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Authors: Andre Norton

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We lay to the South of the older, more populous dales; South and West with only the final hills between us and the great Waste. A narrow trail swept out in a loop to pass the gates of ourselves and Merrowdale. Yet, while few passed and fewer stopped, we were content. Ithia's small stone house stood at the far end of the village. The road from Merrowdale ran along the slope above. On it one day, as Spring was almost upon us, I saw people walking.
I peered about for Ithia. I did not like what I saw and she was my refuge, the answerer of my questions. I was too late. She was already striding towards the road and those who came limping along it. I followed. By the time I reached her others of the village were there and gossip ran in a buzz of whispering like the hum of angry bees. Well might there be anger. Those who came were the tattered remnants of Merrowdale, fallen not to the invaders but to a large band of our own. Once some lord's soldiers, now they were half-mad and masterless men. Of prosperous Merrowdale only the dozen or so who stood before us had escaped. I saw the Lord Lanson himself listening in silence at the edge of the crowd.
A tall old woman leaned on her staff, shivering in the chill air. Her face was bitter, her mouth twisted in pain and grief.
“I am Merith Eralsdaughter. They came in the early morning. They laid in wait, and once many within the keep were out and about they began their killing. With the keep doors open they entered and killed all within, then they raged through the village. The master-at-arms survived to rally the men for a little. But those who came killed without sense or mercy as rabid beasts kill.”
Her tall figure bent a little, as if cradling pain. “We were weak. Our lord and his sons took all those able-bodied men to the last battle. He and his sons did not return. Only a handful of his men came home and they were each left crippled in some way. Our lord's lady ruled us well, our master-at-arms was her cousin. He and his few men died trying to save her and those in the keep.”
Lord Lanson spoke without accusation. “How then came you and those alive from that slaughter?”
She straightened a little. “I was up with a sick ewe. I saw what would come to us and took up supplies in a bag. Then I left. In cover on the hills I waited to aid those who survived—if any did. I know a little of herbs and healcraft. Better to aid the wounded than add one old fool to the slaughter.”
Ithia took her hands then. “Be welcome, sister. What you did was wise. And these?” Her gesture encompassed those tattered figures which slumped on the ground, blood staining their clothing here and there.
“They are from the village. Hann was our baker. He, too, was awake early. The woman is his wife, the girl and the boy here theirs.” I judged the girl to be almost fourteen, the boy perhaps a year younger. The woman looked up at Merith's words, her eyes blank. She wailed softly. Merith spoke. “Her oldest daughter was maid to the lady of the keep. Although we waited in hiding, the girl did not win
free to join us.” Merith resumed the count. “Tral and his sister, Trela, were caring for a sick cow. They escaped unharmed, also bringing out their mother from the house. The other four are men whom we met on the road. They come from Hastdale. That, too, has fallen, or so they have told us.”
About us I saw faces agape in horror. Always the war had seemed so far away. But we knew Merrowdale our neighbor. Hastdale, almost a week's journey to the North, and with which we occasionally traded, had also fallen? Would we be next? Merith was still talking.
“My mother was nurse to Lord Malrion's mother, we were children together and friends. He talked frankly to me of the things he learned. The war is ended. The invaders flee. But many dales were destroyed. Too many soldiers have lost lord and home and hope. They ravage now like hunger-maddened weasels. If they have nothing, not even hope left to them, then that, too, they shall deny to those of us who still possess something.”
“What sought these ones in Merrowdale?” That was my father.
“What such men always seek: loot, women, mounts to replace those lost.” She bowed her head. “They came in strength to our dale: many less will leave.” Her head came up in pride. “Our people fought. They were not taken like rabbits which scream and cower beneath the weasel's fangs. Blood-price they had for their going.” She slumped again, staying on her feet with difficulty. Ithia lent her shoulder.
“Come. Best you have food, drink, and a bed.” Her eyes sought Lord Lanson. He nodded, leaving these decisions to Ithia.
“The village will take you in. Let any family who can host one of these come forward. Merith, you shall guest with me and my apprentice. I think Lord Lanson will have other work. In the morning you shall speak with him as he
wishes.” Recalled to himself, our keep lord nodded again to Ithia and hastened away. I joined my teacher and added a younger shoulder to Merith's support.
I was just turned thirteen. We had celebrated my name day barely ten days gone. All my life had been without sorrow. I found the tale more exciting than fearful. Besides, Honeycoombe was apart. Only those who knew where it lay would find it. And none from here had ridden to the war. Lord Lanson had no soldiers. At need the men of the village armed to follow him, but he kept no men permanently under arms save Jerin. I grinned at the thought.
