by Andre Norton
Neeco snorted in open contempt. “She’s daughter to that one who pitch-forked Aylin. No brains in the family, just some gift the old witch wanted to foster.”
His leader smiled slowly. “Why then, she’ll be easily taken. We have only to go to meet her with the right tale. She’ll accept that and we’ll have her and all else she may be hiding. As for any gift, that’ll go from her as soon as we’ve had done. Tonight we’ll broach a barrel of the ale you found. We’ll set out on our hunt in the morning once we’ve eaten and recovered somewhat.” They walked away to rejoin their men, who were still laughing in anticipation.
I sneered after them. About my gift they were wrong, I knew. I was not one of the witches from across the seas. The bee-gift is one which is held so long as the possessor wishes. It can be willed from her but not stolen or destroyed. As for Neeco’s other plans, forewarned is forearmed, I thought as I lay there. I might not be such easy prey as they expected. Then despair swept over me. I was untrained in weaponry. I was a girl and only thirteen. How could I fight more than twenty trained men?
One of the winged-warriors sensed my fear and grief. He landed on my shoulder and on the opposite shoulder a queen landed, sending me warmth and comfort, cradling me in thoughts of honey-sweetness and the affection of the hive. But from the warrior flowed a deep hunger. The queens would be my advisers, they were the females who were wise for the hives. The warriors would be my weapons. Let the despoilers of the hive keep their ignorance, soon enough they would learn how dangerous even tiny warriors could be.
I did not know what the wing-friends had in mind, but I believed in their promises of protection and vengeance. I slept that night in a nest of heather and dried grass, woke to eat of the food I had brought with me, then drank from my flask, holding out the cap so my friends might drink in turn. Then I lay down at the edge of the valley again to watch. The fires below had burned high late into the night. I’d heard the sounds of men who became drunk and quarrelsome. That explained their slow rising on a fine clear day.
They came lurching and grumbling to where their leader waited. Neeco stood beside him, smirking triumphantly. No doubt but that today he expected to slay the last in the dale that had exiled him. Why he hated so, I could not see. He had gone to a good home and the Lord of Merrowdale had been well-known as a kind man. Neeco could well have returned to visit his family each Summer once the bees were in the high pastures. Yet that, by his own choosing, he had rejected. Judging from the chaos below it would be an hour or more yet before they set out. I was young, unencumbered, and I knew every inch of the path. I could beat them back to the hives easily. I did so and stood between the two which housed the new queens.
I told the queens all I had seen, sharing in my mind the pictures as I spoke. In return a plan was unfolded, spare and elegant in its simplicity. I nodded slowly as I listened. It might work. If it did not I could always die. My mother had found no difficulty and I had the dagger taken from Lord Lanson’s house. I hid that in my bodice and went to do what my queens had shown me. There was ample time before I heard the men approaching. I could even add a few touches of my own.
The raiders found my cave in order but empty. I had banked the fire and left my large cauldron simmering. That was the one Ithia had always used to make bee-syrup in Winter. It was of a very good size, and bronze. A prize in its own right and I had filled it with a savory well-salted stew. On a rock ledge nearby I’d set the last remaining flasks of mead, those I had taken from Ithia’s house. I had known where to look. In that, Neeco had been correct—those who’d come before me had not.
I lay in the beelove and counted as the outlaws came straggling down the valley track. All twenty-one of them were here. No doubt any feared to stay behind lest their fellows find loot and refuse to share. And my own self would not be the least of that expected plunder. Around the rock outcrop in which lay my cave the breeze always swirled. I lay hidden to one side. The light winds would carry their words to me clearly. I listened and waited.
“Girl’s not there, Garlen.”
“Make less noise. She’s left all tidy. She can’t have gone back to the village else we’d have met her on the way here. Neeco, where could she be?”
“Likely she’s gone to the uplands. Ithia used to. They look for flowering bushes where they can move the hives in high Summer.”
The leader gave a satisfied grunt. “That sounds likely. All right. Look through her cave but throw nothing about outside. Tarro, go to the hill and watch for her.”
