The Bees. Laline Paull

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       Forgive me, sister—

      Pain streaked through the join of Flora’s head and thorax. She cried out and staggered back from the panel.

      She was in the Queen’s Library, and the ladies stood watching. She felt her body – unharmed – but the shock of the blow reverberated.

      ‘I – I don’t understand.’

      Lady Primrose giggled nervously.

      ‘Every sister sees her own end. Though we never go as far as you just did – it is enough to walk the corridor and know what is coming!’

      ‘The Kindness means death?’

      ‘Amen,’ chorused the ladies. ‘No use to the hive, no use for life!’

      At their hysterical laughter Flora laughed too, excited by the terrible vision.

      ‘Let me do another! Now I understand—’

      ‘You understand nothing – you are merely brave.’ Lady Burnet leavened her words with a smile. ‘But if you would take one more, then half are done, and our duty is amply fulfilled.’ She followed Flora’s eyes around the last three. ‘No. Those are too strong, only the priestesses tend those stories.’

      ‘Then one more.’ Flora drew herself up, proud of her courage and the awe in the eyes of these fine ladies. ‘And with all my heart.’

      The other bees stood near the door as Lady Burnet positioned Flora at the third panel.

      ‘Keep your wings latched,’ she told her, ‘and stop at any time.’

      Flora stepped forward and touched her antennae to the wax mosaic. It was plainer than the second, its scent held close to the wax as if to shield its secret, but as she focused, its peculiar fragrance structure began to part.

      First came the intense bouquet of the hive, strong and welcoming and laced with the wealth of a million different flowers’ nectar. It smelled of sunshine and sisters, and Flora drew it in more deeply, searching for the strange accent note she had first registered. It darted at the edge of her consciousness, just out of reach.

      ‘Good, that is enough,’ murmured Lady Burnet from the door. ‘Let us go.’

      But the olfactory loop held Flora’s attention: the hive, the sun, the honey – then without warning came a blast of wild cold air and choking smoke. Flora staggered. Her body was in the room but her senses flooded with the panic of ten thousand sisters roaring their engines, the dazing sun and the overpowering smell of honey.

      ‘That story is called The Visitation.’

      The voice was sweet and thrilling, and the hand that touched Flora took away her fear.

      ‘It tells of robbery and terror, and the survival of our people.’ The scent mirage was gone, and in its place an intense pure wave of Devotion filled the chamber. Flora dropped to her six knees, at last in the presence of the Queen. She laid her antennae along the ground in reverence.

      ‘Brave daughter.’

      Flora looked up. At first all she could see was the golden aura, but then Her Majesty’s beautiful eyes shone through, lit with kindness and love. She was magnificently large, with long shapely legs and a graceful tapering abdomen, full and buoyant under the golden tracery of her folded wings.

      ‘Mother,’ Flora whispered.

      ‘Child,’ said the Queen. ‘Do not be ashamed.’ She raised Flora to her feet and smiled at all her ladies. ‘Come, my daughters, let us be more comfortable in my chamber, that I may hear about my ancient cousin Vespa’s wicked venture.’

Eleven

      Flora 717, low of kin and sweeper of filth, now sat with the Queen and her ladies in Her Majesty’s own private sitting room, eating jewelled lily-cakes and drinking fresh nectar, while she told her story of the wasp and the heat ball. Without warning the Queen scanned her, then to Flora’s shame the smell of the wasp rose from her body again. The ladies started in fright and protested they had washed her.

      ‘Hush, daughters.’ The Queen smiled. ‘I only wished to make sure that even in its last traces, the scent of the Vespa had not changed. Her ancient envy still beats strong; that is why they want to steal from us, as if our honey or our children will give them our power. In the Time before Time they chose blood above nectar, and we became foes.’

      Lady Burnet clasped her hands. ‘Immortal Mother protects Her children.’

      ‘Hallowed be Thy Womb,’ all the ladies responded, Flora too, as the words rose unbidden from her tongue.

      ‘Leave me, daughters.’

      Then the Queen lay down on her couch of petals, folded herself in a haze of scented sleep and vanished from their view.

      * * *

      The ladies showed Flora her bed, and it was soft and sweetly scented, almost as fragrant as the cribs in Category One.

      ‘Because the Nursery is just beyond that door,’ said Lady Violet from her neighbouring couch. ‘Perhaps you shall see it tomorrow when we attend Holy Mother at Her Laying Progress. With all the eggs and glowing cribs – it is a sacred marvel beyond words.’ She coughed. ‘Do not be offended if we cannot take you.’

      ‘I will not.’

      ‘Your humble attitude is honour to your kin.’ Then Lady Violet wrapped herself in a thin scented veil of sleep and spoke no more. Flora lay in the darkness, breathing in the divine nurturing perfume that held them like a tender embrace. She drew it deep into her body until she felt her abdomen soften and glow.

      * * *

      The next morning the sun bell rang and the Queen’s fragrance rose strong and sweet as the ladies opened the doors to the Nursery. They called Flora to come with them and they entered the great chamber of Category One behind a dense veil of seclusion. They were now in the most sacred area of the hive, the Laying Rooms, row upon row of immaculate cribs empty and waiting for the Queen.

      The Queen’s scent rose high as she went into her birth trance. Her face shone brighter, her scent pulsed, then with a fast graceful rhythm she began swinging her magnificent long abdomen from side to side, each time sliding the tip deep within a crib. At the back of the Progress, carrying the water and cooling cloths, Flora saw the faint point of light remaining in the wax, where a tiny new egg adhered to the bottom. Each one glowed with soft gold light then faded down as the Queen moved on, her birth dance so hypnotically beautiful that Flora wanted to swing her own body in joy, but seeing that none of the other ladies danced but followed most demurely, she held her urge in check and did as they did.

      Six times she returned to the Queen’s chambers for fresh water and pollen cakes before all the cribs were filled. The Laying Room was soft and bright with new life, the Queen stood proud and exhausted, and her ladies wept in delight.

      Back in the Queen’s chambers, Lady Burnet directed Flora to clean and make ready the common parts while she and the other СКАЧАТЬ