Bee Queen

by Bowes, K T

  Screwing myself into a ball, I turned on my side and closed my eyes. The insistent tug in my chest lessened as though the mysterious sword understood my predicament. Obedience to it was one thing, but dying in a blizzard helped no one.

  Sorrel lay down next to me and his breath warmed my cheek as he spoke. “Do you still have your bee mark, Este?” he whispered. “I see you flinch sometimes. Is it disappearing now that Hosta has claimed the hive?”

  I shifted around so I could peer into the left sleeve of my coat. Moving aside jacket and shirt sleeves made me wriggle around and my foot dislodged the doorway of twigs. Ice and snow doused my leg in miserable wetness and I wanted to scream. The bee mark looked as livid as ever, the outlines and colours still vivid and realistic. The tiny Lily at the end seemed to have changed position and marched further up my arm to overtake the larger bees. I attributed that to my imagination. Unfastening the first few buttons on my shirt, I pulled the fabric down and tapped the space over my heart. Sorrel edged himself forward and tugged the shirt wider. “Strange,” he mused, his tone hushed. “The one you thought represented Hosta is faded, but others have become more vibrant.” He hauled off his glove and the pad of his index finger caressed the raised images. “Do they hurt?”

  I shook my head and pushed away his hand, lying on my back and keeping my knees bent. Relief coursed through my soul that Hosta no longer made a bee line for the delicate organ housed in my chest. Though I didn’t yet understand its full capacity for love, it was the place I stored the memories of my simile, Sonora and now Limah. Those happy thoughts provided the last remnants of sanity and I hadn’t wanted the spiteful queen to access them. I sensed she would sully or destroy them out of hatred though I didn’t understand the root of her antagonism. Jealousy provided a ready enough motive that I was raised on a paradise island and she lived a worker’s existence.

  Sorrel’s breathing changed as he slipped into slumber. Inactivity created more of an exhaustion than all the long days I spent in the wash house, cleaning nuts and bolts for Limah’s bird scaring machine. His next task had been to alter its configuration to protect also from Wasp invaders. I wondered who would undertake the task in his absence. My mind drifted back to the Forlornn castle and the moment when Galveston ran the Swift sword through Limah’s torso with such relish. I closed my eyes to sleep, knowing Hosta’s inexperienced guard wouldn’t know what hit them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Journey On

  The next morning gave us better fortune and a weak sun hovered above the tree canopy. The fresh snowfall had buried more of our world beneath its idyllic carpet and even the sounds of bird call depleted to nothing.

  “It’s eerie, isn’t it?” Sorrel whispered. I nodded, appreciating his sense of reverence in our isolation. His eyebrows quirked. “You belong here. The world has become silent and so have you.” He shivered. “I feel loud and out of place.”

  I smiled, but wiped the expression clean almost as soon as it flashed across my face. Desiring to hear my own voice more than I wanted air, my inability to communicate hindered every facet of my existence. We worked well enough together, Sorrel and I, but his constant prattle induced a frustration I struggled to master. I yearned to silence him with a fitting rebuke, or call to Sonora for aid. My worthless tongue gave me neither option. Besides, I knew Sorrel wouldn’t shut up and Sonora wouldn’t come.

  We clambered up a bank of snow, swords clanking inside their sheaths. At the top, we surveyed a white landscape, interrupted by high tree branches and the roof apexes of taller buildings. A barn had caved beneath the weight of snow on its roof and Sorrel rested his hands on his hips. “That was my village.” I heard a catch in his voice. “Perhaps my mother still lives.” Tugging on his furry sleeve, I jerked my head towards the remains of his home. He shook his head. “No thank you, Este. There’s nothing left for me. My quest is with you and a visit there will only delay us.” He swallowed and his tone grew hard. “Though I’d enjoy running my stepfather through with my blade when he tries to send me up the blacksmith’s chimney.” I squeezed his arm in solidarity and we took a moment to consider his change in skill and bearing.