Jerin had been arms-master to both Lord Lanson and his father, the Lord Lanrale. Jerin was a spare upright old man who now taught weapons-work to the lads of our village. But he was
old.
Nonetheless, it was Jerin who came striding to our house soon after dusk. He would have spoken privately with Merith and Ithia, but Ithia insisted I share their discussion.
“She is a child.”
“Would you say so if she were male? She is thirteen and sensible. And if the killers come, will they say she is a child, harm her not?” Ithia's voice was tart.
Jerin grunted. “Well enough. Let her listen.”
So listen I did. At first I could not believe what he said, but the women nodded and agreed. We were to make up travel bags. A watch would be set on the main road. If those we feared were seen the alarm would be given and all would flee into the hills. My own father was even now taking the three pack-ponies owned by the village into the uplands. They would bide in the hut on Foral Ridge. The killers would not have them and if we must flee we would have the ponies to aid our escape.
Ithia spoke then. “All this is wise. Spring comes swiftly now. I will bespeak the bees. If the weather holds we can move them from the village. The lower uplands hold more than one sheltered place where they will be ready to work.
And if those you fear come, we will have no time to move hives.”
“Do as you see fit, Wise One.” Jerin gave agreement. He paused at the door then before he left. “Let you all carry knives. If at the last there is no other choice, see that they are keen of point.”
I did not know then what he meant, but later Ithia told me. I gaped at her. Slay myself? How? I had never thought to do such a thing. I had no idea where or how to strike. She showed me patiently until I knew the blow. I understood something else then; that this was no longer excitement fit for a child. I think in those moments, as I learned how to kill myself, that I also aged. Ithia eyed me closely.
“I have a great task for you, craft-daughter.” I waited. “You shall go with the bees to the uplands when we move them. I have in mind the furthest pastures, where there is a cave. A small stream runs nearby. You know the place?” I nodded. “Good. You shall take a supply of the Winter-syrup. If the weather chills again you can feed the hives.” She smiled gently. “Take with you your Queen which Welwyn made you. I shall see you have all else.”
That she did, loading one pony with bedding, food, the Winter-syrup, and other small comforts. We left the next day. Behind us trudged the ponies, the other two loaded with the carefully lashed hives, which hummed with anticipation. The hives were light enough so that behind them the two also pulled long, hive-laden sledges. We would return the next day for the remaining hives. We did that and spent the day setting out the hives so that their inhabitants' flight-lines should be free of strife. The cave was small but deep. With Ithia's preparations it would be warm and comfortable for me. I felt buoyed up by a sense of importance.
She left me early the morning after that. Before she did so she took me in her arms and hugged me warmly. Then she tilted my chin up with one hand and stared into my eyes as if impressing what she would say upon my mind. “I trust you with our wing-friends, Meive. You are kin to
them. In a time of need they will rise to protect you.” She turned to stare out across the swathes of white and purple beelove just beginning to bloom in the early Spring warmth.
“I love you, child. Your family loves you. Remain here, guard the bees as they will guard you. Do not return unless one of us comes to fetch you. Your mother has said she will visit you every three days and bring food. If one day she does not come, you have supplies. Wait another three days before you return and walk with great caution. It may be ill has befallen. It will help no one if you fall into danger with us.” She left then, long walking staff swinging in one sunbrowned hand.
Now I think that she had some fore-warning. But little of that gift was hers. She saw only that death reached out for Honeycoombe, yet not when or how it should come. When it did not come at once, those of my home were lulled into believing that they could be safe. Thrice my mother made the journey to my cave with food. The third time she arrived before midday and shared my noonday meal. I sat her down with ceremony, offering water from the tiny spring, and honey-cakes made on a fire-heated stone. She gave formal thanks with a smile. Then she sobered.
“I came early this time, Meive. I would tell you of something you should know.”
“Why I can bespeak the bees?”
“Yes. Your father does not know. But my grandmother told me before she died.” My mother sighed and looked out across the sweet-scented beelove. “Our line lived in Merrowdale at that time. When my grandmother's mother was young she was betrothed to a man she loved and who loved her. The wedding was but a week away. But betrothed, too, was the lord's daughter and many had already arrived for her wedding. Amongst them was one lord's son of a line at which all looked sideways. It was whispered their blood had mingled with those Old Ones still here when the dales were settled.” My mother looked at me.
