The Hundred: Fall of the Wents (30 page)

Tully awoke with a throbbing head. He was dreadfully hot. His arms hurt terribly and he realized that they were pinioned behind him. He was standing, chained to a wall. He felt what seemed to be a rope around his neck, and then realized it was the limp form of Copernicus. No one had bothered to remove the snake; they had left him for dead. But Tully could feel the faint flutter of Copernicus’ heartbeat on his neck. Chained to the wall next to him was Aarvord. The Grout was alert and awake. Clearly, whatever poison Snell had thrown on the fire affected the smaller creatures more.

The heat was oppressive. But Tully could hear a low
boom, boom, boom
noise from somewhere deep within the rock. The sound made him salivate a bit, and he realized that it was water, striking at the rock. He longed to swim, suddenly—to be surrounded by water.

“Where is the UnderGrout?” he asked Aarvord.

“He thought I was still asleep from the poison he threw on the fire,” said his friend. “But my eyes were open and I watched him. He went down that passageway, there.”

There was a dark tunnel leading off into the gloom, just tall enough for Snell to pass. It might be an escape passage for them, although it would be difficult for Aarvord to crouch that low. Through the passage, Tully could smell the clear, salty scent of the ocean. They must have been brought some distance in their stupor, but he could not think how Snell had dragged them both, unless it was through another form of evil magic. The smell of the water renewed him and gave him hope. Out there somewhere was an exit and freedom.

The source of the heat, however, was of much greater concern. Before them was a pit or a forge of some kind, burning white-hot with a contained fury. It was not fueled by wood, but by some internal source of energy that bubbled up from the ground. Tully could not see deeply into it to gauge whatever was fueling it, but he found himself mesmerized by the white-hot flares and bursts on the surface of the bubbling pit.

Strangely, the bauble around his neck began to grow uncomfortably hot, as if in sympathy with whatever was burning and brewing inside the forge. It grew hotter still and he longed to tear it away from his chest; only the fabric bag kept it from searing his scales. His antennae tingled. He noticed that the pit of fire gave off a light that danced off his scales—he could see pinpricks of light dashing around the cave when he moved his head from side to side.

“What is this place?” he said to Aarvord.

The Grout grunted in return and jerked his head to the side.

“Go to sleep again,” he said. “I hear Snell returning. Maybe we can learn something.”

Aarvord’s ears were much more finely-tuned than Tully’s. He shut his eyes quickly, hearing the
plod, plod, plod
of Snell’s steps finally emerge from the tunnel. After a minute, he carefully opened one eye.

Snell had his back to the prisoners and was throwing something into the blazing pit. Whatever it was, it made the heat flare up even more, and Tully gasped involuntarily. He felt he would be burned alive just by his proximity to the fire. Breathing had become difficult; he felt that he could not get a breath to the bottom of his lungs. And the bauble burned him so! It had never been exposed to such heat before. He would have torn it off gladly if he could, though he was thankful that his hands were not free for he would have felt great remorse to let his necklace out of his care. Again, he longed for the water, which was so close, yet out of reach. Fortunately, the heat would be more pleasant to Aarvord than it was to him.

Snell did not turn around, but Tully almost sensed him smiling unpleasantly.

“Hot, isn’t it?” said the UnderGrout, who seemed aware that they were alert and listening. “It’s a terrible way to die, by fire, yes? Your friends would attest to that. But they cannot! They cannot speak; for they are gone. Burned and gone.”

Tully opened his eyes. Then Snell turned and the vicious little smile that Tully had imagined was indeed on his cruel face.

“This fire was made for the human children,” he said. “It is a source of power for the Hundred, and it has never gone out—not in the years that I have been in my master’s service. We have been building it and keeping it over time.”

“Why?” said Tully, although it had become hard to speak.

“Why, it is a fire of life!” said Snell. “Can’t you feel the power within it? The life force? The energy?”

