Endling #2

by Katherine Applegate

  “There’s a cave,” Gambler said. “Come.”

  We followed, trailing blood on the stone floor, our only light the guttering flame of Renzo’s dying torch.

  At last we found a wide space with boulders where we could rest. There we took turns bandaging each other’s wounds, while Dog attempted, unhelpfully, to lick them.

  “So,” Khara said as she wrapped a cut on Renzo’s forearm, “back to the birds, or on into darkness?”

  “Darkness,” we all said at once.

  “Well, that was easy,” Khara said. She took Renzo’s flickering torch and we headed off into the cold and endless blackness.

  4

  Good Little Doggie

  Deeper and deeper into the cave we went. The torchlight faded to a weakly glowing ember and we stumbled at almost every step. Gambler’s sight was far better at night, but even he could not see in absolute darkness. We tried to feed the flame, but the only fuel we could find was damp moss coating the walls and floor. The instant the torch died, we would be completely sightless, feeling our way far below the reach of the sun.

  “I sense open space ahead,” Khara said. “The air is different.”

  “Yes,” Gambler agreed. “But without light . . .”

  I, too, could tell the air was growing less stuffy. I smelled something familiar yet strange: water. Not salt water. Not clear spring water. This water had a scent of strange minerals, of marsh and mushrooms.

  The torch sputtered and died, plunging us into a black void. I held my hand an inch in front of my face and saw nothing. It was a strangely suffocating feeling, losing a sense so completely.

  “I can see a little,” Gambler said. “Byx, take hold of my tail. Everyone else join hands with each other.”

  We crept forward hand in hand, or hand on tail, moving with all the speed of moonsnails. For two hours, maybe more, we were in a place without time. As we inched along, we complained about our bandages and pain, trying to distract ourselves from the crushing terror of being far underground without so much as a glimmer of light.

  When we ran out of complaints, Tobble sang an old tune about giant mudworms, a great fear for wobbyks, who live in underground tunnels.

  The chorus was gruesomely appropriate, and soon we were all singing along with him:

  When wobbyks doze in slumber sweet,

  The mudworm knows it’s time to eat.

  It dines on tails. It gnaws on paws.

  (The mudworm doesn’t care for claws.)

  “Have you ever seen a giant mudworm, Tobble?” I asked.

  “Once,” he answered. “When I was just a kit.” He shuddered, and I felt his big ears tremble like leaves in a breeze. “And believe me, once was plenty. They are giant and slimy and always hungry.”

  Our voices were growing hoarse when Gambler suddenly stopped. “It’s lighter ahead!” he reported. “There must be a way out!”

  He was right about the light, wrong that it was sunlight. We soon realized that the walls of the cave were emitting a faint golden light. After total darkness, it was welcome indeed.

  Gradually our eyes adjusted and we could see well enough not to trip every second step. The feeling of openness grew, too. We rounded a bend in the tunnel and saw a circle of aqua light ahead. It seemed dazzling but was probably no brighter than the light of a crescent moon.

  The tunnel ended a hundred feet or more above the floor of a great cavern. We gazed in awestruck astonishment at a scene that defied imagination.

  The cavern wasn’t big. It wasn’t even huge. It was vast.

  The entire Nedarran royal capital of Saguria would have fit comfortably in the immense space. Above us, an impossibly high ceiling bristled with rocky spears. The floor of the cavern had its own version: a forest of rock daggers pointing upward. The projections on the floor formed a ring at the edges of the most startling feature of the cavern, a lake with dark water so perfectly undisturbed it looked like polished black glass.

  “I see fire,” Renzo said. “All the way across the lake, to the right. Maybe several small fires.”

  “And I smell them,” I said, testing the air.

  We clambered down the steep descent, then set off on a strange and difficult march. The only way around the lake involved passing through clusters of oddly shaped stalagmites. Some looked like squat beehives. Some resembled a knight’s spear, tapered and smooth. Others reminded me of huge candles, melted into grotesque forms.

