by Bowes, K T
I shook my head and gagged with the effort of speaking words which wouldn’t come. My fingers closed around Limah’s wrist like a vice. I needed to tell him to run from the darkness swirling inside me, but couldn’t. The old man’s eyes narrowed. “I said she’d bring death!” he spat. “And so she will.”
“She will not!” Limah’s fingers dragged across my face as he stood, breaking the contact. He left a peculiar coldness in his wake and I covered my face with my hands and rocked like a lunatic. “This is on you!” he shouted at the drone and I heard metal slide against metal as he drew his sword. “She didn’t chose you as her counselor and you had no right to take her to the centre of herself.” His voice lowered to a growl and I heard the timbre shake with rage. “It is my privilege.”
“But you don’t have the courage!” the old man spat. He baited Limah, sightless eyes in a wrinkled face jerking in his direction. “Just do it! End my miserable existence before your false queen does it anyway!”
The thought of the old man’s blood on my conscience forced me to stand and wrap my fingers around Limah’s wrist. I mouthed the word no longer accessible to my tongue and shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. The blackness inside my soul yawned and I panicked, eager not to serve it by taking a life.
“No?” Limah read my lips and I saw conflict bud in eyes as dark as coals. I saw mercy war with fury and understood his frustration. I jerked my head towards the old man and felt Limah’s blood rage through the veins in his wrist. Tendons and sinews flexed and bulged, but he misunderstood my plea. The drone held answers I wanted, but Limah raged at him instead. “Get out!” he shouted, sheathing his sword.
The old man pursed his lips and shuffled towards the door with deliberate slowness. We both watched his progress with a confusing mix of emotions and I squeezed Limah’s wrist again to get his attention, my fingers barely reaching around its girth. It seemed as though he folded before me, his shoulders slumping and the scar across his face absorbing more of the healthy flesh around it.
His words struck terror into my heart as he uttered them, for they bore the last judgement I wanted to hear. His fingers clamped over mine and his sword gave a metallic clang inside its housing. “Estefania,” he breathed, his dark eyes wide and frightened. “I cannot mend this.”
CHAPTER TEN
Silence
I gaped at Limah and an involuntary swallow seemed to lock my throat. I needed him to fix it. His competency had lulled me into believing he knew everything and at that moment, I hated him for letting me see the confusion in his eyes. My fingers around his wrist tightened until the flesh showed white beneath them and I saw pain reflected in his eyes. Adding my nails to the action, I gritted my teeth and squeezed until blood seeped beneath them, yet still he allowed me to hold him. With my other hand, I lunged, thudding my fist against his shoulder and chest, my mouth opened in a silent scream of rage. When I reached for the knife he kept around his belt, he halted me in an instant, flipping his arm over to release my clawing fingers and grasping my wrists in an unbreakable grip.
“Who would you slay, Estefania? Me or the old man who took you to the depths of yourself? It cannot be him, or you would have allowed me the honour. So it’s I whom you wish dead.” His tone held sadness and he leaned so close, I felt his breath on my cheeks.
I shook my head and wrestled with him, seeking to free one of my arms. When he refused to yield, I dragged my right hand up to my chest and patted it, fear vying with anger in my thudding heart. His jaw dropped and he let go, taking a step backwards with such suddenness, I staggered. His eyes narrowed. “Yourself? You would end your own life rather than face your demons?” An ugly sneer dragged his lips upwards. “Why am I not surprised, Este? The depths of your selfishness shouldn’t still astound me.” He pulled the blade from its hidden pocket and threw it onto the bed. It bounced once, leaving an empty divot in the blanket, before resting next to my pillow. Limah jabbed a finger at it and then into my face. I blinked, my chest heaving in shock and disbelief. “Do it!” he snapped, his face drawn into a furious snarl. Backing away, he jabbed his finger again. “You will devastate the girl-child, so at least ensure you don’t leave a mess for her to see.” He whirled away, his shoulders set into a rigid, angry hunch. His boots thudded against the earth floor and the door slammed in his wake.
