by Clayton Wood
“Everyone serves,” he corrected. “Even the king. Especially the king.”
“Please explain,” Axio requested.
“I may,” Dominus replied, “…in time.” He glanced at the boxes again. “What do you know about bees?” he inquired.
Axio followed Dominus’s gaze.
“Not much,” he admitted. Dominus gestured at the boxes.
“Do you know what these are?” he asked.
“I assume they’re beehives, your Grace.”
“They are,” Dominus confirmed. “My beehives, to be precise.” Axio frowned.
“Of course, your Grace,” he stated. “Everything here is yours.” Dominus smirked.
“True,” he replied. “But I built these hives myself,” he added. “I enticed swarms to these frames, and I extract their honey from the comb. I maintain the hives, and nurture them.”
“I see,” Axio murmured. Dominus eyed the boy.
“Do you now?” he replied. “I sincerely doubt it.”
Axio gave him a questioning look, and Dominus sighed.
“What,” he asked, “…is the question that is on your mind right now? Be honest,” he added. Axio hesitated, then gestured at Dominus.
“Why are you taking care of bees?” he asked.
“Exactly,” Dominus agreed. “Why would the Duke of Wexford, second only in power to the king himself, waste his time as a lowly beekeeper?”
Axio shrugged, clearly at a loss.
“What type of government do we have?” Dominus inquired.
“A kingdom, your Grace.”
“Partially correct,” Dominus agreed. “More generally, a caste system.” He eyed the boy. “And what is a caste system?”
“A society where class is determined at birth, your Grace.”
Dominus nodded in approval. The boy was well-educated…and well-mannered. Already he was clearly an improvement on Dominus’s own son. A fickle thing, heredity. Even the best of men could breed a fool. And god, was his son a fool…the miserable, cocky prick.
“Bees also employ a caste system,” he lectured. “In a hive, there are drones, workers, and of course the queen…just as we have the peasants, the merchant class, the aristocracy, and the king.”
Axio nodded, but remained politely silent. A good listener…another rare quality, and not just in the young. Most men pretended to listen, all the while merely waiting for a turn to speak.
“The drones,” Dominus explained, “…are the lowest caste, serving only to mate with the queen. After they mate, they die.” He gestured at the bees buzzing around the boxes. “The workers serve the queen, secrete the wax for the cells of the hive, collect nectar and make honey of it, store the honey in the cells, and maintain the temperature of the hive and defend it.”
“And the queen, your Grace?”
“The queen,” Dominus answered, “…creates life. All of the workers and drones are her children. She maintains the hive, and directs it. Without a queen, the hive will fail.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“So why,” Dominus asked, “…am I droning on about bees?” Axio hesitated, clearly mulling it over. Then he shook his head.
“I don’t know, your Grace.”
“Because,” Dominus answered, “…to understand bees is to understand society.” He gestured at his beekeeping suit. “I tend to my bees not for the honey, but for the perspective.”
“To understand our caste system?” Axio guessed.
“In a way,” Dominus replied. “The king rules, the nobles manage the common folk, and the common folk work the land and maintain the kingdom.”
“Like a beehive,” Axio deduced.
“Very much so,” Dominus agreed. “But who,” he inquired, “…is the beekeeper?”
Axio stared at Dominus, his expression blank.
“I don’t understand,” the boy confessed.
“Who stands outside of the kingdom,” Dominus clarified, “…and tends to it, ensuring that it maintains its integrity?”
Axio swallowed visibly, clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
“The king?”
Dominus sighed. He turned then, gazing across his gardens, at the inner curtain – the high stone wall surrounding his castle keep. The castle Wexford was some seventy kilometers from the kingdom, the King’s Road the only path connecting the two. Far enough away to avoid the inanities of the court, while close enough to know its secrets.
“The king’s duty is to give himself fully to his nation,” Dominus stated. “And to preserve the identity of his people…their customs, the noblest of their bloodlines, and their lands.”
