I did not trust her. I would never trust her.
But I no longer feared her.
I looked into her eyes. I said, “My name is Byx.”
14.
An Unexpected Visitor
In the middle of the night, my eyes flew open. At least, I assumed it was the middle of the night. It was hard to gauge time in the depths of a cave.
Two strange sounds competed for my attention.
The first sound was odd breathing coming from Khara. On each inhalation she made a sustained snorting noise, not unlike a bog toad.
I assumed all humans did this when they slept.
The second sound seemed to be a rat scrabbling over the stony cave floor. But my nose immediately corrected that impression. It wasn’t rat or mouse.
It was wobbyk.
My heart leapt.
I strained to listen. Scrabble, scrabble, pause. Scrabble, pause.
And there he was.
Tobble.
He flashed a grin. In the faint light from the moonsnails, his black eyes glimmered. I shook my head, silencing him before he could speak. We could not afford to waken Khara.
I rolled onto my side to show Tobble the rope that still bound my wrists. His nimble little paws, along with his teeth, went to work. My hands tingled with their newfound freedom.
I patted Tobble in thanks. He seemed pleased, for he produced a purring sound, a softer, more melodious version of Khara’s heavy breathing.
We crept inch by inch, Tobble in the lead. Vallino heard us, of course. He was a clever beast, and herd animals have sharply developed senses. He could have exposed us with a single nicker or a loud snort, but he stayed silent.
I suspected Vallino did not enjoy carrying my weight along with Khara’s. He was probably happy to see me leave.
We soon emerged beneath a star-strewn sky and moved away from the cave as quickly as we could while still remaining silent.
“Many thanks,” I whispered. “So that was you I heard calling my name on the trail?”
“Yes. I wanted to give you hope.”
“I thought I was imagining things.”
“Your wound,” Tobble said, pointing to my side. “Are you well enough to travel?”
“I’m fine.”
Tobble jutted his chin toward the cave. “Did the human girl plan to kill you?”
“You knew she was a girl?”
“Of course,” said Tobble. “You didn’t?”
“No,” I admitted. There are times when dairne honesty can be a disadvantage.
“So do you think she wanted to kill you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I need to know whether or not I saved your life.”
“Ah. Well, you certainly rescued me,” I said. “And I’m deeply grateful. But whether she meant to kill me, I can’t be sure. I don’t know what she was planning.”
The wobbyk made a disgruntled sound. “In that case, I suppose I can’t count it as an actual lifesaving.”
“Of course you can.”
Tobble shook his head. “It’s Code, Byx. You cannot argue with Wobbyk Code.”
I sensed it was best not to debate. “So,” I said, changing the subject, “where do you think we are?”
“Well, as best I can tell, we are at the end of a ridge, between the Forest of Null and the Therian Marshes.”
“The Forest of Null?” Every dairne pup had heard of the Forest of Null. It was featured in many bedtime stories. Not the happy sort of bedtime story. The type of story involving fell beasts, monsters, and carnivorous plants.
Tobble nodded solemnly. Even a solemn wobbyk looks a bit silly.
“I’ve never been to the marshes,” I said.
“Nor have I,” said Tobble.
I tried to recall my geography lessons. “And what lies beyond them, do you think?”
Tobble tapped his chin. “The plains. The capital. Rivers. Mountains. Some other stuff. And then a whole different country, Dreyland.”
“That sounds about right,” I said. “Geography was never my best subject.”
“Well, I can tell you this: we certainly don’t want to get too close to the border.”
“As if we could ever get that far!” I replied. “But why do you say that?”
“Rumor has it that the Murdano is planning to invade Dreyland soon.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“We wobbyks are seafaring folk.” Tobble grinned proudly. “We know a great deal about a few things, and a few things about a great deal.”
“Then perhaps you could help me decide where to go.”
“That,” said Tobble, “I shall leave up to you.”
How to make a decision? If only, I thought desperately, my parents were here to guide me. Myxo, Dalyntor, any of my siblings: they would all have better instincts than I. What did I know? I was the runt. The least important member of our pack.
I knew nothing.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. I knew that the important thing at that moment was to get as far away from Khara as possible.
I looked at Tobble’s trusting, expectant face. “Marshes it is, then,” I said, trying to sound decisive.
Tobble pointed to the north. We set off at a pace limited by his stubby legs. I realized with a guilty start that Tobble must have been running all day and much of the night to keep up with Vallino.
To rescue me.
“You must be exhausted. Would you like me to carry you?”
“I wouldn’t hear of it! You’ve been injured,” Tobble said. “In any case, the wobbyk metabolism is a marvel to behold. I once ran for six days straight without sleep or sustenance.”
My dairne instincts told me I was hearing more than a little exaggeration. But I said nothing. In any case, I could hardly rush ahead and abandon him. He’d taken risks for me. I would not let myself forget that fact.
The dank odor of the marsh wafted our way before we arrived at the first grayish, spongy mound of drooping grass. It smelled of rot and decay, too sweet in the upper registers of scent. It smelled of living things slowly dying.
But as we pushed on, as I dragged my feet out of sucking mud, I smiled to myself. Khara might follow this way, but Vallino would not.
