‘Ready?’ shouted Calwyn. Mica nodded, and sang a chantment of the winds to make a tunnel of clear air through the heart of the blizzard, so she and Calwyn could run to the orchard and the river and the beehives.
Before they reached the orchard the wind dropped. Snowflakes swirled around their heads, and floated silently to rest. ‘You can stop singing,’ panted Calwyn, but Mica shook her head.
‘Gotta fill our footprints in.’
Before long, the gnarled, dark skeletons of the apple trees loomed from the stark white snow. Clouds scudded across the sky, and the moonlight was fitful; from moment to moment, the landscape was illuminated with silver, then plunged into darkness again.
A faint murmur rose from the dark mound that was the first of the domed hives. Mica hung back. ‘Is it full of bees? Ain’t they sleepin?’
‘Bees don’t sleep in winter. But they won’t harm us if we treat them with respect,’ said Calwyn.
Mica screwed up her face. ‘They’ll sting me!’
‘They won’t sting you, I promise! Come on, Mica. There are twenty hives, we must hurry. All you have to do is tell me if you can sense something inside the hive, an object with power, like the Clarion.’
Mica sidled gingerly up to the hive. ‘Do I have to touch it?’
‘Here!’ In exasperation, Calwyn grabbed Mica’s hands and pressed them to the wall. Mica yelped.
‘Ssh! Don’t startle them!’
‘I’m scared of them bees, Cal!’ hissed Mica reproachfully.
Calwyn let go of her hands.What had Marna said to her that very day? You must learn to listen. Even Darrow had been wary of the bees at first.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to touch the hives. Just get close enough to tell. I’ll listen to the bees, I’ll warn you if they stir.’
Mica nodded, somewhat mollified. She edged forward, hands outstretched, still expecting the bees to swarm out and attack her. She shook her head. ‘There ain’t nothin here.’
Calwyn tugged her. ‘Let’s try the next one.’
Each hive had a name and a history.This one was colonised in the summer Darrow had come to Antaris. This one had a temperamental queen; it had done poorly two years in a row. This one by the bend in the river was a happy hive, Calwyn’s favourite; she could distinguish the taste of its honey from any other. And this one, in summer, was always surrounded by clover. It was the oldest of the hives, and a crack ran all the way down its side. But Mica couldn’t sense a hint of magic anywhere.
‘You sure it’s here, Cal?’
‘There’s still Timarel hive. It must be in there.’ Calwyn clutched the folds of her cloak tightly under her chin.What would they do, if she had misunderstood Marna after all?
‘Cal!’ Mica clutched her arm. ‘Over there!’
Lanterns were swinging down the snow-covered slope between the Dwellings and the orchard.
‘Quick! Follow me!’ Calwyn dodged past the squat dome of Timarel hive and pulled Mica after her.They darted from one tree’s shadow to the next, heading for the wooden shack of the Bee House. No one had entered it for a long time; snow was heaped waist-high all around, even in front of the door. Calwyn felt a twinge of protective fury. Hadn’t anyone bothered to tend the bees since she’d left Antaris, given them water, or checked them for parasites? There was more to keeping the bees than collecting wax and honey.
Mica was already singing a high, clear chantment of the winds to blow the snow from the doorway. Calwyn was struck by an idea. ‘Mica! Bees hate the wind. Could you sing a storm around the hives and stir them up a little?’
Mica nodded, her golden eyes alight, and as soon as the door was clear she launched into a second chantment. A moaning wind threaded between the hives, stirring up a flurry of loose snow that would also hide their footprints. Calwyn heard a distant grumble of anger from the bees. She pulled Mica into the Bee House and fastened the door behind them. They crouched below the windows, shivering with cold. They could hear the swelling murmur of the bees, roused a second time from their rest, and then shrieks and yells as the sisters stumbled into the maddened guard bees. Mica winced. ‘Poor things,’ she whispered, though Calwyn wasn’t sure if she meant the bees or the priestesses.
After a time the shouts and yells died away; the searchers turned back to the safety of the Dwellings. But angry words carried through the still air.
‘ – bees are cursed! Outlander sorcery – ’
‘ – since Calwyn ran off.’
Calwyn shivered at the hostility in their voices.
Mica whispered, ‘What now?’
