Chapter 26
‘All…executed?’ Lord Chillhide said, aghast.
Westnaine spoke the words gravely. ‘It is so, Your Grace. Lady Rumball, Lord-Marshall Highgate, and many more of our closest companions, all...’ he glanced at Rumball, ‘…most cruelly sent to the fires.’
The Earl of Rumball lowered himself onto a rough leather seat and buried his head in his hands, the gentle flap of the tent walls and the howls of vulfbears adding to his air of desolation.
‘And there is more. My reports confirm that the Holy Guards are a beaten force, ambushed by the Hivecarls and put to the axe. Only a handful have survived. For the moment, His Oneness has gained the upper hand. The City is his, sealed and guarded, and all opposition crushed or in hiding.’
Chillhide stared into the eyes of his trusted co-conspirators for a moment. ‘But we must take heart,’ he said at last. ‘The Hivedom of Lord Hardknot or the Church of Cardinal Oblong were both unhappy alternatives for all that live and breathe within City, but things are simpler now; now there is only one who stands in our way. And we shall deny him. But we must move quickly. Wherever she may be, Allessia is in need of our protection. Without her as our fountainhead, all will be lost. What is the most recent assessment of the City defences?’
‘The guards that defend the Outer Walls no longer know which way the winds blow,’ said Westnaine. ‘The King’s Army, though now under the command of the traitor Forgewell, still numbers many senior commanders loyal to our cause. When the overwhelming strength of our force is seen, the Purethic flag unfurled and flying high for before us as we reach the City gates, many stout hearts will rally to our cause. At times like this, noble blood is thicker even than honey.’
Just at this moment a young nobleman burst into the tent.
‘Your Grace,’ he shouted. ‘I beg you come at once!’
The group left the tent in haste and raced after the commander to the top of a low rise, and within but a moment the dangerous situation was apparent to them. A number of vulfbears were fighting over a sheep’s corpse that, for reasons known only to them, had become an object of singular desire. The vulfbear keepers were already laying into the beasts with clubs, each trying to save their own charges, and as the fighting spread, the keepers fell upon each other in frustration, their own private battles quickly adding to the terrible spectacle. Then the Vulfking warriors, each sensing the honour of their own tribe at stake, began to run from all directions to join the fray. Now the blood was up, and as the small group of nobles watched in dismay, all the ancient grudges that had been hidden for so long, took hold once more of the hearts and minds of the Vulfking horde.
‘By the Royal Honeybees!’ Rumball cried, as the fighting grew in ferocity before them. ‘What nightmare is this?’
‘Truly, they are a cursed people!’ cried Chillhide.
‘We must ride to Florret!’ shouted Westnaine, as several loose vulfbears began to charge around in mindless frenzy, attacking anyone and anything that came within their path.
The men turned and ran for their horses, and as the clash of fighting and the growls of beasts filled the air, they reached their mounts and began to gallop away. But seeing their flight, a pack of vulfbears instinctively took chase, their size belying the speed with which they could cover open ground. The nobles were soon overtaken, both horses and riders being dragged to the ground as one in a frenzy of desperate screams. Only one lucky soul managed to escape the onslaught, and spurring his mount for all they were worth, the solitary figure disappeared in the direction of Castell Florret.
Chapter 27
Lord Hardknot listened to the distant howls of vulfbears with satisfaction. As the ancient curse demanded, the Vulfkings had fallen upon each other, their memories of inter-tribal hatred having been brought to the surface once more. The promise of warfare rekindled emotions deeply buried in the hearts of such determined warriors, unlocking doors best kept sealed to a forefather’s hatred. In a people like the Vulfkings, such a conclusion was as inevitable as it was unstoppable. As Hardknot had known, the Noble’s mercenary force was doomed from the moment it had been tempted to gather as one for battle.
He watched the Blue Sun as it broke the horizon. No more pillars of grey smoke could be seen rising into the sky from the Hivedom fields. He stared at over fifty black patches that had once held a unique community of his beloved Royal Honeybees. He closed his eyes and asked for their forgiveness. But in that moment of prayer, the nagging feeling of doubt came over him once more. Was there more to his honeybees strange behaviour than he had been able to comprehend? Was there something guiding the ancient spirits that dwelt within each hive that he had missed? Best to move with caution, he decided, until the rock of certainty could be found once more.
