by Jean Gill
But her mind was still free. I am not as contained as you think! I need the Forest, she thought. I am one of those vile creatures.
Hamel continued, ‘The Citadel is self-sufficient. If we kill the Forest and everything in it, we lose nothing! We can switch to woodette when we’ve used up all the wood, and until then we can collect it in complete safety! We can cleanse not only the Citadel but the environment. If I tell you that Mage Rinduran knows exactly how to kill the Forest and win this war so we never have to fight it again, will you support us?’
Rinduran jumped in before anyone could answer. ‘I believe we must do this if we love our children and want a future for them and for their children. That’s the purpose of a Perfect society! But you should have your say. Let’s put it to the vote in the accustomed manner’ Rinduran’s open arms welcomed them all into the decision-making process. ‘Motion: that this Council is henceforth in a state of war with the Forest and will proceed immediately to hostile actions, which will cease only on the death of the Forest and all life forms in it.’
‘Aye,’ said Hamel.
The result was a foregone conclusion, one ‘Aye’ following another around the table, with no life-threatening hesitation.
‘This is how we do it,’ Rinduran began, with the beatific smile of a prophet whose time had come.
Heart pounding, Mielitta swore she would unpick the walls stone by stone if she lost sound now. Let me know how they’re going to do it, she prayed, please!
‘The walls showed me how it was done. Our ancestors used chemicals and the physical destruction of habitat; we use magecraft on the small creatures and let the Forest destroy itself. Insects create the very fabric of the Forest. We scramble their senses and communication so they can’t find food or each other.’
My bees. If Mielitta was struggling to cope with their absence, how would they deal with isolation from each other? Confused, their sense of smell destroyed, unable to find flowers, unable to dance, to return home. This wasn’t just hive death. It was crippling, killing despair and she could feel its blackness growing in her already. No bees.
Rinduran grew more and more enthusiastic, sharing the fruit of his years of research in the walls. ‘We cut down the trees, which will give us wood. We kill everything that moves. And we replace all natural ground with the Citadel’s base network: stones with cobblettes, grass with grassette greensward and woodette flooring.’
There were gasps at the scope of the plan but nobody said it couldn’t be done.
One mage risked a question. ‘We’ll be exposed to impure water and sunlight?’
Rinduran nodded. ‘We need to purify the water. Maybe in the future we can build a new Citadel and a second Canopy but for now we will have to endure sunlight if we venture into our new territory – just as the logging parties have been doing – but there will no longer be any risk of bringing Forest back into the Citadel. Sunlight cannot be brought into the Citadel so is only a risk to those who venture out.’
Even the water will be dead, thought Mielitta, remembering the taste of the stream. No leaf patterns on tree bark. No sunlit canopy. No birdsong. No thunderstorm or tiger fight. All things that were most alive would be dead. No. She couldn’t let it happen.
‘For our children,’ Rinduran was saying. ‘We do this for our children.’ Then the wall rippled and the Council Chamber faded from view.
Mielitta looked at Verity, apparently asleep in her bed through the veil. Yes, she told herself. Let’s do this for the children. For all the children. She had an idea.
Two meal trays came and went, raising Mielitta’s hopes and dashing them again, before the door outline glowed. Her heart pounded and she clenched her fists, determined to throw herself at the mage if it was Rinduran, force him to kill her. She couldn’t withstand his attacks on her mind.
Two shapes materialised. Drianne and Kermon, the latter carrying a bow, a quiver and a large rectangle of floor fabric.
I saw Bastien claim the bow and where he hid it, so I stole it back, said Drianne. He likes trophies.
‘Thank the stones!’ Mielitta didn’t waste time in greeting but grabbed the piece of fly-damaged floor and inspected it. ‘Can you cut it into pieces large enough to cover the soles of my boots?’ She quickly untied her laces, passed Kermon the boots as a template.
He nodded, pulled out the knife a smith always carried, no doubt one of his own making. He snapped it open, scored a rough outline and then cut the flooring in its sole shape.
