Endling #2

by Katherine Applegate

  Some questions were heartbreaking. What news of the dairnes in Urmanland? Had I encountered any dairne of the wandering Blue Sky colony? Did I know anything of the dairnes near the upper Tellarno?

  “Don’t you see?” I said, my voice breaking. “They are all gone. All dead. My own pack, my family . . .”

  For a moment I couldn’t speak. It had been a while since I’d cried over my family. I preferred to push those thoughts away, because with the sadness inevitably came rage, and I couldn’t spend my life in a state of constant anger.

  I gazed from face to face—so many dairnes, so hungry for news—and tried again. “You must understand that until we found Maxyn and his father, I thought I was the last. The endling of our species.”

  “You’ve been all alone?” a sympathetic voice asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. But instantly that answer sounded false to my own ears, as it did, I could tell, to my fellow dairnes. “No, not alone. Not alone at all,” I said, and I pointed to Tobble. “I’ve believed myself to be the last of our kind. But I’ve made dear friends on my journey here.”

  “Here to do what?” Larbrik asked bluntly. “To starve with us? Or, when we are weakened enough, to join us as thralls to the Marsonians? We have but a few days of food left. Soon after that, we’ll begin to see the first signs of starvation.”

  “You’re certain the boats belong to Marsony, and not the Murdano?” I asked.

  “The Murdano has no boats this far north,” Figton said. He had long gray hairs protruding from his ears and was missing a few teeth. “Marsonian raiders have come before, but this is their most determined effort. In the past, they stole food and whatever valuables they could find. This time, we feel certain they mean to finish us off.”

  “We shall soon have no worries about Marsonians,” I said, surprised at my sudden confidence. “I have come to lead you out of here. The dairnes must join with Kharassande Donati to stop this war, to prevent the slaughter of entire species, and to bring justice to Nedarra!”

  It was an inspiring speech, and some of the younger dairnes in the circle around us applauded. Most, however, young or old, frowned and looked distinctly unhappy.

  “Byx,” said Larbrik, “this is our home. For ninety-two years we’ve survived here, and now you tell us that our survival was a miracle, and that we are the last of our kind. Why would we march off to join some distant war? To serve some ambitious new human ruler?”

  Several dairnes murmured agreement.

  “And how would you have us leave?” a young male dairne demanded. “By the crumbling path? Our old and infirm, not to mention our youngest pups, couldn’t hope to make that climb. Would you have us leave them here to the mercies of the Marsonians? Abandon our village? Our boats? Our way of life?”

  “But,” I argued, “you say the Marsonians have you at the edge of starvation. You can’t just sit here and slowly die.”

  “Better to be a thrall of the Marsonians than to fall from the crumbling path or be eaten by wild felivets!” someone shouted.

  “There are no wild felivets waiting to—” I glanced at Tobble helplessly. “I mean, yes, there are some felivets, but they don’t eat dairnes. Not anymore. And anyway—”

  “This outsider will lead us to our deaths!” a shrill voice yelled.

  “Go back to where you came from!”

  “We don’t need your wild ideas!”

  The noise level rose and the shouting verged on hysteria. “Byx,” Tobble whispered in my ear, “perhaps we should give them some time to think things over.”

  “Enough!” A voice cut through it all—a clear, intelligent female voice. She was only a few years older than I, lovely, and quite tall for a female dairne.

  The room quieted to a dull hum. “If there exists a way to scare away the Marsonians, we could sail south, find a landing place, and join with Byx’s human leader,” the young dairne said. She sent me a sympathetic smile. “It’s better than dying of boredom in this deadly dull place.”

  “Oh, is that so, Glynlee?” asked Figton. “Fine, then. Go chase away the Marsonians!”

  His retort brought a gale of derisive laughter, and Glynlee hung her head. Still, she muttered, “It’s the only way.”

  The words came out of my mouth before I could think them through. “I can deal with the Marsonians,” I said, as certainly as I might have declared, “I can count to ten.”

  The crowd fell silent. The only sounds were the click of knitting needles and the steady snore of the elderly dairne I’d encountered on arriving.

