The Hundred: Fall of the Wents (4 page)

“It’s only a short walk from here to Hen-Hen’s,” said Aarvord gruffly. “We’ve saved a great deal of time.”

Copernicus wriggled himself into the shape of a question mark, out of Aarvord’s view, and Tully nearly laughed out loud. They had been in the Underbelly for hours, he guessed, and the fat orange sun was glowering in the western sky.

In the cool of the afternoon the constant cloud of insects had fled and settled, so that there were only a few annoying Skimmers and Hairstreaks flicking here and there—these few apparently enjoyed the crisper air, but the larger swarms preferred the midday heat. Tully liked the cooler air. He could breathe deeply without getting a gnat up his nose.

They reached the Mayhew Crossing, where four great roads came together, just as the sun was setting. There seemed to be no sign of anyone about, except a worried-looking UnderGrout headed home with a bundle of goods. At the Center Pavilion, where speakers often took to the stage to shout about the perils of Dualing-Triling interaction, there was an ominous sign. A black circle was painted in a broad stroke across the boards and the notices.

“What’s that?” breathed Tully. “What does it mean?”

“It’s some kind of sign,” said Copernicus.

“But it doesn’t tell us anything,” said Tully. “It’s just a circle.”

All the same, the circle did not look friendly. It looked as if it had been put there to frighten him. And it did.

“I do not know what this means,” said Aarvord. “But Hen-Hen may.”

Hen-Hen’s home was at the western corner of the Mayhew Crossing. It was built on a small rise—a hill that had once been the site of a great battle twelve years prior, during the Small War. A terraced garden, filled with fruited trees and strange, hanging plants, covered the hillside. Above were several stone houses with high peaks and slits for windows. Aarvord led the way to one gate, which bore no mark to indicate that it was Hen-Hen’s home.

An arched doorway, opening up to a long stone staircase within a courtyard, was studded with several glittering red stones that caught Tully’s eye. He moved closer and peered into one of the stones, then reeled back, startled. In the stone’s eye he had clearly seen the face of Hindrance, just as she had appeared to him that morning. But she could not seem to see him. She was like a very faint, moving picture. Then she faded away completely and the stone’s bright face was unreadable.

“Why, what is…?” he started.

“Peepstones,” hissed Copernicus, snaking up the stone and peering into one. Nothing was reflected but his forked tongue. Snakes were hard to read, even for stones such as these. Snakes could keep their minds hidden.

“Hen-Hen keeps them here to test the thoughts of visitors,” explained Aarvord. “The stones read what is in your innermost mind—what you value most dear. It keeps out the unwanted. They are like a doorbell that rings a message unique to you.”

“But there are no gates, no locks,” said Tully. “How does he keep out unwanted visitors?”

“Just wait,” said Aarvord. “We will be called in.”

Aarvord himself peered into a stone, low down on the doorway, and seemed surprised at what he saw. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow and he wiped it clean with a quick and nervous gesture. Tully thought that what Aarvord held most dear was likely his own reflection, but he kept that thought to himself. Whatever Aarvord had seen, he wasn’t sharing it. The Grout had seemed uncommonly not himself ever since he had revealed the existence of his sister.

Three UnderGrouts appeared, as if waiting in the hanging gardens and shrubbery for just the right moment. They were small and stout, and looked to be miniature and dullard versions of Aarvord. They beckoned silently, and the trio passed under the arched doorway and began to ascend the steps, each partnered with an UnderGrout as if in a formal procession.

The scents within the garden were miraculous and rich, and Tully breathed them in in the darkness that was now settling. He was terribly hungry, he realized, and fruits such as this were hard to come by except for the very well-off. Casting a glance at the UnderGrout with whom he was linked, he tugged a Starfruit off a hanging vine and plunked it into his bucket. The UnderGrouts plodded upward silently, the steps becoming steeper as they went. Then they were at the door to Hen-Hen’s home. The door was made of glass, but such that those on the outside could not see in. Tully got the strong sense that someone within was looking out at them. Then the door was flung open and he saw Hen-Hen.

