The Hundred: Fall of the Wents (5 page)

“What were they before they became these…things? Were they good creatures once?” said Tully very quietly.

Hen-Hen paused. “The Hundred are what was left when the humans destroyed themselves,” he said. “They are ghosts, robbed of life before their time. They are the leftovers of what the humans were, and their power is great. Do not underestimate it.” Hen-Hen’s red eyes glowed so fiercely that Tully could not bear to look at him.

The humans! Tully and the others started, alarmed and confused by this turn in their discussion. Talk of the humans was a common fireside story for little Dualings and Trilings alike. The humans were wonderfully entertaining, for they had once been very smart and had ruled the planet with great storms and big buildings and ships. They were also said to be reasonably evil—if not quite thoroughly evil. But they were firmly gone and dead, so no one was really afraid.

“Humans!” scoffed Copernicus. “Why, they’ve been gone for millions of years. Why should we believe these fairy tales? My own father said—”

“Call it fairy tale if you like,” said Hen-Hen. “But explain, if you will, what disappeared the Wents. The Hundred are now among us—whether you like it or not.” And he spoke with a dire, threatening voice that stilled them all. “There is nothing else in our histories and stories that would give sense to what has passed.”

And Hen-Hen sank into a deep reverie, as if that was all he had to say. After a few uncomfortable moments, Aarvord jumped up from his seat and began to pace the room.

“What can we do?” he shouted. “What does this Council of yours plan?”

Hen-Hen looked up, his eyes rheumy and heavy-lidded. “The Council are not fighters,” he said. “A host of wise old creatures. They are not young and strong, and they are afraid.”

“What good are they, then?” said Aarvord.

“I will take you to them tomorrow,” sighed Hen-Hen. “You can ask them yourself. I think you will find their wisdom to be worth the brawn of youth. But it is late now, and we should all get some sleep. I have rooms prepared for you.”

“We’ll share a room, thanks,” said Tully, who did not like the idea of being cloistered somewhere in the tower, apart from his friends.

“As you wish,” said Hen-Hen, and gestured to the UnderGrouts who stood waiting at attention in the shadows. They stepped over to the base of a large spiral staircase and waited. Tully rose to his feet and grabbed one more piece of cheese. The three followed the UnderGrouts in a solemn procession up the stairs, their six shadows flickering on the circular tower walls in weird, elongated shapes.

Tully looked back: Hen-Hen’s chin was near his chest as he stared into space. His head nodded slightly. Then he seemed to drift off into sleep, and the great, fat bees that adorned his chin rose into a cloud above him, fanned out into the room with a whispering buzz, and were gone through the open windows. Maybe spies, Tully thought suddenly, but for whom? Did Hen-Hen know that they left him at night?

About halfway up the staircase, the first UnderGrout opened a door and gestured at the three to step inside.

“Thanks,” said Aarvord gruffly, but they didn’t acknowledge him.

“Boo,” said Aarvord, right in the face of the nearest UnderGrout, who placidly ignored him. “You three alive? Never mind, never mind.” Aarvord led the way and Tully and Copernicus followed him into the room. The door clicked shut behind them.

The room was curiously shaped; like a circle with a hole in the center, it extended all the way around the stone tower, with the staircase where the hole would be. They walked all the way around, admiring the sumptuous paintings and tapestries, each of which depicted battles from ages past. None of the battles, noted Tully, included a strange shadow-enemy.

One of the tapestries showed a scene from the Small War, which was not particularly small at all—only in comparison with some of the wars that had preceded it, and due to its mercifully short length of only 27 days. It had followed the war between the Vivipars and the Ovipars, and before that had been the war—limited in scope but no less bloody— between Common Crests and Lesser Frells.

Tully had been born into the heart of the Small War, which raged throughout the heat of the end of summer known as the Dying Days. He gazed at the scenes with distaste, wondering why anyone would choose to immortalize this unhappiness through art. Efts carried edged maces and fought side by side with Wents—the most peaceful creatures on the planet, and unaccustomed to violence. The Wents swung fire-whips—long threaded weapons with hot stones at their ends. Their opponents were the Dualings—creatures who had but two beings who brought them to life, rather than three, and their numbers were many.

Tully had only once seen such weapons in person. He had been sent down to the cistern to find and loosen a blockage in the pipes. As he dug through the wet moss to find the entryway to the water tunnel, his fingers had run over something sharp, and he had drawn back his hand. It was a thick, serrated sword—as big as his arm—and he had pulled it out and turned it in the dank green light in the underburrow of his home. Whoever had hidden it here perhaps intended to retrieve it, so Tully returned the sword to its hiding place.

