The Hundred: Fall of the Wents (6 page)

Of all the things they had expected, seeing the fiends from childhood nightmares was not one of them. Tully could see the Shrike clearly now, and it was staring at him with its small black eyes. Following Hen-Hen’s instructions, he looked down at the ground and kept walking.

“Welcome,” said a thin voice, and, without meaning to, Tully rose his head. Hen-Hen stepped forward to complete the circle, and bowed low to the speaker, who was a stout, whiskered fish with lizard-like legs. Like Tully himself, the fish had both gills and lungs. But, unlike the Eft, its scales were dank and mottled.

“Friends or foes?” asked the fish, and Aarvord stepped forward and quickly announced: “Foes if history tells the tale—although I do not know your kind, I do not care for the company you keep.”

In Tully’s ear, he heard Fangor’s small voice whisper, “Bravo, Aarvord! You tell them.” Yet at the mention of “your kind” he realized that there were no other Trilings within the group but he himself.

A collective hiss and clack rose from the group, and the whiskers on the fish sharpened into steely points. “So,” it said. “You come here to judge us?”

“I’ve brought them,” said Hen-Hen, looking meaningfully at his outspoken cousin, “and I will speak for them. They wish to fight against the Hundred, and we need your wisdom.”

Tully and his friends had, of course, not expressed any such wish. They were ready to help find the Wents, but to fight? Copernicus immediately voiced Tully’s reservations aloud.

“Who said anything about fighting?” said Copernicus, who had slithered up to Tully’s shoulder and lay draped there.

“These are children,” said the fish. “They are of little use.”

“Not so,” said Hen-Hen. “For we know that only great love can save the Wents. This Eft here is the one we seek. He has been brought to me—and to us—as surely as we predicted. The others are merely his companions to guard his safety; they do not matter so much in our plan.”

At this Aarvord turned a shade of purple, but held his tongue. Copernicus hissed rudely. Tully, meanwhile, wondered feverishly how he could be referred to as “the one.” He was an ordinary Eft, quite ordinary, and not very old. He had never done anything particularly brave or clever.

“The Eft has passed twelve dream days?” asked the Shrike, once again examining Tully with beady, coal-black eyes.

“He has,” said Hen-Hen. “He is ready. He is the one with the power we seek.”

“What power?” wondered Tully to himself. The sun shone brightly on his exposed scales; he could see the Council members blinking. The glittering skin of Efts was a bit disconcerting for those who were not used to it. He loosened the belt of his Kepper-Root robe a bit so that more of his scales shone through, and was pleased to see their eyes squint with annoyance.

The Scratchling clenched her clawed feet and opened her beak: “Proof,” she cackled.

Tully suddenly felt lightheaded, as if the weight of ten strong minds were pressing in upon his consciousness. He could hear their thoughts—teeming, clattering voices; dark whispers; sibilant howls. He clutched at his head and stumbled backwards. The din rose until he feared he would go mad. It buzzed and whined, like the bees had done during their journey. His head ached horribly, and his antennae tingled and burned. He had never been near a Shrike, but all the dark stories he had heard about them and how they tortured one’s dreams came into his mind. Only this had to be much worse. If only they would be silent, so he could think! He tried to imagine something, anything that could withstand the maelstrom of sound and hatred.

Suddenly, there was Hindrance—she stood as a barrier between him and the voices, her eyes locked with his own. “Trust,” said Hindrance. “Our love for each other will keep you safe.” She opened her mouth as if to sing. But instead of sound emerging from her mouth, she seemed to swallow all the dark, hissing noises.
She closed her mouth and the noise abruptly stopped. Tully opened his eyes. Without realizing it, he had fallen to the ground, and now looked up at the cloudless sky. The metal sphere around his neck rested against his heart, under his clothes. The Scratchling peered down at him, blotting out the sun.

“There is something there,” said the Scratchling. “But the Hundred will be much stronger.” She seemed almost pleased to say it.