Through the veil, Verity stirred in bed and coughed a little. She was always restless. Now was not a good time for her to wake up. Mielitta worked fast, ripping the hem of her gown into strips.
She was about to bind the floor-sole onto her boots when Kermon held out a hand to stop her. She jerked back as if she’d been burned and she saw the hurt in his eyes.
‘The cloth will be in contact with the floor,’ he explained. ‘It won’t work. You’ll be restrained.’
‘The moment I go through the door,’ she realised, chewing her lip. Now what? She looked at the cut-out soles, the discarded bits of woodette, the ugly bump of the fly’s body, covered in sticky orange goo. Propolis! The bees’ miraculous glue.
There was no time to lose. Rinduran would be back any moment, Bastien might notice his wife-to-be was behaving oddly and Declan might choose the wrong moment to visit her. She wouldn’t want to divide his loyalties. Once she was free, she could explain, make things right.
She smeared propolis onto each sole, held the strip of cloth onto one and applied as much pressure as she could to glue it in place.
‘Let me,’ offered Kermon, taking the first sole from her while she attached the second cloth ribbon.
‘Thanks,’ she said gruffly, then explained her plan in a low voice while she tied her makeshift soles onto her boots, praying the propolis and cloth would hold.
Her voice wasn’t low enough and Verity asked, ‘What are you doing?’
Mielitta only just heard the girl through the buzz in her head. The moment her feet were isolated from the Citadel flooring by the flawed piece from the library, her head swarmed with bees. Their anxiety, their understanding, their joy at the reunion made her whole again and she had no time to be gentle with Verity.
All of you, go outside me, cover all of my head but my eyes and mouth, buzz loudly, she ordered.
Work agreed her bees happily, forming a dense cloud around Mielitta. She could feel the tiny wings tickling her cheeks and forehead, her ears and hair. As ordered, they left her eyes and mouth clear so she could see Verity through her own eyes, speak clearly.
‘These are my bees,’ she told the girl, who was cringing in the furthest corner, her mouth open in a silent scream. ‘Make one sound, call for help and I will set them on you. I am their queen and I can order your death now, if you call for help. Death by a thousand stings, each one more painful than the one before.’ The bee cloud shifted as individual bees darted out then returned. Verity whimpered.
Mielitta! Drianne objected. That’s cruel! And you don’t need to hurt her!
In a whisper, Verity said, ‘Daddy was right. I knew Bastien was too kind to you.’
Whether she meant Mielitta or Drianne wasn’t clear and both reacted.
‘Yes, Daddy was right about me.’ Mielitta was venomous.
I’m sorry, said Drianne. Truly. Kermon, tell her.
‘Lady Drianne says she is sorry,’ Kermon told Verity but the bees spoke louder, a menacing buzz.
‘We haven’t got time for this,’ Mielitta said. ‘Shout for help and I let the bees out again, through the veil next time.’ She recalled the bees until the last buzz disappeared from the room but she could still feel the comforting thrum of their presence inside her.
She looked at the girl, still huddled in a corner, so afraid. For all the children, Mielitta thought, hardening her heart and resisting Drianne’s objections.
‘It’s the only way,’ she said. ‘Verity, you have to come with us.’
; ‘I’ll die,’ said Verity. ‘You said you weren’t a murderer but you are.’
‘That was before your Daddy declared war.’
Verity opened her mouth to scream but Drianne was quicker. A shaft of power streaked through the veil, ripping it open and stopping Verity’s mouth, closing it. Then the sick girl shut her eyes, slipped into a deeper sleep than she’d probably known for years, slumped to the floor.
Mielitta gulped. She had not realised the strength of Drianne’s power.
‘Have you killed her?’ she asked.
No. She’s asleep and I’ve given her sweet dreams. Is this really necessary? What if Rinduran’s right and she dies in the Forest?
‘She’s dying anyway. And she’s Rinduran’s weak spot. We must use it. And what if the Forest offers healing for her?’
You don’t believe that. She has extreme allergy.