He wondered, when he went above again, who had owned the weapon. He had gained three Wents during the war in addition to Kellen, his own. Hindrance, Bly, and Sarami had all lost their families, and had come to live with Tully and Kellen. The arrangement was meant to be temporary—opening one’s doors to orphans and strays was a common kindness. Tully could not imagine any of them wielding such a cruel weapon. But he knew that they all had. They had all struck killing blows, even Hindrance, whom he had grown to love.

Tully leaned closer and touched the soft weave of the tapestry. It was thick, and smelled wetly of unkindness, or blood, or something else that was wrong and bad. Under his fingers an image of an Eft, like himself, drove a sword point into the breast of a Scratchling. The blood and feathers did not seem real this close up—they seemed like a blur of color, with no shape or sense. The Small War had given him Bly, and Sarami, and his own Hindrance. But it had also taken from him Desidere and Skakell. They were gone. And he had never really known them.

Tully turned away from the tapestry. “Nice art,” he said, gloomily. “Nice for sleep.”

Hen-Hen seemed to have anticipated their wish to stay together, for in one section of the room there were two freshly made beds and a small pallet (with accompanying miniature pillow and blanket) at their base. One of the beds was filled with fresh, clear water, made for an Eft. On seeing this bed, Tully realized how exhausted he was. Everything that had happened today had worn him out both emotionally and physically, and he was still recovering from his illness. He set his wooden bucket down.

Tully sank into the watery bed. Just as he laid his head on the pillow, he heard a small, alarmed squawk from somewhere near his right ear. He sat up and flicked a hand through his thin tendrils of hair, and out on the surface of the water fell Fangor the Sand Louse.

“What time is it? Why am I wet?” said Fangor, bouncing up onto Tully’s arm. “Why’d you have to smack me like that? Feels like I’ve been asleep for days. Is it a party? Where are we? What are those awful paintings? Didja get my dream-day gift? Oof, but I’m ready for some dinner!”

Tully gaped. The wretched creature had been in his hair, sleeping, throughout the entire day. Copernicus wriggled up over the edge of the bed, and Aarvord leaned over, both equally stunned.

“I ought to smack you!” said Aarvord. “Tagging along like that, when you’re not wanted.”

“I ought to ssswallow you up!” said Copernicus, opening his jaw menacingly.

“Hoy! Wait!” shrieked Fangor. “I fell asleep is all. I was bringing my burfday gift and I couldn’t help it, just lay down and went asleep. I was up late bouncing around, you know.” Fangor hopped up and down Tully’s arm excitedly. “Wiff all the boys. And some girls, too.” He winked, but no one noticed, as he was too small.

“Did you hear anything today? See anything?” asked Tully, picking Fangor up between thumb and forefinger. The Sand Louse wriggled in displeasure.

“No! No! Nuffing!” he buzzed. “Put me down!”

Tully dropped him on the floor, disgusted. Fangor was nothing but a pest, and now they were stuck with him. They’d have to do their best to lose him tomorrow.

“Well, you’re here now,” said Aarvord, “but we’re going to sleep. So you’ll have to entertain yourself somehow.”

Fangor wasn’t listening; he had already spotted the piece of cheese Tully had placed on the bedside table and was hopping toward it, making nasty yum-yum noises. Tully groaned and flopped into the watery bed; he hoped that Fangor would not be inclined to nest in his hair again tonight. The very thought made him itch. That awful little louse. He fell asleep thinking of Fangor being trod under a boot. Then he dreamed.

*

The Boring Bees were rising into the air above Hen-Hen’s tower, illuminated by the moon. They rose higher and higher, until they made a ring around the moon’s white face. A dark ring. The ring began to turn, clockwise, then counterclockwise, as if opening a hidden safe that the moon held hostage. Tully strained to see what it was they were revealing: Would the moon crack open and spill whiteness into the sky? But then a cloud obscured the picture, and Tully could not see the bees or the moon. He was left in complete darkness.

Something was tugging at his neck and choking him. He felt hot and feverish again. Greedy hands clutched at the sphere of metal that hung around his neck. Then there was a low moan of anguish and the sphere was released; it swung in its bag into the shallow water of his bed and made a sharp hissing sound.

Tully rose up suddenly, fully awake. He opened his eyes in the darkness but could see nothing. He heard a quick shuffling sound near the doorway and strained to see who it was, but the intruder was gone. Then he noticed the bag around his neck. The drawstrings at the top had been loosened and the metal inside was glowing with a strange, white heat. Tully gingerly touched it but it felt cool as always. He tied the drawstrings tight again and watched until the light faded and winked out, and the image of the little sphere was swallowed up into the darkness. He had never before seen the sphere of metal change in character at all; this was new.

