“I hope so,” said Tully doubtfully. “I hope they are there for you. You’ve risked too much for us.”
Burgess bent his massive head down so that he could look Tully eye to eye.
“Your cause is ours,” he said. “Whatever you need to do to stop them—the Shrikes and their masters—we must help. If you need us again, find the highest spot you can and stand with the wind at your backs. If we are able, we will find your scent and come to you.”
“Thank you,” said Tully, and he and Aarvord and Elutia all embraced the Veldstacks around the neck and said their goodbyes. The Veldstacks waited while the three grasped the branch and prepared to climb upward. Before they got very high, however, the branch seemed to sense their weight and bore them aloft with surprising speed. Tully had a moment to glance back at the Veldstacks gathered below and to give them a nod, before the branch had lowered just as smoothly on the opposite side of the wall. They were inside the gates of Pomplemys’ estate.
They climbed down in wonder, amazed at what they saw. Inside the stone walls, it was as if winter never existed. Their feet set down on a grassy, green carpet, lush with wildflowers and soothed by the warmth of the sun. Through a ring of sky overhead, they could see nothing but blue and sun—although the snow and grey clouds whisked around the perimeter, any snowflakes that fell within the magical circle were instantly dissolved into a fine and warm rain. The interiors of the stone walls, soaked with this rain, were covered with lichens and moss.
“Oh!” said Elutia, smiling with genuine happiness. “I wish the Veldstacks could have come with us!”
Tully, forgetting for an instant any danger that might be present, ran through the grass and bent down to smell at a patch of flowers. Aarvord, transported, stood at the edge and let the warm rain of snowflakes bathe his body in the humidity he sorely missed. Elutia raised her face to the sunlight and felt strength and power come back to her; as a Went, she was born for the sun and needed it to overcome her despair. It took but a moment, and she turned to Tully and smiled with her newfound energy. Tully looked up from the flowers and caught her eye. He was stunned and ashamed that he had ever thought her weak and helpless. This was the Elutia that he had never known, except in dreams that she had shared with him.
In the center of it all stood the white dome-shaped home with the spire, now glowing in the rays from the sun. It was covered with diamond-shaped windows of colored glass, and a broad diamond-shaped door was boldly open. Another invitation.
Before they could decide what course to pursue, a gnarled old Eft emerged from the door.
“Good friends!” said the Eft, approaching them with a beaming smile, as if they were indeed old friends. “Welcome to the palace of Pomplemys. I am at your service.”
Chapter Sixteen: Into the Hall of Bones
The three comrades approached cautiously, despite the buoyant welcome. The Eft did not seem dangerous, due to his old age and the fact that he appeared to weave a bit on his cane like a drunkard. But he also had strong magic at his disposal. That was obvious.
Tully spoke first: “I am Tully. Thank you for welcoming us to your home. These are my friends, Aarvord and Elutia.”
“Ah! A Dualing!” said Pomplemys, staring at Aarvord. “I haven’t come face to face with many of your kind lately. A Fantastic Grout, are you? Although I don’t get much company. And today—quite a host of visitors!”
“Did you see a little Ell? Her name is Deressema. I fear she may have been injured,” said Elutia.
“Your friend!” snorted Pomplemys. “She is quite safe, inside. She is resting and well.” He gestured toward the open door. They followed, although reluctant to leave the warm and verdant lawn outside the home. They paused for a moment to drink it in but, upon passing the open doorway of the home, they saw that the sun shone in here, as well, through wide skylights near the domed ceiling and the diamond-shaped windows of colored glass. The home was ablaze with light and warmth. It was also filled with bizarre curios of every shape and size. In one corner there appeared to be the ossified skeleton of a large mammal with a long horn and a wide, broad back. In a glass case, Tully observed a collection of bones, tusks, pelts, and an insect from many eons ago trapped in an amber-colored stone. He shivered, despite the warmth of the place. Was this some kind of museum for beasts long-dead?
“How do you keep the sun prisoner?” asked Elutia, her voice as bright and bubbly as a child. She seemed so rejuvenated by the light that her skin glowed pinkly and the few blossoms left surrounding her face had opened wide and white to the sun.