‘Kermon, take the girl through the water gate to the edge of the Forest. Use whatever glamour and excuses you need if you’re questioned. Nobody apart from her family will recognise her, so some story tale of a faint and of her being your betrothed will work fine. You’re known so you’ll get away with it easily enough. Drianne and I will meet you after we’ve been to the schoolroom.’
While Kermon walked through the ripped veil and gently settled Verity’s slight form onto his muscled shoulder, Mielitta asked, ‘Drianne, can you disguise me?’
You should have asked me that before you ripped up your gown. Such a waste! But yes. A little glamour will repair your clothes and change your face, without tiring me.
Mielitta restrung her bow and slung it over her shoulder. She’d check the rest of her equipment later. ‘And hide my weapons?’ she asked, belting her quiver around her waist. She accepted Drianne’s cloak as a rough cover-all and hoped that glamour would refine the effect. Then she gave Kermon the water gate password and wished him good fortune.
He meant it, said Drianne, when Kermon was gone. What he said to Bastien. He would have married you. He loves you too. He’s a good man.
‘Maybe,’ acknowledged Mielitta. ‘But I’m not a good woman.’ She didn’t have time for all these complications or for tact. ‘And I have my bees to think about. Let’s go.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Walking on the cut-out soles was clumsy but Mielitta was getting used to them. Like wearing snowshoes, her book learning told her. Short, ladylike steps beneath the gown hid her bizarre boots and Drianne kept to the slow pace, adding to the illusion that two ladies were going about their normal business.
‘I can’t wait for the Courtship Dance,’ burbled Mielitta as they nodded to a chattering group in bright gowns and passed them by, treading the familiar passageways towards the schoolroom.
Flowers, commented the bees.
Noisy flowers, she agreed, her heart blossoming in the renewed contact, whole again. Even when they obeyed her order to hide, quietly, so she could concentrate on Drianne’s telepathic words, she could feel the hum of happiness throughout her body.
Drianne was less wholehearted about the plan. You have become hard, she told Mielitta. Remember these are children and be gentle.
The weight of her weapons was as comforting to Mielitta as the hum of her bees. ‘I know what the target is, Drianne. And I am the arrow. You’ll have to be the gentle one.’
Number chants in high voices told them they’d reached their destination. Mielitta wondered what she looked like wearing glamour. Not like the divine incarnation of Puggy, she hoped, although it would be fun to see Jannlou’s face if that was the case and then he realised it was actually her. But Jannlou was one of the many trains of thought she refused to follow, banished from her mind as distractions from what mattered. One target. Save the Forest. Nothing else mattered, and she would give her life in the attempt, as would any bee.
They can’t hear me, Drianne told her. You and Kermon hear me but I don’t think anybody else does. Not that I’ve noticed anyway. And I don’t know what my magecraft can do. I’ve had no training. It just comes. So I think you’ll look like Mage Yacinthe and I can bend their minds enough to accept a day with you. They’ll realise later that it doesn’t make sense.
‘How much later?’ asked Mielitta.
I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.
The door into the schoolrooms glowed in outline and opened in response to Drianne’s touch; Mielitta flounced in, feeling the float of glamour covering her more effectively than the borrowed cloak. It had been years since she’d been here but you never forgot your schooldays, nor the classrooms.
Seven rooms opened off a quadrangle, where a class of little ones had reached their ten times table, the chant they’d heard from outside. When the chant finished, the children were dismissed for break-time, to play tag and let off steam, while the teacher watched. As Mielitta had done once, with the friends who were now forged, the enemies who were now mages. Jannlou had pulled her braids. Why did boys do that? And Bastien had tripped her up, mocked her.
‘Mage Yacinthe! This is unexpected.’ The teacher had noticed them, her mouth a severe pink line of disapproval.
How did you make a teacher too concerned about her own performance to question authority?
‘The stones be with you, Lady Belinda,’ began Mielitta. At least teachers couldn’t be demoted under Rinduran’s new rules, although they were all female. They’d never been valued higher than ladies and no mage would stoop to teaching. ‘Maturity Mage Bastien is implementing a new programme of school inspection and I have been tasked with this, along with my library duties.’
