The Hundred: Fall of the Wents

by Prescott, Jennifer

  The Wents felt the ship lurch and buck. They could feel it sinking lower into the water. The sensation was suffocating. When it went under the water fully none could tell, but Hindrance felt her spirits sink along with it. Would they ever see the sun again? If it were not for the few Ells who still bravely expended their energy to give off the wan, blue lights, she would have lost heart entirely.

  The Shrikes’ message had not fooled her in the slightest. Everyone knew that they were creatures of nightmare and not to be trusted. How anyone could believe them she couldn’t fathom. This dreadful underwater bullet of a craft was one of their vile inventions.

  The thing traveled quickly, of that she was sure. She could hear motors thrumming off in the distance, through the hull. If the Shrikes did not want the Wents to die they must get them to light soon, for the Wents could not live without it for long. In dire need, they could draw nourishment from soil to keep themselves alive; there was no soil here.

  During the travel, Hindrance made her way slowly and painfully through the horde of Wents, looking for Bly, Kellen, and Sarami. Finally, she found Kellen at the very aft end of the hold, curled up in despair. Kellen had always been silent and thoughtful, but now she was murmuring in a tone of great sadness.

  “Where is Tully?” Kellen said. “Where is my little Eft?”

  It was the name of Tully that finally drew Hindrance to Kellen.

  Hindrance placed a small white hand on Kellen’s forehead and raised her face. An Ell nearby had kindly lit their reunion, but Hindrance found her presence annoying, for she seemed to be listening.

  “You have done well,” said Hindrance to the Ell. “Now fly away. We are fine here.”

  The Ell, who was Deressema, did so, but she glanced back, wondering if the two would be plotting some mischief. Her role here was to keep an eye out for such things. No Went would be allowed to escape or to communicate their true knowledge of what was happening to them—if any could glean it—without her awareness. Her fellow traitorous Ells kept a steady watch for any developing rebellion.

  “Ah, but the Wents are stupid,” thought Deressema. “They follow what all the others do, after all. They barely have minds of their own.”

  Deressema did not pause to think that she, also, had sacrificed her individuality for the sake of the Hundred.

  In the darkness after the Ell had left, Hindrance spoke quietly to Kellen.

  “Tully is safe,” she said. “Safer than we are, at any rate. Quiet, I have something for you.” And Hindrance brought a little vial out of her underpinnings, which contained some captured sunlight. She hid its glow under her own dipped face, tucked it into Kellen’s mouth, and bade her drink. Kellen did so and was instantly revived. She looked up at Hindrance with a fresh clarity.

  “You and your secrets!” she said. “How did you have sense to bring that? And what else have you got? Thank you.”

  “Quietly, for I do not have enough for the others,” cautioned Hindrance. “I brought enough for us four. May it be enough to give us strength to bring the others all strength, as well.”

  “Yes,” said Kellen.

  “I have other weapons,” said Hindrance under her breath. “But the Shrikes are watching. I will save these weapons.”

  “Good,” said Kellen. “Have you found Bly and Sarami?”

  “Not yet,” said Hindrance, “but I am sure we will meet them when we reach our destination. Do you sense where we travel?”

  “Only to the north,” shrugged Kellen. “It is hard to tell anything.”

  In fact, the submersible ship had left its undersea port and was traveling at a fast clip up the coast, undetected by any beings that might happen to be along that shoreline. By the time it docked at its most northern port, snow had begun to fall steadily on the surface of the water. The craft emerged like a dark wraith and headed in to the dock, where a bevy of Shrikes were waiting to lash it tight and open the doors.

  The Wents had been in the hold for a mere two days or so, but already their spirits were low. Talk had continued to occur in the darkness and, finally, all were in agreement that this was some cruel trick on the part of the Shrikes. Despite this, the Shrikes had, every few hours, walked through the decks with clattering cries of “Do not be alarmed! You will soon be safe and in a kind and good place.” The very words “kind” and “good” sounded ridiculous when spoken in those strident voices, but the effect was hypnotic and the Wents had to fight against their hope that it might be true.