The man addressed growled. “Why me? Let someone else go. I’ll not let my chances of finding something here slip by.” His tone turned sly. “Let the boy go. You’ll share anything you find with him, won’t you, Captain?”
Garlen said no more, but nor did he order Neeco to lookout. It seemed as if the man had some authority over those he led, but not so much they would forego the chance of loot, even at his orders. I smiled to myself. All the better if that was true. I’d left loot for them to find. A cry from my cave signaled that they had done so.
“Garlen! Mead!”
“What’s that, lad?”
“Those flasks up there. I’ve seen them before. They contain mead. Ithia’s best.”
A deeper older voice cut in. “Ah, do they? Then we’ll have a sniff at this.” There was a pause and I could imagine him grabbing a flask down, taking a mouthful and savoring the fiery distilled contents. There came a loud gasp.
“Wheeoo, Captain. That’s mighty powerful stuff. But by the Gods it goes down so smooth you wouldn’t know until it arrives.” There came a hubbub as the bandits all clamored to taste. Then the one who had drank first spoke again.
“Look, Captain. There’s a fine stew here, mead to drink, and we’re where the girl’ll not see us when she returns. Let us stay here, use her food and drink …”
“And then her,” another voice cut in. “Reckon it’d be only right if’n she shares her food’n drink with us. Then we shares us with her.” There was rough laughter and cries of agreement.
I thought from the sound of their voices that Garlen had little choice. There was a dangerous note to the demand. I heard his voice agreeing.
“That’s not a bad idea, Saren. All right, find bowls or use your own. Neeco, share out the stew. And you’ll not be drinking.” He over-rode the boy’s anger. “Saren, wait until everyone has a mug of some sort, then share out the drink. None for the boy, mind.”
I listened to the sounds as men gobbled down my stew. They smacked their lips thirstily over the mead and regretted that there was not more of it. I smiled bitterly. The five flasks were all which was left after Winter. But they would find there had been enough and more for them. They were used to drinking beer. The rough ale they usually drank would make a man sick before he became falling-down drunk.
The flasks of Ithia’s mead were twice distilled. Even the mug each of them would drink would be enough to send their wits wandering. Ithia’s mead was usually drunk from thick-walled thumb-sized glasses in tiny sips that barely wetted the lips. If it was offered in larger glasses then it was watered down by many times the volume. But each man would here drink ten or twelve times the usual tiny amounts. Neeco would not have known, when had he ever sat at the high table to see how Ithia’s mead was taken?
In an hour those within my cave were finding the mead a heady brew. Their voices rose. Then one staggered from the cave holding his belly. He groaned, sinking to the ground unnoticed. Another joined him. Now the voices rose, but no longer in their rough humor. There was fear in the sound now. I waited in my hiding place. At last no sounds arose save Neeco’s cries to them. Those, too, ceased and I guessed he plundered his erstwhile comrades.
I hummed a silent call in my mind. Winged warriors attended me as I went down to meet our betrayer. He walked from the cave, a bulging pack in one hand.
I nodded politely. “Neeco.”
I saw his face whiten as he took in my escort. But he was quick enough of wits. How should he know
how much I knew?
“Meive. I—I have ill news for you. How long have you been here alone in these hills?”
“I came here more than eighteen days ago,” I said truthfully, and saw his mouth curve in a tiny smile of relief.
“Then, you do not know?”
“What should I know, Neeco?”
“The invaders. They found Honeycoombe. All are dead. They came to Merrowdale first. I was out with the dogs and escaped.”
“And the dogs?” I thought that part of the tale could be at least half true.
“I followed the invaders with them. I attacked when and as I could. One by one they killed the dogs. Now I am alone. Then these men found me.” A sweep of his hand indicated the tumbled bodies. “They were bad men. I have prayed to escape them. Now I have.” His eyes fixed on me. “They drank Ithia’s mead and died. Why was that, Meive?”
