by Jeff Wheeler
Rista blinked at him and felt the thrill of danger down her back.
“She’s smiling,” Lielle said with a snort. “These beasts are dangerous, but they only venture out during the day. Mattson Kree controls them, and they are hunting us. Their poison is deadly. Back at the Enclave, there is magic that can heal a poisoned bite. We have brought a way to heal it with us, but it is a distant journey to get more.”
Rista was so curious she blurted out a question. “And you think Mattson Kree is trying to revive the Ziggurat? Instead of enslaving kobolds, he will infest us with these deadly snakes?”
“Yes,” Ilias said. He smiled again. “You’re quite clever, Rista. I was hoping to have your father on our side, but you will do quite well.”
“But what can I do?” Rista asked. “How is Beesinger magic going to help?”
Lielle gave Ilias a warning look.
“I’ll explain that later,” he said. “I think I hear boot steps. Gabe is joining us.”
The announcement was followed shortly after by the young man as he scrabbled down a rock and hunched over to join them in the cave. He turned to Rista first. “Your siblings are with your aunt.”
“Will she send word to Father?” Rista asked. “To tell him where we’ve gone?”
Gabe gave her an enigmatic look, then glanced at Ilias. “I think it would be too dangerous if he followed us. Don’t you, Ilias?”
The Eyriemaester nodded gravely. “Best if we rest now.” He reached over and patted Rista’s shoulder. “Get some sleep. We’ll start up again just before sunset.”
* * *
It took a long time before Rista fell asleep. The exhaustion of the climb into the Arvadin was overwhelmed by her excitement at being with such famous individuals. She hadn’t heard her father talk about Damon Papenfuss before, but clearly he had earned his way into Ilias’s company. The Doer family were known to her. The king valued her father’s wisdom. She was also impressed by how handsome Ilias was, even though he had lived for centuries in the Enclave. Her father had chosen not to live there, although he had been invited. She still couldn’t imagine why he had refused such an honor.
She rested with her head on her arm, trying to get comfortable, and dozed in and out of sleep. The daylight made it difficult, but she was tired enough that sleep eventually overtook her. She was awakened middream by a clawlike touch on her arm.
She blinked her eyes and saw Twig’s snout right by her face. She was so surprised by it that she nearly started.
“Tw—” she started to say, but the kobold gesticulated wildly at her not to, emitting a series of low clucks and hisses. The kobold glanced at her sleeping companions, and Rista saw that Lielle was gone.
The kobold motioned for her to follow him and quietly climbed up the rock at the mouth of the cave. He squatted there, his little scaly legs looking like a rooster’s. He urgently motioned for her to follow.
Rista was confused and looked back at her slumbering companions. What was Twig doing in the middle of the Arvadin? Why wasn’t he protecting her siblings? Was it because her father had ordered him to protect her? What good could the kobold do on such a quest! Twig soundlessly moved around the rock and then peeked back at her, gesturing emphatically for her to follow.
She felt frustration welling up inside her. She did not want Twig along on her first adventure. She’d be worried sick about him dying. He was truly the most defenseless little nuisance. She almost gestured for him to go away, but tightening her mouth into a frown, she quietly rose from the dirt and slipped away from the cave. The sunlight blinded her momentarily, and she shielded her face from it. Twig gestured again and then pointed, and she saw Lielle hunched down amidst some rocks with her bow, her back toward them as she watched the trail. Rista saw some eagles circling high overhead and wondered which one belonged to Ilias.
Rista followed Twig over another boulder where they would be out of sight of the cave and Lielle.
“Twig,” Rista whispered with exasperation, “you need to go back and wait for Father! Why did you leave?”
The kobold said something in his guttural language. He was trembling with fear, which was typical of the cowardly thing.
“I didn’t understand,” Rista said, shaking her head. Where was Camille! Her sister was much better at communicating with him. “Slow down. Say it again.” Twig shook his arms warningly, his head cocked and listening. Twig was like a frantic bird.
He repeated the same thing and Rista still wasn’t sure she understood.
“What?” Rista asked again. “You’re not making any sense.”
The kobold growled and stamped his little foot. Very slowly, he stated it again, and Rista’s mouth went dry.
“ ‘That’s not Ilias.’ Is that what you said?” Rista asked. Her stomach began to twist into knots.
The kobold nodded vigorously and began chittering again.
“No, no, slow down! Slow down!” Rista was growing more and more concerned. “What do you mean, it’s not Ilias?”
The kobold gripped her arm and started to tug her.
“You want me to leave?”
Twig nodded violently again and chittered away in his peculiar speech. It was difficult, but she was starting to comprehend the urgent warning.
“Because you’ve met Ilias. And you know this isn’t him. He doesn’t smell like him. He smells like what?”
Twig repeated the word in a low clicking sound.
“He smells like snakes,” Rista whispered, and then she realized, to her growing horror, that she had possibly been abducted.
Suddenly Twig bolted, vanishing around the rock so fast that Rista blinked and the kobold was gone. She heard boots and quickly stood, coming face-to-face with Lielle.
The huntress had a wary look in her eyes.
“What are you doing away from the cave?” she demanded. “It’s daylight still.”
