The Last

  “Byx?” Tobble whispered late that evening. “Are you asleep?”

  “No.”

  Tobble crawled closer, trailing his blanket. “Are you scared?”

  “Yes,” I said, because it was not in my nature to lie. And because I wanted someone else to know the truth.

  “I’m not,” Tobble said, his voice wavering just a bit. He gave me a sidelong glance. “Could you tell that’s a lie?”

  “Let’s just say I’m beginning to see that there are many kinds of lies,” I said gently. “You were very brave today, Tobble. You bit that giant serpent. What on earth were you thinking?”

  He smiled, and his huge ears wiggled. “I wasn’t.”

  “I’m grateful you tried to save me.”

  “Trying doesn’t count.”

  “It does as far as I’m concerned.”

  Tobble rolled onto his stomach, chin cupped in his paw. “You’re the one who’s brave, Byx. I couldn’t believe it when you leapt off that cliff.”

  “I couldn’t either.” I smiled in spite of myself. “To be honest, I had a little encouragement. In the form of people trying to kill me.”

  “What’s it like to fly?” Tobble asked.

  “I wish I could fly,” I said. “But dairnes can only glide.” I stretched my arms to reveal my glissaires. “Still, it’s pretty wonderful.”

  “I fly in my dreams sometimes,” Tobble said. “I’m usually gigantic, too. With big, sharp teeth. And I’m always brave.”

  I reached over and patted the little wobbyk’s shoulder. His fur, though muddy in spots, was long and soft, the lovely silver-blue of a new moon. “You’ve been plenty brave, Tobble. I think you should try to go home. Where is home, anyway, for you?”

  Tobble’s chin trembled, and for a moment I feared he was going to cry. “Bossyp. On the northwest coast. Far from here.”

  “They must be worried sick about you.”

  “I suppose. Although my parents tend to lose track of us.” Tobble smiled wistfully. “It’s perfectly understandable. Last time we counted, I had one hundred and twenty-seven brothers and sisters.”

  “One hundred and—”

  “Wobbyks have eight litters a year. And most of us stay put. We don’t move out. We just build more tunnels.” He shook his head. “You should see us when we have a stibillary.”

  Khara, who was dozing by the fire, made one of her bog toad noises. Tobble and I shared a smile.

  “What’s a stibillary?” I asked.

  “A ceremony, I guess you’d call it. We have them when we’re forty-three, but only if we’ve achieved an act of bravery by then. It’s to signify that we’re grown up. There’s a big celebration, and of course the official tail braiding.”

  “You mean your three tails?”

  “You may not braid them into one tail until your stibillary. And you may not attend the stibillary until you have done something to prove your bravery.”

  I tucked my blanket under my chin. “Well, you’ve done that, and then some.”

  Tobble rolled onto his back, and we both stared at the moonsnails pulsing with pale light across the ceiling.

  “You must miss everyone,” I said.

  “I do. But I know they’ll be there waiting for me when I return.” As soon as he said the words, Tobble gasped. “Oh, Byx. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Tobble,” I said. I tried to hide my pain behind a forced smile, but I knew he could see my trembling lower lip.

  I would never have that again. A family to wait for me. A family to miss me.

  “For now,” I said at last, “my only home is here. With you. But Tobble, whatever Khara’s plans for me, this isn’t your fight.”

  “Oh, but it is. Three saves, Byx. Wobbyk—”

  “Code. Yes, I know. But still.”

  “There are some things I’ve been meaning to give you, Byx.” Tobble sat up and reached inside the leather pouch he always carried. He pulled out several bunches of grass and weeds before he found what he was looking for. “Here. I’d forgotten about them until I opened my pouch at breakfast.”

  He removed a pawful of items and placed them on the floor. “I found these when I followed you. They were on the ground near the mirabear hive. I don’t know why I picked them up. I thought you might want something, perhaps, from . . . there.”

  I stared at the objects. Bits and shards of my old life.

  A broken pink-striped seashell. A little toy pup made of woven reeds. A small, flat rock with words carved into it. A frayed playa leaf.

