The Sting of the Bee

by K E Lanning

  “I’d love to see your mares, but I am rarely near the capital city,” he replied. A servant approached him with a nod. Smiling broadly, Sahail said, “If you are not too tired, we’ve arranged entertainment for you.” He clapped his hands for the servants to bring cloaks and invited them to walk outside into the soft evening light.

  Ten stunning Arabian horses with riders in full regalia pranced near the tent. The sheik handed a scarf to Ginnie. “When you drop the scarf, the race will begin.”

  Her eyes bright with excitement, Ginnie held the fluttering scarf over her head., then released the scarf to the wind. The riders shouted and the horses raced around the camp. They clapped in delight as the competitors returned to the starting line, with a huge gray winning the contest.

  After the riders withdrew, the sheik waved his hand to one of the men. The man walked behind a row of tents, and after a few minutes reappeared, leading a beautiful chestnut mare toward them.

  Sheik Sahail turned to Lowry. “I wanted to show you a new mare for my herd—a wonderful gift from Lorenzo Durant.” He smiled. “I believe he will be the new president of Antarctica?”

  Astonished at this bombshell, Lowry swallowed hard. Durant had already gotten his hooks into this remote village. The election was only weeks away, but Nick hadn’t visited this part of Antarctica. Leave it to Durant to bribe early and often.

  Outwardly calm, Lowry smiled. “The presidential elections are coming up, but in my opinion, the more suitable candidate is Nick Walker.”

  Sheik Sahail raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, I have heard of him—your uncle, I believe?” Staring at her with a thin smile.

  Lowry cleared her throat. “Yes, he is my uncle, but he’s a fine man, and would make a great first president.”

  “No doubt,” the sheik replied with a slight tilt of his head. He bowed to his guests, ending the discussion. “You must be tired—please follow my servant Bakhit, he’ll show you to your tents. Sleep well, my friends.”

  Lowry and Ginnie were led to one tent and John to another.

  “Good night.” John called to them. “Don’t let the Durant bugs bite.”

  The flap closed behind them and they sat on the hand-woven bedding. “I’m exhausted,” said Ginnie with a yawn. She undressed and slipped under the soft blankets. “Good night.”

  Lowry slipped off her outer clothes and stretched out under the blankets. She turned out the lamp, and then lay down, staring into the darkness. What a disaster! Durant had beat them to the punch with an entire Bedouin tribe. In a close election, every vote counted, and both she and Nick had failed to get here before Durant had paid off the sheik.

  With a huff, she flipped onto her side, plumping the pillow with her fist, growling “Durant” at each punch. Too angry to fall asleep, she turned onto her back, staring at the tapestries above her, shifting in the capricious wind.

  CHAPTER 25

  The next morning Lowry awoke to the sounds of the camp coming alive—a symphony of bleating goats, whinnying horses, and laughing children. With a yawn, she pushed herself up, and dragged her fingers through her hair. Her eyes grew wide at the smell of coffee and Lowry perused the tent for the source of the delicious aroma. Near the entrance, steam rose from a brass pot with tiny brass cups next to it. Bedouin coffee!

  With that encouragement, she flung off the blankets, and pulled on her clothes against the morning chill. She crawled over to the coffee service and picked up a cup, admiring the Arabic floral design of lacquered black and brass. She poured herself a steaming cup of coffee and added a spoonful of honey and some goat’s milk. Lowry sat cross-legged on the rug and sipped the coffee, gazing at the interior of the tent. Last night, it had been too dark to see the interior, but in the daylight, she drew in her breath at sight of lovely handcrafted items.

  Painted poles held up the tall tent roof, with a brass lantern hung in the apex. For extra warmth against the cold winds, colorful tapestries hung on the inside perimeter, along with seating mats and plump pillows, covered in handwoven wool. A scattering of small wood and brass tables, storage boxes, and a few goatskin-covered chairs. Not one mass-produced item in sight.