“Yes, your Grace.”
“So as you must see, the king serves just as do the common folk,” Dominus explained. “But in far grander a fashion.”
“I understand, your Grace.”
“You do not,” Dominus retorted. “But you will.”
Dominus turned to his hives, gesturing for Farkus to hand him his beekeeper hood. The servant complied, and Dominus took it, holding it in one arm. Then he turned to Axio.
“One of my hives has a failing queen,” he declared. Axio frowned.
“Pardon?”
“A queen that is failing her duties,” Dominus clarified. “I must provide a new queen so that the hive may flourish.”
“I see, your Grace.”
Dominus stared at Axio for a long moment. He had potential, there was no doubt about it. He was as good a candidate as Dominus had ever interviewed. The risk of bringing him into his confidence was high, but he had the means to ensure the boy would conform to his will.
His will was, after all, almost legendary.
“What I am going to teach you,” Dominus declared, “…is forbidden knowledge.” He stared Axio down, his eyes suddenly hard. “You will not repeat it to another soul.”
Axio swallowed visibly, lowering his eyes and bowing deeply.
“I swear I will not, your Grace.”
“Of course you won’t,” Dominus agreed. He lifted his hood then, placing it over his head and securing it carefully. He gestured to Farkus, who was still standing nearby, waiting on them. “Show my nephew to his room,” he ordered. “See to his every comfort.”
“With joy, your Grace,” Farkus replied, his tone flat, as usual. Dominus turned to Axio.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” he stated, “…I have work to do.”
The two left, and Dominus walked back to the box he’d tended to earlier, kneeling with difficulty and pulling the wooden frames out one-by-one. Eventually he found what he was looking for…a long bee, larger than the workers. But smaller than she should be.
A failed queen.
He studied her, knowing what must be done. A strong queen was needed to salvage the hive. He needed a new queen…but he also wanted to preserve the hive’s bloodline. Without a queen, the worker bees would begin to feed royal jelly to the younger eggs, making queens of them. The most worthy queen would rise to rule the hive.
He reached into the honeycomb, grabbing the failed queen between his thumb and index finger, watching her squirm in his grasp. Worker bees swarmed around him, flying at his suit and stinging it. Protected as he was, he felt nothing.
Dominus stared at the queen, watching her struggle against her inevitable fate. Then he pinched his fingers together, crushing the life out of her. He placed the frame back in the box, grabbing his cane, then walking away from the hive, toward the castle keep in the distance. The bees attacking his suit gradually dwindled, then faded entirely, their stingers embedded harmlessly in his suit while they lay dying from their ultimate sacrifice.
“For the hive,” he murmured.
* * *
Hunter wiped the sweat off his forehead as he walked alongside Alasar, the sun beating down on them mercilessly. His darker skin made him absorb more heat than the soldier. They continued down the raised stone path toward the huge, walled-off city in the distance. They were close now, maybe a half mile away.
The path ended ahead, merging into the slight incline of the upcoming hill. A wide dirt path continued past this, up the gradual incline of the hill to the massive stone wall in the distance. A huge metal gate was set into the wall, nearly twenty feet high and just as wide.
“What did you say this place was called again?” Hunter asked, gesturing at the city.
“Tykus,” Alasar answered. “Named after the man who founded it. A true legend.”
They walked steadily toward the end of the path, the ground rising up to meet them. After a few minutes, they reached the end, stepping onto the packed dirt beyond and continuing toward the huge wall ahead. Hunter glanced back over his shoulder at the stone bridge-like path they’d been walking on.
“What’s with the bridge?” he asked.
“What bridge?” Alasar inquired. Hunter gestured at the bridge.
“That one.”
“Oh, that’s the King’s Road,” he answered. Hunter frowned.
“A road? Why is it so far off the ground?” he asked. Alasar gave a rueful smile.
“That,” he answered, “…is complicated.” He gestured at the wall in the distance. “Come on, we’re almost there. Let me talk to the guards. Don’t talk unless they ask you a question.”
