The Bees: A Novel (6 page)

Ten

T
HE LADIES SPOKE VERY PRETTILY TO
F
LORA AS THEY
led her through the hive, in accents so refined they were hard to understand. Outside the silent Dance Hall the lobby was busy with sisters rushing to help the wounded. From there the ladies took Flora up an unfamiliar staircase whose steps chimed softly in welcome. They emerged in a small hall in the midlevel of the hive, near the hallowed Chapel of Wax.

The soothing, warm smell of the Nursery drifted in the corridor and Flora hoped they should pass through it so that she might see the babies again—and so that Sister Teasel and the other nurses might see how she was honored for her service to the hive. But the ladies took another route, down the long passageway between the worker dormitories and the Arrivals Hall, and beyond Flora’s knowledge of the hive. They stopped at elegant doors made of many different shades of gold, cream, and white wax and exquisitely carved with flowers. Lady Burnet held them open.

They entered a small vaulted chamber made of immaculately plain cream wax. Three silver and three green pitchers stood on an old hexagonal table, but otherwise the room was empty. The air was so full of the Queen’s Love that it sparkled, and Flora laughed in joy as she breathed it.

“Holy Mother is near! Am I really to meet her?”

Lady Burnet smiled and took up one of the pitchers from the table.

“Yes, my dear, but you are unclean, and first must be prepared.”

Then each of the ladies took a pitcher and stood around Flora, pouring ceremonially in turns, pure water, then healing infusions in case of injury or disease. Flora shivered as the wasp’s blood mingled with that of her fallen sisters, ran down her legs, and drained into a channel in the ground. Then the ladies encircled her and fanned her as if she were a chalice of nectar. Only when Flora’s thick russet fur stood high and dry were they satisfied that she was clean. While Lady Primrose and Lady Violet each used a lump of golden propolis to fill in the many scratches on Flora’s legs, they all sang softly in another language, lilting and beautiful.

“What does that mean?” Flora felt ashamed at the care they lavished on her.

“It tells of Her Majesty’s marriage flights.” Lady Primrose giggled.

“Shh! Not for her ears!” Lady Violet smiled at Flora. “Though you shine so clean you’re barely a flora at all now.”

“Thank you.” Flora tried to curtsy. At this all the ladies came forward to demonstrate the correct way, guiding her limbs with delicate hands.

“It is not your fault.” Lady Burnet was so kind. “You cannot help your kin.”

Lady Meadowsweet also smiled at Flora. “Yet she was so brave . . . and seems so willing and humble—could we not do a little more with her?”

“We could!” Lady Primrose took hold of Flora’s fur. “Make it softer—”

“Shine her whole cuticle, not just the legs . . . make her color seem lighter—”

“Do something about her breath—”

Flora swallowed hard. “I am very sorry, my ladies. It is the wasp’s blood.”

“So shocking.” Lady Burnet offered her water to drink. “But how wonderfully you speak, I can understand nearly every word. Not like a flora at all. Now if only you did not look it! Ladies, it would be a fitting tribute would it not, for her bravery? Would you like that, my dear?”

“To change my kin?”

“And lose your wonderful heritage of service?” Lady Burnet laughed. “Goodness me, no! But we might disguise it, a little.”

When they had exhausted their skills with grooming, pomade, and propolis, the ladies trained Flora in how to sit and rise, but were forced to let her splaying curtsy go uncorrected, for there was nothing to be done with that. When the comb trembled through the hive the ladies did not move to attend the service of Devotion, for here the Queen’s Love filled the chamber so strongly that anyone who entered became euphoric as she breathed.

Flora’s joy increased when she saw the food. Patisserie and nectar finer and more fragrant than she could ever have imagined were served to them by pretty sisters from Rose and Bryony, but on observing Flora’s manners, the ladies all agreed she was still too uncouth to meet Her Majesty. They made her demonstrate the correct way to eat and drink so many times that for the first time in her life, Flora’s hunger was satisfied and she could leave food uneaten. Then they bid her keep her hands still to let set the fashionable shapes they had twisted into her fur, so she rested in contentment listening to their bright, bubbling conversation—and despite the vanity, surreptitiously admired the sheen of her newly polished legs.