Before the musty breeze from the corridor reached me, my legs buckled and I sank onto the bed. My body folded sideways and my fingers clawed at the feather pillow. The sobbing which racked my slender frame should have raised the dead, but only silence greeted my ears aside from my heaving breaths and a sorry heart thudding in my breast.
I cried until no tears remained. The sound of sniffing and gulping seemed futile without the wails and accompanying groans which usually guaranteed whatever I desired. Sixteen summers had given me time to perfect the art of tantrum throwing and I considered it a skill. Life would prove impossible without it. I had never seen a need to work on any strength of character which might replace such manipulative behaviours. I knew how to demand, but never learned how to ask.
Sitting up, I wiped the tears from my cheeks with a rough blanket from the bed. Unable to call for assistance and unwilling to leave the safety of my room to seek any, I removed the remainder of my ruined clothing and searched for a way to clean myself without help. My sore feet took me to the tub in the corner where the women ran my evening bath after a day in the wash room. Though I took their service for granted, curiosity meant I had noticed where they obtained the water and how the process worked.
I used a taper to transfer a candle flame to the strange contraption which provided hot water. Housed beneath the tub, it burned like an open fire and heated the metal of the bath until the water within grew hot. I remembered the women laying cloths around the inside surface, so it wouldn’t burn my skin. Searching for them, I discovered a pile of cloths stacked in a wooden glory box nearby. The fire worked fast, heating the metal until hot to the touch and only then did I ponder on the lack of liquid in the tub.
A nearby hand pump drew water into a pipe and deposited it into a jug. I worked hard, my arms aching as I pumped the water and then ran the jug across to the tub. My mission distracted me from my current dilemma and I played mental games with myself. Occupying my mind with the task left nothing for contemplation and it suited me better than I expected. I set unrealistic goals and concentrated on meeting them, rejoicing when I succeeded and then making them harder still. By the time the tub achieved half the water the women usually provided, I had prided myself on filling the jug and depositing it within the slow count of ten.
The cloths around the bath slipped beneath the water as I clambered in. A coolness still hung in the ripples which moved around me but the fire still burned below and continued to heat as I washed my skin. The bar of yellow soap leapt from my fingers many times as I rubbed it against my wounds, causing a giggle to tumble soundless from my lips. My arms burned from the effort of jug filling and I massaged the aching muscles with tender fingers, examining my body as I never had before.
I missed my nurse’s gentle hands, but marvelled at what her ministrations had denied me. The soap slipped over my skin like silk and left a trail of yellow through the grime. I smelled the sharpness of Manuka honey and brought it to my lips. It tasted odd, leaving a sense that it had stripped away my saliva and glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I spat suds into the water and vowed not to repeat the experiment.
With my body covered in slick soap, I sensed it drying and felt as though I might crack open. Washing it away revealed soft pink flesh unencumbered by filth. Neat rounded breasts rose above the water and my eyes strayed to the army of bees marching up my arm and across my chest. The candle light flickered and I fancied I saw the largest one move beneath my epidermis, shifting position before becoming statuesque. “Why do you reject me so?” I mouthed the words, lack of sound still startling me each time I dared to forget the curse of silence.
The bee remained still and
I allowed the soap to coast over its rounded surface. The action caused less pain than before. “Perhaps I have become the simile,” I whispered, silent breaths the only sound. The gentle face and wild hair pushed into my memory and her goodness surrounded me like an aura. The darkness of my soul cringed against her light and I forced myself to forget her ruined body on the floor of the hive. “I could not take your place in any realm,” I mouthed, an ugly sniff catching in the back of my throat. “And without you I’m already in trouble.”
I dried my body on cloths left over from the bath. Numerous cuts and bruises littered my skin and the sandy floor coated open sores and bulging blisters which covered the soles of my feet. The pale body of a princess disappeared beneath the markings of black, yellow and green bruises.