  But no matter their shape, all were capable of inflicting a cut or a bruise, and in our already bloody condition, it was tough going.

  When we finally reached a narrow black sand beach, we collapsed in a heap.

  “Should we look for kindling and try to build a fire?” Tobble asked, examining a bloody bandage on his left foot.

  Khara shook her head. “No. Not until we find out who or what started those fires across the lake.”

  “Does anyone need fresh bandaging?” I asked.

  We’d used up all our cloth strips and had nothing left to bind our wounds but some bitter-smelling lammint leaves I’d collected earlier. Lammint leaves are known to be medicinal, but between us we had so many shallow cuts from the birds, and so many scrapes and bruises from the stalagmites, that it was almost pointless. My whole body was a living bruise highlighted with a dozen stinging cuts.

  I crushed up some lammint leaves and passed them to my friends, who pressed them to the new wounds they’d acquired in the cave.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said.

  “Sorry for what?” Renzo asked.

  I pointed to the bandage on his arm. “For that.” I waved my hand. “For all of this. You wouldn’t be hurt if it weren’t for me.”

  “Byx,” Renzo said, eyes locked on mine. “That’s a path you can’t allow yourself to take. We’re in this together. All of us.”

  “Renzo’s right. We’re all committed to this mission. If there are dairnes still alive, Byx,” Khara said, “we are going to find them.”

  I nodded. But it was hard to shake the feeling of responsibility. Here we were, in the middle of nowhere, bleeding and bedraggled, just because I thought I’d seen another dairne. Because of one brief, heart-lurching sighting, my new pack of friends was willing to risk everything.

  I’d grown used to difficult choices lately. But difficult choices were easier when your friends weren’t involved. And the worst part? Even if we did find more dairnes, we weren’t sure if we could ever safely return to our homeland. The Murdano wasn’t exactly happy with us at the moment. Not happy, as in he’d be delighted to see us all dead.

  He’d sent us on a mission to find more dairnes, hoping he could capture a few, then kill all the rest.

  The Murdano had his reasons, vile though they were. Because dairnes can tell when someone is lying, we can be quite useful to those in power. On the other hand, too many dairnes could present a real threat to someone like the Murdano. The truth can be a dangerous thing. Especially if you’re a liar.

  It is, as my packelder, Dalyntor, used to say, our “burdensome gift.”

  We had, of course, decided not to fulfill his mission. And now, for all we knew, we were being chased by the evil despot’s soldiers.

  I sighed—louder than I’d meant to—and Dog padded over, tongue dangling, tail wagging incessantly. His fur was streaked with blood, but he seemed as giddy as ever.

  “He wants to be sure you’re all right,” said Renzo, who, for some reason, believed Dog could do no wrong.

  I managed a tolerant smile. I have mixed feelings about dogs.

  I know it’s wrong. My parents taught me to treat all species with respect. But just for the record, allow me to make this one thing clear: I am not a dog.

  Unfortunately, I am regularly mistaken for one. Far too many strangers have stroked my head and cooed, “Good little doggie.” (Clearly, humans are not the most observant mammals. It’s perfectly obvious I’m not a doggie, good or otherwise.)

  To begin with, dairnes have glissaires, fine membran
es that allow us to glide, batlike, through the air. Not for long distances, alas. But floating high above the world, even for just a few seconds, is a joy no mere dog will ever experience.

  We also have hands, complete with opposable thumbs. They are every bit as clever as human hands. And far superior to clumsy and unreliable paws.

  Moreover, we can use human language skillfully—better than many humans, in fact. When a dog, on the other hand, wants to communicate with people, there are limited options. Basically it comes down to three choices: bark, beg, or bite.

  Here’s another advantage to being a dairne. Unlike dogs, we have pouches on our stomachs called “patchels,” convenient for carrying items. Once upon a time, I used mine to hold small treasures: a glistening sunstone, a ball for tossing with my packmates. These days, it held just a few things, including a map that might or might not hold my destiny in its pale scribblings.

