no wind. And the sound was like the humming of bees in their countless millions.
The Belt burned around Lief’s waist.
“What is this?” Barda was breathing hard, staring down, his big, blunt hands gripping his sword.
Softly Lief repeated the rhyme carved on the stone. And this time, the last lines were complete.
“Death swarms within its rocky wall
Where all are one, one will rules all.
Below the dead, the living strive
With mindless will to serve the Hive.”
“The Hive …” Jasmine repeated slowly.
“The Sand is the Guardian,” said Lief.
Barda shook his head. “But — it cannot be,” he breathed. “The sand is not alive! We have walked upon it, seen creatures —”
“The creatures we have seen are crawling on a much larger host,” said Lief, his voice very low. “The dunes we have been treading are only a covering, made up of the long dead. The living work below. Serving the Hive. It is they who collect the treasures that fall. It is they who make the marks on the surface. They who cause the storms.”
“The gem —”
“The gem, dropped anywhere on the Sands, would at last be drawn to the Center,” Lief murmured. “That is why we are here.”
He tore his eyes away from the whirlpool within the core and turned to Jasmine. “We need smoke,” he said. “Smoke, not fire.”
Without a word she knelt and began pulling things from her pack. Her hands, Lief saw, were trembling.
His own hands were not very steady as he gave his sword to Barda and took the rope in exchange. But as heknotted the rope around his chest, he was half-smiling, and his voice shook only a little.
“I fear you must be my nursemaid again, Barda,” he said. “Again I need your help and your strength — and your rope as well. But this time, I beg you, do not let me go.”
L ief crawled over the lip of the pit and stepped into empty space. He dangled, swinging gently to and fro, looking up at Barda’s and Jasmine’s worried faces and their hands, the knuckles white, gripping the rope.
“Slowly,” he mouthed. He saw them nod, and their hands move. Then, gently, he began to sink through the core of the cone.
Lief’s cloak was bound tightly around him and its hood was drawn closely around his head and face, covering all but his eyes. I must look like a big grub in a cocoon, he thought. But no grub would be so foolish as to invade a hive. If it did …
Shuddering, he turned his mind to other things.
Smoke from the dampened torch, well padded with wet rags, billowed around him. He was not certainit would help, but certainly no other weapon would be useful here. Besides, ever since his dream, Queen Bee’s words had kept coming back to him, and surely that was for a reason.
My guards do not like sudden movements, and are easily angered. Why, even I must use smoke to calm them when I take their honey from the Hive …
He could remember the words so clearly. Strangely, here, at the droning, swirling hub of the Sands, his mind had cleared and sharpened. Perhaps the Hive was no longer calling him, because it had no need. He was where it had wanted him to be all along.
He looked up. His friends’ faces were tiny now. He was hardly able to see them against the glare of the sky. And below, the seething mass that was the Hive was whirling, rising to meet him.
He braced himself, closed his eyes. Then he felt it, like a hot, rough wind, a stinging whirlwind, sucking him in. It spun savagely about him, whipping him, pressing in on him, with a sound like thunder.
It was too strong. Too strong!
He could not see. He could not breathe. Spun in a raging torrent of sound, he did not know which way was up, which down. He knew only one thing:
The Hive cared nothing for him. To the Hive he was not food, or a captive prize, or even a hated enemy to be defeated. To the Hive he was nothing but the carrier of the thing it desired. The Hive would suffocatehim. It would rub the clothes from his flesh and the flesh from his bones.
The Belt burned around Lief’s waist.
“What is this?” Barda was breathing hard, staring down, his big, blunt hands gripping his sword.
Softly Lief repeated the rhyme carved on the stone. And this time, the last lines were complete.
“Death swarms within its rocky wall
Where all are one, one will rules all.
Below the dead, the living strive
With mindless will to serve the Hive.”
“The Hive …” Jasmine repeated slowly.
“The Sand is the Guardian,” said Lief.
Barda shook his head. “But — it cannot be,” he breathed. “The sand is not alive! We have walked upon it, seen creatures —”
“The creatures we have seen are crawling on a much larger host,” said Lief, his voice very low. “The dunes we have been treading are only a covering, made up of the long dead. The living work below. Serving the Hive. It is they who collect the treasures that fall. It is they who make the marks on the surface. They who cause the storms.”
“The gem —”
“The gem, dropped anywhere on the Sands, would at last be drawn to the Center,” Lief murmured. “That is why we are here.”
He tore his eyes away from the whirlpool within the core and turned to Jasmine. “We need smoke,” he said. “Smoke, not fire.”
Without a word she knelt and began pulling things from her pack. Her hands, Lief saw, were trembling.
His own hands were not very steady as he gave his sword to Barda and took the rope in exchange. But as heknotted the rope around his chest, he was half-smiling, and his voice shook only a little.
“I fear you must be my nursemaid again, Barda,” he said. “Again I need your help and your strength — and your rope as well. But this time, I beg you, do not let me go.”
L ief crawled over the lip of the pit and stepped into empty space. He dangled, swinging gently to and fro, looking up at Barda’s and Jasmine’s worried faces and their hands, the knuckles white, gripping the rope.
“Slowly,” he mouthed. He saw them nod, and their hands move. Then, gently, he began to sink through the core of the cone.
Lief’s cloak was bound tightly around him and its hood was drawn closely around his head and face, covering all but his eyes. I must look like a big grub in a cocoon, he thought. But no grub would be so foolish as to invade a hive. If it did …
Shuddering, he turned his mind to other things.
Smoke from the dampened torch, well padded with wet rags, billowed around him. He was not certainit would help, but certainly no other weapon would be useful here. Besides, ever since his dream, Queen Bee’s words had kept coming back to him, and surely that was for a reason.
My guards do not like sudden movements, and are easily angered. Why, even I must use smoke to calm them when I take their honey from the Hive …
He could remember the words so clearly. Strangely, here, at the droning, swirling hub of the Sands, his mind had cleared and sharpened. Perhaps the Hive was no longer calling him, because it had no need. He was where it had wanted him to be all along.
He looked up. His friends’ faces were tiny now. He was hardly able to see them against the glare of the sky. And below, the seething mass that was the Hive was whirling, rising to meet him.
He braced himself, closed his eyes. Then he felt it, like a hot, rough wind, a stinging whirlwind, sucking him in. It spun savagely about him, whipping him, pressing in on him, with a sound like thunder.
It was too strong. Too strong!
He could not see. He could not breathe. Spun in a raging torrent of sound, he did not know which way was up, which down. He knew only one thing:
The Hive cared nothing for him. To the Hive he was not food, or a captive prize, or even a hated enemy to be defeated. To the Hive he was nothing but the carrier of the thing it desired. The Hive would suffocatehim. It would rub the clothes from his flesh and the flesh from his bones.
Similar Books