Tully could feel only the all-consuming heat, so he shook his head.

“It will give the Hundred the power they need,” said Snell. “Then they will beome our most perfect masters indeed. They will reward us.”

“You’re mad,” said Tully. “The Hundred are supposed to be nothing but shadows. Shadows that will eat you.”

“The Hundred take many forms,” said Snell mysteriously. “Some of air, some of stone. Perhaps even some of water?”

“The Hundred!” boomed Aarvord, no longer feigning sleep. “You go on so about them. Why do you and your master care for them so much? What power could they have over you? Why does it matter?”

“The humans have been dead and gone these millions of years,” added Tully. “Do you not think that it was supposed to be this way?
”

Snell ignored Aarvord and turned on Tully with a vicious crouching motion.

“You imagine that the Hundred and the humans are the same,” he said. “How foolish you are, to confuse the strong with the weak.”

“If the humans turned into the Hundred, they are not so weak,” gasped Tully, his throat seared by the heat.

“The Hundred are the strong ones,” said Snell. “They snatched life from the lesser ones as they should have. And they exist still while the rest of the weak humans sank under the rising seas. Existence is all that matters, is it not?”

Tully tried to take a deep breath and his lungs felt scorched and flimsy.

“Of course, the weak little humans
do
exist in a sense,” said Snell slyly. “Right here, in fact.”

Tully glanced around but could see nothing; he was relieved to discover that the two children had not suddenly appeared, yet equally as disappointed that Elutia had not.

“What do you mean?” he said carefully, not daring to hope.

“Do you think it’s a happy accident that Efts have two arms and two legs and eyes in the middle of their heads?” said Snell, advancing on Tully. “No, my little Eftling. The humans did not die. They just evolved. They transformed into Efts. They became
you.”

Tully shook his head. “No. I want nothing to do with the humans!” he shouted. “I’m not one and I never was. Besides,” he added fiercely, his eyes burning with the heat from the forge and the melting metal in the pit, “Humans were Dualings. We’re Trilings. We’re better.”

As he said it he felt a wave of guilt and also relief; there was the recognition that he had always believed himself superior to his Dualing friends. It just wasn’t proper to admit it. Yes, he had been special from the day of his birth. It had nothing to do with his love for his friends and his belief that they deserved equal treatment to him. He wouldn’t have hurt them or denied them for the world. But he was
better
. Yes, wasn’t he?

Aarvord gave him a pained look and Tully felt terrible for saying what he had said.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said. “Not you, Aarvord. Not Coper.”

“The humans thought they were special too,” sneered Snell. “
They thought they sat at the top of the evolutionary tree. Look where it got them. A scrap of something that rides inside the Trilings. But nothing left that can be called a ‘human,’ eh? Nothing left anymore, except the almighty and great Hundred.”

Snell threw some more metallic scrap in the pile and the fumes from the writhing stuff burned in Tully’s throat. His necklace was so hot that it must surely be burning a mark above his heart.

Tully thought about what the Grout had said. Humans and Trilings were too far removed to have ever been part of the same evolutionary branch. But what if he were right?

What if something the humans had left behind had become him and his own people? He could not bear it. Unlike Copernicus and Nizz, he had not had the pleasure of knowing the human children, and seeing how bright and wonderful they could be. To Tully, the humans and the Hundred were one. Snell’s accusations disgusted him and he tore against his bindings in an effort to reach the loathsome UnderGrout.

Something that Snell had said stuck with him, though. Snell was supposedly a perfect copy of Pomplemys, a willing servant who would emulate every emotion and passion of his master. Yet Pomplemys was clearly obsessed with the humans, or with the Hundred—which was which, Tully could no longer be sure. Pomplemys longed to have them back. He longed to meet them and serve them—perhaps he longed to add living specimens to his collection. But Snell had his own thoughts and opinions. He did not want the Hundred to supplant him. There might be a weakness here.

