The Hundred: Fall of the Wents (13 page)

After his departure, the hall was a melee. Shrikes wondered what had happened. How had the interloper chanced to escape? No one seemed to remember that Hatch had made the first cry that announced Aarvord as the victor in the battle. Hatch ran to and fro with the rest of them, clacking and muttering, until Copernicus thought he would be sick from the press and heat of the room. Bushy tried to turn the hall to order, but all was chaos.

Still, the Shrike-Grout lay on the cold stone floor, curled in anguish and weeping. No one paid it any attention. Finally it crawled to its feet and made its bumbling way past the dais, out the nave of the auditorium, and to a door that someone had forgotten to bolt. It went out into the snow and was lost to the whirling drifts.

Tully held the wooden box and it vibrated gently in
his hands. He had closed the lid experimentally, just to see what might happen. But, now that it was shut, he could not prise it open again. He felt foolish. What if the box was meant to open only that one time, and would never open again? He tilted it this way and that and suddenly the bee emerged from the small hole.

It preened its wings and wriggled a bit, buzzed once through the air as if testing its flying skills, and landed on Tully’s right shoulder. To his great surprise, it spoke. Its voice was very high and thin, and he had to strain to hear the words. A low buzz punctuated every syllable, making the words even more difficult to decipher.

“I am Nizz,” said the bee. “I am a Dull Bee, and I am not supposed to be here.”

“Tully,” whispered Tully, automatically lowering his voice to match the tiny thrum of the bee. He had not known that Dull Bees could speak. This was yet another strange thing among the mysteries that had been revealed.

“I know your name,” said the bee. “I have watched you. I was swept up in the great flying craft that the Boring Bees made. I did not know their purpose, for they are not of my kind. Their minds were closed to me. Then many died.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Tully. “I don’t understand why I’m here or what good I’ll do, or why it’s important at all.”

“Don’t be,” said the bee. “You have a task just as we do.”

“Why didn’t you speak before?” asked Tully.

“I had taken a vow of silence,” sighed the bee. “But that is broken now. For what good, I do not know. It was in that other world.”

“In here?” and Tully lifted the box. “What did you see?”

Nizz told him the story from beginning to end, including the last moment when he had led the children from certain danger.

“I knew that if I had not intervened,” said Nizz, “those children would have been lost to that darkness. For all I know now, it is too late.”

Tully gazed at the box in curiosity and wonder, wishing that he could have been the one to enter that strange world. But he was too large to ever fit inside such a tiny space. Only a bee, or someone like Fangor.

“That is all past, though,” said Nizz thoughtfully. “That world is gone, many thousands or even millions of years ago. Those children do not exist, not in this time. I know that now. My visit there was a view only.”

“But why?” asked Tully. “And how did Hindrance design such a thing?”

“Your Went must have been very wise, very special. Or simply lucky enough to find this box. There is deep magic in it. It is what we call a portal key.”

“We?” asked Tully.

“Yes,” said Nizz. “My people know of them, as we see many secret things. There are but a few of them left, because the skills and the magic to build them have been lost for many years. For whatever reason, your Went had one. And she chose to give it to you.”

“I thought that Hindrance had made the box herself,” said Tully a bit sadly. “She was very good at making things.”

“Do not say
was,
” said the bee. “Your Hindrance is still very much alive. I can sense this, as her touch has been on the portal key. She is nearby.”

“In this building?” said Tully, hope leaping within him.

“Somewhere…close,” said the bee. “It is hard to judge. It could be miles distant. But she is in the northern lands.”

“Could you lead me to her?” asked Tully. “Would you be able to follow…some kind of scent?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Nizz. “It is one of our greatest skills.”

Nizz did not go on, as Dull Bees were not braggarts about their gifts. Hardly so, as they spent their lives in silence. Tully’s confidence soared. Hindrance could be a few days away, maybe less. He could find her. And then he would free her.

Just as Tully was feeling a surge of energy, he saw the shadow of a Shrike approaching down the hall in the dim light.

“Hide!” said Tully to the bee, and Nizz did as he was told and curled up inside Tully’s left ear.

