With no distractions, the waiting hung heavy on Mielitta. So she was almost relieved when the wall shimmered and the Council Chamber came into view again. First, she saw Rinduran speech-making at the head of the table, Chief Mage now. Then she heard him. And her relief vanished.
‘…traitor is contained, it is time to destroy the enemy. Only Magaram’s weakness has allowed the Forest to exist on our doorstep, to invade our sanctuary over and over. To infect ever more people with allergy. The Forest will kill the human race if we don’t destroy it now! Hamel, report to the Council.’ Rinduran sat down.
Tiny, pointed and green, Hamel was now occupying what had been Shenagra’s seat, on the right hand of the Chief Mage. His high voice whined like a mosquito. ‘I too have spent years in the walls and can support every word Mage Rinduran says, with evidence from the past. You can watch a little girl die of asphyxiation, choking in the effort to breathe, turning scarlet, because the Forest touched her.’
Rinduran blanched as he listened, his hands clenched in front of him on the table.
‘You can hear the pleas of our saviours, begging us to ensure our society maintains the ways of Perfection, not to make the same mistakes again. We have carried out every prescription but one. We have not ended contact with the Forest. I have said it in Council before and been mocked for it, as I’ve been mocked for my odd physique and funny voice.’
Nobody laughed.
‘I don’t see those who’ve mocked me around this table now. And this time when I speak of policy, my words will be heard. Mage Rinduran is right. Can anybody here give one reason we need the living Forest and its vile creatures?’
Silence. If somebody had spoken up, who would have executed them, now that Shenagra was dead? Had Hamel taken her place in every way? He was rumoured to have unpleasant skills and Mielitta doubted whether he – or Rinduran – would worry about their colleagues’ willingness to have their thoughts policed. She knew how it felt to have your mind forced and she shuddered. To Mielitta’s relief, the silence endured. She had no wish to see more executions.
But her mind was still free. I am not as contained as you think! I need the Forest, she thought. I am one of those vile creatures.
Hamel continued, ‘The Citadel is self-sufficient. If we kill the Forest and everything in it, we lose nothing! We can switch to woodette when we’ve used up all the wood, and until then we can collect it in complete safety! We can cleanse not only the Citadel but the environment. If I tell you that Mage Rinduran knows exactly how to kill the Forest and win this war so we never have to fight it again, will you support us?’
Rinduran jumped in before anyone could answer. ‘I believe we must do this if we love our children and want a future for them and for their children. That’s the purpose of a Perfect society! But you should have your say. Let’s put it to the vote in the accustomed manner’ Rinduran’s open arms welcomed them all into the decision-making process. ‘Motion: that this Council is henceforth in a state of war with the Forest and will proceed immediately to hostile actions, which will cease only on the death of the Forest and all life forms in it.’
‘Aye,’ said Hamel.
The result was a foregone conclusion, one ‘Aye’ following another around the table, with no life-threatening hesitation.
‘This is how we do it,’ Rinduran began, with the beatific smile of a prophet whose time had come.
Heart pounding, Mielitta swore she would unpick the walls stone by stone if she lost sound now. Let me know how they’re going to do it, she prayed, please!
‘The walls showed me how it was done. Our ancestors used chemicals and the physical destruction of habitat; we use magecraft on the small creatures and let the Forest destroy itself. Insects create the very fabric of the Forest. We scramble their senses and communication so they can’t find food or each other.’
My bees. If Mielitta was struggling to cope with their absence, how would they deal with isolation from each other? Confused, their sense of smell destroyed, unable to find flowers, unable to dance, to return home. This wasn’t just hive death. It was crippling, killing despair and she could feel its blackness growing in her already. No bees.
Rinduran grew more and more enthusiastic, sharing the fruit of his years of research in the walls. ‘We cut down the trees, which will give us wood. We kill everything that moves. And we replace all natural ground with the Citadel’s base network: stones with cobblettes, grass with grassette greensward and woodette flooring.’
There were gasps at the scope of the plan but nobody said it couldn’t be done.
One mage risked a question. ‘We’ll be exposed to impure water and sunlight?’
Rinduran nodded. ‘We need to purify the water. Maybe in the future we can build a new Citadel and a second Canopy but for now we will have to endure sunlight if we venture into our new territory – just as the logging parties have been doing – but there will no longer be any risk of bringing Forest back into the Citadel. Sunlight cannot be brought into the Citadel so is only a risk to those who venture out.’