“You are old enough to know of such things. My grandmother's mother was in the high field caring for the sheep when he found her there. He used her as a woman and left her weeping. She fled to her lord's lady and demanded justice. The Lord of Merrowdale was greatly angered by the tale and justice he gave. He could not slay the man for fear of blood-feud. And besides, he rode with other kin who might have fought such a decision. But he stripped him of all that evil man possessed and drove him forth from the dale. Then he gave the plunder to she whom the lad had outraged.”
“And her betrothed?”
“He loved her, blaming her not. He held to the bond. But they took what they had and followed their lord's younger son here to Honeycoombe. With what they had been given they purchased the building of a home. His coin and gems purchased them a cow for milk, and other things. And in time my grandmother was born.”
“She had the gift?”
“So she told it to me. But she, too, wed a man she loved and laid aside her gift, such an ability being one which can be set aside at will. I had none. But she warned me that often the gift passed by a generation. That my daughter might have some measure of it. In that it seems she was right.”
I nodded, thinking. My father loved my mother well. But he feared the Old Ones. Even the tales of them he would not hear. To know that my mother's blood had come through such a thing would have distressed him greatly, even perhaps driven him from her. I met her eyes.
“I understand. To know something is no reason to speak of it. But I would know the name of that man and his dale.” My mother whispered it. Then added more. “He was of the line of Paltendale. His father was lord, but the evil one was a younger son. Their arms are shown as a heart pierced by a dagger and a deer with one antler broken short.”
After that we spent some hours in simple gossip. I heard
of the small doings of the village. Amongst these I learned that Welwyn was courting Annet, Hann the Baker's daughter. They had come with the refugees. My mother seemed pleased with that and I also. It would be pleasant to have a new kinswoman and I had liked what little I saw of the girl.
My mother left with a parting hug and murmured affection. I watched her pass over the ridge and it was as if of a sudden a chill wind blew through me. I wished to run after her, cling, and swear that I loved her. But I held myself back. This was some Spring breeze and—my mother knew well I loved her.
I
returned to my cave and tidied it slowly. Then I went to sit with the bees and reach out to touch their minds. I shared their busy lives the remainder of that day, and after I had slept I was myself again. But when the next time for my mother to visit came, she did not And again that chill wind crawled over my skin. Even sharing hive-life could not distract me. I walked again and again part-way along the path. I climbed higher above my cave and stared far out across the lower hills, straining to see if any approached. None did. To and fro I wandered in an agony of indecision. Ithia had said I was to wait three days. But what if my family needed me?
Yet—the village needed the winged-ones more than any aid I could render. If I deserted the hives and aught happened, how would I face Ithia? I waited the three days and then a fourth. None could say I had not obeyed spirit as well as the letter of my orders. But on the fifth morning I went forth and bespoke the hive queens and their small fierce warriors.
“Wing-kin, I fear danger has overtaken my hive. I must journey to seek out if this be so. Be safe until I may return.”
A soft humming arose stretching out to encompass me. I did rightly. One's hive was life. I should learn the fate of mine. But even as I had cared for them and been accepted as hive-kin, so they should care for me. Let me go but return once I knew. Then whatever I did I should have guards of their providing for the path I walked.
I bowed and spoke words of thanks, smiling a little in the midst of my worry. What guards could the bees afford? But I would not have insulted my friends by saying so. I lifted my carrysack, took up the staff I had carved in imitation of the one Ithia carried, and set out upon the path to Honeycoombe. It was less than a half day's brisk tramp but I recalled Ithia's warnings. I circled from the path, taking my rest that night two miles short of the village. I lit no fire but ate cold food and drank chill clear water from a stream.
At dawn I moved unwillingly towards Honeycoombe. I think I already knew death had come there. My nose told me first with the stench of smoke. I lay in the heather looking down upon what had been my home. Two of the cottages had burned. The lord's stone house sent up still a wisp of smoke. Stone will not burn but wooden paneling and furniture burn very well. My eyes turned to my own home. Near the door bundles lay motionless while flies buzzed about them.
I felt sickness rise in my throat and vomited it up. I could recognize the dress one wore; the jacket on another. Below me my parents and brother lay still, abandoned to the feasting flies. I vomited again and again before I forced my gaze to turn elsewhere. Ithia? What of her whom I also loved? It took me the whole day to circle the village, staying from known paths. At last I was sure whoever had done this thing had gone from my dale. At least for now. Then I went down.
My family were dead. Welwyn and my father had died fighting. My sisters lay dead upon their beds, stabbed to the heart. By my mother I think, before she went out to
fight. She, too, was dead, the dagger hilt still with her hand clasped about it. But by her other hand lay a pitchfork where it had fallen as she released it to snatch out her dagger. The pitchfork tines were red their whole length. And in front of her there was a great puddle of dried blood. More blood before my da and brother showed they, too, had fought well. I felt a bitter pride. Whoever had come here had gone away lessened in numbers by the meeting.