  She drank another small cup of coffee, and fortified with hot caffeine, she stood and stretched her body. She pulled on her jacket and went to the entrance, caressing the finely woven fabric of the flap as she pushed it aside, and left the dimness of the tent. The sun blinded her for an instant, then when her eyes adjusted, she gazed at the charming scene of the camp—women milking goats and beating out rugs, and behind her, boys feeding dates and dry grass to the herd of horses near the pond.

  At the sound of a cough, she turned to see John sipping a cup of coffee in the shade of his tent.

  With a chuckle, Lowry said, “Good morning. I didn’t see you in the shadows.”

  He smiled. “Did you sleep well?”

  She shrugged. “After I stopped thinking about Durant’s ‘gift’ to Sheik Sahail, I did.”

  “Yeah, that was a bolt from the blue.” He stared at her, tapping the side of his cup. “But I guess expected. Durant wants to win, and he’ll do whatever it takes.” He finished his coffee and tilted his head toward the tent. “I assume Ginnie is still asleep?”

  “Yes, but I should wake her—we need to be on the trail soon.” She slipped back through the flap.

  Lowry gazed at Ginnie, dead asleep, curled in a fetal position under the blankets. It had been a big shock to Ginnie that she and her father had been romantically involved. That would have been tough for any teenager, but especially with her mother’s death still fresh on her mind. I wish John had told her earlier.

  Lowry exhaled. Nothing to do but see how all of this played out.

  Ginnie shifted under the blankets, muttering in her sleep.

  Lowry called out, “Come on, sleepyhead, the trail is waiting!”

  She opened one eye, staring at Lowry for a moment. With a yawn, she opened both eyes, and shifted onto her back. “What, no breakfast?”

  Lowry knelt and packed up her saddlebag. “I think they’re getting ready to throw it out.”

  Ginnie stuck out her tongue at Lowry’s teasing expression. “You rat, they’re not throwing it out.”

  “Not yet, but we’d better hurry, or they might.” Lowry poured Ginnie a cup of coffee and spooned in sugar and cream.

  Ginnie stretched her arms and peeled herself out of the rugs. Shivering, she jerked on her clothes. With another yawn, she stood up, and shuffled over to Lowry, who handed her the coffee. With a nod, she said, “Thanks, Lowry.” She sank onto one of the pillows and sipped the hot drink.

  Lowry tidied her bed and then slung the saddlebag over her shoulder. She said to Ginnie, “I’d go ahead and grab your bag. I’m not sure we’re coming back to the tent.”

  Ginnie finished her cup. “That was wonderful—my first taste of Bedouin coffee!” She crawled over and straightened the blankets on her bed.

  After she grabbed her small pack, they left the tent.

  John stepped toward them, smiling. “She’s awake!” He joked, wrapping his arm around Ginnie.

  They crossed the encampment, navigating around bleating goats, herded by a boy and his dog, and then passed a group of laughing women, weaving rugs, while their daughters smiled shyly behind them. Men and boys played soccer on a flat space near the edge of the camp, their scores punctuated with Arabic cheers.

  They reached the sheik’s large tent and Sheik Sahail rose to greet them, bowing and waving for them to enter. Spread before them was a large coffee service and a huge platter of fresh-baked flat bread and dates. They sank into the luxurious rugs and indulged in more coffee, and stuffed themselves with delicious bread, yogurt, and fruit.

  When breakfast was finished, they thanked the sheik for his gracious hospitality. Servants brought their fully saddled mounts, and, squinting against the sun, they left the darkness of the tent. Oliver heehawed a greeting and the children nearby giggled.

  Sahail grinned. “John, I think your mo
unt is happy to see you.”

  John winked at Lowry. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

  With a bow, the sheik handed each of them a small present. “A few tokens to show my appreciation for your long journey.”

  He gave John a carved camel-head knife, and then to Lowry, a fly whisk with a carved horse head, and to Ginnie a beautiful woven bag. He also insisted that they take a bag of coffee, dates, and several loaves of the flatbread.

  They packed their saddlebags with the gifts, and Lowry turned back to the sheik. “Please be open-minded and consider voting for my uncle. He’s quite extraordinary.”

  The sheik inclined his head. “I’ll keep your advice in mind, but I must support the candidate who will best serve our tribe.”