  One by one, I slipped the items into my pouch. I reached for the playa leaf. It was torn and singed at the edges, but even in the wan light of the moonsnails, I knew what it was.

  “My map! My map of the First Colony.” My fingers trembled as I held the leaf close, smudged and torn.

  “You mean it belongs to you?” Tobble asked.

  I could barely read my own writing, and not just because of my tears. Dairnes have a simple alphabet, and we all learn it as pups. But because we were always moving from place to place, we had little use for writing, and even less practice doing it. My handwriting was almost illegible.

  Tobble rearranged his blanket and curled up just inches from me. “What is it?” he asked.

  “A map based on an ancient poem. It’s where the first dairnes are supposed to have landed.” I pointed to a spot on a small island. “That’s Dairneholme. My pack was headed there when . . .”

  “To find more dairnes?”

  “That’s what they were hoping, anyway.”

  Slowly I began to recite the poem. When I got to “a living isle and floating jewel,” I glanced over at Tobble. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. I assumed he was fast asleep again, but he surprised me by reaching out his paw.

  I grabbed it and held tight. It was almost round, with rough black pads and small but impressively sharp claws. I was surprised at how light it was, and how warm.

  I couldn’t help but remember the night Jax and I had held hands and promised to keep each other safe.

  And I couldn’t help but think about how we’d failed.

  “I should have been there,” I murmured. “I should have died with all of them.”

  “Don’t say that, Byx.” Tobble squeezed my hand.

  “I wish I could have saved them,” I said, clutching the map to my chest. “But I can’t even save myself.”

  “Don’t worry, Byx,” said Tobble. “We’ll save each other.”

  When Khara woke us up a few hours later, I was still holding Tobble’s paw.

  19.

  Dairne Meets Dog

  Shortly before dawn, Khara, Tobble, and I headed out to fill waterskins at a nearby stream. The day’s journey would be long, Khara warned us, and we couldn’t count on finding water when we might need it.

  My mind buzzed like a hive brimming with bees: questions, escape plans, possibilities, impossibilities. And yet nothing made sense. Nothing seemed realistic. Was I just going to acquiesce to Khara’s plans for me?

  What would Jax do? I asked myself. Myxo? My brave father? My intrepid mother? What would Dalyntor do in the face of this fate?

  You are the runt, I told myself bitterly. A disappointment at your only task in life, which is to do your best, like all dairnes, to stay quietly alive.

  It was my own fault I’d been captured. My own fault I didn’t die bravely with my pack.

  There was no valor in being the last to survive. Only humiliation and gut-wrenching guilt.

  We left Vallino and our meager belongings in the cave. The approach to the stream was too rocky for him to navigate easily.

  We drank freely from the cool water and filled Khara’s waterskins to bursting. The sun, flushed as a ripe peach, peered over the horizon as we returned. We were almost to the cave when I caught a stray scent on the air and stopped short.

  “What is it?” Khara asked. Instantly she retrieved the knife in her boot with her left hand. Her right hand hovered over the hilt of her
sword, which once again appeared to be nothing but a rusty relic.

  “Someone’s there,” I said under my breath. “Human. Male human.” I would not be making that mistake again.

  I sniffed again. “And a dog. Also male.”

  Khara motioned for us to follow behind her. Stealthily we crept forward, hugging the rocky wall.

  When we came to a large boulder surrounded by sticklegrass, she paused.

  “You two,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Hide in the brush as best you can. Byx, if by chance you’re seen, not a word from you. And get down on all fours. Don’t let anyone see your pouch. Or your fingers. Or—” She sighed. “Just don’t get seen, all right?”

  Her tone was urgent, and there was no time to question the plan. I knew what she was saying: if anyone discovered me, I should act like a dog, not a dairne.

  Tobble and I moved behind the boulder. It wasn’t much of a hiding place, and the barbed stickers on the grass pulled at our fur. Still, we crouched out of sight as best we could.

  Khara continued down the path, her footsteps soundless. She was just about to round a curve when something big, foul, and evil-smelling bounded into her, knocking her flat on the ground.