  The path-delineator slid from my pocket, requiring me to remove my gloves to open the catch. Its white face glinted against the landscape, the black dials almost obscene against the light. I held it in my palm in the position it felt comfortable and pointed it towards Sorrel’s village. The needle swung to the right and marked a quarter of the dial’s face.

  “East.” Sorrel nodded. “I believe that’s right. If this dial is directional and reliable, we can use it for navigation.” He peered across at the right-hand dial, which seemed linked to me. His eyelashes blinked in quick succession and he stood upright, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “This one alters,” he mused, jabbing a finger at the needle. His eyes narrowed. “It measures something about you, Este for the indicator shows another increase.”

  I peered at the needle and saw the truth of his words. Overnight it had edged up two notches from the start and held a more confident trajectory, wavering less as I moved. Sorrel shrugged and dug his hands into his pockets. “Which way, Este? We must begin somewhere.”

  Heaving out a sigh and closing my eyes, I felt for the sword in the chasm of my soul where the hive used to be. Sleepy and reluctant, it responded with a feckless tug as though I’d disturbed it from slumber. Lifting my right hand, I tipped my wrist from side to side to demonstrate my difficulty. Sorrel’s brow furrowed. “You’ve found it, but it’s weak?” he said. Smiling with relief at his perception, I nodded. Pointing at the path-delineator nestled in my palm, Sorrel jerked his head towards the landscape. “Why don’t we use both?”

  I cocked my head and watched as he nudged my wrist. “Hold it up high,” he ordered, “and close your eyes. Think of the thing which calls you and imagine its source. I’ll watch the dials.”

  I did as he asked, closing my eyes against the blanketed view. A cool wind nipped at my shins and tugged on Limah’s oilskin jacket. My immersion in the hive taught me the ability to block out distraction and I focused on the sound of clashing blades. Instead of wincing against the jarring reverberations around my skull, I leaned into them, seeking their origin. Hunger for it blossomed in my soul and took me by surprise. I owned it. I wanted it. Familiar and comforting, I stroked my fingers over the fragmented engraving on the hilt. I knew its weight and heft as though it belonged to me, yet I’d never held it outside my imagination. “Bee Queen’s Champion, where are you?” I spoke the words in my mind and felt the object’s flare of interest. The returning pulse carried expectancy. And something else.

  The flutter of wings occupied the vacancy in my soul and blackness descended. The old drone’s laughter filled the gap. He mocked me and I withdrew, losing connection with the sword and feeling the faintness of its hope like a fragile, failing tendril.

  “Este!” Sorrel’s fingers clasped my shoulder and wetness pushed its way through my clothing. I opened my eyes to find myself on the ground.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hope Dashed

  “Este!” Sorrel dragged at my sleeve, his brow furrowing at the grogginess of my rousing. “What happened? Are you ill?” He rubbed a hand over his stomach. “Lack of food makes me fall down.”

  I pushed myself onto hands and knees and gave him a significant roll of my eyes. Understanding my meaning, he blanched, his eyes resembling dark pits in the snow. He clapped his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Este! You ate nothing and I took it all. I’ve killed you. I’m so sorry!” A rasp entered his voice as guilt played with his selfishness to create acid in his gut. He turned his back on me, afraid to watch me expire, yet convinced he could go back in time and change nothing. He’d still eat everything in my bag, over and over on a self-destructive loop.

  I stood with difficulty, hauling myself upright and feeling the smooth metal in my palm. The lid had closed itself when I fell and I flicked the catch on the rim to open it. T
he left dial showed a reading, the needle hovering near the top of its circle. I tapped the face and the tiny pointer remained true. Even turning from side to side didn’t alter its direction though the lower dial spun with me. Hearing my boots scrunching in the snow, Sorrel turned to watch me. I saw his bottom lip waver before he pulled the furry collar high to cover all but his watering eyes. His voiced sounded muffled. “It worked?” he asked and I nodded, excitement budding in my eyes. I showed him the dial and he squinted. “It wishes us to go north?” he said, pulling the path-delineator into his palm. “So, it tells us where we should go, but the lower dial shows us our bearings.” He jabbed a gloved finger at the third dial, frowning as the needle dropped into an unresponsive position at the bottom. “And this measures something about you. Perhaps it’s how strong and healthy you’re feeling. If we find you some food, it might rise.”