  They were all herded out of the ship, handled much less roughly this time. As they staggered forth out of the hatch all looked hopefully for the sun, or a snatch of light, but they had arrived in the night. Several winking lights shone out ahead of them, which they followed. The fresh cold of the place was shocking.

  The Wents soon found themselves in an industrial type of building, with high ceilings strung with pipes and tubes. The light was fluorescent and yellow, turning their white skin a sallow, sickly hue. There was no sustenance to be gained from this. A few began to panic, for their energy was low. Those who had secretly believed the Shrikes’ message were thrown into a renewed despair. This place was clearly neither kind nor good at all.

  A small, squat Shrike up on a dais began to speak. In his furred and feathered arms he carried a bright globe, and he played that over the crowd like a fire hose. It gave off an energy that was not like the real sun, but was not inhospitable. It was as delicious as very poor food can be after a long fast, when even dry bread might seem like a treat. The Wents turned their faces toward it, hungry and rapt. They could not help themselves. Even Hindrance, who had her bottled sunlight hidden on her person, could not resist the lure of the false, yet refreshing, light.

  “Very good,” said the Shrike on the dais. “If you do as you are asked, there will be more of that. If you do not do as you are asked, it will be taken away.” He continued to play the light over their faces for a few moments longer, as if it amused him.

  Many of the Wents were strong again after this infusion, and some called out to the Shrike:

  “Why have you taken us?”

  “What purpose do you have?”

  “You must let us go!”

  The Shrike caught on this last remark and laughed with a dreadful haw haw haw sound.

  “Let you go?” it said. “I think not. Our purpose is very simple. We need you to sing. Just once. Then you may go home.”

  The Wents stirred in consternation. They were known for the power of their song. A group of Wents together, in song, could have the potential to move a mountain. Certainly, they had moved hearts. At the end of the Small War, the Wents had broken the fighting by a powerful song that stilled the bombs and froze the anger in its tracks. That delicate peace had kept for twelve years. Their songs were meant for good, not evil. Whatever the Shrikes intended was surely evil.

  The Shrike seemed to read their thoughts. “Your songs will bring about a great good!” it announced. “There is enmity between the Shrikes and a great horror, the Hundred. Surely you have heard of them?”

  The Wents had, but some shouted out:

  “There are no Hundred here! This is a lie!”

  “The Hundred are here among us!” cried the Shrike. “Just outside the doors. They will eat all of us and, then, they will eat you and all the things you love. Will you allow this to happen? Or, will you sing?”

  The Wents did not know what to believe for, although they had heard of the Hundred, they had never in fact seen them. All was mystery, lies, and confusion. Hindrance knew one thing, however. That was to never trust a Shrike. She pushed her way forward toward the dais, knowing that, by doing so, she was putting herself in grave danger.

  “Friends,” she called, when she had reached its base. She was taller than many of her companions, so they could see her white face peering up above the crowd.

  “Do not believe what this Shrike says, no matter what. Their purpose is clearly ill. If they want us to sing, then we must not. Let none sing a note!�
�� Hindrance spoke with passion, and they all turned to hear her.

  The Shrike turned his beady, malevolent eyes on Hindrance.

  “Nonbeliever,” he said. “You wish to ruin everything. We have use for such a one as you.” Hindrance was taken roughly by Shrikes and pushed toward heavy doors at the end of the chamber. A few Wents who were standing near were also taken, just because of their proximity to Hindrance. Other Shrikes opened the doors, which seemed like the very portal of doom. A cold blue light emanated from within. The Wents who had been grabbed called out in alarm and their fellow Wents echoed them. Then they were beyond the doors and the doors were shut with a grating noise, cutting them off from the rest and, Hindrance feared, from hope of ever seeing the sun again.

  Chapter Eighteen: False Flowers

  “I can repair the box,” repeated Aarvord. Tully heard him as if through an underwater chamber. In a flash of light, he had thought he had seen Hindrance herself. She had been trapped somewhere, and with her Bly, Kellen, and Sarami. His necklace pressed heavy against his chest. His antennae still burned as if they were a tuning fork that had been tapped and left to ring.

