by Laline Paull
The vibration amplified into a low hum, coming from every sister. As Sir Poplar looked at their faces, his own changed. “Obey at once, before I report you all.”
“Report us . . .” More than one of the sisters said it, and some of them began to croon it, dancing seductively in front of him. “Report us . . . Your Maleness . . .”
“Stop that!” Sir Poplar’s voice was high and strained, and all around the Dance Hall other drones were similarly protesting.
The sisters’ hum grew louder.
“We praise Your Malenesses.” Sister Sage began the oblation, and each of the circles of sisters began moving around its drone in formal steps, pushing him back to the center when he tried to break free.
We give thanks for your power and grace.
And your glory on the wing—
The dancing sisters changed direction, singing louder over his protests.
We have lived to serve you.
Your time has come, your time has come.
Led by the choir of the Sage priestesses, the sister bees sang in overlapping rounds, their dancing circles changing direction, then flowing in crisscrossing lines moving through the Dance Hall, imprisoning the bewildered drones between them.
We give thanks for your bodies and your lives, sang the Sage choir, and the sisters danced faster, their words overlapping above the protests of the drones.
Your lusts and sloth,
And your idleness we now repay.
Louder and louder they sang to each drone as they passed him, and in flagrant contradiction of all etiquette, each sister defiantly let her kin-scent rise in his face.
We now repay—
The drones scrabbled around trying to break through the singing, chanting chains of sisters, panicking at the new smell rising up through the comb. As the driving rhythm of the dance carried their bodies forward, all the sisters inhaled the thrilling scent of their own long-held anger, now released into their brains.
Our labor, our hive.
The sisters danced around the drones, faster and faster in a great swirling pattern. Some hummed with a high, strange note; others let out little yelps of excitement.
Forgive us, Your Malenesses. Sister Sage’s voice led them.
Before we cast you out!
Many drones shouted it back at them, fear in their voices.
“Cast us out?”
“What are you talking about?”
“How dare you speak to Our Malenesses in that way—”
“Right, you filthy servant, move!” Sir Poplar shoved Flora hard. She did not flinch. He stared at her in astonishment. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” she said. With one blow she struck him off his feet. He looked up at her, stunned.
“She hit me!” he yelled as he struggled to rise. “Someone tell Holy Mother—”
“Why don’t you?” A meek little Cornflower kicked his feet out again. “Tell her how you blame her for everything! Isn’t that what you said?” At this, all the sisters began kicking and biting at the drones.
“You should have found your princess, shouldn’t you?”
“Then you would not be here—”
“All your bragging of sex and love—”
“There, I have it, brothers!” yelled Sir Hornbeam. “They are mad with jealousy! We must flood them with our scent to make them docile!” He pumped his glands so that his male pheromone poured into the air. Others did the same and some tried to start their engines to fan it harder.
Sisters made strange cries as they breathed it in and dropped their heads low, swinging them from side to side to breathe it more deeply. Others shrieked as they smelled it.
“Yes!” cried Sir Sycamore. “They need our dronewood, they crave it for themselves—” He grabbed a sister from Woodbine and held her close as if to mount her. “Shall I make you a princess, Sister?”
She screamed in rage as she twisted from his grip. “He mocks our virgin state!” She sliced at his face with her claws and he leaped back as she lunged at him—and then a command in the comb held every sister still.
Like every other sister in the packed Dance Hall, Flora paused and felt the tremors running up and down her antennae. She loved the feeling of venom swelling her sac, and her sting flexed strong and supple within her, longing to slide forth. Every sister in the hall slowly raised her claws, waiting for the signal in the comb.
The drones sought each other’s eyes and nodded in common purpose. They widened their thoraxes and raised their fur. Sir Poplar gave the signal.
“Now!”
As the drones ran roaring at the sisters to barge past and escape, the comb fired its own chemical trigger. Shrieking and whirling, the sisters joined themselves together in chains of dancers three strong and corralled all the males into a circle. Some threw back their heads and splayed their antennae, while others dipped theirs and swung them from side to side with guttural sounds.
Isolated in their spinning rings of sisters, still shouting in protest, the drones could not hide the scent of their fear. The smell made Flora’s abdomen contract hard with pleasure, and at the thrill of her sisters’ flaring war glands she screamed with excitement.
Blessings on our brothers, called out the choir of Sage as the bees danced.
Blessings on their flesh—
“Sisters!” shouted a drone into the dense, swirling motion of the dance. “We beg you, cease your madness!”
Blessings on Their Malenesses, cried the Sage priestess.
At the moment of their death—
The priestess fell upon the nearest drone with her jaws, and before he could scream his kin-scent burst bright and fatal on the heated air. The Dance Hall erupted into a frenzy of motion as the drones fought to escape and the sisters dragged them back.
Sir Poplar roared and started his engine as his body was lifted up in the air by teeming sisters, but they broke his wings from his back and threw him down.
“You insult Holy Mother—”
“Squander our food—”
“Pretend you would mate us as if we were queens—how dare you!”
It was the sister from Woodbine whom he had so insulted. She stood where he could see her face. “Only the Queen may breed!” She ripped his abdomen open down to his genitals, then tore out his penis and ate it. Sisters screamed in excitement as his blood splashed on their faces.