  No one called me a liar, which could only mean that I was not lying. And that could only mean that somewhere deep down I believed—actually believed—I thought it was possible.

  “How exactly would you accomplish this, Byx?” Glynlee asked in an encouraging voice.

  My stomach whined, and I realized I needed food and, far more important, time to strategize.

  “Good question, Glynlee,” I said, ignoring Tobble’s worried gaze. “I will reveal my plan later this evening. After dinner.”

  52

  Audacious and Quite Possibly Preposterous

  “So,” Tobble asked when we were in a private place, a hut we’d been given for the night. “What exactly is this plan of yours for dealing with the Marsonians?”

  “You know I don’t have one.”

  “But a whole roomful of dairnes believed you.”

  “That’s because in that moment I believed myself.”

  I sighed. We were sitting on a dirt floor around a meager fire. Half its smoke meandered up through a chimney hole, while the other half lingered in the air. The village elders had offered to feed us, but knowing how dire things were, we’d chosen to eat from our own dwindling supplies.

  Tobble rubbed his eyes, which were watering in the murky air. “Then what do we do?”

  “I don’t know, Tobble,” I admitted. “I really don’t.”

  On what should have been a day of joy and triumph for me, I was as worried as I’d ever been. Two ships bottled up the colony. And only the hardiest of dairnes could escape up the dangerously steep trail. There was no way out.

  These dairnes were in a trap. I’d promised to deliver them from it. And I had nothing at all to offer.

  Even if I were somehow able to rescue them, what then? I had no way of knowing how Khara was faring. Had Albrit remained loyal? Had Khara been able to make peace with Luca’s clan? Had she been able to raise a force capable of stopping the coming war?

  I shook my head, trying to clear away the biggest question of all, but it held fast as a poacher’s arrow: What if Khara was no longer even alive?

  I poked at the fire with a stick. “Do you think Khara is”—I struggled for words—“all right?”

  “Yes,” Tobble said firmly. “I do.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Tobble pulled on a whisker. “Because she’s Khara.”

  I wanted to believe Tobble, but some part of me wondered if this journey had all been a waste of time—and a waste of life. What about Maxyn, and the poor packhorse who had fallen to his death? Had this been worth their pain?

  Again I punched at the fire, harder this time. The wood popped, sending a hot ember flying onto Tobble’s pack. He batted it out with his tail braid.

  It was a commonplace thing, that ember. Fires always spat and crackled. But perhaps because my thoughts were spiraling in pointless circles, I found myself mesmerized. There was something there. Something important . . .

  “Byx?” Tobble prompted. “What’s wrong?”

  I jumped to my feet. “The fire!” I exclaimed.

  “I know it’s awfully smoky,” Tobble apologized. “The wood they gave us was quite damp, and I didn’t want to make a fuss—”

  “Sabito!” I shouted, flinging open the door while Tobble watched, mouth agape.

  Sabito swooped in a few seconds later. He settled on the floor, looking annoyed. (Hawks always look annoyed, but I knew Sabito hated landing in a spot where h
is talons couldn’t manage a firm grip.)

  “You shouted?” he grumbled.

  “Tell me, Sabito. How far could you carry Tobble?”

  “What?” both Tobble and Sabito demanded in unison.

  “Tobble,” I repeated. “Without his pack.”

  The riverhawk tilted his head and considered. “Hmm. I could get him airborne, but only for a few feet.”

  “I’ve watched you, Sabito,” I said. “You seek out rising heat. I’ve seen you use the warmth of fires, the warmth coming from chimneys, the warmth of the sun on rocks—”

  “Yes, yes,” Sabito interrupted. “We call them updrafts. Warm air rises in a column. Raptidons spread their wings and—” He stopped, eyeing me carefully.

  “And if you had a column of warm air?” I asked.

  “Oh, then I could almost certainly lift Tobble.”

  “If you rode high enough on a column of air,” I continued, waving my hand toward the ceiling, “you could glide then, still holding him?”