Hunter peered at the wall ahead, spotting two guards stationed just outside, standing on either side of the massive gate. He nodded, following beside Alasar silently. He stared at the wall, studying it. It was made of stone, and was at least fifty feet tall. Intricate designs had been carved into the wall’s surface, with occasional clusters of white objects embedded into the stone. As they drew closer, he realized that the white objects were bones.
Human bones.
He stared at them, spotting a skull inset into the wall, a curved spinal column below it. Other skulls merged with the intricate carvings in the wall, forming a morbid collage.
Oookay, he thought. That’s not creepy at all.
Hunter looked down from the wall, realizing he’d slowed down a bit, and was trailing Alasar now. The man stopped before the two guards, and they nodded at Alasar, eyeing Hunter suspiciously.
“Afternoon,” Alasar greeted.
“Afternoon sergeant,” one of the guards replied. “Who’s he?” the guard demanded, putting a hand on the hilt of a sword strapped to his waist. Alasar glanced back at Hunter.
“An Original,” he answered. “Ironclad came for him right after he passed through the Gate. Killed a few of my men, but we managed to kill the bastards, with his help.”
“Is that so,” the guard muttered. He looked Hunter up and down, his hand still on his sword. “You say he’s an Original?”
“He is.”
The guard hardly seemed convinced.
“Prove it,” he shot back. Alasar nodded, gesturing for Hunter to give him his backpack. Hunter slipped it off his shoulders, handing it to Alasar.
“He has this,” Alasar stated, handing the backpack to the guard, who hesitated, then took it. Alasar turned to Hunter. “How do you open it?”
“There’s a metal piece attached to some teeth on the side there,” Hunter explained, pointing to the zipper. “If you pull on it, it’ll open up.”
The guard did so, unzipping the largest compartment.
“Pull out that silver thing there,” Alasar instructed. The guard pulled out Hunter’s revolver. “That’s what took down one of the Ironclad.”
The soldier turned the revolver in his hands, holding it as if it were contaminated with something.
“It’s like a small crossbow,” Alasar explained. “Hell of a weapon,” he added. “Went right through the Ironclad’s armor.”
The guard nodded, putting the gun back into the backpack. He lowered it to the ground, pulling out Hunter’s harness, then unzipping the other compartments and searching them. When he was done, he placed the items back in the backpack, zipping the compartments back up. He handed the backpack to the other guard, who carried it back to the gate, making a series of gestures with one hand. There was a loud thunk, and suddenly the massive gate began to rise, revealing a large tunnel beyond. The guard strode through, vanishing beyond.
“We good?” Alasar asked. The remaining guard glanced at Hunter, then nodded.
“I’ll take it from here sergeant,” the guard stated. “I’ll notify the authorities of the attack on your post.” He glanced at Hunter, then back at Alasar. “You and your men should return to the base for cleansing,” the guard added.
“I’ll bring them back at shift change,” Alasar promised. He paused then. “One other thing,” he added. “One of the Ironclad was…different. Had a mane and a tail made of some sort of gel.” He shook his head. “Never seen one like that before.”
“We’ll notify the authorities,” the guard promised. Alasar nodded, then turned to Hunter.
“Good luck kid.”
“Thanks,” Hunter replied.
Alasar left then, walking back toward the King’s Road in the distance. Hunter waited with the guard, standing there in awkward silence. Minutes passed, and then the other guard appeared again, no longer carrying Hunter’s backpack. He gestured for them to come in.
“Come on, boy,” the first guard prompted, walking toward the gate. “Follow three meters behind me, no closer.”
Hunter complied, and the second guard followed a good ten feet behind Hunter, striding into the tunnel beyond the gate. More guards stood by either wall of the tunnel, their hands on their hilts. They stared as Hunter passed, taking a step back when he drew close. At the far end of the tunnel, some forty feet away, was another gate identical to the first, which was closed.