A single honeybee landed on his cheek and he lifted it gently into his hand. Its wings sparkled with rainbows in the growing white light. Once again, as if for the very first time, he was captivated by the magical beauty of so precious a creature. He brought it to his lips and kissed its back; the aroma of fresh pollen was tainted with the dark smell of smoke. The bee began to dance, its legs fighting for grip as it weaved the pattern of life across his palm. In that single moment, Lord Hardknot, Keeper of the Royal Honeybees, was at one with his creator.
‘All is well, my beloved,’ he whispered, and the honeybee took flight once more, its tireless energy and singular purpose matched, as always, by the one it loved in return.
Darrius Slate arrived together with several attendants. Beside them was a young man dressed simply in white robes held by a violet braid.
‘Let me see,’ said Hardknot, and the braid was untied and the robe removed.
The cruel wounds of Oblong’s hexrack had disappeared, Pater Bartolamy’s face, arms, legs and torso, all now without blemish. Hardknot saw the glow that surrounded the young man’s body in a cloak of light. He watched the rainbow colours as they swirled over his skin. He looked into Bartolamy’s chest and saw a green heart beating and blue lungs filling with air. Violet blood tore through arteries and veins like a river in flood. Hardknot went deeper still, into the myriad of cells that composed Bartolamy’s physical being, and marveled at the complexity of the processes that maintained the vessel of his soul. Bartolamy was as perfect as the day he had been born.
‘The Infusion has been a complete success, Your Oneness,’ said Slate.
‘You have done well,’ said Hardknot. ‘Dress him then return to your duties. I will have need of your skills again soon.’
When they were alone Hardknot beckoned Bartolamy to follow him deeper into the myriad of hives. The beauty of the Hivedom was seen by very few, and such visitors as were ever permitted entry would return and regale their families and friends with wonder, their words stretching embellishment to its limits in their efforts to do justice to what they had witnessed. In the pure white light, a sea of pink stretched before them, each petal of Royal Clover radiating welcome to the millions of Royal Honeybees busily moving from flower to flower to gorge themselves on the abundant sweet nectar. Countless hives fell away into the distance, the air around them tinged with a rich brownness from the bees that sped to and fro on their endless quest. Beyond the fields lay orchards filled with fruits of every description, whilst the Hivedom walls, the backdrop to the scene, were swept with the reds and golds of Autumn.
It was spellbinding, and for several long minutes both men stood still and in silence.
‘Can you hear it?’ said Hardknot at last, raising a single finger into the air and holding the moment. ‘It is the sound of life.’
Bartolamy spoke without looking away from the beauty. ‘Why am I here?’ he asked.
‘You are here to serve.’
Bartolamy turned and their eyes met.
‘And who should I serve?’ he asked.
‘There is perfection within you,’ replied Hardknot. ‘And perfection will always find its way back to its creator.’
‘And are you then, my creator?’
‘There is but one, and it is She who has recognised you, as you have already recognised Her.’
‘But are we not all children of suffering, created by Them that look over us?’
‘There is suffering, Bartolamy, but something so low born can never be blessed. Nor does the suffering of the Innocents add anything to a ledger that can be sold. It is naught but a tally of evil, created by the Church to feed its evil designs. Only where there is love, beauty, and desire, can there be true redemption.’ Hardknot turned back to the view once more. ‘Look before you, Bartolamy, and see the world She has created; a world freely given, and free to take. What can you see waiting only to be recognised? Love or hate? Beauty or suffering? Denial, or Desire? Look upon it now, Bartolamy, but not through the prison of sight. Close your eyes, and let your mind go free.’
Bartolamy did as he was bade, and as the seconds stretched into minutes, several honeybees landed upon his head. They buzzed with joy as they recognised that which had been lost, and that which had now been found.
‘Save me,’ Bartolamy gasped at last, falling to his knees. Tears fell freely down his cheeks and onto the carpet of clover beneath him, sparkling through the air like crystals.