  Khara lay motionless.

  “She’s unconscious,” Tobble whispered.

  We leapt from the bushes, all promises forgotten. We were halfway to Khara before I realized I was about to save the very person holding me captive.

  Just at that moment, with a gasping intake of air, Khara came to. She blinked, saw the wiggling beast on top of her, and raised her knife, preparing to thrust it deep into the creature’s side. But before she could move, it revealed a dripping pink tongue and promptly licked her nose.

  Only one animal could be that moronic.

  A dog.

  “Stop!” a low voice yelled. “He’s harmless!”

  Around the bend hurtled a young man, a half-eaten pear in one hand and Vallino’s reins in the other. The big horse followed behind.

  With a great heave, Khara threw off the slobbering dog and jumped to her feet. The dog romped over to the young man.

  “Thief!” Khara cried, using her unnaturally low voice, pointing at Vallino with the knife in her outstretched hand.

  “Well, yes, as a matter of fact,” the young man said calmly. “Is he yours?” he asked, nodding at the horse.

  “Well, yes, as a matter of fact,” Khara replied, perfectly mimicking his tone. In one flourish, she speared the pear with the tip of her knife and held it to his throat. “Explain yourself now, or you’ll find this pear in your stomach. And it won’t be because you ate it.”

  The young man seemed unfazed. “I was heading up the path when my dog scented your horse. He went into the cave and I followed. I thought perhaps the horse’s owner had died.”

  “Died.”

  “Fallen off a cliff, for example. Or been consumed by a felivet. Why else would anyone leave such a fine mount behind?”

  Khara rolled her eyes. “To forage, perhaps. To find water. To—”

  “Relieve oneself? I suppose that’s—”

  “I was going to say,” Khara interrupted sternly, “to gather grass for the horse.” She pulled the knife away a few inches and removed the pear. Vallino watched hopefully.

  “And speaking of dogs.” The young man jerked his head in my direction. “Yours is quite talented. Doesn’t he get tired, walking on his back feet all day like a trained bear? Tell me: Can he juggle, too?”

  Khara turned to see Tobble and me standing in the path. “I told you to—” she snapped, then caught herself.

  Tobble and I looked at each other helplessly. Was it too late for me to play dog? I dropped to all fours and made fists of my hands. Then I opened my mouth and let my tongue loll out, pretending to pant. I even wagged my tail.

  The real dog, lanky and brown and unkempt, bounded over to me. If he could tell I wasn’t a dog, he showed no sign. His tail waved so frantically I thought it might break off and sail into the sky.

  With absolute determination, the beast began to sniff me. My head, my feet, my back, my tail, my . . . everything. It was humiliating, but I knew better than to say anything.

  When I could stand it no more, I let out a low, hopefully persuasive, growl.

  The dog looked at me with wounded eyes.

  “Dog!” the young man yelled, and the hound ran over to him, licking the man’s hand in an appalling display.

  “You named your dog ‘Dog’?” Khara asked.

  “Suits him perfectly, don’t you think?”

  “I can only assume that you answer to ‘Thief.’”

  “True enough, but you may call me Renzo. And you and your friends?”

  “I’m Tobble,” the wobbyk offered. “And this is—”

  “None of your business,” Khara finished for him.

  Khara held out the half-eaten fruit to Vallino, who took the pear between his teeth, not willing to part with it. But even as she did so, her eyes never strayed from the young man.

  He was taller than she was, with gold hair and intelligent, dark blue eyes. He carried three knives with him that I could see—one in each black boot, and one at his waist. I judged him to be a bit older than Khara, but since he was only the second human I’d ever been this close to, it was merely a guess.

  “I’m going to let you live, Renzo,” Khara said, keeping her voice deep, “but only because I’m too weary to kill anyone else this week.”

  “Most obliged.” He raised a brow and pointed toward the cave. “You know, it seems we’ve yet to enjoy breakfast, Dog and I.”

  “Pity,” said Khara. “It seems you won’t be enjoying it with us.”

