The Bees: A Novel by Laline Paull Page A

gladly—after the wasp I fear nothing.”
    The Queen’s laugh sent ripples of delight through Flora’s body, though she did not know how she had so amused her.
    “Let us see,” said the Queen. “The first three will be enough for you.”
     
    A ND SO F LORA KEPT HER POSITION as attendant to the ladies-in-waiting for another day, fetching water and refreshments for them until the Queen had laid her thousand eggs and returned to her chambers—and then her second job began.
    While the ladies groomed each other and ate their supper and the Queen rested, Flora went to the Library. Without the anxiety of the other ladies around her, she was calm and could focus, and the intense energy of the chamber no longer overwhelmed her. In the still air she detected wisps and trails of the story fragrances as their living energy drew her attention and sought release—but this time she was determined not to lose control.
    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. As her mind absorbed the mellifluous language, she knew they spoke 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 which 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 task.
    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 close 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 through the chamber and died away, and the scent of the Dance Hall faded.
    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 Flora would not fail her.
    She 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 that 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 center point of the vaulted Library ceiling, which 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