Grime covered the water like pond scum and the floating cloths contained stains even the lamplight could not disguise as shadows. Wrapped in a raggedy edged shroud, I searched for somewhere to discard the water and remembered the women tipping buckets in a corner of the room. I had failed to appreciate their labour on my behalf as I found the drain and used the jug again to bail out the tub. Water gurgled away along with any hope that I might have entertained about living as a princess. My life on the island seemed a distant memory. Even the face of my nurse blurred to unfamiliarity as I dwelled on her fading image. How she would have marvelled at the state of my torn fingers and the dirt ingrained into my nails. The sight of my activity would have sent her into a dead faint.
The last of the water evaded the jug and I tipped the tub over to drain it onto the floor before righting it again. I hung the many cloths over its side to dry and feeling the onset of further exhaustion, clambered into the narrow bed to reclaim my energy. The cloth around my body shed its dampness into the mattress beneath me and cold seeped into my bones. I pulled up the blankets, resenting the way the coarse hairs in its construction scratched at my skin. Then I slept.
Sleep took me where I did not expect to go. I feared the blackness of the pit which stole my voice, but slumber spared me that horror. Instead, it dropped me into a queen cup and my mother frowned at me from above.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sonora
“Estefania,” she sighed, her face pinched with concern. Irritation budded in the twitch of her lips and I tensed. The queen cup felt too small, restricting my movements and keeping me still. In human form, Sonora turned, the gossamer threads of her dress resembling the intricate pattern of a wing. When she gazed down on me again, I saw pity in her eyes. “You cause the Bee Keeper much distress.” She raised one eyebrow in a gentle arch and her beauty paralysed me. Perfect formation of breasts and abdomen gave an outline through her finery and I sensed her bewitching power. I parted my lips to speak, but the curse stretched even into my dreams and no sound conveyed my protest. Mother knelt and held out a cup formed from the petals of buttercups. Pressed together and sealed with hardened honey, they contained the nectar like an ornamental trophy. “Drink,” she said. “Your journey has robbed you of more than you know.”
My hands shook as I cupped the syrup, my body pressed tight into the queen cup. The healing properties of the nectar warmed my stomach and its effects spread into my tired limbs. Sickly sweet, it coated my teeth until they felt slippery and I groaned as cuts knitted and bruises accelerated their process. “Mother.” I mouthed the word as nectar dribbled from my open lips and plunged off the end of my chin. She nodded and smoothed her palm through the mess, wiping the residue on her silken skirts.
“I know,” she whispered. Her lips quirked upward in a sad smile which softened the amber of her eyes into a gentle glow. “You have much to answer for and no voice, child. Such is your strange and winding journey. Some children follow the narrow way with care while others dance in the lure of wide and treacherous halls. My daughter chooses instead to run on broken glass and pick the path as yet uncharted. You make life hard for yourself, Estefania.”
I shrugged, my eyes wide with confusion at her words. I licked the sugar from my lips and waited for further judgement. Sonora inhaled. “Limah knows best, Este. You’re mute and outclassed alone. You need an army behind you to succeed. An isolated leader is like a bee in a strange colony. It’s only a matter of time before the balling begins and they’re tossed away like a husk on the wind.”
I pointed to my lips with a jabbing action, my silence frustrating further argument. Hers quirked upwards in amusement. Turning away, her steps took her a few paces before she faced me. Her eyes back lit with a strange ethereal fire and her skirts rustled like the wings of a bee in flight. “Make your weaknesses into your greatest strengths, Estefania. Hone them and use them to your advantage. Words aren’t necessary to convey your intentions. Lead from the heart, child. Make the colony see who you really are.”