There was nothing I could do but give them burial, and that could wait a little. I started running towards the small stone cottage up-slope from the other houses. Ithia, could she have survived? She was wise. Surely, oh surely, Ithia, of them all … I reached the door and spoke her name very softly. A low croak answered. My heart leaped. She lived! I entered peering about, seeking her familiar lean figure. Why did she not come to greet me? The croak came again and I saw. My body gave me no warning this time. I simply leaned to one side and spewed up all that was in me. Over and over until blood taste filled my throat. Then I wiped my mouth and moved forward numbly.
They had—but no. I will not recall what they had done. Man of all creatures is the only one which does such things and I do not wish to remember what was done to Ithia. She lived only another hour. She had held on to life waiting for my return. There was no time to tell me how this had happened, nor any need once she said the name of he who had brought the killers here. Neeco! Thrice cursed, thrice damned. Kin-slayer, betrayer.
I listened to that weak thread of voice. From here and there I was to take food and drink. In the lord's house I should open a certain place in a wall. There I would find wealth. That, too, I was to take. Those who had come were gone but for a while only. They hunted the hills but would return. They must not know any had survived. It was for that also Ithia had denied my aid. Let them find her dead where they had left her.
But here in her home she would give me one last gift. I obeyed her directions and stood holding the treasure. A great treasure to be sure, ten small bone phials of the honey-cordial, each laid in a pocket within a small padded bag with a strap for carrying. A treasure for which any dale's lord would give gold. I would have traded them all for Ithia's life. She saw that and gave a tiny broken smile.
“I am not worth so much, craft-daughter. Do as I say, then flee.”
“My mother, da?” I could not leave my family unburied.
“Must stay as they are, I have told you what to do. Take what you find and leave. Do not look back.” Still I hesitated. Ithia visibly gathered the last of her power and I felt her will bear down on me, blurring my grief and giving me strength.
“Go, my blessing on you all the days of your life. Follow the path but first go back to the winged-ones and tell them of my death. It is fitting they are told by the one who will be their wise woman hereafter. Go,
now.”
She fell back and I saw her spirit flicker low like a spent candle. Cordial pack in hand, tears filling my eyes, I fled towards the door.
From Ithia's body I heard a strange soft humming begin, but I did not pause. Her final order and the demand in her eyes held me from turning back. I reached the lord's house and entered, averting my eyes from those who lay within. Portions of some of the walls and a heap of broken furniture had burned, but not all. At the wall behind the High Seat I pressed the carved pattern. Little enough was there of wealth by the standard of the richer dales, but for me it was a fortune. A little gold, more of silver, and a handful of small uncut gems such as are sometimes washed from streams.
I stowed these items within Ithia's cordial bag. Then I moved towards the kitchen. My mother had worked for Lord Lanson whenever he had guests. I knew the kitchen secrets. The cheese press door had no handle and seemed
part of the wall. It was opened by a thrust at one side after which it revolved on a center spindle. Within lay rounds of cheese, hard of rind and rich from the goat's milk and added herbs. To one side was a large stack of journey-bread. Hard-crusted disks baked perhaps a day or so before death came hunting. They would last weeks yet. I took all of both I could carry.
The cupboard was not yet emptied and I stood in thought. I was alone now. Ithia had been sure those who had done this would return, but not yet. I would risk a little extra time. I loaded cheese and bread into a bag I made from a discarded shirt. That I carried part-way to cover. I returned to forage. A short sword and dagger laid away in a chest. A warm woolen cloak. A length of cloth with needles and thread. Nothing too bulky or heavy save the food. But I would be more likely to survive with these articles to aid me.
I got the bundles to cover, left them lying under bracken, and returned to my own home. If I was to do naught else I could bid my family farewell. Tell them I loved them one last time. I knelt by the bodies, my throat choked with tears. Oh, my sisters and I had argued now and again. But never in malice. They had rejoiced with me when I had been chosen by the bees. I spoke the words of farewell and kissed their cold cheeks. From each I took an unobtrusive scrap of their clothing. Once I was safe I would sew these into a memory quilt. It would be an heirloom for my house.
I found a wry grin twisting my face. An heirloom for my house? What house? I was alone. But still I added the tatters of cloth to my bag. Then I went down to do the same for da, mother, and Welwyn. I completed the task, weeping again until my eyes were sore and my nose blocked so that I snuffled the last words over them rather than spoke. I rose at last from my knees. There was no more I could do if I was not to bury them. As I left the village I would pass Ithia's house. I had to see her one last time. To speak the words of farewell over my craft-mother also.