“We should walk for a bit longer, then turn southwest,” I said.
“Back to—to where we started?”
The question brought me up short. Was the burned and blood-spattered mirabear hive my destination?
Why? To return to dead bodies? What would I do when I got there?
I hesitated. “I could speak a ritual for the dead,” I finally suggested.
Tobble accepted my answer, but it didn’t satisfy me.
Did I truly have no destination?
The realization flooded me with despair. I was in the middle of a stinking marsh with nowhere to go.
I had no family. I had no home. The only reason to head back was because I had no better destination.
I belonged nowhere. To no one.
For as long as I could remember, I’d been part of something bigger than myself.
Part of a family.
Part of a pack.
Part of a species.
What was I now?
You’re still a dairne, I told myself. You’re alone today. But that doesn’t mean you’ll be alone forever.
Myxo had planned to lead our pack north. She must have believed more dairnes could be found.
If she could hope, then I could, too.
I remembered, with a sudden pang, my mother’s words the last time we were together: It’s never wrong to hope, Byx.
Of course, she’d also said: Unless the truth says otherwise.
“Byx?” Tobble asked. “Are you all right?”
I gave a small nod. I might have been the only dairne in all the southlands. In all Nedarra. In all the world, perhaps.
I didn’t know the truth, couldn’t guess what lay ahead. Not yet.
But perhaps I wasn’t entirely alone. Not with t
his little wobbyk by my side.
We trudged on. It became harder to advance. The gloomy landscape was dotted with wide, shallow pools and soggy mounds of earth. Each step forward meant yanking a foot from sucking mud so determined to hold us in place that it almost seemed alive.
The moon hung low in the sky like a yellow claw. Ahead of us, skeletal trees glimmered in the moonlight. They were leafless, with huge knots of exposed roots digging into the mud like thousands of gnarled fingers.
“Those are marsh demontrees,” Tobble said. “Perhaps we could rest there?”
“How scenic,” I said. “Perhaps tomorrow we can camp in a graveyard.”
We settled onto a nearly dry spot atop a mat of roots. I began scraping muck from my feet with a stick. Tobble groomed himself for a moment, muttered something incomprehensible, and instantly fell fast asleep.
It was probably for the best. I could stay awake to keep watch.
I yawned, shook myself, yawned again.
Stay awake, I told myself. You can sleep later. Stay awake.
Another yawn.
Stay . . .
15.
Attack of the Serpents
I woke at dawn as something slithered over me.
“Ahhh!” I screamed, but I was pinned beneath something heavy, something heavy and moving.
Something heavy, moving, and alive.
“Snakes!” I cried, and Tobble yelped, “Snakes!”
A black serpent’s head darted before me, its forked tongue tasting the night air. Tasting the smell of . . . me.
I struggled, but with each movement the enormous snake coiled around me, tightening its hold. Its skin, black with green and yellow stripes, gleamed in the pale light.
“Let me go!” I yelled at the snake’s head, which was even larger than my own.
The snake was not impressed.
I kicked and hit nothing but air. I tried to free my arms, but the strength of the huge serpent was infinitely greater than anything I could muster. It was slow-moving but relentless, shifting, tightening, surrounding me with more and more of its incredible length.
I was helpless. Don’t panic, I told myself. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
But the more I tried to calm myself, the more I shivered with terror.
I looked up and saw that some of the branches above me were moving. There were more serpents.
Dozens. Perhaps even hundreds.
“I’ll save you, Byx!” Tobble cried.
He leapt to my defense, digging his teeth into the serpent that had pinned me, but suddenly the little wobbyk was snatched away, as if someone had him on a string. One of the snakes above had dropped a nooselike coil around Tobble’s chest.
“Help!” I shrieked, though I knew I wouldn’t be heard.
The serpent’s skin was as cold as a corpse.
“Oh, dear me!” Tobble yelped. “This is most unpleasant.”
“Help!” I cried again. “Somebody help us, please!”
“Are you sure you want help?”
I knew that voice, that soft, sardonic tone.
I knew it. And, desperate as I was, I welcomed it with all my heart.
A coil covered half my face, thick as the trunk of a young tree, leaving me with only one useful eye and a muffled mouth.
“Yes!” I managed to say. The snake tightened its grip, and I felt the air squeezed from my lungs.
“Do you swear by all you hold sacred not to escape me again?”
I was not in a position to bargain. “Yes! Yes! Save us!”
“Well,” Khara said calmly, “if you insist.”
The metallic ring of a sword being drawn met my ears, and what a sweet sound it was.
Khara raised her blade as my one eye stared in astonishment.
Her sword had been rusty and ancient, with a bent hand guard and a simple, leather-wrapped grip. But now, impossibly, the hilt was encrusted with jewels, and the blade glowed like forged iron fresh from the fire.
Khara brought it down hard on the snake’s tail.
I heard the clang of a cleaver on meat.
The snake hissed, turning its beady yellow eyes toward Khara. Still it wouldn’t release me.
My head swelled with blood. My limbs were numb. The world vibrated as the vision in my one free eye narrowed.