  I shrugged and he saw the doubt in my expression. Sorrel wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think it’s that either. It would’ve showed as full in the labyrinth because they fed us well.” He lifted the object to the end of his nose and peered at the dials, his expression pensive. “But I swear it moves just a notch, so slow we don’t notice.” He turned the path-delineator over and I reached to snatch it back. Shaking his head, he pointed to small grooves on the inside rim and spun away from me. “Wait,” he pleaded. “Let me try something.”

  From inside his furry coat pocket, he produced a small sewing kit. His cheeks flushed at my gulp of amazement as he unwrapped the patterned cloth and selected a curved darning needle. “Don’t judge!” he snapped. “I’ve discovered I’m great with a sword but fabulous with a needle. Clover lent me her sewing things and I made myself this.” He patted the fur coat and my jaw dropped open further. Lifting the needle, he prodded it into one of the grooves on the outer edge of the path-delineator.

  The cry didn’t leave my throat but I lurched at him, bowling him over onto the packed surface. The needle and path-delineator shot in different directions. While I scrabbled in the drift for Limah’s gift, Sorrel searched for his needle, grunting and groaning in protest at my rough treatment. When he found it, he pushed it back into its slot in Clover’s handmade case and glared at me. “I wouldn’t break it!” he insisted, but I closed the thing up and pushed it into my pocket.

  “Which way now then, Queen Este?” Sorrel demanded, brushing snow from his prized coat. My lips curled backward in a silent snarl at the sarcasm in his tone. I jabbed my finger in a vague northerly direction and he huffed and puffed before setting off. “I’ll lead until I’m hungry,” he shouted behind him. “Then it’s your turn.”

  I pulled a clownish face at the back of his head in the absence of any spiteful retort, preparing myself to be led for the next five minutes.

  To my surprise, he lasted longer. The sun climbed from behind a ridge and shone its weak warmth on the snowy path. Steam billowed upwards with the slight rise in temperature, reminding me of the steam turbines on the island. When Sorrel halted ahead of me with a raised eyebrow, I nodded and handed over the remains of our food. Sitting down and removing a glove, he dug around inside, scraping up the last of the crumbs he’d missed earlier. Despair back lit his eyes and I noticed how the pain originated not from his stomach, but from the fear of being unable to fill it. A wave of compassion surprised me and I wished I could ease his inner trials in a way a bread roll could not. His hunger was not physical and the thought frightened me.

  “Check it again,” Sorrel urged, licking the last crumb from his finger and closing his eyes to savour its soggy texture. He jerked his head towards my pocket. “I promise not to stick pins in it.”

  I pulled the path-delineator into the light and flipped open its lid. My lips parted in horror. While the lower dial showed we faced an easterly direction and had strayed away from our true north, the needle showing what I’d hoped was the sword’s location, had sunk to the bottom. Sorrel leaned across and grunted. “I thought that might happen,” he declared. “The grooves mark the dial so you can see the direction even when the needle isn’t moving. I wanted to set it, but you wouldn’t let me.” He pouted and I felt my cheeks flush in discomfort. Tugging on his sleeve to capture his attention, I found him resistant. “I won’t touch it,” he declared. His withering look threatened our friendship, such as it was. “I liked you better when I thought you just a simple girl,” he said, his tone heavy. “I’m relieved you won’t take the queen-right. Your overbearing manner reminds me of my stepfather.” He inflicted the great hurt and then turned his back on me, licking his fingers and hoping to sample the last taste of food before inserting them back into his gloves.

