The Only

by Katherine Applegate; Michael Grant

  Around me, to my embarrassment, at least a hundred wobbyks stood patiently, although a handful were seated at the front on a wooden bench. The entire group appeared to be awaiting my arrival, although I was pretty sure they hadn’t expected me to glide in. It was a childish stunt, I supposed, and not the way ambassadors were meant to arrive.

  Tobble slid down a vine and landed beside me. “Well, that was unexpected,” he whispered.

  “Sorry. I just . . .” But I had no good explanation. I’d wanted for a minute not to be thinking life and death, war and peace. I didn’t want to be Ambassador Byx; I wanted to just be me.

  But of course, that wasn’t possible. I had work to do.

  21

  Truth and Lies

  Tobble held up his paws and the crowd instantly fell silent.

  “Members of the bileraka,” he began, nodding as Rosegirdle took her seat with the five other elders. “My family, my fellow wobbyks of all families, welcome. I present to you the ambassador for the Lady of Nedarra, Byx of the dairnes.”

  I suspected that the few wobbyks who weren’t already surprised by my strange arrival were definitely shocked by that last word: dairne.

  “A dairne?” someone yelped, quickly adding, “I apologize for my outburst.”

  “There are no dairnes!” someone else cried. “They were declared extinct. Of course, I mean no offense.”

  A graying wobbyk, one of the bileraka members, pointed a walking stick at me. “Put him to the test! If that’s not too great an imposition.”

  It wasn’t exactly how I’d hoped to begin this extremely important meeting.

  “Please, my brothers and sisters,” Tobble pleaded. “Show respect for the Lady’s ambassador.”

  More wobbyks were arriving via three tunnels, while still others slid down vines or skittered down the stairs. Kits sat on the shoulders of their parents. Every available space seemed to be filled with curious wobbyks. The air was warm and damp, and I felt a bit light-headed.

  “Some lady, some dairne,” came a voice loaded with doubt. “We must have proof. If the alleged dairne is not too offended by the suggestion.”

  I was being heckled by wobbyks. Heckled very politely. But still heckled.

  Quickly I reminded myself that I had a job to do, and an important one, at that. Before I could ask for help from these wobbyks, I would need to earn their trust.

  I held up a hand. “I’m not offended in the least. Of course you have every right to ask for proof. What proof might I offer?”

  The louder wobbyks had formed a group at the front. “Truth and lies!” one of them called out.

  “Of course,” I said, nodding, doing my best to seem reasonable and mature. “Perhaps several of you could make statements. I’ll tell you whether or not you speak the truth.”

  Clearly this was agreeable to the audience, as several applauded politely.

  “I am Halfibble,” a stout wobbyk said.

  “Hello, Halfibble,” I said. “And I don’t wish to offend, but that is not your true name.”

  My words were met with a wave of delighted laughter. I’d performed a trick, and the audience liked it.

  “Halfibble” bowed to me and said, “You are correct. My name is Vintiggle. I am pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise, friend wobbyk,” I said, returning the bow.

  “I am Murdaddle,” a female wobbyk said. “This morning I took milk from my six sheplets. In all it was four gallons.”

  “I am very sorry to contradict you, friend wobbyk, but you do not have six sheplets. And you did not draw four gallons of milk.”

  Murdaddle cocked her head. “Then what is the correct number?”

  “That I cannot say. I can only say whether a statement is true or false. And to be more specific, I can only tell whether you believe it to be true or false.”

  I’d performed much the same routine before the Murdano himself. That had been terrifying. This was somewhere between amusing and worrying. After all, I’d come here on a mission, not to provide free entertainment to the Bossyp community.

  “I am called Elder Diggle. I will say five things.” This announcement came from a bileraka member, a wobbyk so old that his ears drooped low and his green eyes were clouded. “If you correctly identify the true and the false of all five, you will have proven yourself to be a dairne.”

  “I await your five statements, Elder Diggle.”

  “One: I am two hundred and nine years old.”

  “False.”

  “Two: I have three hundred and twenty-nine grandchildren.”