Rista’s stomach was flopping uncontrollably. “I . . . I needed to find some . . . some privacy,” she stammered.
Lielle arched an eyebrow, then she jerked her head toward some trees and brush. “Over there. Be quick.”
As Rista walked ashamedly toward the shelter, she realized why they were traveling at night. The clues were suddenly making sense. It was so that the golden eagles wouldn’t see them. She felt like such a trusting fool. Rista glanced back at Lielle and realized it wasn’t truly Lielle. She hadn’t seen the huntress’s fox because there wasn’t one. She couldn’t believe she had fallen for such a trick.
When she reached the privacy of the ferns and brush, she squatted low and hid herself, then searched around. Twig suddenly appeared next to her, one of the fronds brushing his face.
“Good, Twig,” she whispered gratefully, feeling her heart gush with gratitude. “You’re sure about this?”
The kobold nodded his snout emphatically and made a low growl in his throat.
“I need to get back to Father, Twig. Will you help me?”
Twig nodded eagerly again, showing a row of tiny teeth.
Then she heard it. The drone of bees. It was coming from the crook of a tree. An idea began to come together in her mind of how to escape her captors.
* * *
As Rista approached the hive, she tried to soothe her chaotic emotions. The sickening feeling of being deceived had rattled her, but she knew she needed to tame her emotions or she’d never be able to use her magic.
Enmitical magic had its roots in emotions. It involved conquering the self, specifically the conquering of fear. The fear of animals and creatures existed because of the Enemist. The sound of the bees humming around the hive normally filled people with abject terror. But not Rista and not her family. She had been raised around the droning sound and even as a child, before her father had taught her the magic, she had lain on the grass and watched bees collecting nectar from flowers. Her childlike innocence and lack of fear made her willing and eager to reach out her little finger and pet the fuzzy end of the bumblebees she’d find. When one woul
d land on her open palm, their little legs would tickle, but she had no desire to squash it or run away shrieking. Creatures of nature could sense human emotions. They could sense when there was a state of enmity and they responded accordingly. A Beesinger could reach a hand into a honeycomb without getting stung because the bees understood the intent and willingly shared the sticky, sweet treasure they created by their own primal instincts.
Twig remained at the edge of the copse to watch for pursuers while Rista closed the gap to the gnarled tree. The hive had been erected in a huge knot of a dead tree, and she saw blurs of gold and black darting and dancing through. There was still daylight and much work to do, so the hive was active. Rista swallowed, approaching it cautiously, one hand stretched out, invoking the magic within her. The frenzied hum started to subside. Many scout bees came out to investigate and hovered around her, some landing on her arm and palm, some in her golden hair. She felt the tickling sensations again, unable to help the smile that came. These were honeybees, and she sensed their curiosity in meeting a Beesinger. The magic she bore made them trust her immediately, and soon the drones were flying around, treating her as if she were a normal part of the forest and not a threat.
Rista had only tried her skills at Father’s man-built hives and was grateful that she was strong enough in the magic for this to work. There was a difference in the mood of these bees, naturally. Her father’s bees had been trained and raised for generations to make honey and fertilize trees. They cooperated with the Beesingers and had for generations. Bees of the wild were a little less structured in their thinking, but the instincts were still the same. She was welcomed as part of the colony and closed the distance to the hive. Gingerly, she reached into the hive to fetch a chunk of honeycomb. Father had taught her that honey contained nearly all the nutrients needed to stay alive and that a Beesinger could live off the land almost indefinitely.
The gooey hunk dislodged easily and she brought it out. The honey was sweet when she tasted it.
Twig made a chittering noise, warning her that Lielle was coming.
Rista had walked deliberately to the tree, leaving a clear trail to follow. She turned her attention back to the hive and reached out to it with her magic. Bees were primitive and could only understand basic concepts. Over time, a Beesinger could train bees to follow complicated instructions. This was not such an opportunity. But there was much she could do. Each bee had wandered far from the hive to collect pollen, and she could read the hive mind to understand the land surrounding the hive almost as if they’d made a map of the terrain. She closed her eyes, searching for a place to hide, and found one that the bees like to frequent. It was a fallen log with decaying wood that was hollowed out. It wasn’t very far.
After gaining the knowledge she needed, she began to alter the magic. She let her fear and worry begin to build inside her, instilling in the hive the sense of a threat. Humans were coming to destroy the hive, she thought to the bees, and they understood her. Humans would wreck all their hard work and destroy their home. The tone of the hive changed instantly to one of hostility. The buzzing grew louder, more dangerous. Bees hurried off to spy for danger and to summon others to defend the hive. The sounds they made were immediately noticeable. The magic would not last for long if a threat didn’t materialize. Bees had short attention spans.
Rista motioned for Twig to follow her as she stole around the tree and quickly fled the area. Bees followed her, of course. She was part of the hive and the queen had sent some to protect her. She relished the feeling of the magic as she became part of the hive mind herself. The sunlight shone down on her and she knew she needed to find the shelter quickly. After nightfall, it would be easier to escape her foes. But first she would listen to them as they hunted her and see if what Twig had warned her of was true. Twig was fiercely loyal to her family. Even though he was a tiny, almost useless little monster, he had hunted her deep into the Arvadin to save her. A few hundred paces away from the hive, she found the hollowed log and quickly settled into it. It was small, but so was Rista, and she wedged herself in to get out of sight.