  Lowry swung into the saddle and looked at the sheik. “Of course, but I would argue that a truthful man would treat you honorably, no matter how the wind blows.”

  With a deep bow, he smiled. “As true a weather report as I’ve ever heard.”

  They waved to the tribe and trotted along the trail toward the mountain range, listening to the traditional ululation trilling of the Bedouin women.

  The day was warm, but without the antics of the colt, they settled into a quick pace. For their return, they took another route to explore a different part of the Concordia Refuge. It was a gentler path through the mountains and they made it to the top of the pass by noon. They stopped to eat their Bedouin leftovers for lunch and John made a pot of strong coffee.

  After lunch, John sipped the brew. “The Bedouins don’t have anything to do with the population around them for the most part and just want to be left alone. I can’t blame them, but hope all remains peaceful with any settlers who may venture into the desert.”

  Lowry replied, “Sheik Sahail desperately wants to preserve their way of life. When he first contacted me, he told me that it was becoming more difficult in North Africa, so their small group decided to immigrate here.” She continued with a sigh. “I wonder what Durant promised him.”

  She stood and gestured with her thumb. “We’d better get going, so we can get down the other side before dark.”

  They mounted up and headed back onto the wetter side of the mountains. The animals breathed in the moister air and whinnied at the scent of fresh grass. Wildlife became more abundant as they descended the slope.

  John asked Lowry, “Are we back on the Concordia Refuge?”

  Lowry nodded. “I believe we are. Once we get to the bottom of the valley, this part of the refuge is known for melting permafrost areas, so we’ll have to be careful. Dalal is trained to sense subterranean caverns.”

  As the sun dipped below the mountains, they found a small meadow overlooking the valley to set up camp for the night. They started a campfire, brought out the last loaves of flatbread, and sprinkled dried cheese and sausage on top.

  John surprised Lowry with a bottle of red wine that he’d been saving for this last night of the trek. He opened the bottle and poured two glasses of wine. He held up his glass. “Here’s to the Bedouin Trek!”

  They clinked the camp glasses together and to Ginnie’s water bottle, and then they dug into their cold meal.

  As they ate, Lowry asked, “Ginnie, what is your opinion of the Bedouins?”

  “In some ways their life is lovely and in some ways it’s really harsh.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure being a Bedouin female would be easy.”

  Lowry nodded. “I understand the sheik’s desire to ‘preserve their culture,’ but I hope he doesn’t think that ignorance is the way to maintain it. Cultural tradition can be beautiful as long as it isn’t used as a hammer against different classes.”

  John put more wood on the fire. “With the satellites in place, virtual schools are everywhere, but it’s difficult to force remote communities such as theirs to abide by truancy laws.”

  After dinner, the sun slipped below the horizon and they could see a few of the constellations. They lay on the ground and gazed up at the stars, with Lowry pointing out the Southern Cross and Southern Fish.

  A bright object glided across the sky.

  Ginnie said, “Hey, there’s the new International Space Station—we heard they were doing a polar orbit.” She chuckled. “Star light, star bright, I wish upon a star tonight.”

  Lowry watched the pinpoint of light arcing over their heads and finished the nursery rhyme. “I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight.” She swallowed hard and breathed her wish: Please don’t let Durant steal Antarctica. A cold pit twisted in her stomach as the ISS disappeared over the horizon. Was it a bad omen?

  ***

  Cool air drifted into the camp as the fire burned down.

  Ginnie sat up, shivering. She hugged her arms to her chest and scooted closer to the embers. “I’m cold and tired.” Her eyes closed for a second and she twitched awake. “Before I fall into the fire, I’m calling it a night,” she mumbled and crawled toward her sleeping bag.

  John stood up and followed her. He knelt and gave her a kiss good night. She wormed into her sleeping bag, yanked a knit cap over her head, and with a deep sigh, fell asleep.

  He grabbed a blanket from the packs and returned to the campfire, draping it across Lowry’s shoulders.

  “Thank you,” Lowry murmured, clutching the blanket around her.

