Laline Paull - The Bees

Very carefully, Flora scented the first story panel. There it was, The Honeyflow in all its blossoming glory, the foragers calling to each other in the Old Tongue – and there were the terrors of the Myriad lurking in wait.

Beside that was The Kindness , where a sister saw her own death by the hand of another. Then came the third, that honey-scented door to chaos – The Visitation , from whence a filament of smoke curled out its invitation. Flora stepped back, and the smoke retreated. The Queen had said three panels were enough, but excitement coursed through her body. If the priestesses were too busy to read the last three panels, then surely it would be of benefit to the hive if she could perform that service.

She looked at the last three panels. No tremors went through her antennae, nor did her feet drag forward without intention. The lilting singing of the ladies in the rest area beyond came through the walls, sweetly reassuring. Flora stepped up to the fourth panel, and the singing grew louder. A beautiful choral sound filled the chamber, the sound of ten thousand sisters singing one word that ebbed and flowed around the Library, as if they moved just beyond its walls. Flora could not quite decipher it, and as she concentrated the Library filled with the bright busy smell of the Dance Hall – and a great pressure wave rolled through the chamber.

Expiation! The choral blast of the word made Flora stagger. It echoed and died away, and the scent of the Dance Hall faded down.

Flora shook herself, her blood racing. Though she did not understand the strange word or the scents, and the feeling in her body challenged her to flee, the Queen wanted her to know the stories, and she would not fail her.

Flora moved on to the fifth and penultimate panel. At first glance it was very simple – just one carved leaf. As she looked more closely, it took on a golden hue and its filigreed veins pulsed energy that grew into a stalk, then a stem which stretched down the length of the panel and into the floor, its golden roots spreading all through the chamber and back up the walls until they met overhead. The heavenly smell of Holy Mother rose up strongly, mingled with the rich aromatic scent of pollen. Flora looked up and saw the roots had joined into a knot at the centre point of the vaulted Library ceiling that swelled into a crown-shaped fruit. It grew larger and larger, then burst apart in a shower of golden dust.

The Library returned to normal – but a blow of sadness struck Flora in her heart as the name of the panel spoke in her mind. The Golden Leaf . Suddenly the beauty of the strange story was loathsome and Flora felt a terrible grief – but nothing had happened, nor was she hurt in any way. She stepped back from the fifth panel. It was deeply disturbing – and yet even as Flora recoiled from the dark and twisting feeling that had risen in her heart, a little part of her mind whispered praise for her own endurance – she had read five stories! How pleased the Queen would be with her, and how wonderful to be able to help the busy priestesses!

There was one last story. The sixth panel smelled inert, yet held a powerful stillness. Cautiously, Flora focused on it. Nothing happened; no scent, no image, no sound came forth, but the air in the Library grew warm and close. From the centre of the little panel blew a faint trace of fresh air. Feeling as if she was suffocating, Flora could not help drawing nearer.

The Library vanished and she smelled the Nursery. One crib pulled her closer, huge and dark. Deep within it a baby cried in pain, and a cold wind howled. As Flora ran towards it, the crib began to rattle and break apart. The baby cried louder and as she leaned over the crib to see it, a twisting black comet screamed out of its depths and into her brain.

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