“Rista?”
The voice called from far away. It was Lielle.
“Rista? Where are you?”
She hunkered down inside the log and waited. Then the bees began to sting.
“Rista! Ouch! Rista!” The tone changed to one of anger.
“What happened?” shouted the voice of the man she thought was pretending to be Ilias.
“The little brat tricked me,” said the woman. “There’s a beehive over there. Ugh, they sting! They’re swarming. I’ve been stung three times already. I’m going to slit her throat, Kree.”
“No, we need her,” replied the man angrily. “Fuss! Get up here. Send Kylek to destroy the hive. Gabe! You two. Go around and encircle where she may be hiding. She can’t have gone far.”
“She’s not far,” the woman snarled. “I’ll find her.”
“We all will,” Mattson Kree said. “You go that way. Gabe, you go that way. Fuss . . . destroy the hive now!”
Twig scampered inside the fallen log. His orange-red eyes were alight with mischief and his crooked-tooth grin showed his inner cunning.
“Good, Twig,” Rista whispered, rubbing the knobbed horns on his head. She hugged the kobold. Her pride was tempered with growing fear. She was not under the protection of Ilias. She was being hunted by a Serpentarium.
* * *
Rista remained perfectly still as Papenfuss’s bear destroyed the beehive. She’d heard his pained snarls and growls, listened to the sound of mighty claws raking the scabbed bark. The bees began to scatter with the destruction of their home, the queen being the first to leave. All the energy of their efforts and defense were useless against a bear. She had bought herself some time, and watched as the sun dipped into the valley far below. The shadows of the trees were getting longer. Her body was cramped and uncomfortable. She heard the sounds of her pursuers. They were making no effort to be quiet. It was clear that their friendliness had all been an act, a deception to convince her to come with them willingly.
They called out to her, issuing threats. They threatened to go back down the mountain and hurt her family. Rista clenched her teeth with fury, not fear. She knew they’d say anything to get her to reveal herself. The Arvadin was an enormous mountain range that was like the spine of the world. There were many places a person could hide. Her best hope of concealment was remaining still.
The shadows thickened as night began to descend. This was her opportunity. Her pursuers were spread out around her, tromping and marching in the woods. In a few more moments, the dusk would make it very difficult to see. From the hive mind, she had learned the lay of the land and had mapped out a course that she would follow in the dark. From the commotion her enemies were making, she could almost see in her mind’s eye that they had wandered far afield, not realizing how close she was to the original hive. She’d hoped they would get past her.
Twig’s head, which had been resting on her shoulder, popped up. The eyes blinked twice and then he suddenly rose and crept out of the stump. His bony little hands and claws gripped the decaying wood.
Then the kobold jumped away as a snake leaped at him.
Rista shrieked with fear. The snake was an atrox, with a diamond-shaped pattern down its back and length. The fangs had missed the kobold by a hair. The rattle on its tail began to whir viciously, and Rista scrambled to get out of the log. Her heart felt like it was going to jitter its way out of her chest as she fled in terror. The atrox slithered after her, moving with fluid grace and speed that made her mind go nearly black with panic.
She scrambled over the log on the other side, lost her footing, and went down. She saw Mattson Kree standing by a tree about a dozen paces off, arms folded imperiously and a malevolent smile on his mouth.
Rista’s knee was throbbing, but she scrabbled to her feet to flee the other way, when she was grabbed roughly from behind. Rista reached and grabbed a fistful of flaming
-red hair and pulled hard, her body reacting to the desperate situation without thinking. She found herself clutching an abandoned wig and then felt the naked edge of a blade against her quivering throat.
“You think I won’t slit your neck?” the woman hissed in her ear.
“Trea,” said the Serpentarium in a scolding voice.
“I was stung five times because of her!” railed the other. She grabbed Rista by the wrist and jerked her arm up behind her back, sending a jabbing pain into her shoulder that made her knees wobble. “Five times!”
Gabe bounded over another log and landed nearby with a smirk on his face and then sheathed his daggers.
Rista felt like crying because she’d been caught so easily, but she refused to give them the satisfaction.
“And who are you really?” Rista demanded the boy. “Not the king’s son!”
“Actually, he is,” Mattson Kree said smoothly, closing the distance. “That part wasn’t a lie.” He walked up to her, his expression now cold and calculating. “You’ve got spirit, Rista. And you do your father credit for one so young. I had thought to fool you all the way to Battle Mountain.”
The atrox slithered up to them, the noisy tail still making its fearful rattle. Then Mattson Kree bent down and scooped up the giant snake, fondling it and giving Rista a crooked smile. The head hissed and gaped its jaws at Rista, and she fought against Trea, increasing the painful throb of her arm. The atrox hissed, its pink, fleshy mouth wide, the fangs dripping venom. Rista had never felt so much fear, never had her mind gone so utterly black with panic.