Someone had been in the room with him—one of the UnderGrouts? Or Hen-Hen himself? Whoever it was had intended to steal his bauble but had failed. Perhaps there was some protection that Hindrance had placed on it. He was more determined than ever to keep it safe on his person and never let others catch sight of it again.

He waited some time for the intruder to return but no one came. Eventually he slept.

*

Tully woke near the dawn to the sound of Aarvord’s guttural snores coupled with Copernicus’ hissing wheeze. Like a pair of musical bellows they went, in and out, one then the other. Punctuating this noisy percussion was the high, squeaky singing voice of Fangor as he explored the room:

I’m a louse, oh a louse, oh a louse is me.

I’m the lousiest louse, I’m as lousy as can be
.

“Shut up!” hissed Tully, and threw his reed pillow in the direction of the song. It landed with a wet whump on Aarvord, who snorted, rolled over, and began to snore again. Fangor kept singing.

Tully ducked his head into the shallow water and groaned with fatigue. He had slept poorly and had had unpleasant dreams. Remembering, he clutched at his necklace to make sure it was safe. It was there, a light yet familiar weight. Perhaps it had all been part of the dream.

Despite the annoyance of Fangor’s horrid song, there was something oddly pleasant about it. It was like home, when nothing was wrong and they were all innocent of danger—and the Hundred. The Hundred…The Hungered…The Dread…The Dead. Tully slipped into sleep again with the words repeating in his head, like a gong in a deep chamber, drowning out the happy little song of the Sand Louse.

Tully awoke in the bright morning and looked around for Fangor, but could see no sign of him. Perhaps he’d nested in Aarvord’s wrinkled skin and gone to sleep, finally. Tully combed his hands through his hair but nothing dropped out, save some water droplets. Aarvord was still sleeping, and Tully glanced down at the pallet to see if Copernicus was awake yet.

To his dismay, on the pallet lay a small, shriveled thing, in the shape of Copernicus but without any stuffing—as if the snake had been squashed flat while he slept. Tully leaned over and picked the thing up; it was nothing but
skin.
He dropped it in horror and let out a shout, which woke Aarvord like a shot. Fangor popped right off Aarvord’s head, where he’d evidently been sleeping, and bounced onto the bed.

“What? What? Where?” shouted Aarvord.

“Whuzza?” said Fangor.

“Coper—” said Tully, in shock. “He’s been….”

Before they could assess the situation further, a sheepish Copernicus, sleek and shiny, slid into sight along the smooth wood floor. He looked different somehow—new and fresh.

“I’m here,” he said. “Nothing to be concerned about. I shed my skin and got a new one.”

“I didn’t know you did that,” stammered Tully.

“Don’t all snakes?” asked Copernicus. “I do it regularly, as a matter of fact. In the old times snakes did it now and again, but usss snakes do it quite a bit. We like to freshen up. Most times it’s private, eh?”

“Next time perhaps you won’t leave your, er,
outergarments
lying around,” grumped Aarvord. “You scared our friend to death. And I was having a nice dream.”

“Sorry,” hissed Copernicus, taking the skin in his jaws and dragging it out of sight beneath the bed. “All cleaned up, yes?”

“Nasty! Nasty!” said Fangor. “Snakes have bad habits.”

Copernicus looked at Fangor with somewhat hungry eyes.

“So do Sand Lice,” said Tully, defending Copernicus. “They sleep on people’s heads, for example.”

Aarvord narrowed his eyes and scratched at the top of his wrinkled scalp. “Better not have…” he muttered.

Tully was grateful for the distraction, which had served to wash away the dark dreams he had had through the night.

The group went to wash their faces in the stone sinks that lined the windows. Fangor sat on one of the sink edges and preened himself with a moist leg, while Copernicus wrenched open the tap by contorting his whole body. He then dropped into the sink as it filled. He swam about in quick circles, flicking his tail to splash the running water droplets over his head. Aarvord merely gazed at himself in a mirror that hung above his sink. He looked pleased with what he saw.

Tully splashed cold water across his cheeks and stared down at the Crossing below; it was abandoned. One would usually see Wents going about their business, often with small Efts and Ells following behind. Tully wondered how many Efts like him felt lonely and lost today. Most Efts, however, had other parents to care for them. He did not.

“Let’s go see what this Council has to say,” said Aarvord, finally tearing himself away from his own reflection. “If they’re any use.”

“Council?” piped up Fangor. “What Council?”