  “Then congratulations, sir, for that is both true and impressive.”

  “Three: I prefer mead to wine.”

  This earned a laugh, which rather gave away the truth, but I played along. “Friend Diggle, I believe that to be false.”

  “Four,” he said, undeterred. “I once hauled in a fish three times my own size.”

  “Goodness,” I said. “You must have had food for weeks.”

  “Well, we had to dry a great deal of it. Salted and dried. But the fresh steaks were—” He stopped himself, realizing he’d lost track of his goal. “And the fifth and final statement.”

  “I am prepared,” I said.

  “Five: I am responsible for the deaths twenty years ago of six members of my family. Due to a careless misreading of a storm, which ended by capsizing our boat.”

  I didn’t need dairne powers to know he believed it. His voice quavered. This was a tale he had told many times before. It was the guilt that had shadowed his life ever since.

  It was an unsettling moment. I forgot that I was trying to prove myself a dairne. I just saw the wobbyk’s guilt, so like my own.

  I hopped down off the low platform and went to him, taking his hand in mine. “My friend, I know that you believe that. And I understand it, for I too carry a terrible guilt in my heart. The death of my entire family, my people. I was off playing. I wasn’t there when the soldiers of the Murdano butchered everyone I loved.”

  His huge round eyes filled with tears, and so did mine. For long seconds it was just the two of us, the ancient wobbyk and the too-young dairne, united by guilt.

  I looked up and saw that every wobbyk in the room was watching. No one made a sound.

  “But I can also see in the eyes of your fellow wobbyks that they don’t blame you, Elder Diggle. I don’t need special dairne powers to feel the great respect and affection these wobbyks have for you. So I say this: You spoke the truth as you believe it. But you didn’t speak the truth.”

  Elder Diggle smiled wistfully. “And you, friend dairne—for you are most certainly a dairne—do you still carry the guilt despite what anyone else says?”

  I met his gaze. Words were impossible. I could only nod.

  “Ah,” said Elder Diggle. He patted my back and looked over at Tobble. “You travel in good company, Tobble.”

  “I do,” Tobble said proudly.

  With that, Elder Diggle dismissed most of the crowd. “Come now, you’ve had your entertainment. Back to work! Are there no nets to mend? Are there no hulls to scrape?”

  The wobbyks filed away obediently, though many clearly wished to stay. In the end, Tobble and I found ourselves standing with the six elders: Diggle, Shaffleton, Swoopert, Gullbabble, Tillimud, and Rosegirdle.

  Elder Swoopert, an older female, led us through a tight tunnel to a small offshoot room. It was charming and colorful, if tiny.

  “Please,” said Elder Swoopert. “Have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

  The eight of us sat down. We would tell our stories. They would hear my pleas. And perhaps—just perhaps—we would decide the fate of the world.

  22

  Dark News

  That night, the wobbyks provided us with a lovely hut reserved for distinguished visitors. My bed was a cushioned platform suspended by blue vines dotted with tiny, fragrant white flowers shaped like butterflies. A crackling blaze in a nearby hearth meant that I could turn to one side and then the
other, warming myself pleasantly. Tobble had a matching bed on the other side of the fire. Although our hammocks were underground, a wide opening far above us revealed a circle of silver stars.

  I was deeply weary. Our talk with the elders had gone on for hours, through two delicious meals and a post-dinner toast. After that, Tobble had insisted on introducing me to many, many, many of his relatives.

  Many.

  I expected to fall asleep instantly, but the sky was so clear, the stars so bright, that I lay awake for hours. Early the next morning, having finally allowed sleep to overtake me, I was awakened by frantic shrieking coming from every direction, it seemed.

  “Peril! Peril! Wobbyks arise! Peril!”

  I tumbled out of my hammock. Tobble was already awake and quivering.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “We’re under attack!”

  “What? Who? Who is attacking us?”

  He pointed skyward. There, floating in the early morning air, was a raptidon.

  “Wait,” I said, grabbing Tobble by the arm. “Didn’t we see that hawk with Rorid Headcrusher?”