  I considered his words and my mind strayed to memories of Sonora’s hive and my simile. What would she have done? My beautiful, shimmering girl with the gentle smile and kind heart raised a prick of sadness. How would she respond to the child’s petulance? I conjured up the softness of her gaze and elegance of movement, summoning the courage to behave as she would. Though I wished to slap his silly face until his head rattled, I reached out and touched Sorrel’s sleeve. When he glanced up at me, I mouthed my simile’s words. “I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Moving the Needle

  The boy cried for more than a decent amount of time. I regretted how he clung to me and dripped salty tears onto my coat. He possessed no boundaries and I promised myself never to apologise to him again for fear of his waterworks. Bliss would have enjoyed knocking him sideways into another summer for his dramatics and I suspected his backside wouldn’t have survived my upbringing. Thoughts of Bliss made me smile although her loss still hurt. She raised me tough and created a fighter. I determined to make her proud.

  Shaking the boy off and readying myself to march onward, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the path-delineator. Sorrel gave a disgusting sniff and wiped the slime from his face with the back of his glove. It left an unpleasant streak across his cheek and I resisted the urge to back away. He clambered to his feet and palmed Limah’s gift with reverence, snapping open the lid. Twisting his lips for a heartbeat, he examined the face. Then he tapped it. “The dial which represents you has increased another notch,” he concluded, turning so we stood shoulder to shoulder. I jerked my head back in surprise, sensing I grew weaker, not stronger. Sorrel shrugged. “I don’t understand either. But something you do increases the strength of the needle and it rises.” He tapped a gloved finger against the dial and winced. “I hope you don’t die when the needle reaches its final destination.”

  I jerked away in horror, stumbling against a bank of deep snow and ice in my haste. Sorrel gave me a look containing pity. “I’m sorry, Este. Perhaps finding the sword, avenging the Wasp Lord and taking back your colony will restore the dial back to the beginning.” He shook his head. “We needed Limah to teach us how to use this thing.”

  Giving a shallow nod, I let the realisation sink into my tired brain. If my life contained a known limit, then I would squeeze out every last drop and make each moment count. Sonora’s hive demonstrated existence with purpose, producing order and productiveness. She decided the function of her young depending on what the colony required. Then she produced it. They in turn, gave their lives to fulfilling that need without question. She created me a queen and I had rejected my necessary role, throwing the continuation into turmoil and allowing Hosta to rise up.

  Angling my body away from Sorrel, I stared back along our circuitous route to where Limah’s crafted colony sat beneath the whims of a usurping queen. I had condemned it to such a fate. Hauling up the many layers covering my mark, I peered at the raised bees. Sorrel joined me and clasped my wrist in his fingers, eager to understand. “There’s no change,” he concluded, dropping my arm. “Does it still bite?”

  I cocked my head and considered his question. It hadn’t for a while and only the tiniest bee had changed position. I shook my head and he tapped my chest. “Is the call of the sword stronger or weaker?”

  My lips parted in surprise and I
patted the space over my heart, mimicking his movements and nodding. The distress cry of the Bee Queen’s Champion occupied almost all the space once filled by Sonora’s hive. Sorrel nodded and together I sensed we made our decision. Sonora’s bees changed roles as they grew and aged. Guard bees served in the narrowed entrances while their young venom proved most toxic, moving function as others took their place. The key lay in their fitness for a particular task. I may have failed as prospective queen, but this warrior mission would give me completion. Perhaps the path-delineator would allow me time to find a different purpose afterward, unless vengeance ended my life first.

  Sorrel tried to push Limah’s gift back into my hand, but I shook my head. I pointed to his pocket and urged him wordlessly to try his trick with the needle. His eyes acquired a wariness. “Are you sure, Este?” he demanded. “I don’t wish for another face full of snow.” I nodded and pushed at his hand, watching him remove his gloves using his teeth and drop them onto the ground. His fingers held steady as he retrieved the needle from Clover’s kit and prepared to dig the pointed end into the tiny groove alongside the right dial. His dark eyes sought my face for confirmation. Holding my breath, I nodded.

  “Here goes nothing,” he whispered.

  Sorrel’s first two fingers and thumb twitched and moved as the darning needle entered the small space. I heard a series of onerous clicks and his right eyebrow raised. His lips pursed and I edged closer, knowing there wasn’t enough room for two faces to watch his progress. Both excited and terrified, I closed my eyes and sought the cavity in my soul.