“I don’t think you’re invited,” said Copernicus.

“What do we do with him, then?” asked Tully.

“Do wiff me? Talking about me like I wasn’t here at all!” said Fangor.

“We can’t leave the little mite. He might be snapped up by a Boring Bee,” said Aarvord.

Boring Bees loved to eat Lice; unlike the Dull Bees, they were known to be carnivorous.

“Bees!” shrieked Fangor. “I don’t like bees.”

Tully sighed. “Come on then.” He reluctantly held out an arm and Fangor hopped aboard and scrambled up to his shoulder, where he was annoyingly close to Tully’s right ear.

“Don’t like bees,” Fangor said, as they all headed for the door. “Boring Bees are bad, bad things. Boring Bees aren’t nice. Not at all.”

Tully had a sinking feeling that Fangor was going to talk all day long.

*

By the time Hen-Hen had gathered them all, served them breakfast (brought by the same surly UnderGrouts), and briefed them on the morning’s plan, Tully was relieved to have been proven wrong about Fangor’s incessant talking. The Louse had gone remarkably silent at the sight of the bees clustered on Hen-Hen’s enormous face, and had tucked himself into Tully’s ear and stayed completely still. It made hearing out of that ear rather difficult, but at least he didn’t have to put up with Fangor’s constant chatter.

They were outside in the courtyard now. Hen-Hen seemed even bigger and more fearsome in the cold morning light; his two great, goggle eyes fixed on Tully as if trying to assess the Eft’s abilities. Tully and Aarvord been given thick robes of woven Kepper-Root that reached down to the ground and were belted with ties, and Tully’s worn brown slippers had been exchanged for thick boots. The long sleeves of his robe had warm mitts sewn in at the ends, and there were soft straps within the folds of the garment that could be lashed around one’s legs for a snug fit. Although the morning was unseasonably chilly Tully found the robes excessive; Kepper-Root trapped heat so efficiently that it made him feel like he was once again a guest in Aarvord’s steamy grotto of a home. Aarvord looked pleased with his robe and kept admiring and stroking the thick fabric, which was a rich, reddish brown.

“It is important,” said Hen-Hen, “that you do not look any Council member in the eye. Nor should you touch any one of them.”

“Why not?” Tully asked brazenly, but he found he could not meet Hen-Hen’s eyes himself while he asked. He looked down at the toes of his new boots instead. He had brought his precious bucket—which he glanced at nervously—but he had not thought to bring much else.

“What’s in the bucket, child?” asked Hen-Hen, ignoring Tully’s question.

“Just stuff,” said Tully. “Things I’ve saved from home.”

“Very well,” said Hen-Hen, but he continued to stare at Tully with that disconcerting look. Tully was acutely aware of each of Hindrance’s special and magical gifts now sitting in plain sight in the bucket. He thought that Hen-Hen would very much like to see the telescope, the seeing-glasses, and the wooden box—especially the box. Tully wasn’t going to share any of them, however.

One of Hen-Hen’s eyes rolled to the side and fixed on Copernicus, who was twining himself around a thin tree branch.

“Time to pay attention,” he commanded, and the snake unwound himself and collapsed in a little
S
shape on the ground. He stayed still and attentive.

“When you enter the flying craft, you must sit very, very still,” said Hen-Hen. “Do not jump or twist—” and here he stared hard at the snake. “And do not make loud noises,” he added, staring at his cousin Aarvord.

“Awful lot of rules,” said Aarvord. “And I don’t see any flying craft.”

Hen-Hen raised a fat paw into the air. Silently, from the North, a host of Boring Bees came streaming in. They were quickly joined by the group that covered Hen-Hen’s jowls, leaving him paler on the lower half of his face
, as if the bees had prevented the sun from darkening his skin. Together the hive began whirring in a circle in the center of the courtyard. Faster and faster they went in a dizzy blur, until they appeared as a vibrating black smudge against the sky. No one said a word.

The whirring slowed and finally dropped to a low, consistent hum and there, before their eyes, was a perfect tube, enclosed at both ends like a bullet. It was as tall and wide as Hen-Hen, and Tully suddenly realized its purpose.

“We’re to ride in that?” he said.

“No, no, no, no, no,” whispered Fangor’s tiny voice in his ear. “Bad, bad, bad.”

“Sssh,” said Tully under his breath. But he was scared as well. What if the bees should suddenly decide to…fly in different directions, all at once? And then they would all fall into the pure air. The craft shivered with the tiny movement of thousands of insects, as if they were impatient to begin the journey.