  Rorid Headcrusher lived far away to the southeast in a large rookery. He was a terrifying old bird, but he’d provided us with help early in our journey, and I knew him to be fair and honest. In fact, he was the one who’d sent Stimball to our war council.

  “I think you’re right,” said Tobble.

  “We need to get to the surface,” I said.

  “Climb the vine or take the stairs?” Tobble said. “Your choice. Or I can call for someone to haul you up.”

  “Stairs,” I said. Stumbling repeatedly over my too-large feet, I slowly made my way up the narrow staircase. Tobble followed behind me.

  Once outside our hut, we were buffeted by a rush of wobbyks racing past. I could see just how prepared they were for raptidon trouble. Two hundred archers, arrows nocked, awaited orders.

  “Please! Don’t attack!” I cried. “At least not yet.”

  The wobbyk in charge made a hand motion, and the archers stood down, to my relief.

  “Hey, up there!” I called. “Have you come from Lord Rorid?”

  The circling hawk stared down at me with pitiless black-and-yellow eyes. I could well understand the wobbyks’ terror. Raptidons have no trouble carrying off creatures the size of wobbyks.

  “Aye,” the raptidon replied. “I am Dothram. I have a message from Lord Rorid and the Lady.”

  The hawk circled down to land atop a hay cart. He had a sharply curved beak, red-and-orange wings, and a shimmering black tail.

  “You were one of Rorid Headcrusher’s guards, I believe,” I said. “It’s good to see you again.” I very nearly tried to shake his “hand,” but you don’t grab a raptidon’s talons any more than you’d grab the wrong end of a knife.

  “I am delighted to find you still alive, Ambassador Byx.”

  “And I am delighted to still be alive.”

  I think he laughed. Raptidon laughter is almost as unsettling as felivet laughter.

  “I come with foul news,” said Dothram. “Woad’s men have gone up into the Perricci Mountains. Their plan was to block a Dreylander breakout once the terramants complete their tunnel. But the Kazar has been clever. He sent a force, small but powerful, through the border passes.”

  “So the war’s started?” Tobble asked, wringing his paws.

  “Not yet,” said Dothram. “The Lady hopes that we can delay this thrust. Perhaps even stop it altogether with the help of the wobbyks. Have you discussed it with them?”

  I winced. Despite our long hours of conversation the previous night, the wobbyk elders hadn’t yet come to a decision. They seemed to like Tobble’s idea of enlisting the ragglers to help. But they still weren’t sure whether to embark on such a dangerous mission.

  Elder Diggle approached us, eyeing Dothram warily. “Is there news?”

  “None of it good,” I said. “The Kazar has sent a small force through the border passes.”

  “The Lady,” said Dothram, “hopes that your people will join mine to deliver a bloody nose to the Dreylanders.”

  “Does she indeed?” said Diggle. “And what does the Lady offer in return?”

  He almost sounded as if he were asking for a bribe. “Are you demanding payment to aid us in stopping a war?” Dothram asked.

  “You want us to send our people into battle,” Diggle replied. “A battle in which many wobbyks could perish.”

  The hawk’s gaze softened—as much as that was possible, at any rate. “I meant no disrespect.”

  Diggle turned to me. “We want nothing but representation for our kind. Though we speak and build, though we farm and fish, we wobbyks are always second-class citizens. We’re excluded because we’re not one of the governing species. We would like to see that change.”

  “I have no power to grant such a thing,” said Dothram.

  Diggle nodded. “Then I ask you, Ambassador Byx, on your honor as a dairne. If we help, and if, when all is done, the Lady has the power to grant it, will you make our case to her?”

  “Will I ask the Lady to make wobbyks a governing species?”

  “Yes, will you do everything that you can?”

  “With all my heart,” I said. “I’ve spent many months with Tobble. If his people, your people, don’t deserve a place of respect, then no species does.”

  Diggle glanced at a group of wobbyks behind him. No words were spoken, but just the same, I could see that they’d reached a verdict.