“Ah, my child, that is magic. And I never share my magic,” said Pomplemys. “Please, you must be hungry.” He led them all to a room lit by a fire, with hassocks and chairs covered in every type of animal pelt imaginable. Most of the pelts here were from animals long extinct, and Tully hated the thought of sitting on one of them. Yet he did; he chose a coarse black and white stripe. He did not know the name of the creature that had once owned it, nor how it came to be here, but it had clearly once been alive. How had Pomplemys acquired such items?
Pomplemys clapped his hands and to Tully’s immense surprise, three Wents glided into the room, bearing food on large trays. He sprang up from his hide-covered seat and scanned their faces anxiously. Was one Hindrance? How had Pomplemys saved these Wents? They were all strangers to him, but it was a comfort to see their round and shining faces.
While Tully was astonished, Elutia was transported. “Oh!” she cried, upon seeing the Wents. She rose and went to them and, without a word, the three embraced her as one.
“Do you know them?” gruffed Aarvord? “How is this possible?”
“Any Went welcomes one of their own,” said Pomplemys. “Surely you know that!”
“I don’t know them,” said Elutia, “but it is so good to see them. I have known only captivity it seems.” Her eyes were filled with happy tears. After they had set out the food, the three Wents bent over her like mother hens, smoothing the blossoms around her face and patting away the tears that fell. Tully’s heart ached to see this; his Wents had cared for him the same way. He longed to jump up and embrace them as well, but was too embarrassed to move. They spoke to Elutia in a whispery, sibilant language that he had heard on occasion from his own Wents when they were speaking amongst themselves only. His own Wents had spoken the universal tongue to him from birth. The sound of their voices, even in a strange language, was reassuring.
“Please,” said Elutia to Pomplemys. “They want me to go with them, to the garden. May I?”
“Of course, child!” said Pomplemys. “These Wents are my own, and they will do you no harm. I have known them since I was smaller than this Eftling here. Go with them and restore yourself in the sun.”
Elutia followed the Wents happily. Tully was somewhat disturbed to see her go. Suppose they were more magic concocted by Pomplemys? While he was pleased to see Elutia regain her strength, she seemed not herself—too giddy, too childlike. And then there was the fact that having her removed from his presence smote him like a physical pain. It was too late to debate all this, for Pomplemys turned to Aarvord and Tully with a serious expression.
“You are hungry,” he announced. “You must eat.”
They helped themselves to the fresh food prepared by the Wents, and the taste was remarkable after so many days with so little rations. Tully ate until his belly felt engorged and tight, and he looked up with occasional embarrassment at his host who smiled placidly at them and did not share in almost any of the food aside from reaching out to break off and nibble on a small corner of bread. Aarvord ate noisily and with gusto.
“I have eaten already today,” Pomplemys said. “But once we share a meal, we are friends, eh? So I will eat this bread to seal the bonds of friendship. It is what the humans always did,” he added slyly. “They broke bread together.” He stuffed the small corner of bread into his mouth and chewed, then took a swallow of brown liquid from a jug. Tully noticed he did not offer to share it. He was glad,
however, for it looked strong and foul. They had been given cups of clear, cold water to wash down their meal.
“What do you know about the humans?” asked Aarvord suspiciously, reaching for a piece of fruit, although his mouth was already full.
“Starfruit, grown in my own gardens,” said Pomplemys proudly. “Not something you’d think you’d find in the cold, hard north, would you? I grow all manner of fruit here. Take another, if you like it. Take as many as you wish. We can grow more!”
“The humans?” prodded Tully, now sated. He somehow wished that he’d been able to restrain himself from eating so much of the old Eft’s food. He had felt keen and alert when he was hungry. Now he felt warm and enervated. A fire could have broken out in the room and he doubted he’d be able to flee to escape it.
“I make the humans a study,” said Pomplemys, drinking more of the mysterious brown fluid. “They were a fascinating race. I consider myself something of an expert on the topic. Probably one of the only experts, as they left so little behind! A tragic race, but a fascinating one.”