“It’s perfectly safe,” said Hen-Hen, and he ducked down behind the craft. The end of the bullet-shaped craft was wide open, and Hen-Hen crawled inside. Aarvord, never one to be called a coward, followed quickly behind Hen-Hen without a backward glance. Tully and Copernicus exchanged a look, but neither one could see a way out of this plan. Copernicus slid up Tully’s leg and hung there like grim death, and Tully bent down and crawled into the tube of living, humming insects. He dragged the bucket with him. All along, Fangor’s voice in his ear kept up a panicky refrain: “No, no, no. Bad, bad, bad,” like a small Eft trying to ward off the nightmares of Shrikes.

“Distribute your weight, please,” said Hen-Hen, who directed them to sit at various points within the craft.

Inside the craft, it was dim—a shadowy darkness punctuated by small pinholes of light that were constantly shifting with the concerted vibrations of the bees. Tully could barely see his friends in the gloom, but he saw the bulk of Hen-Hen somewhere at the front of the hollow tube. He felt the comforting presence of Copernicus on his leg, tucked inside a fold of the Kepper-Root robe, and he gave the snake a quick and gentle squeeze to reassure him. The entire floor and walls of the craft vibrated unceasingly, which made Tully feel sick all the way down his legs and arms and along every tiny scale and even to the tips of his antennae (he never knew that those parts of him
could
be sick before this, even during his fever, but he felt it now).

Then it got worse. They rose into the air. Tully could not see the ground disappearing beneath them, but he could feel its absence. The bees seemed to pack themselves tighter together and whir in a more constant, aggressive motion—all working together to pull the craft on its course. He tried not to think about what would happen if the bees changed their minds about this task. Did they even have minds? Boring Bees were curious creatures, and Tully had never pretended to understand them. In fact, he had never been this close to one—let alone thousands.

Tully heard a small whisper in his ear and realized it was the
other
ear; not Fangor this time. It was Copernicus.

“You realize, of course,” said
the snake, “that we can’t see at all where we’re going? It’s like a blindfold, it isss.”

Tully nodded his head. They all had to trust Hen-Hen—Hen-Hen and the bees.

They flew for some time. The constant drone of the bees’ wings made Tully feel sleepy, but he remained hunched with his knees to his chest. Fangor must have dozed off—or passed out from sheer fright, Tully thought, for he hadn’t heard from the louse in ages. Aarvord looked glum and miserable, and Copernicus lay coiled across Tully’s boots so that he wouldn’t have to be in direct contact with the bodies of the bees. It wasn’t much use talking; the bees’ humming was more like a roar as the ship accelerated, ascended, and turned in the wind.

Finally, they all felt what seemed to be a gradual descent. The humming slowed to a low, whispering buzz, and the front of the craft parted like the petals of a living flower. Sunlight flooded in and made Tully blink. The scales on his face and hands shot off light in every direction, illuminating the interior of the bee-craft and spangling the bees’ bodies with crystalline reflections.

Hen-Hen eased himself out, and the others followed. They were on a wide, grassy plain, with no buildings or trees in sight. In fact, there were no plants at all. Just grass, as far as the eye could see. In an instant, the craft dissolved into thousands of individual bees. They flew off in all directions—except for a group of the faithful that returned to Hen-Hen’s cheeks and chin. It was as if their airship had never existed at all. Tully wondered if they would return, or if the travelers were now stranded in this strange field. There were hardly enough bees left on Hen-Hen’s face to get them home, he thought.

“Up there,” said Hen-Hen, and gestured to a rise in the earth, some ways in the distance. Tully could swear that there had been nothing there before, but now he could see the silhouettes of several creatures, all seated (or were they standing?) in a circle. They were silently waiting.

“Where are we?” asked Aarvord. “What is this place?”

“It is called Bellerol,”
said Hen-Hen. “It is where the Council sits.”

“But how far from the city Circadie are we?” asked Tully.

“That is unknown,” replied Hen-Hen. “Only the bees know how to find their way here.”

“Fabulous!” hissed Copernicus under his breath. “Even he doesn’t know where we are.” Copernicus, his fear of the bees now fading, was beginning to mistrust the entire operation.

The group began to walk toward the figures on the hill. As they drew closer, Tully stopped suddenly, feeling cold with dread.

“A Shrike,” he said. “One of them is a Shrike.”

“And a Scratchling,” said Copernicus, whipping in a tight, fearful circle. “These are enemies!” Scratchlings were particularly hostile to snakes.

Among the group were other Dualings: a Balehound, a Lilas Kelpie, an UnderGrout, a Tithys Roach.

“Keep walking,” instructed Hen-Hen. “They will not harm you.”