A
FTER SUPPER
the ladies-in-waiting took Flora with them to fulfill the daily duty of visiting the Queen’s Library. When they closed all the doors of the small hexagonal chamber, one continuous mosaic of coded scent
tiles
ran round the walls, and featured on each wall was one small central panel. Flora sniffed in fascination, detecting the bouquet of home amid the many unfamiliar smells.

“Instead of attending Devotion,” whispered Lady Primrose, “we maintain the Stories of Scent. Not nearly as pleasant, but just follow along and we shall soon be out. We only ever do the first two, so don’t worry.”

The ladies formed a line and put Flora at the end. They walked in a circle around the chamber repeating the Our Mother, and then Lady Burnet stopped in front of a panel.

“The first story is called
The Honeyflow
.” She smiled at Flora. “The lightest touch, then move back.” She dipped her antennae and touched the panel to demonstrate. Immediately, the scent of flowers rose up from it, developing and blending as each of the ladies took her turn. Flora marveled to recognize the ancient kin-scents: the Sage and the Teasel, the Rosebay, Willowherb, Clover, Violet, Celandine, Burnet, Thistle, Malus, Bindweed, and all of them. Of the floras, there was no reference.

“Quickly, my dear.” Lady Burnet’s voice had the slightest tremor. “We must move along.”

As Flora touched her antennae to the first panel, all the blossoms of spring burst into life and the air was filled with orchard sweetness and the scent of lush grass. But before she could fully enjoy it, a pressure wave went through the air in the chamber. She heard the harsh caw of birds and smelled the high sharp tang of a wasp.

As she leaped back in shock all the ladies laughed nervously.

“A common reaction,” said Lady Burnet, “but it is only a story, it cannot hurt you. Fresh as dew, yet made in the Time before Time. Is it not a marvel? And better that we learn of the Myriad—though you of course have met one already.”

The ladies clapped politely. Flora felt embarrassed.

“There are others—of the Myriad? Not just wasps?”

“Oh, they are legion. It means all those who would hurt us, or steal from us, or who pollute and destroy our rightful food. Like flies, for instance.” Lady Burnet put a hand to her head. “Take great care in here, lest all the stories stir at once—our antennae would split with shock.” She looked at her ladies. “I think we may conclude early this evening.”

“But there are five more.” Flora gazed at the other walls, from which intricate and unknown scents coiled then curled back in without diffusing into the air. She looked to the ladies for explanation and saw all of their antennae quivering with stress, and that Lady Primrose was on the edge of panic. Lady Burnet forced a smile.

“To tend these panels is to strengthen the Hive Mind with the ancient scent-stories of our faith. The priestesses do not expect us to read each one.” She looked down. “The first and second panels are enough for us. The rest . . . hold terrors.”

“I am not afraid,” said Flora. “I long to serve my hive.”

“My dear—please recall your kin. Do not presume—”

Lady Meadowsweet coughed and looked at Lady Burnet, a world of meaning in her gaze. “Does it matter who reads them, if the duty is done?”

“Yes,” added Lady Violet. “I have heard her kin have stronger nerves.”

“And would be less affected,” agreed pretty Lady Primrose.

Flora stepped forward.

“Please, my ladies, if I may do any duty to the hive or the Queen—I am strong and willing.” Pressing her knees tight she knelt before them. “And I long to serve.”

The ladies clapped again. Lady Burnet raised her up.

“Very well. The second story is called
The Kindness
.”

Flora saw how the ladies flinched at the name. She stood up straighter.

“I have heard that word before. I will do it.”