“I have no fight with serpent folk,” Khara warned, “but I will take your head next!”
I saw movement above her. I wanted to shout a warning, but I had no breath left. All I could do was moan.
A massive snake dropped from a branch directly above Khara.
She sliced it into halves midair, and the two pieces thudded to the ground. They writhed for a moment, then went still.
The snakes were done toying with us.
They were everywhere at once, slithering toward us, all but indistinguishable from the tangle of exposed tree roots.
They spiraled down branches by the hundreds. They lunged out of the water.
For a split second, Khara took it all in.
And then she went to work.
She twirled through the air. She leapt. She pirouetted, her shimmering sword leaving trails of golden light like a shooting star.
I felt hot sprays of serpent blood like fitful rain. But the great serpent who held me, the largest of all, did not relent. It raised its head high and opened its hideous mouth, revealing the deadly curve of two huge black fangs.
Please, I thought, if I must die, let it be swift.
With lightning speed the serpent dived at me. The top of my head wedged in its rank mouth, fangs just grazing my ears. My skull was too large to swallow, but the serpent meant to make it impossible for Khara to kill it without also killing me.
The slime, the putrid breath, the fangs beaded with venom: it was as if my head were trapped in some hideous, reeking helmet.
I gagged. The foul stench was more than I could bear. And yet I had no choice but to bear it. I could not move, not even a hairbreadth.
I caught a glimpse of Khara’s sword inscribing a graceful arc. It swung horizontally.
Directly at my head.
The blade struck flesh.
Fortunately, it wasn’t mine.
The serpent went slack.
Khara had cut through the snake’s head, all the way through until the last fraction of an inch, the blade stopping within a finger’s width of slicing into my own face.
A collective hiss went through all the other snakes, like a wordless argument quickly concluded.
Tobble, released at last, dropped from above and landed with a muddy gloop near Khara’s boots. The snakes left in slow, sinuous retreat.
With the serpent’s grip loosened at last, I pulled myself partially free of its carcass. But its horrible mouth was still firmly attached to the top of my head. Try as I might, I didn’t have the strength to remove it.
“I could use some help over here,” I said, but Khara seemed more interested in Tobble.
“Who are you?” she demanded, kneeling beside the trembling wobbyk.
“Me?” Tobble squeaked. “I’m here to rescue Byx.”
“You’re a little late,” Khara said. “Do you have a name?”
“I’m no one,” Tobble replied in a small voice.
Khara stood. “Then we shall call you breakfast.”
“No! He’s a—a friend,” I cried.
“Hmm,” Khara said. “Then I suppose we shall feast on serpent instead.”
16.
Breakfast Is Served
We headed back to the cave, bedraggled and chastened. No one spoke.
Khara didn’t bother to tie us up. She seemed to know we wouldn’t be attempting another escape anytime soon.
Vallino snorted in annoyance when we arrived. It was a good thing Khara had made the decision to leave the horse behind and track us on foot. He would have been mired in mud in no time.
Risking a small fire, Khara grilled chunks of serpent on a stick. It felt a bit odd, eating something that just tried to eat me.
But that didn’t change the mouth-watering flavor.
We ate in silence until Khara asked why Tobble hadn’t touched his food.
“Wobbyks don’t eat meat,” he explained, although I noticed he was eyeing the charred serpent with a certain fascination.
“What do you like to eat?” Khara asked. “Maybe I can find something.”
“I’m fine, thank you very much.” Even under the circumstances, Tobble couldn’t seem to stifle his natural wobbyk politeness.
“We’ve a long way to go.” Khara poked at the fire with a stick. “You’re certain you don’t want to eat something?”
“Absolutely,” said Tobble, just as his stomach let loose with a growl so ferocious, it would have made a felivet proud.
“Your stomach says otherwise.” Khara licked her fingers and smiled. “You’re plant eaters, right?”
“Plants and bugs. Bark, in a pinch.”
“I’ll see what I can find.” Khara leapt to her feet.
“Please don’t bother.” Tobble crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t accept food from you. You’re our captor.”
“Tobble,” I urged in a low voice, “eat while you can. We’ll need our strength for—”
“Not for another escape, you won’t.” Khara wagged a finger at us. “I’ll be right outside the entrance, so don’t get any ideas.”
We watched her leave. “I don’t have any ideas,” Tobble said. “Do you, Byx?”
I rubbed a sore spot on my nose. One of the serpent’s fangs had grazed it. “No,” I admitted, feeling weary and defeated. “Not any good ones, anyway.”
When she returned minutes later, Khara’s leather pouch was stuffed with grass and leaves. She opened her right hand to reveal a squirming ball of orange centipedes.
I’d eaten my share of bugs, but these looked far too much like miniature serpents for my taste. Still, Tobble’s eyes lit up.
“You need to eat, Tobble,” I said with an encouraging nod.
With a peevish sigh, he thrust out his paw. Khara dropped the slimy mass of centipedes into it. Tobble shoved the whole writhing bundle into his mouth and munched loudly.
Khara laughed. It was the first time I’d heard the sound, and it reminded me of a brief and wordless song. I was surprised at how pleasant I found it, in spite of our circumstances.