Endling #2

by Katherine Applegate

  Gambler, perched gracefully on a thin, flat rock, sighed. “The first through the tunnel will be the terramants,” he said. “They will not just kill. They will devour.”

  “Enough speculation,” Khara said firmly. “We have a direction, we have a goal. This coming war is not our concern.”

  “Yet,” Renzo whispered.

  We waited for the soldiers to pass, then headed on. It seemed to take us forever to reach the shoreline, and when at last we did, all we found was a beach of dark sand extending leagues in each direction. Gazing out to sea availed nothing. A few distant ships were visible, but there was no island to be seen, sentient or not.

  And then Tobble spotted it.

  The sun was sinking toward the horizon, and we’d begun to think about dinner. Tobble, having noticed a scraggly bush whose leaves he claimed would enhance the flavor of our meal, had scrambled to the top of a dune.

  I heard his voice, tiny in the distance.

  “There! There it is!”

  We raced up the black sand to join him. Sure enough, beyond a curved spit of land sat a small island. It was covered in vividly colored trees: reds, greens, yellows, completely unlike the muted evergreens on the mainland.

  I was sure it was the one I had glimpsed so briefly on the Nedarran side of the mountains. Tarok.

  Tarok was a rooklet, I’d learned from Khara and Renzo, a huge and ancient water beast. Over thousands of years, the rare creatures accumulated layers of dirt and vegetation until they became, in essence, living islands.

  “That’s it,” I said, my voice just a whisper.

  I strained with all my senses, trying to discern a hint of something that could confirm the presence of dairnes. The sound of our lilting language, the scent of our silky fur, the sight of a dairne-made tree nest.

  Nothing.

  Khara, head tilted, said, “There’s something off about that village on the shoreline. Look at the paddock. I count eight . . . no, nine fine-looking horses. What tiny fishing village has ever been prosperous enough to stable nine horses?”

  “Any extra coin a fisherman has will go straight back into his boat,” Renzo agreed. “And I see only two craft drawn up on the mud.”

  “Down!” Gambler commanded. “Now.”

  We all ducked out of sight behind the dune. “What did you see, Gambler?” I asked.

  “A uniform. Green and tan,” Gambler answered. “Just one, but where’s there’s one soldier, there are always more. When darkness falls, I will scout ahead.”

  Later that evening, we were huddled on the sand together when Gambler appeared soundlessly out of the darkness.

  “It is no fishing village,” Gambler confirmed. “I saw a platoon of soldiers, and more officers than is typical for a small detachment. Those were officers’ horses.”

  “A surplus of officers,” Khara mused. “Could be they’re following the island’s movements.”

  “Or they could be heading south to join forces with more troops,” Renzo suggested.

  “In any case, we cannot reach Tarok,” said Gambler, “without passing through the village, right past fifty or more armed men.”

  “We could steal a boat,” Renzo suggested.

  Khara scanned the group. “Do any of you know how to sail?”

  Tobble raised a hesitant hand. “I’ve sailed boats. Wobbyks are seafaring folk.”

  “What do you think our chances of taking a boat would be?” Khara asked.

  “The tides turn every twelve hours,” Tobble said. He rubbed his chin. “It looks—oh, I miss my Far-Near!—it looks as if the tide is coming in. It will be hours before the boats are floating.”

  “What about the owners?” Renzo asked.

  “They probably won’t show up till first light. We might make it out before anyone notices us.”

  “The natites patrol all waters,” Khara said. “But they tend to be farther out to sea, not hugging the coastline. With luck, they won’t notice us.”

  Then and there, we decided to steal one of the boats. We planned to wait until the tide floated it, then sail the half league or so to the island.

  When Khara determined it was time, we walked out onto the mud, our feet sinking into the sucking goo with each step. We crouched and remained completely silent, although it seemed unlikely anyone could hear us. A loud and boisterous party was underway, including many drunk-sounding voices, and music was being played on a lute and drums.

