Endling #2

by Katherine Applegate

But I could see one thing: the flames from Tobble’s boat as they licked the side of the Marsonian vessel, caught the rigging, and, in a spectacular rush of flame, ate through the sail as if it were parchment.

  Cheers from the dairnes filled the air.

  Now it was up to the wind.

  As I’d hoped, the Marsonian ship, unmoored and aflame, began to drift into the second, smaller Marsonian boat.

  Cheers redoubled. There were even shouts of “Byx! Byx!”

  But I couldn’t seem to breathe. My eyes ached from staring at the sea. My fevered heart rattled in my chest.

  Nothing would matter, not this victory, not any victory, without Tobble by my side.

  Something plummeted down out of the sky and splashed at the edge of the surf. Dairnes rushed forward, shouting and chanting, and moments later, there he was: Tobble, borne high on the shoulders of grateful villagers.

  “Tobble!” I cried. “Tobble!”

  He had singe marks on his fur. His face was smeared with soot. But he was grinning.

  “Hanadru was kind,” he said.

  “And you were brave,” I replied.

  Sabito joined us, perching on a post. He was not one for being touched, let alone carried aloft by a giddy mob.

  “It was close,” he said. “Very close! The fire was hotter than I expected. When I grabbed Tobble, his tails were smoldering. The updraft was excellent, but the flames shot so high I could scarcely stay in the column of air.”

  “But you did it,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “Yes. I did, didn’t I? Well then, I must be very pleased with myself.”

  We were all very pleased with ourselves—for a few moments, at least. I hugged Tobble and Tobble hugged me and half the village hugged us both, it seemed. Glynlee patted me on the back and said, “You did it, Byx.”

  “Tobble and Sabito did all the work,” I said.

  “But you made it happen. And this village will be the better for it.”

  We were stopped cold by the sucking sound of rushing water, followed by the terrified yells of desperate men. The Marsonian ships were going down, and with them, perhaps, many souls.

  We fell silent, chastened and grave. The snow quickened, turning the harbor into a scene of sparkling loveliness and obscuring the horror beyond.

  54

  Dreams and Departure

  My sleep was disrupted by chilling nightmares, though Tobble seemed to doze undisturbed. I awoke repeatedly, each time reminding myself to savrielle and take control of the stories spun by my sleeping brain. “You are the dream and the dream is you,” I whispered. “You are the dream and the dream is you.”

  But the nightmare kept repeating, taunting me with its vividness. Always, it began with Tobble on a boat engulfed in flames. He was clinging to the mast, crying out my name, begging me to save him. And though I swam with all my might through a choppy black ocean, he remained forever just out of my reach.

  Three times—for three horrifying dreams—I watched my best friend drown.

  I woke the third time screaming for Tobble, only to find him shaking my shoulder. “Byx!” he said. “Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”

  I blinked, my chest heaving, my throat dry as ash. “You’re alive.”

  “Quite.” Tobble yawned. “I was having a lovely dream about centipede biscuits.”

  “I’m sorry I interrupted,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I tried to savrielle, but I just couldn’t get control.”

  Tobble responded with an exuberant snore. I looked over to see him already fast asleep. Carefully, I tucked a blanket under his chin. How I envied his ability to sleep under any circumstances!

  Lying back on my straw mat, I resolved to stay awake until dawn. I couldn’t witness the death—however unreal—of Tobble again. We were leaving in the morning, and I needed to be fresh. But exhaustion was far preferable to the alternative.

  And yet fall asleep I did. Once again, the nightmare returned. Once again, Tobble clung to the mast while flames licked at his rear paws. Once again, I swam to no avail, ever closer, but not close enough.

  You are the dream and the dream is you.

  Tobble’s boat began to sink, his eyes wide with terror, my screams swallowed by the indifferent sea.

  You are the dream and the dream is you.

  There.

  There on the horizon.

  It was another boat. A boat coming closer, slapping against the waves, filled with three—no, four—individuals. They were shadowy, unrecognizable.

  Tobble screamed again. I paddled furiously.

  The boat neared. The four shadows took form, grew more distinct.