Hardknot found himself envying the energy that would now be spinning through Bartolamy’s mind. It had been many years since he himself had experienced his own more gradual revelation. The secret teachings of Jasmine Parthanter, the vilified prophet of Honeyism, had started him on his journey. How he remembered the nights when he had listened to an aged Honeyist he had come to know, speak her lessons over and over again, until their simple truth was carved upon his heart. Then had he seen with clear eyes the corruption of the Holy Church of Afterwards and those that served it, and a powerful anger had welled up within him. For what had been made beautiful, had been turned into corruption, the desires of body and soul torn from each other’s embrace and made as strangers to one another. Just as a flower will slowly wilt and die in the dark, so too had darkness spread across the Kingdom, the beauty of Her love consumed by an endless tide of written words, repetition and pain. Hate was too good a word for the feelings of revulsion that had grown day-by-day within his heart. And so at length he had turned his mind to Reformation, and dedicated his life to the Honeyist cause.
‘You have seen Her?’ asked Hardknot at last.
‘I am yours,’ replied Bartolamy.
Hardknot left for St Vacant’s Cathedral in his carriage, his personal detachment of Palace Guards leading the way. The three suns now burned bright as one in the heavens; it was a beautiful autumn day. But despite this fact the streets remained deserted, with windows and doors tight shut as those within waited in safety to see what would happen next.
Hardknot took the time to consider the current situation. The Noble conspiracy was destroyed by fire and Vulfking rage, whilst Oblong’s Holy Guards were a beaten force. The Palace and Cathedral were already under his control and the King’s Army had finally moved against the Imposium. The City was his, with even the Board of Doings now powerless to resist his cause.
Lasivia, his Queen to be, was safely secured within the Deep Hives. For his Jazpahs however, the first chill of icy wind from the south had confirmed that their brief allotted span of life would soon be over. Just as with the Ditch Wasps that had first spawned their creation, Jazpahs did not survive the winter. It would soon be time to secure the future of next years’ swarm.
Though not all the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place as he had anticipated, he reflected, the puzzle was being completed nonetheless. One missing piece still frustrated him, but only time, he reflected, stood in the way of the bloated evil that went under the name of Oblong, being dragged at last to his final reward.
When he reached St. Vacant’s Cathedral, a detachment of the King’s Army stood guard at the open entrance. The steps below were bathed in blood, whilst to the side a large haphazard pile of corpses was being neatly stacked onto a huge pyre of broken wooden pews. Hardknot saw holy guards, clergymen, and even proletaires unluckily caught up in the fighting; all now lifeless before him. As precedent dictated, they would be turned to ash at Red Sunset.
He climbed the long stairway and entered the Cathedral, the first time he had done so for very many years. The smell of incense, candle wax and stale sweat, was instantly familiar. Dark memories of pain, of fear, even of self-loathing, flooded into him. He breathed in deeply, searching for Her love in this terrible place. He inhaled the warmth of Her light deep within him and exhaled all contrary thoughts high into the domed ceiling where they could take flight upon the wind and leave the City.
‘The Imposium has also fallen, Your Oneness?’ said the newly promoted Lord Marshall Forgewell, now at his side.
Hardknot stared into Forgewell’s face; the new commander of the King’s Army was well-pleased with himself, and it showed.
Both men turned to watch the guards as they roamed the nooks and crannies of the vast building. Several bodies still lay bloodied near the altar where they had fallen, awaiting their final journey to the pyre.
‘When the bodies are all removed,’ said Forgewell, trying to guess his master’s thoughts, ‘we will start to remove the statues.’
‘Leave not one Word or Relic in this place,’ added Hardknot. ‘Only when the contamination has been fully removed, can the empty shell by rededicated to Her glory.’
Forgewell bowed, but said nothing.
Hardknot saw that the large doors that guarded the way down to the Sacred Hellholes remained closed. He moved towards them, Forgewell following in his steps, and when he stood before them he rested his forehead against the cold stone. At length he smiled, there being no doubt in his mind now that His Mostfull had taken to hiding in his last stronghold.