Calwyn glanced through the window, laced with frost. ‘The Wheel must be in Timarel hive, it’s the last one. But the bees are too upset now.’ Mica’s teeth were chattering. ‘Go back to the barn, there’s no need for both of us to stay. Can you find your way without me?’
Mica nodded, then clutched at Calwyn’s sleeve. ‘I know, Cal! You go fishin in that hive at sunrise. Me and Trout and the Clarion’ll make sure no one’s lookin this way!’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mica. You and Trout stay hidden. I’ll manage by myself.’
Suddenly, Mica’s temper flashed. She stamped her foot. ‘I’m only tryin to help you! Ever since Merithuros, you been cross as a shark with no dinner. It ain’t our fault what happened. You reckon you can do everythin by yourself – it ain’t true! You ain’t such a great chanter no more, you can’t do nothin!’
There was a stricken silence as the two girls stared at each other.Then, with a stifled sob, Mica yanked open the door to the Bee House and stumbled away through the snow. Calwyn sank back numbly onto a pile of sacks. She didn’t care what Mica said; if she was as cross as a shark, she had every reason to be. And Mica hadn’t meant it. She would never have said anything so hurtful if she hadn’t been cold, and tired, and scared.
Calwyn pulled her cloak around her. The Bee House was sturdy, but it was never intended to shelter anyone overnight, especially not during a freezing winter. Calwyn forced herself to pace up and down the cramped hut to keep the blood moving in her limbs.Without the Clarion to warm her, this was the first night she had felt the true bite of winter. It would be easy to lie on the floor and drift into a deadly sleep, but she knew she mustn’t give in to tiredness.
In the cold and the silence, the shadow chantments squirmed like a nest of spiders in her mind. Dark, disturbing snatches of song repeated themselves, over and over. Even in fragments, the power of the chantments repelled her. She couldn’t imagine using them to kill, or maim, or inflict agony, even if she were capable. And what if it was the only way to saveTremaris? She was glad she would never have to make that choice.
She wished she could talk it over with Darrow, despite the vow of secrecy she’d made to Marna. And with Mica’s outburst ringing in her ears, she was engulfed by a wave of loneliness. She missed Marna’s wisdom, and Halasaa, who understood her so well, and Tonno’s gruff reassurance. Most of all, she missed Darrow.Where was he now? She had never been to Gellan, and she found it difficult to imagine him there. As she shivered in the cold shed, she yearned for the warm shelter of his arms, his quizzical smile and the humour in his grey-green eyes.
As she fingered the wooden hawk at her throat, she remembered their last embrace on the docks in Kalysons, before Fledgewing sailed north, and how he’d crushed her against him, so fiercely that she could hardly breathe. When at last he’d let her go, he strode off without looking back, his fair hair shining in the watery sunlight. But the memory was too painful, and she pushed it away.
The small windows had steamed up with the warmth of her breath. Calwyn rubbed a hole to peer out at the night, unsure if she’d imagined a faint light in the east.The bones of the trees seemed more distinct than before, and she could definitely make out the silhouette of the mountains against the sky.There was the Falcon, the proud bird’s head. Day after day she and Darrow had walked toward that peak, on their long journey through the mountains. She only glimpsed it for a f
ew moments before the dawn mists rolled down into the valley. The bees would be calm now.
As Calwyn crept out of the Bee House, she heard a loud bang, then a distant fizzing sound, then three more explosions in rapid succession. For the space of several breaths there was silence. Then the bells began to clang in a discordant frenzy, very different from their usual calm, measured tolling, and shouts came from the Dwellings. ‘Fetch the High Priestess! The barns are on fire!’
Mica and the Clarion had made their diversion after all. The sky was streaked with soaring arrows of flame, and Calwyn ran.
She had dreaded this moment all through the long night of waiting. She knew she couldn’t rely on chantment to help her, but as she ran through the crisp snow to Timarel hive, she found herself mouthing the words of the old song.Would the bees remember her?Would they blame her for disturbing them in the night? Perhaps they’d always resented her for stealing their honeycomb and scraping up their wax, interfering in their peaceful community; perhaps only the power of chantment had prevented them from expressing their fury.
