfaced, dirty and sweaty and sore, I saw that each small pile of bones had been decorated with a tiny red flower.
“This part you must not do alone,” said Tobble.
“I’m the only one left of my pack, Tobble. The only one.”
“The last of your pack,” he said softly. “But not the last of your kind.”
With great care, we gathered the bones, and as we worked I turned my mind to memories of better times.
I saw my mother’s sweet smile. I heard my father’s wise proverbs. I recalled my siblings, rowdy and teasing, gentle and loving. I remembered Myxo, our valiant pathfinder, and Dalyntor, our teacher and the keeper of our history.
Who would keep that history alive now?
Tobble found a small sapling and replanted it at the grave as a marker. We spent the night in the woods, a few dozen yards away.
In the morning I said, “Thank you, Tobble. Thank you, best of all possible friends.”
He nodded. “Of course. You would do the same for me, Byx. So where do we go now?”
“Oh, we head back north, Tobble. There’s to be an event.”
“Ah, yes. The secret event.” He wagged a finger at me. “There’s a reason I haven’t hounded you about that. I suspect I already know what it is.”
“Does it involve two humans that we both love?”
“It does indeed!” Tobble cried.
We mounted up, and I paused to take one last look back at the gravesite. I hoped the sapling would take root and grow. But I wasn’t sure I would ever return to find out.
“Byx?” Tobble asked.
“Yes?”
“After the . . . event, what will you do? Will you go find other dairnes and live with them?”
“I don’t know, Tobble. Will you return to Bossyp? To be with other wobbyks?”
“I always thought I would.” Tobble shrugged. “But it doesn’t seem quite as important anymore. You know?”
“I do,” I said softly. “I do know.”
We rode away in silence. We hadn’t gone far when I scented something off to one side of the path. I knew that smell. Or at least my heart knew it, even if my head didn’t. It had the strange familiarity of a dream fragment. Spurred on by instinct and distant memory, I rode deep into the forest.
And there it was. Phantom Mere, just as I remembered it.
The sandy shore. The criller trees, with their shiny, light gold leaves. The dark surface, like polished stone. Even the blue squirrels were there, chittering in annoyance at our intrusion.
“See that vine?” I said to Tobble. “My siblings and I used to swing out from it, then land in the lake.” I gave a small laugh. “Well, they did, anyway. I was too afraid.”
“You? Afraid?”
“Always and forever,” I said. “I’m beginning to think that’s how life works.”
“Are we stopping here?” Tobble asked. “The horses are well watered.”
“Yes, but I’m not. Do you know what I need, Tobble? I need a swim.”
I checked the icy water with a long stick to be sure it was as deep as I recalled. Two silver fish darted past.
As I clambered to a low-hanging branch, I felt a familiar shiver of anticipation and dread, and for a moment, I was the old Byx, with all her hopes and fears and longings.
Then I kicked off as hard as I could, swung far out over the pond, and let go.
Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Ten Years Later . . .
“All we have left to do is hang the official portrait of the high governor and we’ll be done,” I said, brushing dust from my fur as I looked around with a critical eye.
I gazed out the window at the bustling Isle of Scholars and the calm harbor beyond. I’d been working at the Academy for years, restoring the dairne level of the Pillar of Truth, but I never tired of the view.
The Pillar included floors devoted to the study of both dairnes and wobbyks. When dairnes had been presumed extinct, this floor had been used for storage. Now it was filled with leather-bound books, maps, drawings, and transcriptions of oral histories.
My two young dairne assistants, a boy and a slightly older girl, raced to lift the portrait, draped in velvet. The hook was already waiting in the wall, along with a tall ladder nearby. They maneuvered precariously but managed to get the painting attached.
“Shall I uncover it, Mistress Byx?” asked Laryx, the girl.
“Yes, please do.” I’d already seen the portrait, but the children had not.
She pulled away the drape, revealing the familiar face, older by ten years. People whispered that Khara never seemed to age, but I saw the signs. The cares of her office had added a few faint lines, along with a certain wisdom and gravity. It was the face of a woman of accomplishment: Kharassande the Great, High Governor of Nedarra, ruling by the choice of a free and united people.
Kharassande the Great to many.
Khara, dear old friend, to me.
Into the room burst two small demons in the form of human children, a boy and a girl. The twins were five years old, with the dark, wavy hair of their mother and the mischievous smile of their father.
“Auntie Byx, do you still have any of that butterbee cake?” asked Alessa.
“I do, if my assistants have left some,” I said, pointing them to a table. They fell upon the cake like wild beasts—or five-year-old humans, which I’d learned was much the same thing. I’d recently been visited by Gambler and Naleese and their four children, and by comparison, the young felivets had been models of perfect behavior.
Renzo appeared at the doorway. “Hello there, Byx,” he said. “Or do I have to call you Byx the Gharri now?”
I laughed. I’d only last month been honored with the title of “Gharri,” and I still had a hard time believing it. The label was reserved for the most influential and respected scholars at the Academy.
“Of course, I’m the only dairne Gharri,” I told Renzo. “There aren’t that many of us. Yet, anyway.”
Khara entered. “Are our horrible children bothering you?” she asked as she embraced me.
“Oh, they’re monsters where cake is involved, but we’ll survive.”
Renzo gazed up at the portrait of his wife. �
�Pity you don’t look that beautiful in real life, Khara.”
She smacked his shoulder playfully and they linked arms, as in love as they’d ever been.
Alessa dashed in from an anteroom. “We found Tobble!”
“He was snoring!” Carlo exclaimed.
“Snoring?” came an outraged, and very sleepy, reply. “Why, I was studying an ancient scroll about wobbyks. I closed my eyes to think more clearly!”
Tobble shuffled out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Seeing Khara, he bowed low. It was the polite thing to do when encountering a leader, and he was nothing if not polite.
“I was contemplating the nature of the universe,” Tobble grumbled, “when I was beset by these young hooligans!”
Tobble hadn’t yet had children with Nerble, the wonderfully patient wobbyk he’d married just a year earlier. Despite his complaints, he doted on the twins.
Khara cocked her head at the newly hung portrait. “Do I look a bit grumpy?”
Renzo drew her close. “Not in the least. You look lovely. And I will offer to fight anyone who says different. Unless, you know, he’s bigger than I am.”
“I wonder, Byx,” said Khara, “amid all the comfort and ease you have now, do you ever miss the days when we were racing from here to there, in constant danger, running for our lives?”
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
Tobble shook his head. “I sure don’t.”
“Me neither,” Renzo agreed.
“Nor do I,” said Khara.
It didn’t take a dairne to know that all four of us had lied.
Acknowledgments
Endless thanks to my amazing editor, Tara Weikum, as well as Jenn Corcoran, Audrey Diestellkamp, Vaishali Nayak, Emily Zhu, Renée Cafiero, Sarah Homer, Barb Fitzsimmons, Alison Donalty, Jenna Stempel-Lobell, Chris Kwon, Patty Rosati, Andrea Pappenheimer, Suzanne Murphy, and all the other folks at HarperCollins who’ve helped bring Endling to life; and to my wonderful agent, Elena Giovanazzo, at Pippin Properties, Inc.
About the Author
Courtesy of Katherine Applegate
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