Aarvord reached down and helped Tully to his feet. The Eft nearly tripped on the long hem of his robe. “We’re not afraid,” Aarvord said. “If we need to fight them, that’s what we’ll do.” Tully was not so sure. He was afraid, despite the calming vision he had had of Hindrance.

“The Hundred will eat your thoughts like grain,” said the Scratchling, ignoring Aarvord and addressing Tully alone. “Wouldn’t you rather go home, little child?”

Tully felt weak, but he was no longer completely intimidated by the Council. Aarvord still clasped his hand. “Not without Hindrance,” he said slowly. “And the others. Without them, there’s nothing for me at home.”

“Very interesting,” the Shrike shrilled. “He does care for his Wents.” There was a nasty tone in the Shrike’s voice, as if it found this amusing, or even weak, rather than touching.

“He must be our choice, for we have no other,” shrieked the Scratchling. “Speak the words.”

“Enough,” said the fish-thing. “The plain of Bellerol will close after the words have been spoken. We must act. There is no time to waste.” As she spoke, the grass around them seemed to ripple and sway, as if heat were rising from it. The circle of Council members drew closer together, trapping Tully and his companions at the center.

“They’re going to eat us,” whispered Fangor in his ear.

“Nonsense,” said Tully, but the Council did look hungry.

“The prophecy is clear,” said the fish-thing. “Now you must listen carefully, for it will not be repeated.”

Tully glanced down at his shoulder to lock eyes with Copernicus, who had an amazing memory. The snake nodded his head slightly. The fish-thing closed her eyes and began to speak:

When the rock is split asunder

The Hundred will awake

Now they wish to plunder

And now they wish to take.

They have waited in the dark

For centuries, and more

For t
he song that is the spark

For t
he flesh that they once wore.

It is love that hinders death

It is love that hinders fire

There is one who has the breath

There is one with the desire.

Two bells must ring, one low, one high

Within the ocean’s deeps

Two bells will make the oceans rain

And pull the Hundred down to sleep.

At her final word, the grass beneath their feet began to undulate more fiercely, and the sky above grew wild and red. Tully’s scales glowed with the dark redness and he held tightly to Aarvord’s paw. The words of the prophecy made little sense to him, and he had many questions. But there was no time.

“The plain of Bellerol is closing,” snapped the Shrike. “You must leave. Now.”

“But how?” shouted Aarvord, over the din of the rising wind.

Hen-Hen gestured to the E
ast, where they saw a dark cloud of bees racing to meet them. The ground surged and Tully stumbled. The wind whipped his long hair across his face like knives. He wondered how the bees’ wings could stand the tumult but, as before, the bees assembled into the tubelike craft and hovered in the air before the group.

Just before they entered the craft, Tully felt a great hand on his arm, hot and dry and forceful. It reached up right under the sleeve of his robe and caught him by the wrist. Hen-Hen had not touched him before, and Tully was surprised to feel the fierce heat emanating from the Frothsome Grout’s flesh.

“You possess great power,” said the Grout. “The Council has tested you, but you have shown that you are strong. Do not hesitate to use your power when the time comes.” His eyes were bright with a curious, almost cruel yearning. Tully found his stare unsettling. He nodded uncertainly and Hen-Hen released his arm and nodded. They all scrambled into the craft, this time with no hesitation.

But Hen-Hen did not. He stood silently as the great, green plain of Bellerol began sinking into the ground, as if sucked down by a giant whirlpool. The Council came together in a tight knot, and all touched one another, paw to claw to beak to fin. They bent their heads together to the center, and then vanished completely. It seemed they had disappeared just in time to save themselves. As the field was sucked inward and downward, the land that had once bordered it was pulled in toward the center of the whirlpool. With a great rending and tearing noise,
the plain of grass drew closer to the focal point at the center, and then came to a halt. Bellerol had simply been swallowed down into the center of the earth. The wind died. Just as suddenly, the bees closed the gap at the end of the craft and everything went dark within.

“Where are we going?” whispered Fangor nervously. Tully had no answer.