Not in anyone’s wildest dreams was Hen-Hen related to Aarvord. The Frothsome Grout was near ten feet tall, with eyes that glowed as red as the peepstones on his gate. And he had a living, writhing beard of Boring Bees adorning the entire lower half of his face. He was wrinkled on every limb, which made him look as aged as a stout tree. The only resemblance, perhaps, was in the pudgy, greenish paw that he extended to welcome his cousin.

“Aaaaarvord!” boomed Hen-Hen. “What took you so long? And these are your little friends?” The bees all stirred as one with the smile that cracked the skin on Hen-Hen’s face. They had to reshuffle quickly to avoid being caught in the deep, pocked crevices. Tully watched their shimmering, metallic bodies as they clambered about, and felt a thin wave of sickness again. The fat and furred bees looked as if they had swallowed some of the metal that they bit and swallowed and tempered to make ships, buildings, bridges—some said that Boring Bees were partially made of metal themselves.

Tully thought of such creatures crawling on him—on his face—and felt weak with disgust and fear. The Boring Bees that adorned Hen-Hen didn’t seem to notice him, or any of them for that matter. The creatures had earned their name by their ability to bore perfectly concentric holes in any material—even stone or metal. Or bone, Tully thought.

The three UnderGrouts scuttled into the foyer and appeared in an instant with trays of fruits, cheeses, and beverages. Tully took a Starfruit gratefully, feeling painfully aware of the one he had stolen from the garden. No doubt Hen-Hen could look right down into his bucket and see it. Copernicus launched himself atop a tray and bit directly into a lump of cheese. Aarvord looked pained with embarrassment, but Copernicus took no notice.

“Please, eat!” laughed Hen-Hen, and his laughter echoed throughout the stone home until Tully felt he could trace the contours of every room through the echo. The Boring Bees went into quite a dance at the laughter, as if unsure of the safest spots within Hen-Hen’s massive jowls. Tully wondered how this Frothsome Grout could command creatures that were known to be some of the cleverest and strongest on the planet.

“Please, sir,” Tully began timidly. “We’ve come here to find out what’s going on. Where the Wents have gone.”

Hen-Hen’s laughter ceased abruptly, as if a switch had been thrown.

“Yes. That,” he said. “We’re all worried about that—myself and the Council. Come.”

Hen-Hen led them into a domed chamber, where there were arranged several hassocks and couches, all covered in a rich, velvety fabric. One of the UnderGrouts placed the tray of food, still bearing Copernicus with his jaws clamped around a cheese, on a low marble table. Copernicus came up for air and looked around.

“Nice,” he hissed
under his breath, wondering how Hen-Hen had achieved enough wealth to buy this place and the servants that manned it.

“What of the sign?” asked Aarvord. “In the center of the Crossing?”

“You saw it, then?” said Hen-Hen. “Hard to miss. The dark circle has been seen here and there. It is most definitely a warning, a curse, and a threat. It suggests the enemy is closing in and gaining power. Or so they would wish us to think.”

Tully noticed that unlike Aarvord, Hen-Hen had a curious, low way of speaking, with a droning hum that ran like one long note under his words. Of course, it was the bees. Whenever Hen-Hen opened his mouth to speak, they all stirred and buzzed, revealing the shape of his mouth and reverberating the sounds of his voice with each new syllable.

Tully sat on a low velvet ottoman, grateful for the chance to rest, then realized with embarrassment that it was a footstool for the largest seat in the room—into which Hen-Hen now sank. Tully jumped up and moved to a couch, reaching timidly for a piece of cheese. As he did so the bauble around his neck in its coarse casing swung forward. He nervously tucked it back inside his vest. The thinly woven cloth in which it hung was worn with age and soft, and the rough sphere of metal within gleamed through.

“What is in this bag around your neck—a pretty plaything?” asked Hen-Hen thoughtfully. “Where did you get it?”

“A gift from Hindrance,” said Tully. “One of my Wents.”

“And this Hindrance—she is missing now with the others?” asked Hen-Hen.

“Yes. And my other Wents. They are Kellen, Bly, and Sarami.”

“May I see it?”

“I would rather—”

“Who took the Wents? Shrikes? Who is the enemy you speak of?” interrupted Aarvord rudely. Tully was immensely grateful to his friend for changing the subject. He did not care for Hen-Hen’s interest in his necklace.