  Sabito stretched out his wings and gave a perturbed flutter. “I think it’s time you told me just what you have in mind.”

  Tobble nodded. “As the item being lifted, I agree.”

  And so I told them.

  They listened carefully, if skeptically (Sabito in particular had his doubts). There were many questions, and a few groans (mostly from Tobble). Still and all, they grudgingly agreed that my idea just might work.

  “It’s audacious,” said Sabito. “Possibly even preposterous.” He gave a little avian nod. “I like it.”

  The three of us returned to the hall of elders, where many of the same dairnes we’d met earlier were still gathered. I found Glynlee and asked her to assemble the rest of the villagers. Before long, the entire hall was filled to the brim with dairnes, young and old, waiting to hear what I had to say.

  I stood on a small wooden pallet, cleared my throat, and began.

  “Fellow dairnes,” I said, “we have a plan. I’m told it is audacious.” I smiled at Tobble and Sabito. “Perhaps even preposterous.”

  I paused, looking at the expectant, worried, doubtful faces gathered before me. “But,” I said, “if there is one thing I have learned from my friends, it’s that even the most audacious plan can sometimes work. Will you at least hear me out?”

  There were murmurs, a few groans, a bit of laughter.

  I spoke.

  They listened.

  They argued.

  I argued back.

  At one point, Tobble left the gathering. He returned moments later with one of the saddlebags and passed it to me.

  Khara’s gifts for the dairnes. I’d forgotten all about them.

  “Friends,” I said, “I know that you continue to have doubts about my plan, about the brewing war, and about Kharassande Donati. In my haste to talk to you, I neglected to share these small tokens sent by Kharassande to signal her commitment to you, and to our species.”

  I passed the bag to Larbrik, who examined the contents and handed each item to Figton. A small silver chalice, one I recalled seeing in the baron’s treetop hideaway. Two sharp knives with elaborately engraved handles. And most important: a glittering green gem from the natite crown.

  Larbrik shook her head in disbelief. “This could feed our village for a year.”

  “And yet those offerings are useless to you unless you can reach the outside world,” I pointed out.

  We continued our back-and-forth until my voice grew hoarse. Gradually, I began to sense a shift in the mood. But it wasn’t my speech, or Khara’s gifts, that made the difference.

  In the end, it was Sabito and Tobble who convinced the dairnes to give my plan a try, with two simple sentences.

  “I would trust Byx with my life,” said Sabito.

  “I have trusted my Byx with my life,” said Tobble.

  Whatever their doubts, our audience of dairnes knew one thing with complete certainty: Tobble and Sabito were speaking the truth.

  And I knew we were about to embark on my audacious, quite possibly preposterous, plan.

  53

  Figton’s Folly

  The next day, the elders dispatched a team of workers to place a temporary bridge over the washed-out section of the trail, the terrifying spot where we’d lost our packhorse. They also gave us the boat I’d requested. It was small, old, and creaky, and it stank of fish. Its wooden hull had seen better days. But it had a mast and a sail, and for my purposes, rotting wood was perfect.

  Tobble took note of the boat’s name, painted on the side in chipped paint: Figton’s Folly. I was grateful indeed that Figton had been willing to sacrifice his boat. But the word “folly” didn’t seem like a particularly good omen.

  As the day wore on, villagers brought bundles of straw down to the water’s edge. “Pile it all belowdecks,” I instructed. “But loosely, please.”

  After a light evening meal, Tobble, Sabito, and I checked our tired-looking craft one more time. I fretfully rearranged the dry straw in the hull, while Sabito circled the harbor, searching for potential obstacles. The breeze was reassuringly steady, and Tobble held up a moistened paw to gauge its direction.

  An old dairne fisherman named Ornyxus joined Tobble and advised, “The wind tends to shift after midnight. Should be comin’ from the south, southeast. The tide will be goin’ out about the same time.”

  “Will she lie close to the wind?” Tobble asked, a question that meant nothing to me.

  Ornyxus nodded. “Aye, she’ll lie close enough. If you know how to handle her, she’ll do. You’ll be able to tack almost due west.”