  When he turned back to me, he looked ten years younger. His kindly, wrinkled wobbyk face was suddenly fierce and determined.

  “Where, then, do you wish the wobbyks to assemble?” asked Diggle. “There’s no time to waste. On that we all agree.”

  23

  Waiting for the Raptidons

  Time was precious now.

  I fretted as the wobbyks spent half a day selecting their fighters. I fretted as they spent the rest of the day preparing to travel. I fretted as we spent two days more getting from Bossyp back to the nearest edge of the Lucabena Wood.

  But once we were camped there at last, 609 wobbyks and one dairne, I relaxed a bit. Dothram was finally ready to fly off and summon his fellows.

  “I shall be back in the morning,” Dothram said. “If I do not return, you must assume that I have been killed, or that Rorid’s authority has been usurped.”

  “Farewell,” I said, “and hurry.”

  “I will fly as fast as the wind allows,” Dothram vowed. “Look for me in the morning!”

  With that, he spread his wings and soared away into the sky, his plumage catching the salmon rays of the setting sun.

  Tobble had headed off with some of the elders to speak with the ragglers. He was so puffed up to be part of the delegation that I worried he might explode. Still, it was wonderful to see him feeling such pride.

  I spent the evening alone, but not lonely. Sitting at the edge of a hearty bonfire, I listened to wobbyk songs, wobbyk poems, and wobbyk stories of great wobbyks in wobbyk history. By the time I finally headed to my bedroll, I felt I could write a history of the species.

  Perhaps all those wobbyk tales were the reason I dreamed that night of Urman’s yew, the place where humans, raptidons, felivets, natites, terramants, and dairnes had assembled to find a way to live together. It was there that the six great governing species had agreed to split the world into pieces. It had always seemed a wise and wonderful thing, that treaty. But was it, really? Couldn’t they have found a way for all species to live side by side? Instead, the terramants had gone their way, and the felivets theirs, while the humans had built governments that had turned into tyrannies.

  Humans, most especially, seemed to have a need to see themselves as alone in the world. Being isolated from other species made it easy for them to hold others in contempt, to destroy my people, to hem in the felivets, even to try to dominate all of nature.

  As far as wobbyks went, though, we dairnes weren’t free of guilt. My anc
estors had never spoken up for their species. As long as anyone could remember, wobbyks had been ignored—and often worse than ignored.

  I wondered if that would ever change. Khara would do what she could, but her goal wasn’t to rule. She simply wanted to stop the approaching war and end the destruction of nonhuman species. The Lady of Nedarra was no more interested in being a queen or an empress than I was in being an ambassador.

  I woke with the sun, jumped up, and anxiously searched the low-hanging clouds for raptidons. But aside from a single gull, I saw nothing on the wing.

  I’d heard Tobble return late in the night. He groaned in the bedroll near mine.

  “Have they come?” he asked, yawning and stretching.

  “Not yet. But they will. How was your meeting with the ragglers?”

  “Very good, I think.” He grinned. “I did most of the talking.”

  “Did you indeed?”

  He shrugged. “I did. The elders spoke, too, of course. But when it comes to the wider world and the workings of all the forces, well, I am more knowledgeable.”

  “My goodness,” I teased, “the elders must be very ignorant to defer to you.”

  “What? But . . . oh, I see, you’re making fun of me.”

  “Only gently and with love.”

  Tobble laughed. “Well, we have come a long way, you and I. A very long way from being a drowning wobbyk and a desperate endling.”

  “I sometimes feel as if I’ve aged twenty years,” I admitted.

  “When it’s all over, we can go back to just being Tobble and Byx.”

  “Can we?” I asked.

  “Of course we can!”

  I nodded, but I wondered if Tobble was right. Could we really go back? Once your mind was filled with new knowledge, especially if some of it was heartbreaking, could you ever return to an earlier time?

  Elder Diggle and some of his fellow wobbyks appeared while Tobble and I sipped hot tea near the main campfire. “Good morning, Ambassador Byx and Honorable Tobble. Did you sleep well?”