  Tully looked up but no one had seemed to notice his momentary discomfiture. He knew somehow that it would not be wise to share his experience publicly.

  “Ah, don’t trouble yourself with that, when we have so much to discuss!” exclaimed Pomplemys. “Shall we head to the garden and see how your young friend Elutia is faring?” he suggested. “The sun is setting, but the day is still warm in the garden of Pomplemys, as you will see.”

  Tully and Aarvord had nothing to say in reply, so they followed him mutely down a long corridor toward one of the bright, diamond-shaped doors. A dark shape at the end partially blotted out the sun, but they couldn’t tell what it was from this distance. The setting sun streamed down the hallway and illuminated more of the animal treasures that Pomplemys used to decorate his home. The hallway was very narrow and the companions could not help but brush against the pelts and other strange encumbrances that projected from the walls. Here and there were fully-formed skulls of beasts, mounted so that they stuck out from the wall at harsh angles. Tully thought it was like walking through a graveyard. Creatures who died in his world—though he had never personally known anyone who had died—were carried to the water and then set adrift. If there was no water nearby, they were buried in the earth.

  Before they reached the open doorway, Tully gasped, for there were several heads of creatures mounted that still had the fur on them, the teeth in their skulls, and eyes. It was a barbaric display. All the beasts were long extinct, so he could not recognize any. One had a head as large as a Veldstack, with a great crest of antlers atop it. Its fur was coarse and scrubby, and a large dewlap of flesh dangled beneath its chin. Its eyes were brown and liquid, and it seemed almost alive. Tully was sure that, if he put the glasses on, the thing might speak to him. His curiosity nearly overcame him, but his anxiety was stronger. He ducked under the head and passed on, gazing up at each succeeding head with wonder and fear.

  Here there was a smaller creature, with fine, tapered antlers that sprung up from its head, curved in an artful symmetry, here was the head of a fierce-looking beast, whose teeth were all intact inside its mouth—yellowed and sharp. It, too, had the same liquid brown eyes. Tully could now discern that the eyes were made of glass or stone, for they had a curiously shiny and yet lifeless aspect. Everything was real but the eyes, which had been crafted by hand.

  As they reached the doorway they could finally make out the dark shape that stood before it. It was the full body of one of the long-dead creatures, standing in a careful pose as if it were about to spring. It was some kind of cat, with its mouth agape in a terrible snarl, as if it had died in agony. Its fur was yellow, and worn thin in some places—including a patch that they were forced to brush against to reach the door itself. The creature seemed a mute guardian of the hallway of dead things. It was difficult not to sense menace in its gaze, although it had the same false eyes embedded in its skull.

  “A female,” said Pomplemys casually. “A lion-ness. I would love to have a male counterpart for the other side of the doorway but, alas, I don’t believe a specimen is left.”

  Tully forced himself to speak. “A fine collection, sir. How did you come to acquire all of these?”

  “I inherited them,” said Pomplemys. “But they are only safe within the confines of these walls. If they were not protected here, they would surely turn to dust within moments. They are very old, you see.” He patted the flank of the lion-ness with paternal affection.

  “Of course,” said Aarvord. “But who gave them to you?”

  “Another story for another day!” said Pomplemys. “We don’t have time to dally here. The light is fading and the sunshine of the garden awaits. Oh, then, we will have dinner, and talk some more. You do like to talk, yes?”

  He exited the doorway, and Tully and Aarvord, trading a glance that spoke of their repulsion and dismay, followed him out.

  The garden was indeed still sunny, although the sun would soon sink behind the high stone walls. Tully noticed things he had not before: winged creatures that seemed like Ells, but were thinner and frailer. They lit on the many flowers that ringed the garden. And there was a distant peeping noise from a pond, surrounded by small trees and shrubs.