The pink line thinned further. ‘Of c-c-course,’ stammered the teacher on outside duty. ‘I can select some children if you want to see what they’ve learned today?’
The best, no doubt, thought Mielitta cynically. Drianne urged her to hurry up. As if she didn’t know that Bastien might discover them missing, any minute.
‘Another time,’ she told the teacher, whose shoulders relaxed in relief. ‘We will visit each class in turn to collect all the children for a visit to the library. This is my Assistant Librarian, Lady Hannah.’
Mielitta stalked away from the quadrangle towards the classroom where the oldest children were taught, the twelve-year-olds. Until her selection as a witness, Drianne had been a pupil in this very class. Now she scurried in her friend’s wake, apparently subservient, and, hopefully, well-disguised.
‘The stones be with you, Lady Fidelity,’ boomed Mielitta and repeated her cover story, with the same success. This time, however, she and Drianne took all the children out with them, ready for their day in the library.
‘Bring your lunchtime sustenance,’ Mielitta told the children. ‘We shall have a jolly picnic together.’ Well-trained, the children proceeded to the quadrangle to wait, each carrying his or her little lunch-box.
Five times, the self-declared school inspector entered a classroom and emerged with all the pupils. The quadrangle was now somewhat crowded and the children’s anticipation of a day out mingled with the teachers’ hopes for a day off. Their wishes were all granted.
‘If you line up the children, we will take charge now,’ Mielitta told them. The teachers were only too happy to organise their charges and watch them leave in a long crocodile, following her. The littlest ones held hands in pairs and Drianne brought up the rear.
My persuasion must be strong! Drianne thought to Mielitta. How in hell do they think all these children will fit in the library?
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t wear off before we get out the water gate.’ Mielitta muttered to herself.
Twice, Mielitta led her small procession past knights and ladies and exchanged courtesies.
‘Day out.’ She smiled and moved on swiftly, without looking at them. She wouldn’t recognise them anyway in these dark corridors, which was a reassurance. Her own disguise would be more secure too. Drianne would do what was necessary to smooth any suspicions. It did not occur to Mielitta that one of the knights might excuse himself to his companions
and join the children in the middle of the party, hidden from view by the two adults as the corridors twisted through the Citadel.
Just before the path downwards narrowed to single file and became slippery, Mielitta made the children stop. She walked the whole length of the crocodile, giving instructions and messages of caution.
Somewhere in the middle of the group, a little girl with shining brown eyes said to her, ‘Where did the man go?’
‘What man?’
‘A nice man, big and friendly. He held our hands and walked with us.’ The brown-eyed girl’s partner held up her left hand as proof.
‘And he didn’t have a lunch-box but we said he could share ours and he said thank you.’
Could they have been tracked? ‘When did you notice he’d gone?’ Mielitta asked sharply. Too sharply.
The little girl flinched and her answer was hesitant. ‘I d-d-don’t know.’ After a moment of reflection, she added, ‘I remember now. He went all shiny and vanished. Poof!’ For good measure, she completed the picture. ‘In green smoke.’
Mielitta smiled. How easily children made up stories, encouraged by the walls’ tricks.
‘Sharing is good,’ she told the two girls. ‘I’m very pleased with you.’ That’s what Declan would have said. Then she dismissed the story of a nice man and worked her way to the back, where Drianne was waiting for her.
‘We both need to be at the front. You go through the water gate and collect them on the other side. I’ll help them get through from this side and come through last. I’ve told them what we’re doing and that they are going through a door into the library world where books come to life.’
That’s good. They won’t be scared if they think they’re in stories.
‘Why should they be scared? I wasn’t.’
Drianne said no more and the two adults made their way to the front of the crocodile, leading the children in single file down to the wet rockface and the water gate. This was the most dangerous part of the access. What if a child slipped and fell into the river? What if a child panicked and started them all crying? But she’d forgotten that the path was wider to a child than to an adult. In fact, they could easily have continued walking two-by-two. Sure-footed and excited about their journey into the unknown, they saw marvels in everything new, from wet rocks to running water.