  We came to the nearest and smallest of the two craft. Gambler, who walked much more easily on the mud and was all but invisible at night, crept ahead and reported back that the boat was unoccupied.

  We had some difficulty getting aboard, as the boat was still canted over in the mud, its single mast pointing at a forty-five-degree angle. The entire boat was no more than twenty feet long.

  I searched the cabin and found a small amount of food—a sausage and some crackers. It would be stealing to take the food, but then again, we were planning to steal the entire boat. My conscience was bothered, though. The boat, which was called Gramis Rose, according to the faded lettering on its bow, was someone’s livelihood.

  Khara seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Tobble,” she said, pointing to his pouch, where he’d stashed the crown.

  Tobble handed the gleaming gold circle to Renzo, who pried out another small gem. Renzo rolled his eyes and tossed the green stone to Khara.

  “We can leave it in this,” I suggested, yanking a chest from the floor of the boat. “It has the boat’s name on it. Hopefully, the owner will find it before anyone else does.”

  “It’s the best we can do,” Khara said, and she placed the green gem into the chest.

  “You two are getting soft,” Renzo grumbled, but he helped Khara slog through the mud to place the chest on dry sand.

  The boat reeked of fish, but we’d spent time in worse places. Soon we began to feel the hull move as the tide came in. At first, we rocked back and forth in the gentle swell. Then, all at once, the decks were level and we had water beneath us.

  “We can set sail at any time, if the breeze holds true out of the northwest,” Tobble said. “And sunrise is still an hour away.”

  “Good,” Khara said. “Make sail, Captain Tobble.”

  “Aye, aye, Admiral,” Tobble said.

  Wobbyks are renowned fishermen in Nedarra, but their boats, while sturdy, are much simpler. I had to admire Tobble’s brisk efficiency as he leapt to the stern, grabbed the tiller, and ordered Renzo to pull the rope that would raise the sail.

  We skimmed across the water with grace and ease. Tobble held the tiller hard to one side as wind billowed the sail. The whole boat tilted at a sharp angle, and within minutes we were closing in on the sentient island that had filled my dreams since the moment I’d first set eyes upon it.

  Like Tobble, how I wished for our lost Far-Near! All I could see was a lush expanse of dense trees, a dark mass against the cobalt predawn sky. My heart beat unsteadily, and my breath came quickly in the wet, tangy air. I might, just might, be about to see another dairne—perhaps even many—for the first time since my pack had been destroyed.

  To smell our comforting, familiar scent.

  To hear the sweet melody of our language.

  To be with my own.

  How many times had I played out this scene? Late at night while my friends slept, with only the vigilant moon to keep me company, I had imagined this moment. Would I strive to say something profound? Take my cue from the other dairnes?

  Would I weep? Or laugh? Or both?

  Would I look into their eyes and feel my old self return? Or had I changed so profoundly that I was no longer the old Byx, the runt of her litter, the least important member of her pack?

  “Nervous?” Khara asked me as she joined me in the bow, risking the icy shower that came each time we sliced through a wave.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “Well, I wish you joy and satisfaction, Byx.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “Thank you, Khara. It
would never have been possible without you.”

  Khara touched my shoulder, and silently we watched the island grow ever closer.

  I thought I glimpsed tears in Khara’s eyes as well, but it was probably just the salty spray.

  25

  The Island, at Last

  “Strike the sail! Out sweeps!” Tobble shouted.

  Renzo lowered the sail and Khara and I slotted the two long oars. Khara took one and I took the other. Soon Renzo joined me, since I could not hope to match the strength of Khara’s stroke.

  We skimmed near, inch by inch, and for half an hour we rowed along, easily keeping pace with the slow-moving island until we came around to its seaward side. So far there had been no pursuit, but surely someone ashore would notice the missing boat before long.

  Hopefully, the gem we’d left behind would placate the owner. And in any case, if we were behind the island, hidden from view, there was a chance, at least, that we could escape unscathed.

  As dawn unfurled, the colors of the trees and other vegetation grew brighter. “It’s so beautiful,” I said. “Do you really think it might be . . . dangerous?”