  But that’s not all. Dairnes aren’t just better designed than dogs. We behave better, too.

  We don’t go mad with glee at the glimpse of a zebra squirrel.

  We don’t roll on our backs in humiliating appeals for a stomach scratch.

  We don’t sniff impolitely at the backsides of passersby.

  Dogs are, in a word, rude. And yet every village seems to be crawling with them, in all shapes and sizes. Some are as hulking as rockwolves, some not much bigger than well-fed mouselings.

  So many dogs.

  So few dairnes.

  My father, may his heart shine like the sun, had another favorite saying: “A dairne alone is not a dairne.”

  He meant that for my species, the pack is everything. To be without them means ceasing to be who we are meant to be.

  I used to groan at my father’s sayings. All my siblings and I did. But I would give anything to hear him speak just one more time. Oh, to hear him say my name again!

  But that will never be. I’ll never see my pack again, or my family. In fact, though I cling to hope like a sputtering torch in a dark cave, I know I may never see another dairne, no matter how far my friends and I travel. No matter how hard we search.

  I watched as Dog licked my hand, depositing an unappetizing layer of slobber in the process. “You’re a good little doggie,” I said, and his tail went into a frenzy.

  I suppose they’re not so bad, dogs.

  And I need all the friends I can get.

  5

  A Felivet’s Fear

  After far too brief a rest, Khara stood and stretched.

  “Let’s get moving,” she said, and with a bit of good-natured groaning, we soldiered on. Ten minutes later, the beach ended at a cliff face that extended all the way to the ceiling of the cavern, cutting us off.

  My heart fell. There was no way forward.

  “Uh-oh,” Tobble murmured.

  I found myself entertaining terrible visions of the five of us wandering pitifully through stalagmite forests until we died of hunger.

  “I’ll take a look,” Renzo offered.

  He waded into the water, inching alongside the wall of rock. He was waist deep when he turned to us and yelled, “There’s a submerged ledge. We might be able to follow it around to the far side.”

  “Tobble,” Khara said, “you can ride on my shoulders.” She knelt down and Tobble hopped aboard.

  “Come on, Byx,” Renzo urged. “Time for a piggyback ride.”

  I glanced at Gambler. He was pacing back and forth, staring intently at the water.

  “What’s the matter, Gambler?” I asked.

  “Water, that’s what’s the matter,” he muttered. “We felivets don’t mind a stream or a puddle. And despite what people say, we can swim. But large bodies of water? You don’t know what may be under the surface.”

  “You’re too big to carry,” Khara said in a gentle voice.

  “I know!” I don’t think I’d ever heard Gambler sound quite so irritated. “I know. I know I have to do it.”

  I frowned at Gambler in disbelief. “Are you afraid?” I said.

  The thought seemed preposterous, and I meant my question as a joke. To me, Gambler was the epitome of bravery. This was a felivet who had single-handedly attacked a fearsome Knight of the Fire and lived to tell the tale.

  “Not afraid,” Gambler snapped. “It’s just . . . I don’t like water.”

  “I’ll go first,” Khara said. “If there’s anything with an appetite for meat under the water, I’ll just let them have Tobble.”

  “Hey!” Tobble objected.

  “I’m joking,” Khara said, winking at me.

  But she wasn’t joking about going first. “It’s freezing!” she complained as she stepped in. Cautiously Khara made her way, deeper and deeper, until she found the underwater ledge and eased along it. She kept one hand on the cliff face, the other held out for balance. With Tobble on her shoulders, she looked like a human who’d grown a very strange second head.

  Khara and Tobble moved out of sight as the cliff face curved, but after a few minutes she called, “It’s clear!”

  “Hop up, Byx,” Renzo said, crouching a bit.

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ll ride on Gambler’s back. I’ve done it before.”

  I didn’t want to imply that Gambler needed support. Felivets are the most solitary of species, and I knew he wasn’t a creature who’d welcome assistance. But I wanted to help, if I could.

