there was hunger, and that Flora was strong and able. If the hive was hungry and she found food, how could that be wrong?
“Sanitation to exit.”
At the gruff call of the Thistle guards, Flora and a few others of her kin stepped out onto the board.
Sister after sister hummed her engines and fired herself into the dazzling blue sky. Flora unlatched her wings, adrenaline pumping through her body. She started her engine.
“Stop at once!” voices shouted, and several Thistle guards ran out onto the board. “All flight is canceled by order of the Sage, effective immediately!”
Foragers waiting to leave shouted their disappointment, but more guards ran out and pushed all the bees back from the edge. Others began laying homecoming flares, and another pulled Sister Cowslip from Flora’s grasp and threw her over the edge.
“We should not do that!” Flora’s engine thrummed inside her chest, the filigree of blood vessels in her wings were tight with power, and her feet were light on the wood. To be so long in darkness and servitude, and then at the very lip of freedom to be turned away—
“They come—stand back!” The guards pushed all the bees back as returning foragers approached in the flight corridor to the hive. Some of them swerved wildly and Flora held her antennae aloft, but there was no trace of wasp attack, only the soil and the plants and the incoming sisters.
The first bee crashed onto the board at her feet. She was a forager from the kin of Poppy, but her scent was overlaid with something alien and ugly, and a gray film covered her whole body. She crawled toward Flora.
“Help me, Sister. I beg you.”
Some instinct made Flora jump back from the forager’s desperate lunge, and all the bees stared in bewildered horror as the Poppy stopped and was violently sick. Other bees came crashing down onto the board around her, their eyes wild and their bodies speckled with the gray film.
Thirteen
H ER BODY TENSE FROM THWARTED FLIGHT , F LORA WENT back into the hive. Pausing in the crowded corridor to relatch her wings, she heard weak, raised voices of the Poppy and other sisters coming from an antechamber near the morgue. Before she could hear what they said, the Thistle guards hurried everyone back inside, pushing them toward the Dance Hall.
Jittery bursts of buzzing came from the large assembly of bees. The pulses in the comb had called them there but it was not time for Devotion, nor, despite the definite trace of fear drifting in from the landing board, was there any smell of wasp. There was, however, an unpleasant odor somewhere close, and Flora instinctively drew away. The whole crowd rippled and flexed as one, and when the movement stopped, certain bees stood isolated in pools of space. Each was a forager, standing with her head down and her sides heaving for breath, and each showed the same gray film on her body as had the Poppy who crashed to the landing board.
A Sage priestess rustled her long, elegant wings for attention. Her antennae scanned the large hall.
“Sisters in One Mother, we give thanks for the sacrifices and valor of our noble foragers, Amen. ”
“Amen,” murmured the bees, currents of alarm passing between them.
“Behold our sister foragers, whose work is honor and whose precision, zeal, and stamina give life, health, and wealth to our hive. But whose mistakes and hubris bring disease, disgrace, and death. Many sisters have fallen sick and died today, and now we are certain of the cause.” Sister Sage pointed and two Thistle guards brought forward an old forager. Those bees nearest gasped in shock.
“Madam Lily 500,” intoned Sister Sage. “What do you wish to say to your sisters and to Holy Mother, whose life you have brought into danger with your error?”
Lily 500 raised her head. Her voice was hoarse but calm.
“I do not make errors. The field was clean when I was there.”
“No. It was poisoned. And in your error you sent countless sisters to their deaths.
“Sanitation to exit.”
At the gruff call of the Thistle guards, Flora and a few others of her kin stepped out onto the board.
Sister after sister hummed her engines and fired herself into the dazzling blue sky. Flora unlatched her wings, adrenaline pumping through her body. She started her engine.
“Stop at once!” voices shouted, and several Thistle guards ran out onto the board. “All flight is canceled by order of the Sage, effective immediately!”
Foragers waiting to leave shouted their disappointment, but more guards ran out and pushed all the bees back from the edge. Others began laying homecoming flares, and another pulled Sister Cowslip from Flora’s grasp and threw her over the edge.
“We should not do that!” Flora’s engine thrummed inside her chest, the filigree of blood vessels in her wings were tight with power, and her feet were light on the wood. To be so long in darkness and servitude, and then at the very lip of freedom to be turned away—
“They come—stand back!” The guards pushed all the bees back as returning foragers approached in the flight corridor to the hive. Some of them swerved wildly and Flora held her antennae aloft, but there was no trace of wasp attack, only the soil and the plants and the incoming sisters.
The first bee crashed onto the board at her feet. She was a forager from the kin of Poppy, but her scent was overlaid with something alien and ugly, and a gray film covered her whole body. She crawled toward Flora.
“Help me, Sister. I beg you.”
Some instinct made Flora jump back from the forager’s desperate lunge, and all the bees stared in bewildered horror as the Poppy stopped and was violently sick. Other bees came crashing down onto the board around her, their eyes wild and their bodies speckled with the gray film.
Thirteen
H ER BODY TENSE FROM THWARTED FLIGHT , F LORA WENT back into the hive. Pausing in the crowded corridor to relatch her wings, she heard weak, raised voices of the Poppy and other sisters coming from an antechamber near the morgue. Before she could hear what they said, the Thistle guards hurried everyone back inside, pushing them toward the Dance Hall.
Jittery bursts of buzzing came from the large assembly of bees. The pulses in the comb had called them there but it was not time for Devotion, nor, despite the definite trace of fear drifting in from the landing board, was there any smell of wasp. There was, however, an unpleasant odor somewhere close, and Flora instinctively drew away. The whole crowd rippled and flexed as one, and when the movement stopped, certain bees stood isolated in pools of space. Each was a forager, standing with her head down and her sides heaving for breath, and each showed the same gray film on her body as had the Poppy who crashed to the landing board.
A Sage priestess rustled her long, elegant wings for attention. Her antennae scanned the large hall.
“Sisters in One Mother, we give thanks for the sacrifices and valor of our noble foragers, Amen. ”
“Amen,” murmured the bees, currents of alarm passing between them.
“Behold our sister foragers, whose work is honor and whose precision, zeal, and stamina give life, health, and wealth to our hive. But whose mistakes and hubris bring disease, disgrace, and death. Many sisters have fallen sick and died today, and now we are certain of the cause.” Sister Sage pointed and two Thistle guards brought forward an old forager. Those bees nearest gasped in shock.
“Madam Lily 500,” intoned Sister Sage. “What do you wish to say to your sisters and to Holy Mother, whose life you have brought into danger with your error?”
Lily 500 raised her head. Her voice was hoarse but calm.
“I do not make errors. The field was clean when I was there.”
“No. It was poisoned. And in your error you sent countless sisters to their deaths.
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