Timarel hive loomed before her. It was the largest of the hives, guarded by the fiercest bees in the valley. Calwyn hesitated. Once she would have been able to plunge her hand into a hive without anything to protect her but the songs she’d learned from Damyr. But now she knew that those songs were really chantments, spells of the Power of Beasts. She had believed the bees left her alone because they loved and knew her, but now she understood that the chantments had compelled them to obey.
Calwyn sang under her breath, praying to the bees. Please don’t hurt me, please forgive me! For the first time in her life she trembled before the humming mystery of the hive. Tall as she was, the top of the dome was as high as her head. Moving slowly so as not to antagonise the bees further, she lifted the heavy lid aside as she murmured the song Damyr had taught her. Too late, she realised that she should have brought gloves and a veil from the Bee House.
The bees were stirring. A few guard bees buzzed around Calwyn’s face, studying her. First one, then another, landed on her hand. Calwyn forced herself to breathe steadily, not to brush them away. ‘Bees of Timarel, I mean you no harm,’ she whispered. ‘You have been watching over something very precious. But it is time to surrender it. Please, trust me.’
Behind her, from the Dwellings, came the sound of shrieks and running feet; the bells still jangled their alarm. ‘Fire! Fire! Where is Tamen?’
‘The kitchens are ablaze!’
‘The barns – ’
Standing on tiptoe, heart thumping, Calwyn peered down into the hive. The honey-frames hung in a row, patched with honeycomb and crawling with worker bees. One flew up into her face, startling her, but she didn’t make a sound.There were bees in her hair, all over her hands, creeping up her arms and her face.
‘Bees of Timarel,’ murmured Calwyn.The bees were crawling all over her face, around her lips and nose. It was like the terrifying illusion that Samis had created, the night he came to Antaris, except that this was real – and this was not terrifying. These were her own bees. Marna had called them her friends, and suddenly she knew that it was true.Their murmuring hum was a song of welcome; she had nothing to fear.
Calwyn plunged her hand carefully into the very heart of the bees’ citadel. The tips of her fingers brushed a silk- wrapped object, smeared with honey and wax. As she drew it out, the bees rose from her skin and formed a golden, singing halo that spun around her head.
Calwyn held out the precious Wheel in both hands, and bowed to the hive. ‘Thank you, bees of Timarel. Thank you, queen and workers, for your vigilance.’
Hardly daring to breathe, she unwrapped the faded silk from the small, heavy object in the palm of her hand.The silk itself was old and delicate, shimmering green and purple like a peacock’s feather. Calwyn pulled the cloth aside with trembling hands. She held a solid half-circle, a broken disc, made from dark, dense stone, its surface marked with faint, very ancient dents and scratches. One edge was jagged, where the Wheel had been snapped in two. Whole, it would have been the size of the circle of her thumbs and forefingers.
Unconsciously Calwyn sank to her knees in the snow. Marna’s words came back to her: Broken…but it can be mended.
Where was the other half ?
Calwyn pressed the half-wheel between her hands, feeling its cold weight. Suddenly she became aware of a growing commotion from the buildings behind her. She thrust the half-wheel inside her tunic and set off up the slope.
As she went, knowledge came to her, hard and clear and certain. Her task was not complete. She must find the other piece of the wheel; she must join the two halves together. It could be mended. That was the answer that would undo the evil that had befallen the world. Marna had said so.
Calwyn ran toward the Dwellings.
THE COURTYARD TEEMED with women, all bundled in winter cloaks. No one noticed Calwyn dart upstairs and hide herself behind a pillar where she could see everything below. A knot of priestesses clustered on the far side of the courtyard, and the rest of the sisters craned toward them. ‘Let me go!’ came Trout’s desperate cry. A confused murmur ran through the crowd of women.
Calwyn scanned the courtyard. At last she glimpsed Mica peering from the shelter of a dark archway. Mica saw Calwyn, too; she stared up with a look that was half defiant, half pleading. She pulled aside her cloak to show that she had the Clarion ready. Emphatically, Calwyn shook her head. Mica’s mouth had set in a stubborn line and Calwyn thought that Mica would defy her. But then the younger girl let her cloak fall over the Clarion.
‘This boy is an Outlander!’ Tamen’s deep voice rang out. A space formed around her and Trout and the two strong sisters who held him pinned by the arms. ‘What shall we do with him?’