  Tobble yelled, but this time, the sound he made was different.

  I fought the waves harder. So close now, so close. The boat was there, and Tobble was yelling, and the yelling was . . . not fear, not pain.

  No. Could it be that I was hearing joy?

  I stopped, exhausted. For a moment, I sank, swallowed by the sea, and when at last I made my way back to the sweet, cold air and wiped the water from my eyes, I saw them in their little boat.

  Khara. Renzo. Gambler. Sabito.

  And Tobble, safe, if singed.

  “What took you so long?” I said, and then, at long last, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Before leaving the next morning, we breakfasted with Larbrik, Figton, and Glynlee, along with several other grateful villagers. “Not much to offer,” Larbrik apologized, “but we’ll have fresh catch this evening, that’s for certain.” Indeed, we’d already seen several fishing boats heading out into the harbor.

  “Where are you going now, Byx?” Glynlee asked.

  I sipped my tea. “Back to find Kharassande Donati and her people. We’ll report to her that we’ve succeeded in finding your colony. And, I hope”—I glanced around the table—“I’ll be able to tell her that she will have your support, should it be needed.”

  “Aye, that she will,” said Figton, and the others nodded in agreement.

  I clasped my hands together, leaning forward. “You must know, however, that you are not out of danger. The Marsonians may return, perhaps with reinforcements. And it’s possible that the Murdano has learned of your existence, which could put you in even greater peril.”

  “We’ll trade Kharassande’s gifts and, with the money, do what we can to fortify the village,” Larbrik said. “We’ll be fine, for a while yet.”

  “I wish you could all come with me now,” I said. “But I know that’s not possible. We’ll need help before that can happen.”

  I stood and embraced each dairne in turn. “I hate to leave,” I said, “but for all of us, I must.”

  Tobble and I climbed on Havoc, having tied the packhorse to our saddle. (We’d decided to call her “Folly.”) With Sabito floating along beside us, we clattered down the long cobblestone road through the town, while villagers cheered and waved.

  The trip up the steep path was almost as treacherous as our downward effort, but at least the gap had been repaired, and we had a better sense of the danger. Just before we reached the top, we were relieved to hear from Sabito that there was no sign of the Murdano’s men.

  “Well,” Tobble said as we emerged, “at least we know for sure that you’re not an endling.”

  “Not today,” I said darkly. “But those dairnes were few in number, and weak and defenseless. I’m not an endling now. But next year? Next month? Tomorrow?”

  We rode on in silence. The air was crisp and tinged with balsam.

  Tobble was the first to break the quiet. “You have grown larger, Byx.”

  I glanced behind me. “If anything, I’m probably skinnier than—”

  “No, no, not that kind of large. I mean that when we met, you were just a pup. A clever, kind pup, but not one who dwelled on dark thoughts about the future. Let alone someone who could order . . .” Tobble coughed to cover his awkward pause.

  I finished for him. “Someone who could order up a fire boat, send his closest companion
into great danger, and cause the terrible deaths of dozens of Marsonians?”

  Tobble nodded, a movement I felt rather than saw.

  “Well, I’m not the only one, Tobble. You’ve done things no one, including you, could have imagined. I don’t know if wobbyks have heroes, but if they do, you’re one of them.”

  Over the next couple of days of travel, it snowed occasionally, but with only a few inches of accumulation. We located plenty of fresh, unfrozen streams for water, but our food was running low. After successfully fording the Pellago River, we found ourselves once again on the Nedarran plain.

  Day after day we trudged along, living on meals of dried game and hard crackers. Always alert, on guard for any sign of the Murdano’s men, it was hard to relax. Our progress was slowed when we ran out of oats. The horses had to graze, and that was especially difficult when snow covered the ground. One afternoon, I sent Sabito in search of a convenient village where we might purchase some food.

  Only minutes later we heard a scream from the sky, the syllable stretched by the speed of Sabito’s dive. “Ru-u-u-n!”

  I looked up and saw him dropping like a bolt of lightning. He flared, slowed, and yelled, “Men in the Murdano’s livery. Seven of them. And they’re chasing us!”

