The Hundred: Fall of the Wents

by Prescott, Jennifer

  “I agree,” said the snake. “Let’s keep moving and find a safe place to hide.”

  All the while Deressema was thinking very hard.

  Pomplemys, upon discovering her allegiance to the Hundred, had offered her an opportunity to work for him. All she had to do, he said, was to go back to this place and find the last living humans. In their fear and hatred, the Hundred had destroyed everything that was left to them. They had eaten up all hope. They were too dangerous in their newly-hatched form to bargain or reason with and, so, she had to protect the children from them.

  But, Pomplemys had explained, if she would be the one to deliver the two children to the place required, the Hundred would be very pleased with her—and Pomplemys. The Hundred needed them very badly and would make good use of them. After many millennia the Hundred’s anger and hatred had been tamed into a cold and useful consciousness. No, they no longer would destroy the children. Indeed, they would become the children. The little souls of the children themselves were a paltry nothing compared to the power of the Hundred, who had mourned their mistake and gnawed on their losses until their only goal became to live again—live, in real human bodies that could breathe and sing and love. The children would be a most useful tool. They would be the first step in gaining back the humanity that the Hundred had lost.

  “And then!” Pomplemys had pronounced, his eyes glittering as he held Deressema aloft on one finger and strode through his chambers. “I, Pomplemys, will have been the one scientist responsible for bringing back an extinct species! They will reward me. They will give me eternal life.”

  Deressema didn’t think that this conclusion naturally followed. After all, even if everything he wanted was achieved there was no guarantee that the Hundred would give Pomplemys the reward he desired. But she was also their slave and her small life hung in the balance. She also hoped that she would be rewarded, so she did not care to dwell too much on this.

  There was a place that they could get through, explained Pomplemys. It was a portal, like the box, but bigger and more serviceable. How did he know, wondered Deressema. Pomplemys had smiled mysteriously and explained to her that he, himself, had been through the portal, and others like it. Many such portals had opened during and after the Great Cataclysm, and only a few had been discovered. His Father-Eft, and the one before him, had also been time travelers through them.

  “Why don’t you go through yourself now?” Deressema had pouted. She was not terribly keen on this mission, even though it served her master. It sounded dangerous.

  “Ah, my young one,” said Pomplemys. “The only portal near to these parts that is open now is right beneath the stronghold of the Shrikes. I am not foolish enough to go there!”

  Pomplemys knew of one or two other portals, most notably the one that the clever little box he had found must have dropped through before it tumbled to the shores of the river where he had recently found it, but he did not need to share this with Deressema.

  “But the little children won’t know the difference,” thought Deressema. “They will go right into the arms of the Shrikes, where they belong.” And she smiled a bit wickedly, glad to be on the side of something she didn’t fully understand but that she knew would be the key to her salvation. The Hundred had spoken to her personally. They had made many promises. Pomplemys also believed in the Hundred. She was ready to serve.

  The portal that Pomplemys described was in a secret place within an ocean bay. The Hundred might be there, in some numbers, and it would be dangerous. But there was no other course.

  “There will be a rock—a huge rock, balanced within a hole as if it defied gravity,” explained Pomplemys. “It is on a narrow ledge in a harbor of the sea, between two curving arms of land known as The Jaws. This rock guards the entrance to the portal.”

  “Nonsense!” snuffed Deressema. “I am not a creature of the sea and neither will be the human children. How can we get across to the rock?”

  “There is a way to cross,” said Pomplemys. He explained further what she would have to do upon finding the marker rock. Deressema took note of everything he said and committed it to memory.

  Now that she was in the older world, however, she realized that Pomplemys had failed to tell her one key piece of information: When she arrived here, the voices of the Hundred would no longer be speaking inside her mind. They had gone completely silent. They did not know her here and would not recognize her as a friend. And she had no tools with which to evade them.

  If she needed to distract the Hundred, she had decided to sacrifice the snake. Copernicus seemed to hang on her every word now, with his little black eyes glimmering with admiration of her beauty. How she hated snakes! They were awful little Dualings—throwbacks to a darker age when creatures were dumb and mindless. She had even seen some of his kind here, in this older world, slithering in the grass and sunning themselves on rocks. She had at first drawn closer to these snakes, trying to determine if any of them were Copernicus. But they were all stupid. They couldn’t even speak. Pathetic! Most of the creatures in this older world rightly should have died out.

  But the children…the human children—she didn’t know what to make of them. How could these be the living ancestors of the Hundred? They lacked any real strength. They had no special powers that she could see. The Hundred were masters of technology and marvels, and the children lacked anything more than the ability to make fire and dig for roots. They didn’t seem smarter than the most primitive Ugwallop, although they did know how to laugh—and Ugwallops were notoriously short on that skill. She tried to play along with their little jokes and ingratiate herself with them, wondering if these children would be her new masters in the new world—infused with their new and wondrous power. Larvae, that’s what they were now. They would grow into their own power soon enough. She would help to achieve that.

  “We’d best get moving,” said Deressema, and was pleased to see that they obeyed her immediately. She fluttered off the snake’s back and led the way, toward the sea and the portal.