“I didn’t think they left anything behind at all,” said Tully.
“Ah, not true, my friend!” said Pomplemys. “Something is always left behind, if even a little piece. Look down at the cushions you sit on now.”
“What manner of animals were these?” asked Aarvord, touching the rough, grey fur of the chair that he occupied. Sitting in the chair was almost as repugnant as eating meat. He could almost smell the sweat of the creature that had died to make this “furniture.” Was it a dumb beast, or had it spoken? Had it had thoughts and dreams as he, Aarvord, did? He tried to make his question as polite as possible, so as not to offend their host.
Pomplemys evidently warmed to any talk of his collection, and he spoke at length about the skins and bones of the creatures that were on display in his home. His talk was punctuated by slurps of the brown liquid from the jug, which Tully discerned had an inebriating influence. Pomplemys grew more effusive as he drank, while Tully and Aarvord felt a hypnotic stupor steal over them. It was as if the food they had eaten had relaxed the very blood in their bodies. Aarvord yawned loudly, as Pomplemys launched into another description of his many trophies. Tully noted that Pomplemys never really explained how he had acquired the items.
“That,” he said proudly, gesturing above the fireplace, “is the tusk of a beast known as the Ele-Fant. It once roamed the earth in great numbers, but was destroyed by the humans. They wanted the tusks. Ah yes, we come back to them again, don’t we? The humans left their mark in almost everything we touch, indeed.”
The tusk was yellowed with age, with fine cracks near its tapered point. It had been rigged so that it hung over the fire mantel on metal chains, with bands of burnished metal at each end. Tully shivered at the thought of the beast that had once displayed this mighty weapon. It must have been much larger than a Veldstack, which was the largest thing he had ever seen. Perhaps the humans did the earth a great service by ridding it of such monsters.
“Why would they want these tusks?” asked Tully. “What use could they have for them?”
“What use any of the things the humans wanted?” said Pomplemys. “They wanted all manner of seemingly useless objects—gold, diamonds, furs. Although furs had a purpose, of course. They could keep themselves warm in the pelts of other creatures.”
“The humans wore the coats of other animals?” asked Tully, horrified. How painful the lives of the humans must have been, to resort to such strange cruelty. “They were quite naked then? Without fur of their own?”
Pomplemys laughed into his mug and took a swallow. “Not as naked as they are now,” he suggested. “Now they have no skins, either.” He laughed again, a trace maniacally. Tully was intrigued to learn more about the humans, but the tales Pomplemys told were vague and meaningless.
“You may wonder what the humans left behind of themselves, don’t you? But you know, eh? Do you?” Pomplemys peered at them with a benevolent expression.
Tully suddenly remembered the spectacles that Hindrance had given him long ago—he had carried them all this way and not used them—and wished that he could find a subtle way of putting them on. They would reveal the truth behind the old Eft’s smile. Perhaps he could pretend that he was poor of sight? He fingered the glasses inside his vest while Pomplemys continued to speak.
“I’d like to see that tusk more closely,” he said, and rose to his feet, pulling the glasses on with one quick movement. He strode over to the tusk and stared, and the glasses revealed something he had never expected. The Ele-Fant had been an innocent, not a monster. It was capable of love. It had mourned its dead and cared for its young.
The one who had borne this tusk had died through a great cruelty. Tully had never realized that Hindrance’s magic spectacles were capable of revealing the truth of something that no longer lived. He turned back to face the room, the spectacles still on his face. In one glance, he could see Pomplemys’ benevolent expression for what it was: deceit. His eyes were not smiling, but were as hard as cold stones. The skins in the room seemed to shiver with expectancy and warmth. They had all been good, fine creatures upon a time. He could see the shade of each beast—one more magnificent and noble as the next—hovering over the skins like a life-force. Long dead as they were, he could see that they had once been strong and filled with life.
The chair he had been sitting on, with the white and black stripes, revealed a creature similar to the Veldstack, but smaller and spry. It turned its head and looked at Tully mournfully. The effect was overwhelming and Tully swayed and drew the glasses from his face.
