The Hundred: Fall of the Wents

The Hundred: Fall of the Wents by Jennifer Prescott Page B

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Authors: Jennifer Prescott
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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

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