The Hundred: Fall of the Wents Read Free

his breath streaming up from the sides of his mouth. Finally, he came up for air. The water droplets from his hair and antennae made him shiver and sneeze. He was terribly cold, and they warmed the water with heated rocks and dripped more of the hot tea into his mouth.
    He slept for a long while, and when he woke the walls had strange shadows and crevices, soft in the fading light through the window. There were the shapes of living things hiding there, staring at him with bold eyes. He tried to blink the figures away but they would not go. They had the delicate limbs of Efts, and fine features, but they were taller. He called out to them, finally.
    “Who are you?” shouted Tully. “Why are you staring at me?” He laughed wildly, and then collapsed into spasms of coughing.
    “Hush,” said someone in the gloom. It might have been Kellen. “Sleep—it is nothing but shadows.”
    Tully slept and dreamed of great, dark things humming and moving beneath him in the water—of something Hindrance had once called whales . But whales were dead and gone and only their bones remained, abandoned like broken white smiles on the ocean floor.
    On the fifth day, Tully’s fever crested and broke. All the strange figures were gone, winked away, and the walls of his home were ordinary again. He sat up.
    Hindrance shuffled over to his bedside and touched his forehead lightly.
    “Something to eat?” she said, in a voice that reminded him of chiming bells. Hindrance loved to sing and she did so often: little tunes about flowers and plants and weather.
    “Yes,” said Tully, who realized that, for the first time in days, he actually had an appetite. Hindrance handed him a slab of pasty, gray bread on a wooden board, and he ripped off a hunk and chewed it; it was flavored with some kind of exotic fruit. Hindrance’s cooking was always good. She could manipulate the bread with poundings and tinctures from fresh herbs, vegetables, and fruit—one bite would reveal a rich, savory taste, while the next a completely different flavor. The bread gave Tully energy, and he drank a cup of water, which Hindrance had brought from the cistern, to wash it down.
    Hindrance sat on the edge of the bed, taking care to keep her garments from falling into the shallow water. She was dressed in a simple white sheath that hung close to the floor, and her pale feet were bare. “I’ve made a new puzzle for you,” she said, and handed Tully a small, wooden box. Her hands were soft and white, like lilies floating in water. He turned the box over and over in his hands but could see only a small hole in one side surrounded by a pattern of letters and symbols.
    “You’ll like this one,” said Hindrance. “It will keep you busy while you stay in bed.”
    “In bed!” said Tully, sitting up straighter. “But I’m better now.”
    “You’re still tired. No need to rush things.”
    Tully frowned and accidentally tipped the little box from his palm onto the floor. His muscles felt weak and useless. It made an unexpected chiming sound as it tumbled.
    “I’m bored already,” he said.
    “The puzzle won’t bore you,” said Hindrance, her small dark eyes shining. She picked it up and handed it to him again. “It’s a special one—for your dream day. It passed while you had the fever.”
    Tully had forgotten all about his dream day, but he was stung by the fresh indignity of it. One’s dream day was special: the day of the year when a creature was first brought into being. It often involved new songs and games, and presents and parties as well. And he had slept right through it.
    “Did any of my friends come?” asked Tully, hopefully.
    “Only Copernicus and Aarvord, and that dreadful little Louse—”
    “Fangor?”
    “Yes, that one. I had to send him away three times. He would have woken you.”
    Tully was pleased that Aarvord and Copernicus had come, despite the fight. And he enjoyed the thought of Fangor the Sand Louse—an annoying little