Nodding, I opened my left hand and examined the palm. White lines denoted the sites of myriad healed cuts which dotted the pink flesh. The bees marched the soft skin of my forearm and across my chest towards my heart, vivid, raised and terrifying. I recoiled and felt Sonora’s gentle fingers coast over my bare shoulder. I tapped the head of the largest bee, resenting its proximity to my vital organs. It squirmed beneath the action and I opened my mouth in a silent cry, writhing within the queen cup as horror chilled my blood. Sonora’s stroking fingers clamped over my shoulder. “They’re lost, Estefania! They need you. Go back and lead your colony. Pick up your destiny and draw the strings tight around your ambition. There is no one else. It’s your birth right and your duty!”
“Where are we?” I mouthed and Sonora pursed her lips.
“Somewhere you don’t yet know, daughter. It’s a haven I created with Limah’s help. It lies within the same reality as the island. One day it will call you home.”
If I’d had words, I would have told her about the reality of the darkness I’d seen, though suspected she knew it anyway. I ignored the bees marching up my arm and sipped more nectar, turning my head so they looked like shadows in my peripheral vision. Sonora shook her regal head and tapped my temple. “There are distractions which will pull you off course,” she warned, her tone severe. “Ignore them and concentrate on your colony.” She gave her order and the swirling blackness within my soul complained, sending out tendrils of fear which sullied the sense of safety my mother induced. It refused to be silenced, filling my ears with the sounds of clashing metal until I covered them with my hands to dull the noise of war. I knew it would drive my rebellion and the thought terrified me. It feasted on my dread of becoming pure apis and I nursed the possibility of escape it offered.
Sonora stung me and it hurt. The silent scream drew back my lips in a snarl of pain and lights flashed behind my irises. “We must part forever,” she said as she withdrew her ovipositor from my neck. “Go well my dearest daughter. We will not meet again.”
The Outer claimed me like an unwelcome dousing of cold water after the comfort of Sonora’s queen cup and a broken mattress spring jabbed into my spine. Had I known any choice swear words, I would have used them all. Instead, I bit into the feather pillow until my teeth hurt, anger and vitriol pouring from my heart. I disliked my destiny. Revenge beckoned me with a crooked finger and I ached to heft the Swift blade in my hands and slice Galveston into a hundred tiny pieces. He had upended my world for his own sport and I wished to hail great suffering down on his miserable head in return. I had sensed her blessing in the ruined hive when I declared my vengeful intentions, but realised now that I was mistaken. She approved of Limah as counselor. That’s where her blessing lay. He would keep me moving in the direction she wanted, at the cost of my own desires.
Balling my fists, I hauled myself from a self-made pit of despair. I made my decision. The hive life was not for me. I dressed in clean clothes from the pile on top of the dresser and sat on the mattress to wait.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Sting
Limah opened the chamber door and peeked in. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep and he disturbed me. Rising, I staggered across the r
oom in a disoriented weaving action. He raised a hand to stop me passing through the open doorway. “Wait,” he said, keeping his palm facing me. “We must talk.”
I retreated to the bed with a sigh and sank into the creaky mattress. Springs dug into the bones of my bottom and my spine ached at the memory of them. None seemed worse than the others, but the aged thing gave at my weight and sagged. Indicating my extreme hunger by patting my stomach, I turned my lips down in a pout.
Limah stood over me, his expression grave. He jerked his regal head towards the new ensemble of men’s clothing which hung from my emaciated frame. Newer boots encased my painful feet. “Dress as a princess, Este,” he said, his tone heavy. “Give them what they want.”
I recoiled, the sneer already creasing my face. “No!” My mouth formed the silent word and I spat it soundless into the air between us. My finger jabbed at the doorway and then towards the direction I assumed marked the tunnel to the outside world. Limah’s eyes widened and I watched a flash of fear cross his face, gone before I could track it. His blade clanked against his thigh and I reached out a hand to touch the smooth leather sheath, withdrawing my fingers in shock as he took a calculated step back. He still believed I wished myself dead.
I sighed and ran a hand over the painful sting site on my neck. It felt raised and hot beneath my fingers. Limah snatched my hand away and peered at the entrance, his brows knitting. Releasing my wrist, he cast about the cave with an air of expectation. “Sonora is here?” he demanded, his tone eager.