“What happened to Hen-Hen? Why did he stay with them?” Tully asked Aarvord, but the Grout shook his big head, troubled.

“I have heard of vanishings,” said Copernicus, “but I do not believe in them. I think it is a trick of the eye.”

“What are we supposed to do now?” asked Tully, to no one in particular. The angry hum of the bees was exhausting, and he was afraid now that Hen-Hen had abandoned them. While he had never been sure whether or not to trust the Frothsome Grout, he had at least commanded the bees that now bore them somewhere…unknown. With the words of the prophecy still murmuring in his head, Tully lay down on the shimmering bed of bees and slept. He did not dream.

When he woke they were all still inside the bee-craft but now the air seemed much colder. Copernicus, who was accustomed to warming himself in the sun, looked miserable and shrunken. He was tucked inside Tully’s vest, with only his head poking out. Tully belted the Kepper-Root robe tightly around his waist to keep the snake warm.

“I hate this,” said Copernicus. “I wish it would end. It has been hours. How have you been able to sleep?”

Aarvord looked equally miserable, and Tully could feel Fangor shivering inside his ear. It made him want to slap at his head and drive the louse out, but he pitied him and his dreadful fear of the bees. So he endured the vibratory sensation as best he could. Meanwhile, he saw that the bees themselves were covered with a thin sheen of ice. Each time their wings flickered, the ice crystals flicked off, but it could not be long before the bees were frozen entirely. They flew on doggedly and Tully marveled at the silent power that Hen-Hen must have had over the creatures to drive them this far.

“Enough!” shouted Aarvord. “Set us down, wherever this place is!” The bees paid him no attention. Aarvord slumped into silence again. It saddened Tully to see his normally feisty friend brought so low. Grouts, which were creatures of hot and fetid swamps, did not like cold.

“It will be all right,” Tully said to his friends. He felt that the Council had called upon him to be a leader, and that is what he would be, if necessary. But he did not feel terribly confident.

After some hours, the craft finally slowed and stopped. It dispersed almost immediately—the bees that had been beneath them buzzed free, and the companions all fell several inches onto a field of soft, white snow. Many of the bees flew skyward and pell-mell toward the south, as if desperate to leave this cold realm. But Tully noticed with horror that a great number of the bees were too weak to leave. They scurried across the snow, ice-encrusted wings beating at the air uselessly. Then they began to die. One by one, their legs curled beneath them and they simply froze or fell over in the snow.

“No, no,” said Tully, trying to gather a few of them in his hands. The bees had been their friends, he realized. His dream had been misguided. The bees had made the greatest sacrifice. And beyond that, a selfish thought: The bees were possibly their only way home. The ones in his hand seemed to hold out a bit longer, but they eventually died as well. Tully gently placed them down, where the pitiful heat from their bodies melted tiny divots in the snow.

Tully, Copernicus, and Aarvord looked around. Beyond the bodies of the bees, which peppered the snow in a wide swath that was the vague size and shape of the flying craft that had brought them there, they were the only spots of color and life in an empty, white landscape. They were all very cold now. It had been warmer when the bodies of the bees had protected them. The light was so dull and grey that Tully’s scales gave off no glimmers. Snow had started to gather on his antennae and he shook it off.

Tully took a moment to give the bees a formal thanks. He started to give the prayer of protection for the dead: “May your ancestors comfort you. May you find a guide through the valley of death, and may you seek those you love along the journey.”

But Copernicus said: “Boring Bees don’t believe in the journey. They are different from us. You waste your time.”

Copernicus and other simple Dualings like him had similar beliefs, although their words for these things were different. Most creatures understood that they would undergo a journey upon their death and that their life force would find a new home somewhere in the world. Those who blinded themselves to the journey and ignored the instructions would find themselves lost and homeless…or in the Hells. Tully had always found the Hells impossible to believe in, for nature was large and intricate enough to hold every spirit in its grip and transform it, even those who became confused and lost. Even these bees. Nature was bigger than they were, and it would surely take them.