The Hundred: Fall of the Wents (10 page)

Tully slept then for what must have been days. He woke occasionally to eat and to splash his face from the urn of water they brought him. No one spoke to him. Sometimes groups of them came and stared at him with their hateful black eye
s, and despair washed over him until he felt empty and weak and could not remember one good thing. Often his most prominent thought was that Aarvord, whom he had loved, had betrayed him and abandoned him to this horror. The Shrikes would come to stare with gluttonous intent until he collapsed from the strain of it.

He longed to see Skakell again, and Hen-Hen, but they never came to him. He cringed to think that his father-Eft had been captive here. Had he also died here? And Hen-Hen, perhaps, had been a prisoner here as well long ago, though the Grout had clearly escaped. If that were true then Tully, too, could escape.

Even while he slept his dreams were often troubled by the Shrikes—he thought of Hindrance in great pain, and Copernicus writhing over a hot fire, and the city of Circadie where his former home had been all scorched and blackened. In some of the dreams the city was no more, but there was still a lone Meal Apple tree growing where the buildings had once stood. He often did not know whether he was awake or asleep, and it seemed of no consequence. He was quite sure that he was going mad. Then he realized that mad creatures never realized they were mad, and that gave him a slight surge of hope. He would survive this.

Sometimes he dreamed of Hindrance and the sweet songs she used to sing. He clung to those dreams as if they were food. He thought of her, and clutched the necklace around his neck that the Shrikes had never bothered to take. Why they kept him at all was a mystery. They seemed to have no purpose for him at all, other than to enjoy his misery. He would die here. He was too weak to look for a way out or to think about eluding the Shrikes who came to bring him food and stare at him again and again—sometimes they also mocked him in strident voices. He curled into himself like a bleached shell and stopped hungering or caring. His dreams, however, became more like life than life itself. They were rich and brightly colored and never failed to torment him.

It was one day like all the others that had preceded it when the Shrikes came to get him. Sunk in melancholy, Tully barely noticed as he was led into a large underground chamber. The walls were covered with strange apparatus and blinking lights, all pulsing with a weird hum. Pods of Shrikes passed by, seemingly intent on various tasks. The roar of some great furnace of machinery could be heard, distant and deep.

Tully barely noticed all these things, because one singular thing captured his attention and held it. It was a Went. Not any Went he knew, but a Went all the same. She was standing on some kind of platform in the center of the room, and as Tully and his Shrike guards drew closer, she raised her pale face and sought out his eyes with her own gaze. Her face was framed with small, delicate buds, and her eyes were black and worried. She looked very small and fragile, and Tully realized with a start that she was quite young.

None of the Wents he knew—certainly not the four who were his family—were even close to his own age. Wents lived for a very long time, and they were rare. A single Went could be responsible for the generation of many Triling young, but most often it was Ells and Efts who were born. When new Wents arrived, their presence was treated as something of a mystery. They were not wild, and did not run and play as other Triling young. They were guarded fiercely, and sometimes kept indoors (although in a place where the sun shone brightly) until they had passed a certain age.

This Went, Tully could see, was no older than he was. He stared at her openly. She stared back.
He imagined that he could see all of her sorrow at being separated from her kin and brought here, to some vile purpose that neither of them knew. Now he was approaching the platform, and the Shrikes urged him roughly to ascend the steps to where the Went was waiting.

As he stepped to the top he could see that she was not free, and his heart grew cold. No, she had been planted in a patch of earth, just as her ancestors had once been. Her slim legs ended above the ankle, and her small feet were not visible. She was trapped in a low sort of pot; she was a potted plant that lived and breathed, and was frightened.

“Who are you?” whispered Tully. “Are you from the city Circadie?”

She shook her head. One of the Shrikes slapped at Tully, and he winced.

“Stop that!” he yelled.

“Make her sing,” said the Shrike.

Tully stared at them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he said. “Sing? Wents only sing when they’re happy. Does she look happy?”

“Make her sing,” the Shrike repeated.

The Went shook her head gently.

The Shrikes around the room seemed to have gathered close, expectantly. Clearly, they were anticipating that Tully held some sort of answer, but he was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do.

“Useless,” shrieked the Shrike. “He has no power over them.”

“He may,” mused another, taller Shrike. “He may yet. He dreams of nothing but Wents.”

Tully watched the young Went, who seemed to droop within her confines. And suddenly, he could hear her voice as clearly as if she spoke aloud. He could see by her movements that she was limp, and her mouth made no sound.