There was a moment’s uncertain silence. At last someone hazarded, ‘Put him into theWall?’
‘No!’ rapped Tamen sternly. ‘We cannot sully the Wall with the body of an Outlander! We must take him to the blazetree!’
The crowd buzzed in bewilderment. Calwyn’s mouth twisted grimly.The sisters of Antaris might have consented to dreadful deeds, but they had done so reluctantly, and for the preservation of all they held dear. Tamen would have to work hard to persuade them to commit cold-blooded murder.
A thin voice rose from the centre of the courtyard. ‘Lady Mother, the fires burned nothing.The boy has done no harm.’
‘No harm!’ cried Tamen, and her arm shot skyward. ‘Look at the moons! Now is the time of theWeaver and the Shuttle. The trees should be in blossom, the spring meadows in flower, yet the thaws have not even begun, and snow still falls! Our cellars and storehouses will soon be empty, and every few days another of our sisters is stricken with the snow-sickness. You all know that this evil came to us from the sorcery of the Outlands! And yet you would spare him?’
The sisters swayed and muttered uncertainly. Trout gave a whimper of fear.
Calwyn could contain herself no longer. She braced herself with both hands on the gallery railing and cried out, ‘The long winter and the snow-sickness are an Outlander’s doing! But not this Outlander!’
A sea of faces turned up to Calwyn, framed with hoods and shawls, and a shiver of recognition, of horror, of hope and excitement rippled through the priestesses.
‘Be silent!’ commanded Tamen. ‘The girl is no better than an Outlander herself. It is she who opened the door to our troubles.’
‘I’m a Daughter of Taris!’ cried Calwyn, her eyes blazing. ‘You have no right to silence me!’
‘I have the right to condemn the enemies of the Goddess.’
‘I’m no enemy, but a sworn novice of the Dwellings!’
‘And I have the right of the High Priestess to reprimand a novice,’ hissed Tamen. The heads of the sisters swivelled back and forth as if they watched a pair of village boys at pat-ball.
Calwyn said, ‘By what right do you call yourself High Priestess, Tamen? Did Marna tell you the secrets that belong to the office of High Priestess? Di
d she give you her staff ?’
All the sisters gasped, and a loud hum ran through the courtyard. Tamen said loudly, ‘There was no time! The Outlander – ’
‘There was time!’ Lia’s strong, clear voice rang out from the edge of the courtyard. She had been carried there in her chair, and now she glared at Tamen with open scorn and loathing. ‘You all know that Marna was not ill with the snow-sickness at first. How did she catch it, with Ursca tending her so carefully? Tamen was her only regular visitor. Perhaps she has the answer to this riddle!’
Tamen’s eyes narrowed. ‘What you suggest is preposterous, and unspeakable.’
‘Not preposterous only unproveable. Because the poor girl you used to infect our Lady Mother lies cold and silent within theWall!’
A storm of exclamation broke out among the assembled sisters. Lia spoke clearly through the din. ‘Marna was alert for a long time before her illness overtook her. But she chose not to tellTamen the most secret lore. She did not giveTamen her staff. She did not proclaimTamen as her successor.’ Lia turned her head and gazed up at Calwyn. ‘She was waiting for Calwyn to return.’
Calwyn flushed. She had not expected this when she challenged Tamen; she had only thought about saving Trout. She took a breath to steel herself.
Tamen shouted, ‘I was the Guardian of the Wall! The Guardian is always successor to the High Priestess!’
‘Not always.’ Lia’s voice was still steady. ‘Not always.’
Tamen threw back her head. ‘If not for me, you would all have perished long ago. Marna was a weak old woman, too weak to do what had to be done. Antaris must have a leader. None of you had the courage to deal with the evil that has come to us!’
Lia gripped the arms of her chair. ‘You call it courage, to murder the sick and defenceless? Every one of us in this courtyard has shown more courage than you, living each day in hunger and fear!’
Calwyn found her voice. ‘Tamen is right. Antaris must have a leader. But there is another way.’ The faces turned back to her like a field of starflowers turning to the sun. ‘You, my sisters, may choose for yourselves who is to be High Priestess now that Marna is gone.’
The Tenth Power Page 6