I hesitated at the door. I could not see her body in the dimness. Then as my eyes adjusted I saw the outline and something moved. Alive! She was still … she could not be. I had seen her die. It must be a rat, some filthy scavenger come to feed. It appeared to be about that size. I sprang forward with a cry of rage, my staff upheld to strike. Then I saw what lay on Ithia's breast A slow feeling of awe crept over me. My staff lowered as I met great faceted eyes. Love, warm and sweet as honey flowed over me, healing, smoothing out the jagged edges of memory.
Liquid sweet, a voice sounded in my mind. “Craft-daughter. Do as I bade you. Blessed be.” I stepped back, permitting the light-haloed queen free passage. Golden wings fanned as she rose. For a moment she hovered, one wing brushing my cheek in a gentle caress. Then she was gone, rising into the fading sunlight, the color of it glinting bright on her wings. I watched as she vanished towards the hills. Quietly, I took up a piece of Ithia's torn clothing. That, too, should go into the quilt I would sew. But I would have no need of it to remember her.
Over the next two days I returned to my cave and the hives. It took time to transport my plunder and that I did not wish to leave behind. I kept a good lookout both before and behind me as I walked but there was no sign as yet of anyone returning. With everything stowed safe I walked to stand in the midst of the hives. With the winged-ones I shared my loss, my sorrow, and the manner of Ithia's going. Both how she had died and what I had seen thereafter. I felt their anger and sorrow merge with mine. The loss of a sister hive grieved them. The loss of their fellow queen, Ithia, still more. But, they assured me, now I was chosen queen in her place. It was for me to begin a new hive.
I protested aloud. “I cannot. I have no one, nothing. I am alone.” Events crashed in on me as I knew that for the truth. Everything was gone. My home, my family, Ithia. The comfort she had given me faded as I faced the truth. Sooner or later raiders would find me and I would die.
Slowly and miserably if I could not contrive a quicker death of my own. I did not wish to die. I sat up slowly from the earth hummock where I had flung myself to weep.
“I don't want to die. I want to live.” My voice deepened to a hoarse snarl. “I want those who came to Honeycoombe punished. I want them dead.”
The hives hummed agreement. In the sound there was an anger and savagery to equal mine. A command reached me. I was to eat, drink, sleep in my place, and wait. I did not wish to wait. I wanted to act now. What would they do? The queens' thin honey-sweet voices were a needle boring into my mind. I was young, with no hive to command as yet. I should obey. I should wait. I waited as I was bid and waiting was worth the aggravation it cost me. From the hives of the two new queens came forth bees the like of which I had never seen.
Warriors many times the size of a normal bee. They were completely black and their buzzing was a low dangerous sound which held menace even to me who did not fear them. Behind they bore stingers over an inch long. One came to settle on my shoulder. His wings touched my lips as I turned to study him. I reached up to stroke the black fur with a fingertip.
“You are strange to me, winged-warrior. But very beautiful.” I allowed my mind to hold the same thought so that the winged-one might understand. In reply the buzzing came with a pleased note, as the queens hummed approval from their hives.
Then they pulled me deeper into communion. I swam in gold, in thoughts of honey and brood cells, of a hive reborn and what must be done. What could be done. When I came to myself again I was lying between the hives. The new warriors came flying to circle me. From them I received pictures that made me gasp. I saw men, back in Honeycoombe. From the warriors came a rising tide of anger. These were the killers. The despoilers of the hive. Soon they would venture in search of me. I must be ready.
“What must I do?” Approval from the queens. It was right and proper that a new young queen should seek wisdom from her elders.
“Wait.”
I groaned. “What, again?”
Dark amusement from the warriors and the queens. “Ah, sister queen.
This
waiting will end to your liking. Go. Sleep. Prepare. Be ready to do as we ask when the time comes.”
I staggered to my feet and went to my cave. The fire was only coals but I woke it to flames. I ate heartily of the plundered bread and cheese, drank water from my tiny stream, and when exhaustion swept over me, I lay down and slept the night through in dreamless slumber. I woke in the morning, more calm in my mind, and with an idea.
Ithia had bought the new queens from the shrine she visited. If I survived I would go there, taking the hives. Within it the winged-ones would be safe. I would likely be safer there also should such entrance be permitted me. My decision made, I ate and drank again, banked my fire, and determined to spy on the invaders of Honeycoombe. I talked to the queens before I set off. They did not say me nay, but about me when I walked along the trail lined with beelove my warriors flew scout, a full half hundred of them now.

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