At Aarvord’s comment Hen-Hen made a snorting sound of derision and several bees flew off his chin, only to alight once more. Shrikes were the one enemy they all feared. It was said that a Shrike was capable of ruining one’s dreams with cruel, chattering messages, whispered while the dreamer slept. They thrived on the misery of others, and their great power lay in their ability to taunt others into near-madness.

“Not Shrikes,” said Hen-Hen. “Nor Scratchlings—the brood of Demimonde Hopgood—”

“Blast her foul claws and rot her eggs,” muttered Tully automatically, who had been taught this curse from childhood. Scratchlings were Dualings, and foul egg layers—not good, like snakes, but loathsome.

Hen-Hen continued as if he had not heard Tully. “Nor
Pufferworts, Nettles, Bonedogs. Not the host of rodents and reptiles and insects that live in every nook and cranny the planet has to offer. Their powers are small, in comparison. No, the ones who make the dark circles are different. They have gone by many names. Only a few can see them directly. You may think you see one, but when you turn to stare it in its face you find there’s nothing there.”

Tully shivered. “Could one be here?” he ventured.

“Not here,” boomed Hen-Hen. “I am one of those who can see beyond the shadow and into the souls of the dead.”

“But what are they?” whispered Copernicus.

“They are the Hundred,” said Hen-Hen, and as he spoke it a cloud of bees rose from his face with a whirring, disconcerted sound and Tully could finally see the entirety of his old, wrinkled jaw. He looked quite naked and sad without his bee-beard. The bees buzzed around fitfully and then, as one, settled back on Hen-Hen’s face.

“Never heard of them,” barked Aarvord, but he seemed ill at ease at the mention of the name.

“They are shadow children,” continued Hen-Hen, as if his cousin had not spoken. “Souls without bodies. They want their forms back—they want life, as they once knew it. When they succeed, we will be able to see them easily, yes. But we will no longer have the power to defeat them. Their machines and might will make our own look pitiful.”

Hen-Hen had a distant, strange glow in his eyes, as if the thought of the Hundred’s powerful machines was of keen interest to him. For a moment, he seemed not to see the group before him, but at something distant outside the large arched windows that bordered the room.

“I don’t understand,” said Tully. “It’s not…well, it’s not scientific. How can creatures without bodies live?”

“You are young, Triling.” said Hen-Hen. “You cannot know much of science. Do you not believe in anything beyond yourself and what you see?”

“I know plenty,” said Tully. He felt Copernicus, who had been on the cheese tray a moment before, switching up his leg in an effort to keep him calm. “And I believe in things beyond me. I may not be a clever Dualing scientist. But I’ve learned from my Wents,” Tully continued heatedly. “They taught me everything I need to know.”

“The Wents,” said Hen-Hen. “They are the heart of the matter, are they not? For the Hundred need them to carry out their plan. Without a gift that only the Wents can give, they will have no way to return.”

“And they have the Wents now?” asked Tully. The blood that had rushed to his cheeks a few moments before seemed to sink into his guts and legs, and turn cold.

“They most surely do,” said Hen-Hen. “The Wents gathered at the Crossing, and a dark cloud came and vanished them all. It was surely the Hundred, come to us from some dark past. It snatched them up out of the air. Nothing was left behind but the dark circle. We must act, before terrible things come to pass.”

“What are the Wents supposed to have that they need?” asked Tully, but Hen-Hen shook his head.

“I don’t know the answer to that,” he replied. “The Wents have many gifts. But they are private creatures, as you must know, and they do not give up their secrets easily.”

“These things without form,” huffed Aarvord. “We can certainly beat them. I mean, can’t we?”

“How do you fight something you can’t see?” asked Tully, turning to Aarvord.

Copernicus asked: “How many of them are there?”

“There are thousands, perhaps millions,” said Hen-Hen. “It is said that once there were but a small number—the One Hundred chosen children. They were born before the Great Cataclysm, many ages ago. But they grew, and multiplied, and became more terrible. What once may have been one hundred dark souls are now hundreds upon hundreds, growing and gathering. They seek to live again. They are seeking a way back to life, always seeking. Perhaps the Wents have the power to give them what they most desire.”