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.
Chapter Three: Bellerol
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 importa
nt,” 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.”
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 ro
se 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 Hundred: Fall of the Wents Page 5