The Shrike stopped in front of the cell and stared at Tully, and the Eft braced himself for a confrontation. This Shrike had a strange black hatchmark above his eye, which was the only thing that distinguished him from the rest of the Shrike rabble. They were all alike, except for small distinctions like this. This Shrike looked vaguely familiar, but Tully could not place how or why.

Then Tully was not sure if he was dreaming. His friend Copernicus emerged from the Shrike’s furry feathers, dropped to the floor in one quick motion, and slid under the bars of the cell. In his mouth was a small key, and it fell to the floor with a tinny clang.

“Hurry!” said Copernicus. “Use it. Don’t ask questions.”

Tully glanced at the Shrike who stared at him impassively. Was this some kind of trick? Would he be punished? But Coper’s small black eyes spoke nothing but truth and sincerity. His friend would not steer him wrong. Not, Tully thought with a cringe, like Aarvord’s betrayal.

Tully reached through the bars to fit the key into the lock on the other side of the cell door and swung it open. He stepped out, unsure what to say to the Shrike, or even how to make eye contact.

“Thank you,” said Tully quickly, and the Shrike extracted the key without a word, tucking it deep within its feathers. Copernicus leapt up Tully’s leg and hid inside his vest. He hadn’t minded being protected by Hatch, but it was much more comfortable back with his good friend. Hatch motioned with his head down the hallway and Tully, now with two passengers, followed the Shrike, wondering all the while how this had come to pass.

“Coper!” whispered Tully, as they moved down the hallway. “Where are we going?”

“Unknown,” whispered the snake. “But this fellow is good; he doesn’t care for what the others think. He’s clear determined to get us out of here. He thinks what they are doing is bad business.”

“Are you sure?” said Tully, watching the Shrike with interest. Hatch had opened up a metal door in the side of the hallway and was beckoning Tully to follow. Hatch did not seem nervous, but was slightly jerky and hurried in his mannerisms. Tully could only imagine how the Shrikes might choose to torment one of their own that transgressed. Tully ducked inside the door, which was too low for even a low, squat Shrike to enter without crouching. He found himself in a new tunnel, parallel to the first but much more narrow and cramped.

“Where does this lead?” Tully spoke directly to the Shrike this time. Hatch looked impatient.

“It leads out. That’s all you need to know,” he said. His voice was vaguely shrill, like all Shrikes, but the kindness in it made it more tolerable. “It’s important that you get away from here.”

“But wait.” Tully stopped in the passageway. “What about Elutia? I can’t leave her here.”

“Elutia? Who is this?” asked Hatch.

“A young Went that your people have imprisoned. She spoke to me. She trusts me to help.”

Hatch looked unimpressed. “I cannot count all the Wents that have come and gone through these doors. What does one more matter?”

“What do I matter?” whispered Tully. Hatch shrugged, as if he couldn’t be bothered to answer. This was a reluctant savior indeed. Still, Tully had little choice but to accept his help.

“This Went,” Tully said. “She seems special. Because she is young, they’ve decided that she has the power to do whatever they want.”

“Ah, one of the young ones.” Hatch looked more interested. “She is one of the experiments. Which one do you mean? There are so many.”

“I don’t care if she’s an experiment or anything!” Tully whispered fiercely. “I met her and she’s here and I think we should help her. She’s trapped in the big room with the cloth-covered rock.”

Hatch sighed and squatted to a resting position on the floor of the tunnel.

“So be it,” he said. “But we must wait until the Shrike-feeding, when they will all be distracted.”

“What do Shrikes eat?” said Copernicus, disgusted. “Misery? Unhappiness?” He did not seem to recognize that he was being insulting to his new friend, i
f Hatch could indeed be called
friend
. Copernicus was grateful for Hatch’s help, but a long-standing fear of the Shrikes colored his every thought. If the rumors were true the Shrikes ate dreams; Copernicus shuddered at the thought.

Hatch ruffled his feathers and fur and did not answer.

They waited. Copernicus described what he had seen in the auditorium, and Tully cheered to the story of Aarvord’s escape and bravery. Perhaps they could find him. Perhaps their friendship could be salvaged. Nizz buzzed excitedly in his ear at the end of the tale, but still did not emerge and reveal his presence.