  Without waiting for further explanation, I released Folly, then nudged Havoc and yelled, “Hold on!” to Tobble.

  Sabito, agile as always, managed to flap along beside us, still talking. “I think it may be the same squad of soldiers that captured Maxyn.”

  I jerked my head in his direction. “Is Maxyn with them?”

  “I saw something draped over a saddle and tied down, but I didn’t look closely enough to—”

  “Then do!” I snapped, and Sabito soared away.

  He returned as the horses were showing signs of exhaustion. I slowed Havoc reluctantly, knowing that if I pushed too hard, he might founder.

  “I think it may be Maxyn,” Sabito reported, and my heart leapt. “He, or it, whatever it is, is wrapped in a blanket and held with ropes. In any case, it’s alive. I saw it move.”

  “Have they slowed at all?”

  “They’ll catch up to us in less than half an hour if we keep to a full-on gallop. If we do not, well . . .”

  “Sorry, boy,” I said to Havoc, urging him on.

  I managed a quick glance over my shoulder. I could see them. Their great warhorses weren’t as fast as ours, but they were strong and hardy.

  Would they wrap us in blankets and throw us on a horse beside Maxyn? Or would they kill us instantly for having evaded them once before?

  Havoc stumbled from weariness but caught himself. I held on tight, berating myself for not having a plan.

  I was in charge. It was my responsibility to save us.

  To the woods, then. It was better than nothing.

  I yanked the reins hard and turned sharply toward a thick stand of firs, but Sabito, surveying the scene, delivered bad news. “You can’t reach the woods before they cut you off!”

  What was my backup plan? Nothing. I had nothing.

  We would be captured. Then killed or made into thralls.

  At least I would get to be with Maxyn, perhaps, one last time.

  I could see the very eastern tip of the woods ahead. But behind us I could also see, quite clearly now, our relentless, apparently tireless, pursuers.

  Then, as I watched, a miracle! One of the soldiers’ horses tripped, sending his rider sprawling.

  We gained precious yards, as the soldiers paused to collect the horse and return their fallen man to his saddle.

  Maybe. Maybe we still had a chance.

  That was the moment all hope died.

  From the end of the woods rode hundreds—no, thousands—of armed men.

  55

  Into Battle

  I don’t know what happened to me.

  I’d been filled with fear and despair.

  Now, as if by some theurgic spell, all my doubt and terror transformed into something else.

  Feel fear. Choose courage.

  I slowed Havoc.

  “What are you doing?” Sabito screeched.

  I had no answer. I had no words.

  It was Tobble who answered Sabito.

  “She’s fighting!” he yelled, voice high and shrill. “And so am I!”

  I dug in my heels and drew the long knife I used as a sword, ready to make one last, desperate stand.

  To my absolute amazement, the Murdano’s seven soldiers, the ones who’d been closing in, reined hard, stared in apparent confusion, and turned their horses away, spurring them on.

  “Yes!” I roared. “Run, you cowards! Ruuuuun!” I turned Havoc yet again, intending, in my rage-addled mind, to attack the great force of armed men streaming from the woods.

  I’d abandoned the idea of surviving. Now I was just determined to take some of them down with me.

  It’s wonderful how recklessly brave you can be once you give up on life.

  I charged the mass of soldiers racing to meet me. Two in front carried fluttering banners with a strange, ornate pattern rendered in several colors. I picked out one fellow, a big man with streaming red hair beneath a gleaming helmet, and decided he was my target.

  I would die, yes. But I would die fighting.

  “Aaaaarrrrggghhhh!” I shouted, teeth bared as we came together.

  I stabbed my knife at him, and he knocked it aside easily with his huge sword. My blade twirled away like a moth pursued by a raptidon.

  My opponent’s heavy horse blocked mine, and he grabbed for my reins, while Tobble tried to fight him off.

  “Kill me, then!” I yelled.

  Despite my madness, despite the red veil that seemed to come down over my sight, I noticed that the mass of horsemen were streaming past us, swords drawn, spears aimed, yelling in the crazed fervor of battle.