“Only the Queen may breed!” Flora screamed it again and again with all her strength, as if to purge herself of her guilt and shame, and as the drones screamed and tried to fly above the crazed females she too leaped to catch them and drag them back down into the savage mass.
Drones screamed as they were ripped apart or bitten to death, and the sisters’ feet slid on the bloodied, pulsing comb. Filled with consecrated anger at every insult and humiliation, every wasted forage and sullied passageway, they avenged themselves on the wastrel favorites, the sacred sons who did nothing for their keep but brag and eat and show their sex to those who must only labor for them and never be loved.
Flora and her sisters dragged one drone after another out into the corridor, and all throughout the hive was screaming and pleading and the high thick smell of blood as every single sister took active part and every drone fled for his life toward the landing board. Males who fell were dragged struggling out into the dazing sun, and there they were dispatched, down into the grass where the Myriad crawled to eat them alive, or tossed out upon the air they once ruled, flying toward death on torn and bloody wings.
Twenty-Eight
THE PULSING IN THE COMB SUBSIDED AND THE THROBBING air fell still. Throughout the hive every sister paused in her action as her senses returned to normal.
Crouched in the receiving area between the Dance Hall and the landing board, Flora heard the loud rasping of her own breath. Something large, warm, and motionless was beneath her, gripped between her legs. The drone’s head was pressed into the wax and her abdomen was curved hard and tight against him, her sting buried deep between his bands.
He did not move as she pulled her dagger out. She backed away in horror. It was not possible—yet blood soaked her fur black.
All around her the comb showed dark wet swaths where bloody bodies had been dragged to the landing board. Other sisters rose to their feet, surrounded by shattered, torn, and decapitated drones. They stood panting and ashamed, not daring to meet each other’s eyes.
A dense, unnatural silence emanated from the Dance Hall, reaching out to touch the bees and compel them to return.
There a sickening spectacle met them. Amber and brown slicks of blood, yellow intestine spilling half-digested pollen and honey, segments of antennae, shattered eye-lenses, clawed and bitten plates of armor, and gore-clogged plumes littered the comb. The greatest concentrations were in the favored places where foragers danced, and every sister wailed in shame.
Bloodstained sisters from other parts of the hive came staggering in, called by the same signal. Some were having convulsions, and one knocked into Flora and held on to her. She was a receiver, and the sight of her open, gasping mouth triggered a reflex in Flora’s body. Suddenly her crop felt distended and heavy, as if she had just returned from a long forage—but it was not nectar that was rising. Flora choked in horror as blood gushed from her mouth and splashed across the comb.
Other foragers yelped and screamed as they too voided the terrible contents of their crops, and some almost tore their pollen baskets apart trying to empty them of any foul matter. The Dance Hall echoed with the wails and sobs of their shame, but many more sisters were locked mute with terror and could only stare.
THE FRAGRANCE OF DEVOTION mingled with the smell of the drones’ blood. As it grew stronger, those who were sobbing ceased, and those who were stricken felt released. A physical surge swept through the chaos of the Dance Hall, bringing every sister to her feet, then a great cry of joy rang out, for the Queen herself stood in their midst.
“Rest, my weary daughters,” said the Queen, and her voice was soft as petals. “Lie down and let me heal you with your Mother’s Love.”
The Queen let her mantle open so that the scent of Devotion flowed stronger, and the bees sank to their knees in gratitude. A soft vibration rose up through the comb, a smooth rhythmic wave traveling back and forth across the Dance Hall, lifting and rocking them as if Holy Mother carried them all in her arms. She walked among them with her wings spread wide, and each sister felt the blanket of forgiveness settle upon her as she breathed in her Mother’s Love. As each sister began to weep, the bitter essence of vengeance drained from her body in her tears.
Flora lay on the smooth worn comb where so many times she had danced. The blood-scent of the drones rose up into the Queen’s Love and strengthened its fragrance. She could see the great gold-and-brown carpet of her sisters lying wing to wing, and the pale shimmer of movement as the soothing frequency rolled through the comb beneath them. She wanted to sit up and look upon the beauty of the Queen, but as the wave came toward her and she inhaled the divine fragrance, she entered its rhythm and joined the shared trance.
The Queen spread her wings and every bee sighed in bliss.
“Give me your shame and your sins, my daughters,” she said, “and I will wash them away with my Love. Give me all your grief, your guilt, your secrets, and I will tell you a story to lift your wings and fill your heart with joy.” The great chamber filled with a soft, low hum, and the Hive Mind joined every sister with the Queen. Held in sound and scent, the bees lay perfectly still as their minds traveled.
In the Time before Time in this very hive, a young princess paced in her chambers. She had slain all her rivals and cleaned her crown of blood, yet her triumph felt empty and her soul hungered for adventure. But each time she tried to leave her chambers her ladies blocked her with curtsies and sweet words until the princess grew to hate her rich robes, her food lost its savor, and she was vexed beyond imagining.