The light in the tunnel did not change. But they could sense that time was passing—albeit very slowly. Hatch did not seem hungry despite the fact that he must be missing his feed. Eventually, he rose up from his cramped crouch and said: “It is time.”

They went back through the small tunnel and out into the larger hallway. Hatch led them unerringly to the domed room where Elutia was held captive. He cautioned them to remain in the shadows while he approached two Shrike guards who were not at the feeding. Whatever Hatch said was effective, for the two guards scurried away. The room was now empty, except for a dim form slumped over in the center. As they stepped forward Hatch’s claws made clicking noises on the stone floor and Elutia raised her head.

Tully heard her thoughts immediately. “You’ve come back,” she thought wonderingly. “But why?”

“We’re going and we’re taking you with us,” thought Tully, and she seemed to sink deeper into despair. This time she spoke aloud, for the benefit of all.

“I cannot walk,” she said, holding her hands out helplessly and looking down at the pot of earth in which she had been planted. It was at this moment that Nizz buzzed quickly and quietly out of Tully’s ear and vanished. Tully looked up to see where he had gone but the bee was nowhere to be seen.

Tully climbed up to where Elutia was and started to dig at the soil with his small hands, much better suited to parting water than earth. Copernicus joined in and loosened the soil with his body, and even Hatch pawed at t
he soil with his feathered paws. All the while Elutia shook her head and her thoughts to Tully came fast and furious.

“You will have to carry me.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I will slow you down.”

“We’re not leaving you.”

“I have never learned to walk.”

“How can that be? You walked once. You will walk again.”

“You don’t understand.”

The argument was as loud as an oral one, but much more potent because her thoughts were so fierce and fervent inside his mind. They almost felt like his own thoughts. Rather than become swayed or muddled, he kept digging with a single-minded purpose. Finally, they worked her legs and her small white feet free. Her feet, Tully saw, had grown small tendrils and roots that hooked into the dirt. He pulled these loose as gently as he could, and he saw her wince with pain. Her expression was ashamed.

Finally she was free, but her limbs were weak and the torn roots on her feet were too tender and bare for walking on the hard stone floor. Fortunately, she was small. But so was Tully. He tried and could not lift her. Hatch was much too squat to be of much use. Copernicus thrashed around indignantly, cursing his limbless state. “What good isss I!” he hissed.

“What can we do?” said Tully hopelessly. And then, to Elutia: “You must try. It will hurt, but you have to walk.”

Elutia nodded her head and took a slow step toward the edge of the platform. Tully clutched one of her arms, Hatch the other. Slowly, painstakingly, they made it down the steps. In several more minutes, they had made it a few feet through the room. Elutia was weeping silently with the pain of it, and she had stopped sending any thoughts to Tully.

“We will never make it at this pace,” said Hatch gruffly. “The feeding will be over soon, and they will be back. She does not have the memory of walking in her. She is a crippled thing.”

Tully did not regret his choice to come back for Elutia. It was the right thing to do. Not only was Elutia a free and gentle Went who had been cruelly treated and wrongfully imprisoned, but she might also be important to the Shrikes’ hateful cause. But now he had probably ruined their chances for escape. When the Shrikes came back, he would be asked to make Elutia sing again. That awful chunk of rock they had brought out, whatever it was, made him quail inside with despair.

“Take another step!” he urged her inside his mind. Every step would make a difference. It might save them.

Suddenly there was a slight buzzing in Tully’s ear; Nizz was back. “Hello, friend,” said Tully. “I wish there was something
you
could do.”

“But I have!” buzzed Nizz indignantly. Tully looked up to see a familiar form come lurching out of the gloomy corridor. It had been many days since Tully had seen Aarvord. In that time he seemed to have grown taller yet more stooped at the same time. He did not look like the youthful friend Tully remembered. He stepped forward and Tully saw that his eyes were the same as before, except they were hooded with shame—an almost ferocious shame, as if Aarvord would never discuss what had transpired, and would rather die than do so.