  “Dangerous” sounded much better to my ears than “carnivorous.”

  “You’re asking if it will eat us?” Khara asked. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

  “This place is layered with theurgic spells,” Renzo said in a low voice. “I can feel them.”

  “What kind of spells?” I asked.

  “Bits of ancient theurgy guarding against sea serpents and dragons.”

  “It all feels very, very old,” Khara agreed. “No doubt centuries of wizardry have guarded and protected this place, but those spells feel weak now. The magic of the island has faded.” She glanced at me. “Byx, do you sense anything?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “Well,” Khara said, “I think it’s time to land, Captain Tobble. Let’s see what we can find.”

  “And let’s hope this island has had its breakfast,” Renzo added with a grim smile.

  Tobble guided the boat onto a thin strip of beach. Onyx sand glittered like a night crowded with stars, crunching beneath the bow as we came to a stop.

  Renzo leapt ashore to tie us off to a tree trunk. With each step he took, his boots left an imprint, the black sand turning to purple, as if momentarily bruised.

  I was the next to climb off the boat, and instantly I felt a strangeness in the air: the echoes of theurgy, perhaps? Or maybe it was the utter lack of sound. No birds, no snapping twigs as curious creatures crept close to spy upon us. Leaves danced on the breeze without a whisper. Even the lapping waves had hushed.

  Khara, Tobble, and Gambler joined me, each of us leaving the purple bloom of our footsteps as we trudged across the sand. When Gambler’s huge paws touched the beach, he was so light on his feet that he barely left a mark, just a momentary lavender glow, like the last breath of a sunset.

  “The sand is hot!” Tobble said, bouncing from foot to foot.

  “My pads are burning,” I agreed.

  “It is a bit warm,” Gambler agreed.

  Khara touched the sand, then recoiled, leaving a wine-colored handprint behind. “I see what you mean.”

  “Even my boots are warm,” Renzo said.

  “Byx and Tobble,” Gambler said, “climb on my back. My pads are thick. I’ll barely feel anything, as long as we keep moving.”

  I climbed onto Gambler, and Tobble joined me. “I don’t see anyone,” I murmured, scanning ahead as Gambler trotted across the sand. “Hello!” I called. “Hello, hello! We are peaceful. We mean you no harm!”

  Silence.

  When we’d glimpsed it from the shore, the island had not appeared large, perhaps no more than a quarter of a league wide and twice as long. Khara stared at the lush curtain of green and yellow vines and interlaced trees before us, hoping to find a promising gap. When nothing appeared, she took her sword and began hacking through the foliage, gently at first, and then with more energy.

  Renzo followed suit, and for the next few minutes the only sounds were their labored breaths and the dull clang of metal on branch. Still every footstep revealed itself in the sandy floor, then vanished. Gambler paced back and forth to keep the heat from getting too intense.

  Every so often I’d call out, and listen for a response. Even a chittering wrenlet would have been a relief to hear. But we heard nothing, nothing at all but our panting, anxious selves.

  “Perhaps,” Tobble suggested, “your own language will work, Byx.”

  Of course! I tried again, this time in Dairnish. “Palouy rohnoom a rooex?” The words—Is anyone there?—sounded strange to my own ears.

  Again, no response. No sound.

  Khara and Renzo labored on, making slow headway, inch by inch. Ten minutes later, Renzo thrashed hard at an unyielding branch and gasped when it gave way to emptiness.

  Cautiously, we peered through the hole they’d created.

  “It’s a clearing!” I said. “There are . . . waterfalls!”

  We soon found ourselves standing in a large, open space. The sand vanished, and in its place was a thick carpet of red moss. “It’s safe to walk on,” Gambler reported, and Tobble and I leapt off his back.

  The silence of the dense vegetation gave way to the sound of rushing water, mingled with an odd but lovely music. After the crushing quiet, it took a moment for my ears to adjust.