“I will not sing,” she said inside his mind. “They cannot make me. My name is Elutia. You must make them think that you have the power to make me sing, eventually, or they will kill you.”

Tully had never experienced the ability of another to put thoughts inside his mind, other than on the Plain of Bellerol when Hindrance had come to his rescue and swallowed the angry noises of the Council. This was different. Elutia’s voice was sweet and strong, although her body betrayed nothing of the confidences she shared. She lifted her head now and caught his eye, and her glance showed fear. Not for herself, he thought, but for him.

“What need do you have of Went songs, when they are common in every home within the city?” said Tully scornfully to the Shrikes. “Why do you need lullabies from this baby?”

“It’s not for you to know,” clattered the Shrike who had struck him. “If you cannot make her sing, then we have no use for you.”

The Shrikes waited, their small and hungry eyes focused on Tully. He could see
, off to the right of the chamber, that one Shrike had a jagged stone perched atop a cart. He tapped at the stone with a long metal rod, and it clanged dully. The noise filled Tully with an inexplicable despair. The stone seemed malignant, as if it had a gravity all to itself. Tully felt himself drawn to it, despairing, and he took a step forward.

“Cover the stone!” shrieked a voice, and the Shrike tending to the piece of rock threw a dark cloth over it. Tully was instantly relieved—but still he could sense its evil presence. It was as if the stone had been steeped in sorrow and anger.

Elutia still had not moved. Tully could sense the restlessness of the Shrikes, and knew he had to make a quick decision.

“She will sing,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “But she is too young. Soon she will be able to sing. That may be—several weeks from now.”

“Too young?” muttered the Shrikes, and they shrieked and clacked amongst themselves.

“Number 467 said young was needed, but not how young,” said the Shrike next to Tully, as if to himself. “It may be that we will miss the chance. She should be watched carefully.”

“That was well done,” the voice of Elutia said inside Tully’s mind. “You have bought us both some time.”

Tully was taken roughly from the platform, and he had barely a moment to look back at Elutia, imprisoned within the clod of soil. His heart ached for her, and he wondered at the evil the Shrikes were attempting to work. To plant a Went in that manner was an insult that could not be borne. It was like putting Copernicus back inside a snake’s egg.

Elutia did not look up again as he was taken away, back to his cell and to more troubled sleep.

*

Tully awoke with a start to see a dark form slipping over the stones; it was Copernicus. The snake wrapped himself snugly around Tully’s ankle in the closest approximation of a hug that he could muster.

“Coper! I didn’t know if they had you as well,” said Tully. He was still reeling from the experience of meeting Elutia. He must have slept for hours again and it had dulled his memory. It was daylight again.

“Impossible!” said Copernicus, “But they have been looking for me. I have survived, but barely. I have seen many things. They have released Balehounds in the corridors to sniff me out.” At this his tail twitched, as if trying to draw it further into himself and safety.

“How many days have I been a prisoner?” asked Tully.

Copernicus, who could not count well, shrugged. “About half as long as it takes me to wear a new skin?” he said hopefully.

“Have you seen Aarvord?” asked Tully. Copernicus did not respond at first.

“I didn’t want to seek him out,” sniffed the snake. “I was afraid of what I might say to him. But then I went, out of curiosity. I explored every inch of this place before they brought in the Balehounds. Aarvord is not looking so happy and fat. He is a prisoner as much as you are. I watched him carefully, and then I left.”

Copernicus paused. “I do believe that he regrets what he has done, so I have decided to forgive him.”

“Not me!” cried Tully heatedly. “I won’t forgive him! What excuse could he have had? We’re supposed to be his best friends.”

“His sister,” explained Copernicus, and described Justice, and some of what he had overheard. Tully was silent.

“I still don’t understand
why
,” he finally said. “We’re all prisoners now. Except,” he added hopefully, “for you.”

“And the bee,” remarked the snake. “Don’t forget, the bee escaped too.”

“That bee is probably dead by now,” said Tully. “What of Fangor? Did you see him?”

Copernicus shook his head. “They grasssped him up in a bottle and he was caught. No one can hear his lousssy little songs now.” Copernicus gave a rueful smile.

“No doubt he is still alive,” said Tully. “Fangor may be a pest, but he is wily.”

“And hard to kill,” assented Copernicus. “Have you learned anything in your time here?”

“I know that they have Wents captive in this very place,” said Tully. “Did you see Hindrance?”