She walked to the next panel. As she touched her antennae to it the voices and hubbub of the hive rose up all around her, and the wonderful comforting smell of sisters rustling their wings for sleep. She felt great love for all her sisters, and the beauty of the hive. Then her feet tingled as if walking on coded tiles, and in her mind she saw herself walking down a long corridor with a Thistle guard. She saw herself kneel, her knees still splayed, then bend her head low to the wax as the guard braced her feet and raised a great sharp claw above her.

Forgive me, Sister—

A sharp pain streaked through the joint of Flora’s head and thorax. She cried out and staggered back from the panel.

She was in the Queen’s Library, and the ladies stood watching. She felt her body—unharmed—but the shock of the blow reverberated.

“I—I don’t understand.”

Lady Primrose giggled nervously.

“Every sister sees her own end. Though we never go as far as you just did—it is enough to walk the corridor and know what is coming!”

“The Kindness means death?”

“Amen,”
chorused the ladies. “No use to the hive, no use for life!”

At their hysterical laughter, Flora laughed too, excited by the terrible vision.

“Let me do another! Now I understand—”

“You understand nothing—you are merely brave.” Lady Burnet leavened her words with a smile. “But if you
would
take one more, then half are done, and our duty is amply fulfilled.” She followed Flora’s eyes around the last three. “No. Those are too strong; only the priestesses tend those stories.”

“Then one more.” Flora stood up straight, proud of her courage and the awe in the eyes of these fine ladies. “And with all my heart.”

T
HE OTHER BEES
stood near the door as Lady Burnet positioned Flora at the third panel.

“Keep your wings latched,” she told her. “And stop at any time.”

Flora stepped forward and touched her antennae to the wax mosaic. It was plainer than the second, its scent held close to the wax as if to shield its secret, but as she focused, its peculiar fragrance structure began to part.

First came the intense bouquet of the hive, strong and welcoming and laced with the wealth of a million different flowers’ nectar. It smelled of sunshine and sisters and Flora drew it in more deeply, searching for the strange accent note she had first registered. It darted at the edge of her consciousness, just out of reach.

“Good, that is enough,” murmured Lady Burnet from the door. “Let us go.”

But the olfactory loop held Flora’s attention: the hive, the sun, the honey—then without warning came a blast of wild, cold air and choking smoke. Flora staggered. Her body was in the room, but her senses flooded with the panic of ten thousand sisters roaring their engines, the dazing sun, and the overpowering smell of honey.

“That story is called
The Visitation
.”

The voice was sweet and thrilling, and the hand that touched Flora took away her fear.

“It tells of robbery and terror, and the survival of our people.” The scent mirage was gone, and in its place an intense pure wave of Devotion filled the chamber. Flora dropped to her six knees, at last in the presence of the Queen. She laid her antennae along the ground in reverence.

“Brave daughter.”

Flora looked up. At first all she could see was the shimmering aura, but then Her Majesty’s large, beautiful eyes shone through, lit with kindness and love. She was magnificently large, with long, shapely legs and a graceful tapering abdomen full and buoyant under the golden tracery of her folded wings.

“Mother,” Flora whispered.

“Child,” said the Queen. “Do not be ashamed.” She raised Flora to her feet and smiled at all her ladies. “Come, my daughters, let us be more comfortable in my chamber, that I may hear about my ancient cousin Vespa’s wicked venture.”

Eleven

F
LORA 717, LOWLY OF KIN AND SWEEPER OF FILTH, NOW
sat with the Queen and her ladies in Her Majesty’s own private sitting room, eating jeweled lily cakes and drinking fresh nectar, while she told her story of the wasp and the heat ball. Without warning, the Queen scanned her, then to Flora’s shame the smell of the wasp rose from her body again. The ladies started in fright and protested that they had washed her.

“Hush, daughters.” The Queen smiled. “I only wished to make sure that even in its last traces, the scent of the Vespa had not changed. Their ancient envy still beats strong; that is why they want to steal from us, as if our honey or our children will give them our power. In the Time before Time they chose blood above nectar, and we became foes.”

Lady Burnet clasped her hands. “Immortal Mother protects her children.”