  Renzo took the hint, nodded, and set off after Khara.

  “Our turn, Gambler,” I said.

  Gambler sent me a glare that once upon a time might have caused me to drop dead from sheer terror. But I knew I had nothing to fear.

  I hopped atop his powerful back and said, “Let’s go.”

  Gambler, of course, couldn’t walk on the submerged ledge. He had to swim.

  He swiveled his huge head and looked at me. Then he slipped into the water as silently as a hawk through clouds.

  We moved effortlessly, it seemed. But having ridden on his back once before, I sensed his fear. His muscles were tensed, his breathing strained.

  It made me wonder about Gambler. He was mighty, he was wise, he was the last creature you’d ever want to have to fight.

  Was it possible that even he experienced fear the same way I did?

  Finally, we climbed out of the water onto an area of wide shale stones. I jumped down so that Gambler could shake himself dry.

  “Thanks for the ride, friend felivet.”

  Gambler sneered and tried to look angry, but his pride was obvious. He’d done it. After a moment, he even gave me a slight nod of acknowledgment for my supporting role.

  The others were waiting, soggy and shivering. “That definitely looks like a village,” Renzo said, peering at two distinctly separate blazes.

  “I think I see . . . I don’t know, not humans, but something moving around the flames.” Khara sighed and shared a worried look with me. “What do you think, Byx? It looks like the only two options are the way we came, or forward to whatever those creatures are.”

  I was quite sure Gambler wouldn’t be anxious to swim back. And none of us wanted to risk the cliffs and the birds again—if we even found our way through the blackness.

  “Let’s see who they are,” I said, sounding more certain than I felt.

  The shale was slippery, covered with patches of dark blue moss, but it was a walk in a meadow compared to much of what we’d dealt with.

  We were perhaps a quarter league from the village when a shrill alarm assailed our ears.

  Brrreeeeet! Brrreeeeet!

  It was some kind of horn. Two alarming bleats, then nothing.

  We looked at each other, waiting, not sure what to do. Before we could decide, the lake beside us erupted in froth.

  A dozen or more creatures exploded from the water with such force that they flew through the air before settling into a line between us and the village.

  I knew what they were. We all did.

  “Natites!” I cried.

  6

  Lar Camiss
a

  Natites are one of the governing species of Nedarra, but they’re found in many lands. They come in a variety of colors, sizes, and body types. But even knowing that, these seemed like extremely unusual natites.

  For one thing, natites tend toward shades of blue and green, but these creatures were colorless. Their skin was slick and translucent, their arteries and veins visible just under the surface. I even caught a glimpse or two of internal organs.

  Like most natites, these were water-breathers with multiple gills. But their most startling feature, after the disturbing translucent flesh, was their enormous eyes. Shimmering gold with an oblong black iris, they were, taken together, nearly as large as the natite’s head. Mounted on stubby but moveable stalks that jutted from the back of their jawbones was a second set of eyes. These were eerily luminescent, casting a green light that framed their heads.

  I shuddered. It was the same reaction I’d had the first time I’d seen a natite, but in comparison, that creature was tame-looking indeed. These looked more like creatures of theurgy than mere flesh and blood.

  They were armed, too, with strange implements. I saw stone axes, chipped flint blades, and primitive but effective-looking lances, along with flails: rocks on ropes, strung like giant pearls.

  Khara held her hands up, palms out, to show she wielded no weapon. Tobble, Renzo, and I mimicked her. Gambler, of course, could not do the same, so he opted for the felivet version, slightly lowering his head and sheathing his claws.

  “We mean you no harm,” Khara said.

  The natites said nothing. They just stood there, like a soggy wall between us and the village of twenty or thirty roofless huts made of piled stones.

  I scanned the village. The cluster of huts extended over the water in part, with stone piers bearing a few more homes. This was not surprising, since natites were creatures of the water who could also walk upon the land. At the farthest inland reach of the village, a stone fence corralled a dozen white slugs the size of ponies.