‘Have the entrance to the Sacred Hellholes guarded at all times,’ he said to Forgewell. ‘Ensure that no one enters or leaves. Tomorrow at dawn, I will send Hivecarls into its depths. They alone have the strength of will to enter this final domain of evil. When Cardinal Oblong has been found and taken to the Hivedom, the Innocents must be freed and taken into care.’
‘As Your Oneness commands. And the Redhoods?’
‘Seal them in.’
Hardknot spent a further hour in the Cathedral to savour the moment of victory. In his mind’s eye, he saw the glory to come of St. Parthanter’s Cathedral, a wordless temple devoted only to the beauty of Honeyism. But then he realised that something was missing; something he should have noticed as soon as he had arrived. He rushed to the entrance and saw that the piles of bodies on the huge pyre were being attended to by mere blowflies. Not one spirit was being captured by a honeybee and carried away to safety.
‘Have you seen any honeybees this day?’ he snapped at a guard that was dragging a corpse onto the pyre.
‘Not one, Your Oneness,’ he replied with a shrug.
Hardknot stared across the City and away in the distance saw the shadow of yet another giant swarm of Royal Honeybees climb into the air. It moved like a snake, a head-like ball leading the way and a tail-like trail following in its wake. At length, it glided over the City walls to disappear out of sight. Anger fell over him like a wave, his mind turning in on itself as it searched frantically for meaning. And when at last he returned to the Hivedom to seek the solace of sleep, the dreams that came to him were strange and unsettling. He awoke in the depth of night and went to his balcony to stare into the pitch-black sky, reaching out for the sound of billions of wings that would tell him his honeybees were returning. But when the first light of dawn revealed an empty sky, he went to that one place of eternal comfort that dwelt deep within him. And as she was always willing to do, She allowed him to enter Her Kingdom once more.
The journey was timeless, the seconds stretching as his spirit was pulled towards Her. He saw colours spiraling down infinite tunnels of light and fell within them. He felt Her presence surround him, Her sweet voice singing a wordless melody and Her soft hands upon him. He lost contact even with his s
ingle being, becoming at last at one with the wholeness of everything. And then suddenly, he was free; a single translucent honeybee that held his eternal soul taking to the life-giving air.
He flew over the fields of the Hivedom, the colours and scents more alive than could possibly be imagined by anyone inhabiting temporal mortality. The beauty was not sensed, but simply was, Her creation needing neither time nor space to achieve its perfection. He wheeled through the sky, drinking in the glory of simply being a part of Her nature. And then the scent came to him, and it was as if a choir of angels surrounded him with light. He looked down and saw that several more hives had also detected the powerful presence, millions of wings blurring with energy as the honeybees followed that which could not be denied. And as they flew up towards him he drifted into the stream of life, and together they left the City to find their Queen.
Chapter 28
A large stone in the rough track bumped Allessia awake. She opened her eyes and saw Lady Camellia gazing out of the carriage window at a solid wall of rock drifting by. Allessia watched her for a moment, a joyous feeling of love towards the former Queen growing within her. She turned her head to look out of the opposite window and her heart leapt at the magnificent view that filled her vision. Huge granite mountains towered into the sky, their summits capped with pale blue snow trailing wisps of sparkling crystals into the white sunlight. Below the sheer cliffs, the mountain broke apart into falls of scree and boulders; small bushes and tough grasses dotted the first signs of colour on the otherwise barren slopes. As Allessia lowered her eyes further she saw tall green trees standing proud, their roots defying gravity as they clung tenaciously to a life that even the most wayward of seed had found. The mountainside finally became lost altogether in a deep wood, where several giant brown birds circled lazily over a knotted green canopy.
Below the woods, Allessia caught sight of a raging torrent of water cascading like an angry beast over the rocks and runways of a boiling river. Huge plumes of spray dashed into the air as the water fought its way home, the crashing and rumbling filling the valley with thunderous echoes. Several large dark brown beasts stood upon a rocky ledge that jutted into the river. They were pulling silver fish from the water with breathtaking skill, sharp claws disappearing with a sudden lunge into the foam and just as quickly reappearing with their wriggling prize, the catch greedily, though only partially, devoured, before the process began anew.
The Lords of Blood and Honey (The Kingdom of Honey) Page 22