  He threw a few branches onto the fire and sat across from Lowry.

  The fire crackled with new life and she stared into the flames. She heaved a sigh. “I can’t get rid of the nagging worry that Durant might win the election. If he’s gotten to someone like the sheik, who else has he bought off?”

  John shook his head. “It could be a disaster for Nick. With the small population of Antarctica, elections can be won or lost with a handful of votes.”

  Lowry sipped her wine and glanced back at the soundly sleeping Ginnie. “Do you think Ginnie is okay with our relationship?”

  Frowning, John stared into the flames. “I think she’s still pissed at me, but she’ll get over it—I think.” He looked at Lowry. “I should have told her earlier, but I didn’t have the time . . . or balls, I guess.”

  John lifted the bottle of wine to the firelight, perusing the amount remaining. “Let’s kill this bottle.” He poured the last of the wine into their cups and set the empty bottle beside him. “I guess this is our last night out?”

  Lowry nodded. “If all goes well tomorrow, we should be able to make it to the farms by tomorrow evening.” She smiled. “Funny how that sounds like ‘civilization’ compared to this.”

  With a crunch, the burning twigs collapsed, and John stirred the campfire with a stick. “Civilization is a relative term.” John pursed his lips. “Ralph Waldo Emerson said it best: The end of the human race will be that it will eventually die of civilization.”

  John moved next to her, pulling the blanket around both of them. “In the wilderness you find things to replace what you lost in modern society. And sometimes you discover that the replacement far exceeds the original.”

  With a thin smile, he sighed. “This new life has burned away my self-delusion of a utopia in the hinterlands. The reality of living on Antarctica has been smashed into my face, fighting for basic things, like water and power.” He drank the last of his wine. “But, in spite of the daily struggles, I love it—the freedom to choose what I want to do and when I want to do it.” He chuckled. “I probably would have been a mountain man if I had lived in the Old West.”

  Lowry raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad you got rid of that self-delusion—Mountain Man.”

  Lowry finished her wine. She rinsed the cups, packed them away, and dried her wet hands on the blanket. She shook her cold fingers and stretched them toward the campfire, warming them with the heat of the coals. “We’d better get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow.”

  Lowry crawled to her sleeping bag and wriggled inside. She pulled out her hair band, shook loose her hair, and snuggled against the frigid air. Shifting in the bag, a sharp stone poked her in th
e side and she pivoted onto her other side. She found herself listening to John’s muted snoring amid the sounds of the night as the nocturnals took the stage: the hoot of an owl, the yip of a fox.

  Even the wind strummed a tune, but for Lowry, it was a song of uncertainty.

  Lowry flipped onto her back, apprehension gnawing at her brain. She gazed up at the Southern Cross, coldly staring back at her. “No fortune-telling tonight, my old friend?”

  CHAPTER 26

  With a jolt, John opened his eyes in the pre-dawn light of the camp. Listening, he held his breath—there it was again, a deep guttural growl. He turned his head slowly and whispered, “Don’t make any sudden moves—I think there’s a bear in the camp.”

  Ginnie stirred in her sleeping bag, mumbling, “What did you say, Daddy?”

  He hissed at her, “Ginnie, be quiet, there’s a bear—don’t move.”

  Lowry lay still in her sleeping bag and spoke in a low voice, “I hope the animals don’t panic.”

  In the dimness, a dark mound lumbered behind them along the edge of the camp, grunting as it approached the packs. The hobbled animals behind them whinnied in terror; the thud of their hooves matched John’s heartbeat. Let’s hope it’s not a momma with cubs.

  John edged his pistol out from under his pillow and scrambled out of his bag. He crouched and aimed the pistol into the air, discharging it several times. The horses jostled each other and Oliver’s bray echoed off of the stone cliffs.

  The sound of claws scraping the rocks resonated behind them. John stood up, listening for the roar of a charging bear, but there was nothing. “I think he’s gone.”

  “I’m glad he didn’t want to stand and fight.” Lowry said, her voice shaking.

  Exhaling, Ginnie asked, “Will he come back?”