“Hallowed be Thy womb,”
all the ladies responded; Flora too, as the words rose unbidden from her tongue.

“Leave me, daughters.”

Then the Queen lay down on her couch of petals, folded herself in a haze of scented sleep and vanished from their view.

To Flora’s surprise, the ladies showed her to a bed. It was soft and sweetly scented, almost as fragrant as the cribs in Category One.

“Because the Nursery is just beyond that door,” said Lady Violet from her neighboring couch. “Perhaps you shall see it tomorrow when we attend Holy Mother at her Laying Progress. With all the eggs and glowing cribs—it is a sacred marvel beyond words.” She coughed. “Do not be offended if we cannot take you; you are only here for one day.”

“I will not.”

“Your humble attitude is honor to your kin.” Then Lady Violet wrapped herself in a thin scented veil of sleep and spoke no more. Flora lay in the darkness, breathing in the divine nurturing perfume that held them like a tender embrace. She drew it deep into her body until she felt her abdomen soften and glow.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
the sun bell rang and the Queen’s fragrance rose strong and sweet as the ladies opened the doors to the Nursery. They called Flora to come with them and they entered the great chamber of Category One behind a dense veil of seclusion. They were now in the most sacred area of the hive, the Laying Room, row upon row of immaculate cribs empty and waiting for the Queen.

The Queen’s scent rose high as she went into her birth trance. Her face shone brighter, her scent pulsed, and then, with a fast, graceful rhythm, she began swinging her magnificent long abdomen from side to side, each time sliding the tip deep within a crib. At the back of the Progress, carrying the water and cooling cloths, Flora saw the faint point of brightness remaining in the wax, where a tiny new egg adhered to the bottom. Each one glowed with soft gold light, then faded as the Queen moved on, her birth dance so hypnotically beautiful that Flora wanted to swing her own body in joy, but seeing that none of the other ladies danced but followed most demurely, she held her urge in check and did as they did.

Six times she returned to the Queen’s Chambers for fresh water and pollen cakes before all the cribs were filled. The Laying Room was soft and bright with new life, the Queen stood proud and exhausted, and her ladies wept in delight.

Back in the Queen’s Chambers, Lady Burnet directed Flora to clean and make ready the common areas while she and the other ladies took Her Majesty into her private sanctum to prepare her for rest. As Lady Violet closed the doors, Flora curtsied and gazed her last on Holy Mother, her heart filled with love and a tearing sadness that this day of beauty and wonder was over. With the greatest attention she swept and cleaned, knowing that when the doors opened again, she must leave.

The ladies-in-waiting filed back out. Determined to show that a sanitation worker had manners, Flora pressed her knees straight and curtsied to Lady Burnet.

“Thank you for all your—”

“Oh, do not be so craven.” Lady Burnet had a strange look on her face. “Holy Mother has requested you attend her again.”

“Me?” Flora looked around at all the ladies. None smiled.

“You.” Lady Burnet spoke neutrally. “Do not linger, go at once.”

T
HE
Q
UEEN PARTED HER GOLDEN AURA
when Flora entered and bade her sit close by. Then she drew it close again, so that Flora was wrapped in it with her.

“I have not left the hive since my marriage flight. Now I only taste the world through food and drink and the stories of my library.” The Queen gazed through her golden veil, as if out upon the open sky. “Did they frighten you?”

“Yes, Holy Mother, at first. Then I wanted to know more.”

“They tell of our religion, and must be fed with attention. After my labors I have not strength to scent them myself, though my ladies do their best. The priestesses read them when they can, but in these strange times they are so busy with matters of governance that it is not their priority.” The Queen smiled. “Tales of the world, my daughter, of beauty and terror.”

“Holy Mother, I will read them gladly—after the wasp I fear nothing.”

The Queen’s laugh sent ripples of delight through Flora’s body, though she did not know how she had so amused her.

“Let us see,” said the Queen. “The first three will be enough for you.”