One day her strength rose. When her ladies came with nectar and ointments the princess burst past them and ran through the hive toward the wild air she yearned for. Down and down the hive she fled—but instead of trying to stop her, her ladies ran behind cheering in excitement, for the day had come.
The princess reached the landing board and stopped in shock, for no one had warned her of the sky and the sun. She wanted to run back in to safety and return another day, but now her ladies blocked her way, forcing her on toward the edge.
At this behavior the princess grew so angry she spread her wings, and a great humming roar filled her chest. In an instant she was high in the air, her home far beneath her and her body made of light and air. Her ladies sped behind her on their own, cheering and singing in praise.
The princess did not know where she went, but a strange new scent called her on. She was fearless and a joyous power filled her body. Her ladies could not keep up, and she heard their cries as birds dived at them but she did not stop. The huge tossing green heads of the trees were close ahead and at that place the smell was strong and rich and thick.
And then the princess saw them, the host of handsome gallants that thronged the air, calling her praise and showing their strength and valor. Some begged for her choice and those she ignored, but others came rushing to claim her. She tested their speed against her own, whirling above them in pride and freedom until the fleetest sprang upon her from above, where she had not seen him. At his clasp, the princess knew this was the sport she had hungered for.
Together they rode the wind until she felt his essence in her body. Keeping his dronewood tight within her she cried out and released him, and the gallant’s body tumbled down toward the earth. But her sport was not over. Again and again she chose a noble drone to capture her on the wing, and again and again she sent his body spinning down to earth, empty of dronesong and missing that part she kept.
At last her body was filled by the finest males in the air and her hunger sated. Then she turned her wings for home, and never had her palace smelled so sweet. Her ladies licked every trace of dronesong from her body and fought to share the last male organ lodged within her, that prize she took from each of them. And all the bees in the hive rejoiced in triumph, for with her marriage flight their princess was crowned Queen, and mother of generations to come.
In her trance, Flora felt the presence of the Queen close beside her, and she wanted to reach out and touch her but her body was not hers to move. The Queen spread her wings again, and the beautiful scent renewed itself across her sleeping daughters.
“And as you slew my sons, your brothers, in sacrifice to winter, so did I slay your several fathers, in sacrifice to spring. Each one’s life I took for love, and each year I tell this tale. When you wake you will forget every word of it. By my Love, you shall be cleansed of sin and made whole again.”
Flora sighed as the Queen touched her with a wing-tip, then walked among all her daughters, covering them with the mantle of her scent.
“Wake, beloved daughters,” she said. “Attend your sister and wash her, every one of you healed and reborn in your Mother’s Love.”
The sisters roused themselves and obeyed. The air was pure and sweet again and Flora washed every sister near her, combing and grooming clotted fur until it was smooth as thistle silk. Not since she had been taken into the Queen’s private chambers by the ladies-in-waiting had she felt any kind and gentle hands on her, and her heart filled with love and gratitude to all her sisters. Only when she felt the delightful feathering touch of her antennae being groomed did she understand the wonderful feeling. They were wide open, and she could not close them.
“Thank you, Sister.” Flora pulled away. She scanned about her. Every bee’s antennae were the same—wide open to absorb every molecule of the Queen’s Love and enraptured by the story trance. The relief was exquisite, and with it came the beauty of the hive, rushing upon her after being held so long at bay by her narrowed senses. Now she saw it all again—the curved, vaulted ceiling of the Dance Hall with its frescoes of flowers and leaves carved into the ancient wax panel
s, and her sisters—her beautiful, beloved sisters, with their warm, clean smell.
Flora tried again to close her antennae. All it would take was for one bee to grasp them, as Sister Teasel had done, and her secrets would pour out. She did not know when the spider’s prophecy would come true, but her egg might be forming at this exact moment, and any bee might scent it. One more egg—
At this thought, Flora’s antennae opened to their full extent. To her joy and terror, the radiant scent memory of her last egg began to form in her mind, then in her body. She began to smell it and feel it as if she cradled it in her arms, and its fragrance seemed to drift around her, mingling with the Queen’s Love.
Possessed by the ghosting memory, Flora could not move one step, though all around her the different kin-scents began to rise as the sisters returned to work. As she smelled the distinctive tang of the fertility police, Flora felt someone watching her. Fear released her and she spun around, expecting to be confronted by a masked sister. But the beam of attention came from a huddle of sanitation workers. Realizing she had seen them, they dropped their eyes and antennae and busied themselves with grooming each other. Flora went to them.
“Honor to you, sisters,” she said. “You work for the police now?”
The first worker shook her head in horror, and the others bobbed their antennae to emphasize that they did not. They gazed at her with bright, intelligent black eyes.
Flora could not look away—and the image of her last egg returned bright and clear in her mind’s eye, the memory of its fragrance pouring strong from her antennae.
My beloved egg, my lost child—
She waited for them to screech the alarm, but instead they shuffled closer to her. Then they lifted their kin-scent stronger and joined it around her. With a shock of gratitude, Flora knew they used it to shield her from discovery. They knew she was the laying worker, and they did not reveal it. The wall of scent thickened as strong steps approached. At the astringent scent of this particular Sister Sage, Flora’s antennae sprang shut, and their roots throbbed in warning.