  On a circle of stone benches in the sunniest point in the garden sat the Wents, with Elutia at their center. She seemed to be lit by a fire from within, so beautiful and full of life. The blossoms surrounding her face were fully open, and her skin glowed with health. The weak and frail Elutia that Tully had met was no longer. The sunlight had entirely revived her. For that, he silently thanked Pomplemys. She was wrapped in conversation with her people and did not even notice Tully, Aarvord, and Pomplemys as they approached.

  Tully paused to examine one of the little winged things sucking nectar from a flower. He recognized it as a dull cousin of the Ells. It did not pay him any notice, but carried on with its task. Tully tried to meet it eye to eye, but to no avail. The thing was not sentient. It must have been some kind of insect from another time and he had never seen its like before. More than ever, the magic of Pomplemys overwhelmed him. It was one thing to have skins and bones of long-gone animals and yet another, entirely, to have living fossils flying past his face. Tully wondered if one of the beasts that he had visioned in Pomplemys’ home would come sauntering by at any moment.

  Meanwhile, Aarvord was bent into the flower patch and sniffing the flowers with such rapt intent that he seemed quite drunk. He lifted his head and smiled in a stupid way at Tully.

  “So many kinds!” he said happily. “I have never seen nor smelled these before.”

  Pomplemys approached the group of Wents and clapped his hands. “Hello! Hello!” he said merrily. “I trust that you have been having as lovely a time out here as we have had within?”

  Tully could think of lovelier times than the dark hour or so that they had spent within Pomplemys’ home, but he said nothing. He realized that it was wise to pretend, as much as possible, that Pomplemys’ skins and bones and malevolent suggestions were to his liking. He could tell the old Eft was wary of them, and it seemed his mood could quickly turn from vaguely sinister to downright vengeful. But Tully had no wish to see that side of their host, especially as he had the uncomfortable notion that they were not guests, but prisoners. Could they leave, even if they wished to?

  Elutia turned to face Pomplemys, and to Tully’s great surprise she jumped to her feet and ran to him, as if he were an old and beloved Grand-Eft of her own.

  “Thank you!” she said. “I never thought that I would see any of my kind. It has been so pleasant here. So warm. I wish we could stay forever!”

  Pomplemys chuckled fondly and embraced her.

  “The home of Pomplemys has great magic, and also great medicine for those who need it,” he said quietly, staring into her shining face. Tully was quite disgusted. Couldn’t she see he was a charlat
an who loved nothing more than the horrid old fossils and skins that he used to decorate this place? She would see as soon as she chose to read Tully’s mind again. He willed her to do it. But she did not. She did catch Tully’s eye though, and, reaching out for his hand, drew him into the circle of Wents.

  “These are my new friends. Their names are Hosta, Briarlee, and Amila,” said Elutia, excited and pleased.

  Their placid, unfamiliar faces stared up at him, each with a small smile.

  Tully took a step back from the circle, and Pomplemys cast him a sharp glance.

  “Now, now,” he said. “Let’s not be rude! These Wents have been with me since I was a mere Eftling. Be polite, young one.”

  Tully smiled and tried to relax, but there was something odd about these Wents, now that he saw them under the sunlight. They did not give him any comfort. They seemed almost not present. He could not explain why he felt so unnerved.

  Elutia was gazing at him with alarm. Aarvord still seemed intent on sniffing flowers like a lovestruck Orp—those lumplike creatures that were so fascinated by beauty and lovely smells that they would forget what they were doing and spend wasteful hours gazing up at clouds and into ponds. The Fantastic Grout sniffed closer to the group until he was almost at the knee of one of the Wents.

  Without a conscious thought, Tully pulled his special glasses on once more and saw the three Wents for what they were. They were nothing more than thoughtless flowers, nodding in the wind. Indeed, they were large and beautiful, and brightly-colored, but they were simply flowers, without sense, or sight, or any characteristics that would make them Wents. He realized with horror that these things may have been the beautiful precursors of the Wents he knew. They were long-ago ancestors, rooted in pots by thick, green stems.