  Thankfully, the rain had relented and the sun shone through the clouds at times, although it was still rather wan. The children had become quite jovial upon the return of the good weather, and Copernicus was like a lively necklace around the young girl’s neck. The snake kept staring at Deressema as she flew, and she very prettily turned her wings so that Copernicus could see the blue flashings in the scales that caught the afternoon sunlight. They seemed a merry party.

  A deep and insistent buzzing turned Deressema’s head, and she almost fell out of the air as a furry insect brushed past her and circled around again. It had come straight over the water like a shot. It was a bee, and a bee from her own world—but not one of the Boring Bees, a superior and intelligent race of insects that were not to be dealt with lightly. This was a Dull Bee. They often traveled in hives, and Dee looked around for the swarm that was sure to follow. How had this bee come here? It could not be an accident. She was hardly concerned, however; Dull Bees were foolish and mute.

  “Oh! It’s your bee!” said Natty, clutching Copernicus hard around the neck such that he almost choked. “I see your bee!”

  “As he should know,” said Nizz gruffly, alighting on Natty’s shoulder. “I am no one’s bee but my own.”

  “Your voice,” said Natty seriously. “I remember it well. You saved us from the shadow before. Thank you.”

  “It was the least I could do,” said Nizz. “Hello, Copernicus. I did not expect to see you here! How did you come here? Did they not trust me to find the passage over the river?”

  Copernicus was delighted to finally meet this friend from his own world. Deressema was shocked beyond words. A Dull Bee, speaking? What magic was this?

  “I fell in, so to speak,” said Copernicus, a bit ashamed of his foolishness. “It was not a plan, Nizz. And I fear…” here he paused, unsure of how to relate the news to the bee. “I fear that we are here for good. They have not brought me back. I believe something has happened to the box.
”

  “I see,” said Nizz, and almost seemed to shrug in acceptance. After the loss of his life partner Ozz, he felt he did not need to go back to that world. Surely, he would find a cause here and pursue it. There were many things to catalogue and remember. If he could not share them with his hive, then perhaps he could find a way to share them with these other creatures.

  Deressema was watching the bee and brimming with disguised fury. He could ruin all her plans! Suppose he could not be tamed as the snake was? Although small, his stinger could be death to someone of her size. And why did he speak? What could it mean? She decided to use her most honeyed tones on “Nizz.” Fancy a Dull Bee even having a name!

  Deressema flew over and hovered in the air next to the bee, flashing her wings as brightly as possible so as to distract him. The two of them hung there, sizing each other up, like tiny flying craft.

  “It is so good and pleasant to meet you, Nizz!” sang Dee. “You must have had a hard journey. I longed to see others from my world, and now I have found one!”

  Nizz was not used to this sort of talk. He gazed suspiciously at Deressema.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “Oh!” she said. “I am so sorry. My name is Deressema and, as I have explained to the others here, I was sent into this world to help them survive. Call me Dee.” She lowered her voice: “The shadow is abroad. Perhaps you have seen it in the north?”

  “I have seen the shadow before,” said the bee.

  “And it wants these children!” shrilled Deressema, slightly feverish with anxiety that the bee would disrupt all her plans.

  “I see,” said Nizz.

  “Then,” said Deressema. “You will join us and help us bring the children to a safe place, where the shadow cannot get them? In a secret place out on the waters of the sea. They can hide there until it is safe.”

  “Of course, we will keep them safe,” said the bee, puzzled at her insistent tone. Did she not understand that he was a friend of the group, and had proven himself once already?

  Deressema relaxed visibly. “Good then,” she said. “Let’s not waste another moment. We should carry on.”

  They set off again with Deressema flying in the lead. Nizz hovered low by Copernicus, who had taken to the ground.

  “Can the children make it to the sea?” said Nizz in a voice so low that only the snake could hear him.

  “They are stronger than they appear. And it is growing warmer,” said Copernicus. He hoped it was the case. The dread of seeing the shadow come swiftly down the river to eat them up kept his tail feverishly whipping along the ground in their quest to the south. Nizz’s appearance had brightened his spirits, but even more than that was the presence of Deressema. She had brought him the message from the future that he sorely needed: His friends had not forgotten him. Well, he would not forget them either. He would do his best.

  *

  The Shrike-Grout was tired and unhappy. After an hour’s chase through the snow, seeking to elude the Shrike it had seen through the drifting snowflakes, it had grown cold and weary and had lain down in a protected pocket under an overhanging fir tree. Its whole body seemed to ache and its mind wasn’t working very well. It was slow-witted, but not so dumb that it wasn’t aware of its own mental shortcomings. It knew that it was rather stupid, and it hurt to try and think and understand.

  Its very first memory had not been of its mother, Justice, who had borne it in the way of all mammals. The Shrike-Grout had never known her name. It had never even met her, as it had been snatched from her almost immediately. It had grown quickly, at almost double the speed of an ordinary Grout or a young Shrike, and this seemed to please the birdlike creatures that came to gaze upon it daily and toss it scraps of food. Unlike its captors it was not destined to eat unhappiness for its meals.