A
ND SO
F
LORA KEPT HER POSITION
as attendant to the ladies-in-waiting for another day, fetching water and refreshments for them until the Queen had laid her thousand eggs and returned to her chambers—and then her second job began.

While the ladies groomed each other and ate their supper and the Queen rested, Flora went to the Library. Without the anxiety of the other ladies around her, she was calm and could focus, and the intense energy of the chamber no longer overwhelmed her. In the still air she detected wisps and trails of the story fragrances as their living energy drew her attention and sought release—but this time she was determined not to lose control.

Very carefully, Flora scented the first story panel. There it was,
The Honeyflow
in all its blossoming glory, the foragers calling to each other in the Old Tongue. As her mind absorbed the mellifluous language, she knew they spoke of the Myriad lurking in wait.

Beside that was
The Kindness,
where a sister saw her own death by the hand of another. Then came the third, that honey-scented door to chaos—
The Visitation,
from which a filament of smoke curled out its invitation. Flora stepped back, and the smoke retreated. The Queen had said three panels were enough, but excitement coursed through her body. If the priestesses were too busy to read the last three panels, then surely it would be of benefit to the hive if she could perform that task.

She looked at the last three panels. No tremors went through her antennae, nor did her feet drag forward without intention. The lilting singing of the ladies in the rest area beyond came through the walls, sweetly reassuring. Flora stepped up to the fourth panel, and the singing grew louder. A beautiful choral sound filled the chamber, the sound of ten thousand sisters singing one word that ebbed and flowed around the Library, as if they moved close beyond its walls. Flora could not quite decipher it, and as she concentrated, the Library filled with the bright, busy smell of the Dance Hall—and a great pressure wave rolled through the chamber.

Expiation!
The choral blast of the word made Flora stagger. It echoed through the chamber and died away, and the scent of the Dance Hall faded.

Flora shook herself, her blood racing. Though she did not understand the strange word or the scents, and the feeling in her body challenged her to flee, the Queen wanted her to know the stories, and Flora would not fail her.

She moved on to the fifth and penultimate panel. At first glance it was very simple—just one carved leaf. As she looked more closely, it took on a golden hue and its filigreed veins pulsed energy that grew into a stalk, then a stem that stretched down the length of the panel and into the floor, its golden roots spreading all through the chamber and back up the walls until they met overhead. The heavenly smell of Holy Mother rose up strongly, mingled with the rich aromatic scent of pollen. Flora looked up and saw the roots had joined into a knot at the center point of the vaulted Library ceiling, which swelled into a crown-shaped fruit. It grew larger and larger, then burst apart in a shower of golden dust.

The Library returned to normal—but a blow of sadness struck Flora in her heart as the name of the panel spoke in her mind.
The Golden Leaf.
Suddenly the beauty of the strange story was loathsome and Flora felt a terrible grief—but nothing had happened, nor was she hurt in any way. She stepped back from the fifth panel. It was deeply disturbing—and yet, even as Flora recoiled from the dark and twisting feeling that had risen in her heart, a little part of her mind whispered praise for her own endurance. She had read five stories! How pleased the Queen would be with her, and how wonderful to be able to help the busy priestesses!

There was one last story. The sixth panel smelled inert, yet it held a powerful stillness. Cautiously, Flora focused on it. Nothing happened; no scent, no image, no sound came forth, but the air in the Library grew warm and close. From the center of the little panel blew a faint trace of fresh air. Feeling like she was suffocating, Flora could not help going closer.

The Library vanished and she smelled the Nursery. One crib pulled her closer, huge and dark. Deep within it a baby cried in pain, and a cold wind howled. As Flora ran toward it the crib began to rattle and break apart. The baby cried louder, and as she leaned over the crib to see it, a twisting black comet screamed out of its depths and into her brain.

F
LORA CAME TO HER SENSES
back in the ladies’ quarters, lying on a bed. She heard Lady Burnet and the others talking quietly—until they heard her sit up.

