The Bees. Laline Paull

as pleasant, but just follow along and we shall soon be out. We’ll only do the first three, so don’t worry.’

      The ladies formed a line and put Flora at the end. They walked in a circle around the chamber repeating the Our Mother, and then Lady Burnet stopped in front of a panel.

      ‘The first story is called The Honeyflow.’ She smiled at Flora. ‘The lightest touch, then move back.’ She dipped her antennae and touched the panel to demonstrate. Immediately the scent of flowers rose up from it, developing and blending as each of the ladies took their turn. Flora marvelled to recognise the ancient kin-scents: the Sage and the Teasel, the Rosebay Willowherb, the Clover, Violet, Celandine, Burnet, Thistle, Malus, Bindweed and all of them. Of the floras, there was no reference.

      ‘Quickly, my dear.’ Lady Burnet’s voice had the slightest tremor. ‘We must move along.’

      As Flora touched her antennae to the first panel, all the blossom of spring burst into life and the air was filled with orchard sweetness and the scent of lush grass. But before she could fully enjoy it, a pressure wave went through the air in the chamber. She heard the harsh caw of birds and smelled the sharp tang of a wasp.

      As she leapt back in shock, all the ladies laughed nervously.

      ‘A common reaction,’ said Lady Burnet, ‘but it is only a story; it cannot hurt you. Fresh as dew, yet made in the Time before Time. Is it not a marvel? And better that we learn of the Myriad – though you of course have met one already.’

      The ladies clapped politely. Flora felt embarrassed.

      ‘There are others – of the Myriad? Not just wasps?’

      ‘Oh, they are legion. It means all those who would hurt us, or steal from us, or who pollute and destroy our rightful food. Like flies, for instance.’ Lady Burnet put a hand to her head. ‘Take great care in here, lest all the stories stir at once – our antennae would split with shock.’ She turned to her ladies. ‘I think we may conclude for this evening.’

      ‘But there are five more.’ Flora gazed at the other walls, from which intricate and unknown scents coiled then curled back in, without diffusing into the air. She looked to the ladies for explanation and saw all of their antennae quivering with stress, and that Lady Primrose was on the edge of panic. Lady Burnet forced a smile.

      ‘To tend these panels is to strengthen the Hive Mind with the ancient scent-stories of our faith. The priestesses do not expect us to read each one.’ She looked down. ‘The first and second panels are enough. The rest … hold terrors.’

      ‘I am not afraid,’ said Flora. ‘I long to serve my hive.’

      ‘My dear – please recall your kin. Do not presume—’

      Lady Meadowsweet coughed and looked at Lady Burnet, a world of meaning in her gaze. ‘Does it matter who reads them, if the duty is done?’

      ‘Yes,’ added Lady Violet, ‘I have heard her kin have less nerves.’

      ‘And would be less affected,’ agreed pretty Lady Primrose.

      Flora stepped forward.

      ‘Please, my ladies, if I may do any duty, to the hive or the Queen – I am strong and willing’ – pressing her knees tight, she knelt before them – ‘and I long to serve!’

      The ladies clapped again. Lady Burnet raised her up.

      ‘Very well. The second story is called The Kindness.’

      Flora saw how the ladies flinched at the name. She stood up stronger.

      ‘I have heard that word before. I will do it.’

      She walked to the next panel. As she touched her antennae to it, the voices and hubbub of the hive rose up all around them, and the wonderful comforting smell of sisters rustling their wings for sleep. She was overwhelmed by love for all her sisters, and the beauty of the hive. Then her feet tingled as if walking on coded tiles, and in her mind she saw herself walking down a long corridor, with a Thistle guard. She saw herself kneel, her knees still splayed, then bend her head low to the wax as the guard braced her feet and raised a great sharp claw above her.

       Forgive me, sister—

      Pain streaked through the join of Flora’s head and thorax. She cried out and staggered back from the panel.

      She was in the Queen’s Library, and the ladies stood watching. She felt her body – unharmed – but the shock of the blow reverberated.

      ‘I – I don’t understand.’

      Lady Primrose giggled nervously.

      ‘Every sister sees her own end. Though we never go as far as you just did – it is enough to walk the corridor and know what is coming!’

      ‘The Kindness means death?’

      ‘Amen,’ chorused the ladies. ‘No use to the hive, no use for life!’

      At their hysterical laughter Flora laughed too, excited by the terrible vision.

      ‘Let me do another! Now I understand—’

      ‘You understand nothing – you are merely brave.’ Lady Burnet leavened her words with a smile. ‘But if you would take one more, then half are done, and our duty is amply fulfilled.’ She followed Flora’s eyes around the last three. ‘No. Those are too strong, only the priestesses tend those stories.’

      ‘Then one more.’ Flora drew herself up, proud of her courage and the awe in the eyes of these fine ladies. ‘And with all my heart.’

      The other bees stood near the door as Lady Burnet positioned Flora at the third panel.

      ‘Keep your wings latched,’ she told her, ‘and stop at any time.’

      Flora stepped forward and touched her antennae to the wax mosaic. It was plainer than the second, its scent held close to the wax as if to shield its secret, but as she focused, its peculiar fragrance structure began to part.

      First came the intense bouquet of the hive, strong and welcoming and laced with the wealth of a million different flowers’ nectar. It smelled of sunshine and sisters, and Flora drew it in more deeply, searching for the strange accent note she had first registered. It darted at the edge of her consciousness, just out of reach.

      ‘Good, that is enough,’ murmured Lady Burnet from the door. ‘Let us go.’

      But the olfactory loop held Flora’s attention: the hive, the sun, the honey – then without warning came a blast of wild cold air and choking smoke. Flora staggered. Her body was in the room but her senses flooded with the panic of ten thousand sisters roaring their engines, the dazing sun and the overpowering smell of honey.

      ‘That story is called The Visitation.’

      The voice was sweet and thrilling, and the hand that touched Flora took away her fear.

      ‘It tells of robbery and terror, and the survival of our people.’ The scent mirage was gone, and in its place an intense pure wave of Devotion filled the chamber. Flora dropped to her six knees, at last in the presence of the Queen. She laid her antennae along the ground in reverence.

      ‘Brave daughter.’

      Flora looked up. At first all she could see was the golden aura, but then Her Majesty’s beautiful eyes shone through, lit with kindness and love. She was magnificently large, with long shapely legs and a graceful tapering abdomen, full and buoyant under the golden tracery of her folded wings.

      ‘Mother,’ Flora whispered.

      ‘Child,’ said the Queen. ‘Do not be ashamed.’ She raised Flora to her feet and smiled at all her ladies. ‘Come, my daughters, let us be more comfortable in my chamber, that I may hear about my ancient cousin Vespa’s wicked venture.’