  No, its first memory had been the recognition that it was trapped. It had tried to take its first shuffling steps and had banged into the clear glass dome that surrounded and imprisoned it. It fell down, confused, and had heard a shrieking “haw haw haw” from the surrounding Shrikes who had watched its attempts with amusement.

  As it grew, it began to understand their speech and make attempts to imitate it, but its efforts were never rewarded and it never received a loving or a kind word, nor an embrace or a touch. Perhaps it would have had the ability to love and think, and perhaps it would have been wiser and better than the average Shrike. But it was treated in such a way that it could do little other than rock back and forth in its glass prison, muttering snatches of language in a strange sing-song that seemed to come from somewhere inside.

  When they took it out for exercise they marched it around and made it lift heavy things, to see how strong it was. It may have been slow, but its endurance was great and it was remarkably obedient. When it did as they asked, it received more food. The food was tasteless and unremarkable, but it allowed the Shrike-Grout to live. It also contained an oily additive that made the Shrike-Grout crave it relentlessly, despite its tastelessness, so that it often brooded upon when its next meal might be and how it would feel to have the food finally arrive. It would get into cold sweats and shivers and then they would bring the food and it would feel all right, for a time. Then the maddening situation would begin again and it would have to wait until the next scheduled mealtime.

  It learned quickly to lift heavier rocks and to shuffle along faster. They had trained it to fight, lashing it with sharp sticks to build its anger and frustration. It understood many of their words and could tell that they were pleased with it, but the realization did not bring it much pride or peace. The next day they would take it out again and it would perform the same tasks and get the same food. They would lash it, and the lashings made its body hurt worse.

  Had it been able to wonder, it might have questioned: “Why was I made? And for what purpose?” But it had not that ability. It was little better than an animal that had lived millions of years earlier—able to feel pain, loneliness, sorrow, and hunger, but unable to reason with the intelligence that most living beasts now shared. Most creatures that could not think and reason had long ago become extinct. Survival of the fittest had meant that things like the Shrike-Grout had no place in the world.

  Yet, here it was. It lived, and it had just enough natural intelligence to know that it was a most unhappy creature. It also had a burning desire to stop the pains that continually assailed it, as if its bones and skin didn’t fit properly together. Its back and neck ached. Its legs were slightly uneven, which made its gait lopsided and jerky. The very teeth in its mouth seemed to hurt and it suffered from headaches and digestive pains.

  Now, it was out in the cold and the snow, both of which it had never before experienced in its short life. It was unpleasant and there was no food handed over daily. Yet, there were no lashings. And there was something else—a vague, tiny sweetness of freedom. The air was fresh and good. It did not mind the pains in its body as fiercely. It decided, in its dumb way, that it would not go back. It would savor this little sensation of freedom and then die quietly, as it was meant to. The Shrike-Grout had a strong feeling that its life was not meant to be. It could not have explained this in words, but it knew.

  Then the Shrike had appeared through the snow, and all the fear and anger from the lashings and the imprisonment had made the Shrike-Grout run. It could smell the sour scent of the Shrike, and that scent spoke of all the long days and long nights with no air, no light, and no comfort. They had never even given it a bed to lie on, and so the soft snow felt better than anything it had experienced.

  But then the Shrike-Grout remembered the food it had been given. Not only was it hungry and in pain, but it wanted that food. What if…what if the Shrike that chased it had some of this special food? What if it could taste that food again and feel some peace from the hunger and the longing? It paused and thought it might wait. And then the fear began, again, and it ran.

  But finally it was so hungry it could run no more. It waited in the snow and began
to seek the small form that followed it. Its longing for the food was now so fierce that its mouth watered and it bit down on its own tongue, drawing blood. The Shrike was surely coming to bring it food. It would be led back to its cage, true, but it would no longer suffer like this.

  Then the Shrike appeared over the crest of a small rise. It stood there and looked at it. It could see its dark and beady eyes through the drifting snowflakes. The Shrike-Grout stumbled toward it, its arms outstretched and its paws clasping at the air. As it went, it moaned softly with the small bits of language that it knew.

  “Help, hungry,” cried the creature. “Hungry. Cold.”

  Fangor and Hatch saw it turn and come back toward them. Its language was so slurred and broken that it sounded like nothing more than moans and growls.

  “Horrors!” said Fangor. “It’s coming to eat us, sure!”

  But Hatch stood his ground. He recognized the poor beast. He remembered how he and his fellows had made it work, and how they had lashed it. Perhaps he deserved whatever retribution the creature would bring now.

  Hatch had another thought that was not so charitable. He was hungry again. He could feed off this poor wretched thing, which was so unhappy already it would hardly know the difference. He felt he could not stand to subject Fangor to that again. Here was fresh food, so to speak. It would be easy enough to use it.

  Chapter Twenty-One: The Shadow Descends

  The journey had been many days, but the children were in brighter spirits than they had been. For one, their progress south had been marked by sunnier days and blissful weather. They all basked in the warmth and didn’t seem to mind that food was scarce. They found berries and plants to eat along the riverbank, and little Bax had managed to trap two fish by building a clever cage of rocks and sticks in the river.