“This way,” the guard in front of him prompted, turning to the left down a small side-hallway. Hunter followed obediently, finding himself in a long hallway with closed doors on either side. Eventually it ended, turning right. Stone steps led upward, and the guard led Hunter up them to another hallway beyond, one with more doors on either side. The guard stopped at one of these, knocking on it. The door opened, and the guard gestured for Hunter to step through, moving further down the hallway to maintain the ten-foot distance between them.
Hunter hesitated, then obeyed, finding himself in a small room with a long table in the center, with a chair on either end. Sitting on the chair on the far end was an older man in a white and gold uniform. He had long gray hair, with a gray beard and sharp blue eyes that glanced up at Hunter as he stepped into the room. Someone was standing behind Ekrin…a tall man with short blond hair dressed in a black and gold uniform, a silver medallion resting on his chest.
“Have a seat,” the older man requested, gesturing at the empty chair. The door closed behind Hunter, who hesitated, then sat down in the chair, facing the old man.
“My name is Ekrin,” the man greeted. “I’ll be doing your intake. What’s your name?”
“Uh, Hunter.”
Ekrin dipped a feather quill into a bowl of ink, then wrote something down on a piece of paper in front of him.
“What nation do you come from?”
“The United States,” Hunter answered. Ekrin glanced up at Kyle, frowning slightly.
“And what is that, a city?”
“A country,” Hunter corrected.
“Ah,” Ekrin replied. “And where in the United States are you from?”
“Massachusetts.”
“And that is…?”
“A state,” Hunter explained.
“How did you get here?”
“I uh, can’t really remember,” he admitted. “I think I went through a black wall in a cave.”
“And what was bordering the black wall?” Ekrin pressed. Hunter frowned, recalling the photos on his mother’s phone.
“A black stone arch,” he answered. “With symbols on it.”
“And what happened after you went through this wall?”
Hunter described how he woke up in the Deadlands, and his harrowing battle with the Ironclad. Ekrin listened without interruption, writing on the page, until at last H
unter was done.
“Thank you,” Ekrin stated, finishing his writing. Then he lowered the quill, leaning back in his chair and glancing at the man standing beside him…the stranger in the black and gold uniform. “If you would,” Ekrin stated.
The stranger walked up to Hunter, putting a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. Hunter resisted the urge to flinch away from the man’s touch. The stranger stood there for a long moment, then let go of Hunter’s shoulder, walking back to Ekrin.
“He’s an Original,” the man confirmed.
“Excellent,” Ekrin replied, glancing at the man. “You may leave us now.”
The stranger nodded, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Ekrin smiled at Hunter.
“Well then,” he declared. “You must have questions. Feel free to ask me anything you’d like.”
“Where the hell am I?” Hunter asked.
“Right now, in a processing room within the Wall,” Ekrin answered. “But more generally, in Tykus, the most powerful kingdom in the world.” He leaned forward. “You’ve passed through the Gate, a door from your world to ours.”
“You call that black wall the Gate?”
“That’s right,” Ekrin confirmed. “It’s the only way into this world.”
“And how do I get out?” Hunter inquired.
“You don’t,” Ekrin answered. “The Gate is one-way only. Once you’re here, there’s no going back.”
Hunter stared at him.
“You’re joking.”
“Afraid not,” Ekrin replied. “Our ancestors searched for a way back for thousands of years. There isn’t one.”
Hunter felt his heart beat faster. If there was no way back home, that meant that he was stuck here forever. He’d never see his father, never go back to school, never go to college or see his friends ever again.
“I regret having to give you such terrible news,” Ekrin stated. Hunter nodded absently, only half-hearing the man.
No going back!
He felt dazed, as if this wasn’t happening to him. As if he were watching it happen to someone else.
“Do you need a minute alone?” Ekrin inquired. Hunter blinked, then shook his head.
“No,” he muttered. He took a deep breath in, trying to focus. “So what now?”