  “Kill you?” the red-haired man cried. “We have come to rescue you. Unless there is some other doglike creature in company with a wobbyk.”

  I gaped at him. I was panting. The throbbing of my own pulse was deafening.

  I managed the one thing I could think of to say, which, as it turned out, was not particularly clever. As last words went, they were decidedly non-heroic.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “You are Byx of the dairnes?”

  “What?”

  “Byx. Are you not called Byx?”

  “Yes, but—but—”

  The red-haired man tore off his helmet and grinned a wide, gap-toothed smile. “Well, that was easier than we’d expected. The Lady will be pleased!”

  “The Lady?” I mumbled.

  “The Lady,” he repeated. “The Lady Kharassande.”

  “Kharassande of the Donatis?” I asked, too stunned to accept the obvious.

  “She no longer calls herself that. She is now styled the Lady of Nedarra. I am called Varis. I was Varis of the Corplis for all my life, but I’m now Varis of Nedarra, lieutenant in the army of a Free Nedarra, sworn to serve the Lady until the end of days.”

  A smaller, older man trotted up, helmet off, smiling through a bushy gray beard. “Captain Sagari,” Varis said, “I present Byx of the dairnes.”

  I stifled a sob, straightened my shoulders, and gave a nod.

  “No,” I said. “Not Byx of the dairnes. I am Byx of Nedarra.”

  56

  Pathfinders

  Captain Sagari’s troops soon captured the Murdano’s men who’d been pursuing us. As I was scanning their bitter, exhausted faces, I noticed a horse with a blanketed bundle on its back. Two soldiers carefully lowered it to the ground and began to unwrap it.

  I swung off my horse and ran.

  Ran to find Maxyn—alive, but horribly hurt.

  Lieutenant Varis tried to stop me. “Delay a moment, Byx. He’s been badly treated. You may not wish to see—”

  I pulled away and fell to my knees beside Maxyn. His hands were wrapped in bloody bandages. His face was swollen. And his eyes, when they opened, seemed em
pty and lost.

  “Maxyn,” I said, stroking his forehead.

  He blinked, shook his head slowly, and muttered, “Byx? Is any of this real?”

  “It’s real, Maxyn. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

  We had no wagon, so Tobble kindly suggested letting Maxyn ride with me. “I’ll ride with one of the soldiers,” he said as I mounted Havoc.

  “Ride with me, little wobbyk,” Lieutenant Varis suggested. He leaned over, grabbed Tobble’s paw, and swung him onto his saddle, where they towered over Havoc and me.

  With the help of gentle hands, we managed to get Maxyn seated in front of me so I could keep him steady.

  “I’m sorry, Maxyn,” I said softly as we started our ride to Khara’s camp.

  He didn’t respond, and I understood why. After what he’d gone through, there would be no forgiving. I didn’t deserve it.

  Maxyn jerked his head, and I realized he must have been sleeping. “What did you say?” he asked weakly, his words muffled by a swollen jaw.

  “I said I’m sorry. For everything you’ve gone through.”

  With effort, he turned to look at me. A deep cut, from ear to muzzle, oozed pearly blood. “Don’t ever say that to me again, Byx. You’re my leader, and I’m proud to serve you.” He attempted a smile, although it wasn’t entirely successful. “Although you can be a bit of a nag.”

  It was early evening before we neared the camp. The sight took my breath away.

  White tents, sheened with moonlight, seemed to stretch on forever. Cooking fires blazed. Soldiers moved purposefully, stacking supplies, caring for horses, and cleaning their weapons.

  Someone was singing a sprightly tune, accompanied by a lute and recorder.

  It was a massive undertaking, one that underlined the dark reality of the war that lay ahead. And yet there was something oddly cheerful, even heartening, about the scene.

  They were here. Somewhere, in the midst of all this, Khara and Renzo and Gambler awaited.

  We dismounted. Maxyn, with his arms around two soldiers, was able to limp along beside us, while Sabito circled overhead. Varis, acting as our escort, led the way to a center tent, no larger or grander than the others.