In my mind I touched my warriors. Let them be ready. A humming in my mind assured me that they were. They would strike at my command. At last I could let my hatred show. I smiled.
“Why else, Neeco? Because while it was many days gone since first I came here, I had returned home in that time. I saw what you and your friends did in Honeycoombe. I know you led them here. I came back and poisoned the mead. I knew they would not leave it be.” His eyes were turned fearfully now to my warriors as they rose to surround him.
“And me. I didn’t drink.”
“You should have done so,” I told him quietly. “You’d have preferred that death.”
He acted as I expected, striking at me. My warriors did not even need my command. They swarmed about him, plunging their stingers into him again and again as he screamed and ran. I had sworn to accomplish his death but I was sickened. It took him time to die. Yet all his pain would not bring back my kin, my friends, or Ithia, my craft-mother, and after a time I could not bear to see and hear his suffering, so in the end I took up my dagger and gave him mercy.
VI
So I fetched the ponies and labored for the remainder of the day. I had no need to check the bodies for anything of use. Neeco had already done that for me. I had merely to take his pack. But I hitched a pony to the bodies, one by one, and allowed the pony to drag them to a cliff. I rolled the contorted figures over the edge. Let them lie below, prey to the buzzards which would feast. Neeco’s body I sent hurtling downwards last of all. Perhaps his family would have preferred that he lie with them but I could not allow it. By his own actions he was not of us. Let him lie with those friends he had taken.
After that, I returned a while to stay in my dale. There was no need to do anything for Ithia. Her body had crumbled to a fine pollenlike dust by the time I gained my vengeance and returned. I took up a pinch of that and added it to my amulet. The remainder I burned as I wept. Then I used the ponies to aid me as, one by one, I laid the bodies of my kin and friends to rest. It was exhausting and brutal work and I think I was a little mad. I hummed to my bees as I worked, talked to them and discussed what I should do next.
When I was done, I shut up the cottages and the keep as best I could. If I ever returned they should not be ruined with the damp or infested with vermin. Lastly I dealt with the horses. The bandits had their own thin abused beasts. And then there was the team of great-horses. I rounded up all of them, tying them into a pack-train. Taking up the reins of the first of them I led the string down our dale and into the inner valley. The entrance to that was narrow. I left the beasts to feed and blocked their gateway. They could live out their lives in safety there, even if I never returned.
At last I straddled a pony and returned to the hives. I would take my winged-ones back to the place where Ithia had found the new queens. They should be safe even if I died or must leave. I used the sledges and the ponies, moving the hives in two journeys. Each time I halted just short of my goal. When all were there and I could delay no longer, I called the warriors, who surrounded me. With them came the two stranger queens, one alighting on each of my shoulders. In one hand I carried Welwyn’s queen.
I reached the shrine and stared about. It was plain, but there was a simple beauty in the curves of stone and the shades of the pavement about the shrine. The small open center building was set in the midst of a five-pointed star. This was outlined with strips of a lighter stone, a warm pale honey. The inner portions ranged from a darker honey to a gentle honey-brown. Somehow the very colors soothed me.
The queens flew ahead, alighting on the edge of a small basin by the building’s doorway. They reached out to call me and I obeyed. Even as they, I drank some of what the basin contained. Then I lifted my head and gasped. It was mead—of a sort. But such a sort as any wise woman of the bees would have given her right arm to brew. I could feel strength and healing pulse through me. Still stronger grew the link between my winged-ones and I.
I turned to face the building’s entrance. “To the giver of the feast, fair thanks.” That was well enough said, but the rest did not seem right. I improvised. “Bright sun and a great hosting of flowers on the morrow. May your wings ever bear you safely and may you have always clean water for your hive.” That seemed right. I bowed again and waited.
From the shadowed entrance there came a soft sweet humming. It shifted key and became a voice.
“Enter and be welcome, daughter of my hive.”
I moved forward slowly, allowing the voice time to deny me yet, or to give other commands. Nothing came as I passed under the door-frame. A golden light pervaded the room. And in it I saw.