Tully glanced at Aarvord. His friend seemed beaten and depressed. Tully’s words had had an unfortunate impact. He needed Aarvord now, like never before.

But it was Copernicus, loyal Copernicus, who gave Tully hope.

“Speak to him more,” whispered the snake. “Anger is his weakness.”

Copernicus lay slumped against Tully’s neck, as if dead, but his words thrummed through the Eft’s skin and gave him energy.

“And what are you?” said Tully, disdainfully. “A pitiful UnderGrout, a Dualing! You could only hope to achieve so much as the humans once did. Why, you are but a clone of your master! What? Could he not clone something that would at least resemble a Triling?”

Snell turned fiercely on Tully and slapped him hard atop the head, where his antennae met the scalp. This was the most sensitive part of an Eft’s body and Tully cried out in pain. His antennae felt as if they could have been snapped in half by the blow. He longed to reach up and caress them but his hands were still pinioned.

Snell’s face was suffused with rage. Like his master, he was clearly mad. But his madness lacked the gifted intelligence of Pomplemys. He had no ability to control it.

In pain as he was, Tully would not stop. “A Dualing is what you are and will always be. A weaker, lesser thing. Everyone knows that the Dualings are stupid and can never hope to achieve the great things that the Trilings have. Your master doesn’t respect you. He thinks of you as an
animal
.”

Tully had said the worst thing imaginable. No sentient being called another an “animal” unless it meant a fight to the death. Animals were from a time long ago, when many beasts had not sense or language. Animals were the skins and bones that decorated Pomplemys’ chambers.

“I am no animal,” roared Snell, rushing at Tully so that his bony forehead struck into Tully’s thin chest. Tully gulped for air. Aarvord was looking at him with a pained and grim expression. Every word that Tully had said was a personal insult to him as well. Aarvord fought hard to recognize that Tully was playing a game with the UnderGrout—a game for their very lives. Very well, he would participate.

Snell had stood back and was breathing heavily.

“You want to kill me, don’t you?” asked Tully. “But I am an Eft, made in the same shape as your own beloved master. Do you want to kill him as well? Has he mistreated you?”

“I love my master!” bellowed Snell. “He has made me what I am.”

Now Aarvord spoke: “If he had made you better, you would have been a Fantastic Grout such as I am, capable of many strange and wondrous things. Or a Frothsome Grout, as my cousin Hen-Hen, gifted with superior intelligence and power. He made you lesser—an UnderGrout, so that you would better serve him.”

This last sally seemed to strike Snell to the quick, for he visibly deflated. But then he was angrier than ever, and rushed at Aarvord with a hot piece of steaming scrap from the fire. Aarvord ducked his head to ward off the blow, but when Snell was within a foot of the big Grout two large and fearsome appendages formed from his hips and caught Snell in an iron grip. They had pierced the skin of the UnderGrout, who sobbed and cried most fearfully. Tully was aghast; he had never seen Aarvord produce anything of the sort, nor anything with such violent potential.

“Oh, the pain!” shrieked Snell. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“I will not!” said Aarvord. “Until you release us. Use the keys and free me.”

Snell did as he was told, sobbing pitifully. Aarvord had pinioned him so that his legs dangled above the stony floor of the cave. He could barely work the keys to release the manacles, as reaching behind Aarvord to free the big Grout’s paws caused him terrible anguish. After several tense minutes he had achieved it and, once released, Aarvord clenched his paws before him to bring the blood back into them.

Snell still hung trapped in those cruel appendages extending from Aarvord’s hips. He had gone slack with pain and terror.

“Release me,” he moaned. “Let me go, and I will trouble you no more.”

Aarvord had a thought to throw Snell into the fire, but the Grout was technically one of his own kind and the thought repulsed him. Instead, he pulled back the knife-like appendages in one quick stroke, and Snell fell to the floor, bleeding from the dual wounds in his abdomen. He would likely die from the injuries, but there was no time to worry about him.