  Before us lay a pool of water, perfectly circular, backed by a wall of glittering black stone. Small, thin waterfalls, perhaps a dozen, spouted from crevices in the rocks.

  “Is that water?” asked Tobble. “The colors are so odd.”

  “It’s beautiful, whatever it is,” I said.

  “Not sure I’d drink it, though,” said Renzo.

  The cascades varied in color: shades of amber, silver, and red. But as soon as they hit the waiting pool, the streams of water instantly turned black.

  “That music,” said Tobble. “It’s coming from the water.”

  Indeed, Tobble was right. Each waterfall seemed to carry a separate tone with it. They mingled to make a sort of tuneless music, dreamy and haunting.

  Sprouting from the pool were flowers on long, leafless stems. Each stem supported only one large golden blossom, spinning lazily, like a child’s toy, and giving off a delicately sweet perfume.

  The music, the perfume . . . It was familiar somehow.

  Knowable.

  Comforting.

  I breathed in, trying to parse out the complicated smells. The scent from the flowers was overpowering. And yet something else, something familiar, I felt certain, was in the air.

  A thought came to me, surprising as a shaft of sun through parted clouds, of the long-ago times when dairnes would celebrate belenmaas, nights when the moon was new and fresh and nothing but a sliver of silver. The whole pack would sing hopeful songs, sad ballads, boisterous tunes, always in perfect harmony, until the sun appeared.

  I’d never experienced belenmaas, of course. By the time I was born, the few dairnes remaining in the world valued stealth over song. But my parents had taught us a bit of the old music, quietly humming us to sleep.

  I closed my eyes, lulled by memory fragments of a song from my childhood. It was a simple tune, lilting. Silly.

  Comforting.

  I opened my eyes and breathed in again. Khara shot me a questioning look, but all I had to offer was a shrug. She loosened her sword in its scabbard. Renzo, too, had his knife at the ready.

  Gambler broke the spell. “I smell human,” he murmured. “Not long ago, either.”

  Human, yes. “I smell it, too,” I said.

  I motioned for my friends to stay put. Slowly I moved forward, not sure where I was going, but knowing I had to move.

  Just beyond the waterfalls sat a long stone building with a thatched roof. No smoke rose from its chimney, and it had a deserted air about it. Still, the roof was in good repair, and someone had cut the grass back from the doorway to op
en a gravel-paved space around the building.

  I moved closer.

  The door creaked open.

  The flowers spun. The waterfalls sang. The memories came.

  Did I know before I saw, or see before I knew?

  Did it matter?

  No. All that mattered, all that mattered in the whole wide world, was that before me stood, at last, another dairne.

  Part Three

  Destinies

  26

  Elexor

  You are not alone.

  The words from my dream came back to me.

  It was true.

  I was not alone, not anymore.

  Before me stood another dairne. My blood. My own.

  He was male and old, older than my father. His chin fur was gray, his tail white and thinning.

  I moved toward him, forgetting caution, faster and faster until I was nearly running.

  I came to a stop just inches away and said in the Common Tongue, my voice trembling, “Well met, father dairne. I am Byx.”

  He stared at me. Blinked. Cocked his head.

  I was shaking, dizzy with expectation.

  What would he say?

  How would he greet me?

  Would we embrace?

  “Who are you?” the old dairne snapped. “This isn’t what I expected.”

  I gulped, replaying the unexpected words in my head. They made no sense. Surely this dairne was happy to see me.

  Surely he understood the importance of this moment.

  “I—we are—” I stuttered. “I don’t understand.”

  “Are you here to replace me?” the dairne said, his dim eyes brightening.

  “Replace you?”

  “But why else would you be here?” He peered at me, clearly disturbed. “It is strange that they would send one so young.”

  Khara came to my rescue. “My name is Khara,” she said, running to my side. “This is Gambler, Renzo, and Tobble.”

  The dairne shook his head in irritation. “You are not at all what I was expecting. I was told to expect two spies, their men-at-arms, and a smuggler.”

  “May we know your name, old one?” Khara asked gently.