So small a building it had seemed from the outside. But within, it appeared to shimmer, stretching far out before me. At the end of that distance one sat on a great chair, carved in a wood like molten honey. Many would have feared the figure she made. But I saw only the outstretched hand and the kindness in the many-faceted eyes. I stumbled forward, her arms closed about me, and on her shoulder I wept out all my sorrow and loss.
At last she stood, putting me gently from her. “You have wrought well, daughter of my hive. In turn it shall be well-wrought for you. Time shall pass. For that time you shall remain here in safety.”
“How long?”
She smiled. “I do not count time here. The wheel turns and when it has come full circle your time will come with it. Be patient and at peace.” Her hand lifted to trace a sign. Then—she was gone, but now within the building I had entered I could see a small plain room open to one side. Within was a bed, a washbasin, and such other things as I might need. A table to one side held food. Nectar bread and honey, with an ewer of water, the chill beading the sides.
And so I took up my abode. Welwyn’s queen I placed on a ledge where I could see it when I rose each morning. My lady of the shrine spoke truly. Time seemed to slip away so fast it was as if the seasons blurred. Summer rushed past. The bright leaves of the coming Winter appeared, then the first snows. I had feared I would be cold when that came, but some spell about the shrine held back the chill from those within. I was grateful for the care given, yet I did not wish to lose all touch with my own lands. I found bark, melted wax, and made tablets on which to scratch notes of time as it passed and things which I learned.
My lady was kind enough to talk with me now and then, to teach me what I asked, and I learned hungrily as I had learned from Ithia. Of my craft-mother I asked, but of her the lady would say nothing. In that timeless place I could feel my gifts flex and strengthen. Summer came—for the third time I believed. If I was right, then I was now sixteen. My lady summoned me.
“Time has turned for you, daughter, and it is your time. Go from my shrine and seek.”
I bowed my head, then looked up. “Lady, what do I seek?”
Her smile was kind. “What all desire. A hive of one’s own. Pastures wherein to gather nectar. New daughter-queens to follow you.”
I considered that. I thought I was being told that I should go and find a home, a mate, and children. Or at least an apprentice. Into my mind there came warm laughter.
“Even so. Listen well, daught
er of my hive. Beyond my place evil has come to walk. Yet from it shall come good if you face it valiantly. One there shall be whose kin-name you know. Remember, the wheel turns. Do not reject good honey though bees from that hive have stung in the past.” She lifted a hand and pointed. “Go, and remember what you have learned here.” A golden rune flamed in the air and my warriors came to cluster about me. I bowed and turned.
My lady’s advice and teaching had always been good before. I would believe that it was so again. I went to my room and changed clothes, donning trews and a tunic. If evil walked outside the shrine there might be need for me to run. That would be easier without long skirts. About my waist I girded the dagger and sword I had taken from Lord Lanson’s home. Welwyn’s queen caught my eye. If I failed in this quest I might not return. Once I had thought to gift it to my lady. I had not done so then; now I should.
Picking up the figure, I carried it to the place where the wall would draw aside. It did so and I paced forward into the inner room where lay an altar. I laid the queen thereon and spoke softly.
“I go to battle evil and who knows the roads I may take or if I shall return. I offer this as a guest-gift. It is a poor thing compared to those gifts you have given me. Yet is it the best gift I can give and it is given with love.”
I felt power surge in the room. Before my eyes Welwyn’s queen shivered. It turned bright eyes to study me before rising on powerful wings to perch on my shoulder. For a moment wings caressed my cheek. My gift was accepted but returned to me for a little. I walked in Light and the strength of the Hive supported me. I went from the shrine, tears still wet on my cheeks.
About me flew a hundred warriors and two queens. On my shoulder I bore another. I left the star pavement and felt the warm air about me. If evil walked here I saw no signs of it. Perhaps I would find it beyond the shrine’s valley. I hitched up my pack and strode out. In an hour I was near the valley’s mouth and I became more cautious in my movements. It was as well.