Copernicus shook his head. “Most of the Wents I have seen have been strange,” he said thoughtfully. “They all resemble one another, as if they were born of the same litter. I tried to speak to one or two of them but they are more like plants than any Wents we knew.”

“Do they seem young?” asked Tully. “I met a Went who was younger than any I know.”

“All of them,” assented Copernicus. “They are all Went children. They march them through the halls and I fear their gaze more than any others, for they are sssharp and their eyes are bright. Though some have seen me they have told no tales to the Shrikes, for I am still free. I do not understand them. They are strange, as I said.”

“Hindrance must be here, she must!” said Tully.

“I have explored every chamber that has been open to me, but I did not see her,” said the snake. “I have been free for many days now. There’s not a lot to eat here, I will tell you. Only a species of crawling, dumb insect that tastes bad and smells worse. I hated to eat the things, for they are like devouring meat, but otherwise I would have died. I think I am as thin as a ssstick.”

“I have not eaten well,” agreed Tully. “I suspect I am very thin too. Sometimes I have thought the fever is returning.” He shivered.

“And you—what have you learned?” asked Copernicus.

“I have learned that the Shrikes are cruel,” said Tully. “Beyond that, nothing. Only dreams. Dreams that I do not like.”

Copernicus didn’t answer. He had stiffened and raised his head, as if sniffing the air.

“Shrikesss come,” he hissed. Before Tully could protest, the snake was up and inside his vest. The dream-day puzzle box rattled musically as Copernicus tucked behind it.

Tully sat silently as the Shrikes went by the cell. It was a large pod of them, clacking and muttering. They did not even glance at him as they passed. When they had turned the corner, Coper poked his snout out of Tully’s vest.

“Where are they are going, then?” he mused. “Maybe I will follow them, yes?”

“No!” said Tully, reluctant to be left alone again.

But Copernicus had quickly zipped down to the floor again, and paused expectantly, as if to hear more Shrike footsteps through the vibrations in his skin.

“They are going to a big meeting, of some importance. I should know what this means.”

“Leave them alone, Coper,” pleaded Tully. “You don’t want to be caught, too.”

“I have not been caught for all these many days,” whispered Copernicus. “So I will not be caught now. We need to get you out of here, and Aarvord,” said Copernicus. “I will find out what I can. Then I will come back.”

“Balehounds!” whispered Tully, trying to stop him. “Please come back!”

But Copernicus was already gone.

Tully pulled out the puzzle box again and turned it over and over in his hands. The sound it gave out was of parties, laughter, and happy thoughts. He shook it more forcefully, and to his surprise the musical chimes within it grew in intensity. The faster he shook it, the faster the tune took shape. Finally, he threw it up in the air and caught it, relentlessly and repeatedly. With each turn and tumble the song inside the box caught and jagged and started again, until he made it out to be a small song that Hindrance had once sung to him. So this was the secret of the box! Just a plaything for sunnier days. He could not throw it fast enough to keep the song at its proper tempo, and as a result it sounded broken and stilted. Still, the memory of the little song was peaceful to him, and a gift in this cold place.

There was a buzzing at his ear and he looked to his shoulder. The Dull Bee! It was alive, and thrumming its wings with excitement.

“Old friend!” said Tully. “You’re fine! Where have you been hiding?”

The bee shimmied slightly, and then, to Tully’s great surprise, it flew directly toward the little puzzle box. It crawled inside the hole in the side, and vanished completely.

“Hey! Come back!” cried Tully. He picked up the box and tilted it, but could see nothing within. He put it to his ear and could hear a vague humming, but it sounded leagues distant. The box was so small. What could the bee have discovered in its center? With the musical chimes, how could there be room for anything else?

He tilted the box from left to right gently, but the music was gone. The box seemed to vibrate and move on its own and Tully, a bit frightened now, set it down on the stone floor. It shook and flipped, and buzzed as if alive. Was the bee trapped?

Then the lid of the box opened with a metallic-sounding click, and swiveled outward, and Tully was looking down into the box at a miniature world. He squinted to see it clearly. There were roofs of rough-thatched homes there, no bigger than the head of a nail. Smoke was rising from one of them. In the center of the box, a tiny river no wider than a thread ran through like a trail of living ink. The village—if a real village is what it was—lay on a slope of green next to the river, and the world was bathed in bright, golden sun. But here was most surprising: The bee was nowhere in sight. It had completely and inexplicably vanished.