  “A pity indeed,” Renzo said, not sounding altogether surprised. “Then before we take our leave, I must inquire: Might you be willing to sell your sword? It’s not much to look at, but I lost mine in a wager, and I rather find myself in need. All kinds of scoundrels and blackguards in these parts. One can’t be too careful.”

  “My sword is not for sale.”

  “I’ll give you far more than it’s worth,” Renzo said, stroking Dog’s head.

  “I gave you my answer.”

  Renzo sighed. “Your dog, then. How much for him?”

  I tried not to look alarmed. Khara was my captor, but I doubted Renzo would mean an improvement in my circumstances.

  “He’s not for sale, either.”

  “Shame. Dog here could use a companion on our journey.”

  “Mine’s not much of a dog,” Khara said, glancing my way with a smirk. “Disobedient in the extreme.”

  I busied myself chewing on my tail.

  Renzo retrieved a walking stick and a leather bag on a long strap. He slung the bag over his shoulder, doffed his cap, then looked at Khara, his brow furrowed, as a slow smile dawned on his face.

  “Fare thee well then, my good”—he paused for just a split second—“sir. I’m headed north. And you?”

  Khara merely stared, her hands on her hips.

  “Be wary, should you be traveling that way, too,” Renzo said. “The Murdano’s spies are everywhere. He’s planning an invasion of Dreyland, some say.”

  “We won’t be going that far,” said Khara.

  “So we are headed the same way. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

  “They won’t,” said Khara, “if you plan to keep on living.”

  As Renzo passed by, his mangy dog paused to touch noses with me. He smelled of skunk carcass, of squirrel droppings, of all manner of things I didn’t want to dwell upon.

  “Off we go, Dog,” called Renzo. “They don’t want to play with the likes of us.”

  We watched them saunter away until they were out of sight.

  “He seemed harmless enough,” Tobble said.

  “Can’t say the same about his dog,” I muttered, standing upright and flexing my fingers.

  Khara slipped her knife back into her boot and grabbed Vallino’s reins. “Man or dog, until we get where we’
re going,” she said, glancing down the path one more time, “assume everyone—and I mean everyone—wants to do you harm.”

  20.

  Questions

  We headed off after a quick breakfast.

  I walked beside Khara, my head just at the level of her feet, which were hanging over Vallino’s side. Tobble, who seemed to have boundless energy, often ran ahead. He quickly learned not to walk directly in back of Vallino. Horses occasionally deposit “gifts” behind them.

  We kept moving all morning. Khara led us to the northwest to avoid the Therian Marshes. “It’s a slow route,” she admitted. “But at least we’ll avoid the mud.”

  “And the serpents!” Tobble added.

  Around noon, we stopped near a sweet stream and ate some dried snake and thin-sliced onions Tobble had foraged. I borrowed Khara’s knife, lashed it to a straight stick, and showed off my dairne skill at fishing. It took a while, but I gaffed two fish, a small trout, and a slightly larger purple twigfish.

  It wasn’t much of a showing. Any of my siblings would have done a better job by far.

  As we moved on, I sensed that Khara’s fear was lessening, even as a new nervousness was growing. She still checked the trail behind us, and from time to time she asked me if I smelled anything unusual. But it seemed her thoughts and hopes were directed forward now.

  At night we made camp in a low depression within a glen. Tobble and I gathered twigs and branches, and Khara started a fire. We dined on cooked fish (for Khara and me), whirligig beetles (for Tobble), and berries (for all of us).

  After we ate, I lay on my back and watched the stars stake out homes in the endless sky. I felt strangely at ease, lulled into a comforting place without questions. For long minutes, I didn’t dwell on my past or fret about my future. I didn’t ask if I would ever again look into the eyes of another dairne.

  I just listened to the steady pulse of cricket song, throbbing like the earth’s own heartbeat.

  Khara and Tobble seemed calmer, too. They sat near the flames, gazing at the fire’s hypnotic dance. I wondered what they were thinking, and at last, curiosity got the better of me, although I hated to interrupt the calm.