“Such vanity,” Lady Burnet said, “such folly.”

Flora stood up. Her body trembled, and she looked around in fear, but all was quiet.

“Crawling out of there raving and ranting,” continued Lady Burnet. “Comets and cribs—I am sure Holy Mother said nothing about touching those panels—”

“She did—” Flora’s voice was thin. “She wanted to know—”

“Tales of terror and madness? You surely misunderstood Her Majesty, for only the priestesses may touch the Sacred Mysteries—why would she ever ask
you,
a sanitation worker? I think the wasp cost you your senses.”

“Yes, my lady.” Flora’s heart filled with shame at her mistake. She had misunderstood the Queen, and been foolish and vain.

“Despite that,” said Lady Burnet, “Holy Mother is ever-loving and forgiving, and has asked that you attend her.” She stood back, her face rigid with resentment.

“Do not keep Her Majesty waiting.”

T
HE
Q
UEEN WAS RESTING
on her couch in a shimmering golden aura, but she opened it to admit Flora, then closed it around them. Flora wanted to talk, to tell Holy Mother about her experiences in the Library, but each time she tried to speak, the greatest weariness took her tongue, and she felt tears rising.

“Hush, little daughter,” the Queen said softly. “We heard that you read them all. We too once knew them, but it was many eggs ago, and we have forgotten.” She smiled and stroked Flora’s face. “You will recover.”

Flora nestled against her wise and beautiful mother, breathing the healing fragrance of her Love deep into her body. It had changed—in the subtlest way, but distinctly. Something was new in its molecular structure, but just as Flora sniffed it deeper, the Queen twisted and gasped in pain.

“Mother!” Flora leaped up. “What is it? Shall I call one of the ladies?”

“No”—she gripped Flora’s arm and pulled her back—“no. Stay with me.”

Pressed against the Queen, Flora felt another shudder pass through both their bodies. “Holy Mother, let me call them—”

“No—” Pain clamped the Queen’s voice. “We need no assistance.” Then whatever seized her relaxed its hold, and she let go of Flora. She flexed her great abdomen and settled herself again. “Our Progress was normal today. We filled every crib with life, did we not?”

Flora could not speak, for the reverberation of the Queen’s pain was still ebbing from her own body.

“If we had missed one, our ladies would say—that is their job, but they did not, so all must be well.” Her Majesty took a deep breath. “It must be the cold. Has our hive been cold, daughter?”

“Not to me, Holy Mother,” said Flora, “but they say my fur is so coarse my kin feels nothing.”

The Queen smiled, and her scent flowed strong again.

“All is well. But do not speak of this to anyone, do you understand?” She wrapped her fragrance around Flora’s antennae. “Promise me,” whispered the Queen.

Enraptured, Flora nodded. “I promise . . .”

The Queen kissed Flora’s head. “Go.”

N
ONE OF THE LADIES
looked up as Flora emerged from the Queen’s sanctum. As she sat down with them, those closest got up and moved. Lady Burnet’s face was neutral, but she stabbed her embroidery hoop with her golden needle.

“Lady Burnet, forgive me if I have offended you—”

“Me? Oh, no.” Lady Burnet smiled but her eyes were cold. “Your boldness does credit to a drone—but is simply out of place here.” The ladies heard footsteps in the passageway outside, then came a timid knock on the door.

“Ah! Enter.” Lady Burnet rose.

It was a very young sister also from Burnet, her fur already teased and styled like that of a lady-in-waiting. She curtsied perfectly to them all, antennae demure and downcast.

“Flora 717,” announced Lady Burnet, “your time with the Queen has ended, and with it, all privilege of access. Leave now.”

“Now? But Holy Mother will wonder—”

“You flatter yourself. She will not. Now back to Sanitation where you belong.”

F
LORA WENT BLINDLY.
The pain of Lady Burnet’s words, the humiliation of her sudden expulsion, and, most of all, the folly of imagining she had a permanent place serving the Queen in her chambers . . .