“My eyes,” he explained. “They are weak.”
Pomplemys now looked like the smiling, thoughtful host again, and the deceit was gone. It could almost be as if he imagined it, but Tully believed the glasses told a true tale. There was a glint in Pomplemys’ eye, however, that suggested he did not quite believe the younger Eft.
“Let me see those glasses,” Pomplemys said carefully. “They seem finely made. Made in the city Circadie, were they? The frames are made of Meal-Apple wood, by the looks of them.”
Tully tucked the glasses back inside his vest again. “They are fragile,” he said. “And they are the only pair I have. I need them to look closely at things. Books and letters and such,” he said.
Pomplemys seemed easily distracted. “Oh! A fellow reader!” he said. “I have quite a fine collection of books as well. All written by the greatest scholars of the age, although the universal tongue lacks poetry and wit, wouldn’t you say? I have heard much of the ages through my device, there.” And he gestured to a cabinet where a shiny metal thing was hidden, with great tubes and knobs atop its surface.
Tully nodded dumbly. He had never been taught to read, as reading was the realm of the highly-schooled and educated. Adults read, and mostly Dualings; little Efts did not. Reading was for great ones and scientists. He hoped that Pomplemys would not bring out a book and ask him to recite from it.
“So reader,” said Pomplemys. “Have you read any books by me?”
“No,” said Tully, surprised. “I have not encountered them, sir.”
“Sir!” laughed Pomplemys, clearly very drunk now on his brown syrup. “How the little Eft humors the old fellow! Well, I am a writer of some renown, although my books are not available to the general public, as it were. They are all in here.” And he tapped at the side of his head.
Tully glanced at Aarvord as if to suggest: “He is mad. And I have seen it through the glasses. He is bad as well.” The Grout seemed stupefied by the food and did not even respond to Tully’s mute gaze. Tully suspected that Elutia had been sent out of the room because of her ability to read minds. Could Pomplemys know about that? What if he could read minds as well?
“My treatise on the humans, for example,” continued the old Eft. “It always comes back to the humans, and what they left behind.”
“Again, sir, I suggest—that I can see nothing they left behind. My Wents ta
ught me everything I know,” said Tully. “And every work the humans made is as dust. Even the books say that,” he added importantly, knowing it to be true.
Pomplemys turned and stared at him. The magical glasses were no longer required. His malevolence was palpable, although the smile was still present and grandfatherly. If Tully had not seen his true spirit through the glasses, he might have been fooled.
“They left behind their very souls!” shouted Pomplemys. “And I believe you know what name they are known by now, eh? Do you?”
Tully shook his head dumbly. But of course, he did know. The Hundred. He hesitated to speak the name aloud. He felt a terrible fear. Why was he still so sleepy?
“I can see it in your eyes. I know why you are here,” said Pomplemys.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Tully. “You might have us mistaken with someone else.” Aarvord, across the room, seemed lost in a reverie. “Stupid Aarvord!” thought Tully. Why must Tully engage in a mental battle with Pomplemys all by himself? If Copernicus had been here, the snake would have been a true friend, and would have had something clever to say.
“Oh no, not possible,” smiled the old Eft. “I know much more about you than you think. Remember Deressema?”
In fact, Tully had quite forgotten her. Between the food and the heat of the room, and the magnificent yet terrible array of treasures from long-dead beasts, he had not thought to ask about the little Ell. Now he cursed his stupidity.
“So, Deressema,” said Pomplemys. “You wonder where she is? Look up there and you will find her.” He gestured to the mantel above the fire, and Tully saw the jar with the Ell inside it, beating angrily with her wings to get their attention. All the time they had been eating they had failed to notice her.
“Wait a minute!” said Aarvord, on his feet in an instant. Tully had thought Aarvord to be sleeping or dreaming, but he was as alert as ever. “What is this all about?” He made as if to rescue the Ell from the jar, but Pomplemys thrust out his cane to bar his path.
The Hundred: Fall of the Wents Page 19