  “Then ride the breeze straight on in,” Tobble said, nodding.

  “If fortune smiles,” the old sailor said.

  “What about natites?” I asked.

  “Oh, bless me, they’re scarce in these waters, and this boat is licensed. The natites don’t fool with fishing craft, so long as you pay the fee.”

  “Is that why they allow the Marsonians free rein? Do the raiders pay a fee?”

  Ornyxus shrugged. “The natites rule the seas. They do as they please.”

  It was well past midnight when, just as Ornyxus had predicted, the wind shifted. Most of the villagers had come out, despite the late chill and a light dusting of falling snow. They lined the pier and much of the beach—all curious, most afraid.

  Tobble raised his paw and, with a losing attempt to sound bluff and hearty, called, “Let’s go! Time and tide wait for no one.”

  He and I climbed aboard the boat, which was now stuffed with straw. I’d piled more straw in loose bales on the deck.

  “You know you don’t have to do this, Tobble.” I reached into my patchel and retrieved the all-important tinderbox. “You have nothing left to prove to me or to anyone.”

  Tobble scratched an ear, feigning calm. “I think it sounds like fun.”

  I didn’t need my dairne ability to know that wasn’t true.

  “Are you sure?” I pressed, hit by the crushing weight of worry and guilt. If things went badly, I would be responsible for my best friend’s death.

  Tobble put his paw on my arm. “Byx,” he said, “I want to do this. It’s my choice.”

  Once again, I wished for my companions and their strengths—Khara’s resolve, Gambler’s wisdom, Renzo’s confidence—at this moment when so much was at stake.

  “All right, then.” I hugged Tobble close, handed him the tinderbox, and turned away quickly so he couldn’t see my anguish.

  “Cast off fore and aft,” Tobble yelled, once I was back on the pier. Dairne onlookers rushed to loosen ropes. With a long pole, Ornyxus pushed the boat away, while Tobble raised the sail and ran back to grab the tiller.

  The breeze filled the sail, Tobble leaned into the helm, and the boat began to make its way roughly west.

  I looked back to see if Sabito was perched atop the elders’ tower. He must have known I was nervous, so he flared his wings, the better for me to see him. The height of the tower would, I hoped, provide the riv
erhawk with early and much-needed speed.

  Tobble gathered momentum, aided by the breeze and the receding tide. Soon he was a quarter of a league out, and nearly invisible.

  I was powerless to do anything but watch and wait. It was agony. Pacing back and forth, I stared at the black waves, muttering under my breath while the shy moon cowered behind clouds.

  Time passed. The crowd grew restless. I began to worry that Tobble had lost his nerve or, worse yet, fallen overboard. But then, far out at sea, I noticed a flicker of light.

  The moon chose that moment to reappear. I saw a silver, triangular glow—Tobble’s sail—within a few hundred yards of the larger of the ships from Marsony.

  The Marsonians had spotted Tobble, too. Faint cries of excitement in an alien tongue floated across the water. I pictured their sailors rushing to small boats, no doubt assuming that Tobble was a helpless dairne in a tiny vessel, making a break for the open sea.

  But Tobble wasn’t aiming for escape.

  He was preparing for attack.

  “You can do this, Tobble,” I whispered, and seemingly out of nowhere, a tongue of yellow flame appeared, as if the water itself had caught fire.

  “Sabito!” I shouted.

  “I see,” he cried. He spread his wings and swooped from the tower, turned his downward momentum into forward speed, then flapped to gain altitude, heading straight out to sea.

  The flames on Tobble’s boat were growing rapidly, beautiful and deadly, even as he advanced on the nearest Marsonian boat.

  Panicked yells, louder now, carried on the air. The Marsonians would be trying desperately to pull up anchor and flee. Would they have time?

  Would Tobble?

  Clearly, the Marsonian crew members were quick and well-trained. They had their anchor off the sea floor and were raising their own sails when Tobble’s blazing torch of a boat crashed into the side of their own.

  I dashed back and forth, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tobble.

  Nothing. Nor could I see Sabito.