Even the water will be dead, thought Mielitta, remembering the taste of the stream. No leaf patterns on tree bark. No sunlit canopy. No birdsong. No thunderstorm or tiger fight. All things that were most alive would be dead. No. She couldn’t let it happen.
‘For our children,’ Rinduran was saying. ‘We do this for our children.’ Then the wall rippled and the Council Chamber faded from view.
Mielitta looked at Verity, apparently asleep in her bed through the veil. Yes, she told herself. Let’s do this for the children. For all the children. She had an idea.
Two meal trays came and went, raising Mielitta’s hopes and dashing them again, before the door outline glowed. Her heart pounded and she clenched her fists, determined to throw herself at the mage if it was Rinduran, force him to kill her. She couldn’t withstand his attacks on her mind.
Two shapes materialised. Drianne and Kermon, the latter carrying a bow, a quiver and a large rectangle of floor fabric.
I saw Bastien claim the bow and where he hid it, so I stole it back, said Drianne. He likes trophies.
‘Thank the stones!’ Mielitta didn’t waste time in greeting but grabbed the piece of fly-damaged floor and inspected it. ‘Can you cut it into pieces large enough to cover the soles of my boots?’ She quickly untied her laces, passed Kermon the boots as a template.
He nodded, pulled out the knife a smith always carried, no doubt one of his own making. He snapped it open, scored a rough outline and then cut the flooring in its sole shape.
Through the veil, Verity stirred in bed and coughed a little. She was always restless. Now was not a good time for her to wake up. Mielitta worked fast, ripping the hem of her gown into strips.
She was about to bind the floor-sole onto her boots when Kermon held out a hand to stop her. She jerked back as if she’d been burned and she saw the hurt in his eyes.
‘The cloth will be in contact with the floor,’ he explained. ‘It won’t work. You’ll be restrained.’
‘The moment I go through the door,’ she realised, chewing her lip. Now what? She looked at the cut-out soles, the discarded bits of woodette, the ugly bump of the fly’s body, covered in sticky orange goo. Propolis! The bees’ miraculous glue.
There was no time to lose. Rinduran would be back any moment, Bastien might notice his wife-to-be was behaving oddly and Declan might choose the wrong moment to visit her. She wouldn’t want to divide his loyalties. Once she was free, she could explain, make things right.
She smeared propolis onto each sole, held the strip of cloth onto one and applied as much pressure as she could to glue it in place.
‘Let me,’ offered Kermon, taking the first sole from her while she attached the second cloth ribbon.
‘Thanks,’ she said gruffly, then explained her plan in a low voice while she tied her makeshift soles onto her boots, praying the propolis and cloth would hold.
Her voice wasn’t low enough and Verity asked, ‘What are you doing?’
Mielitta only just heard the girl through the buzz in her head. The moment her feet were isolated from the Citadel flooring by the flawed piece from the library, her head swarmed with bees. Their anxiety, their understanding, their joy at the reunion made her whole again and she had no time to be gentle with Verity.
All of you, go outside me, cover all of my head but my eyes and mouth, buzz loudly, she ordered.
Work agreed her bees happily, forming a dense cloud around Mielitta. She could feel the tiny wings tickling her cheeks and forehead, her ears and hair. As ordered, they left her eyes and mouth clear so she could see Verity through her own eyes, speak clearly.
‘These are my bees,’ she told the girl, who was cringing in the furthest corner, her mouth open in a silent scream. ‘Make one sound, call for help and I will set them on you. I am their queen and I can order your death now, if you call for help. Death by a thousand stings, each one more painful than the one before.’ The bee cloud shifted as individual bees darted out then returned. Verity whimpered.
Mielitta! Drianne objected. That’s cruel! And you don’t need to hurt her!
In a whisper, Verity said, ‘Daddy was right. I knew Bastien was too kind to you.’
Whether she meant Mielitta or Drianne wasn’t clear and both reacted.
‘Yes, Daddy was right about me.’ Mielitta was venomous.
I’m sorry, said Drianne. Truly. Kermon, tell her.
‘Lady Drianne says she is sorry,’ Kermon told Verity but the bees spoke louder, a menacing buzz.
‘We haven’t got time for this,’ Mielitta said. ‘Shout for help and I let the bees out again, through the veil next time.’ She recalled the bees until the last buzz disappeared from the room but she could still feel the comforting thrum of their presence inside her.
She looked at the girl, still huddled in a corner, so afraid. For all the children, Mielitta thought, hardening her heart and resisting Drianne’s objections.
‘It’s the only way,’ she said. ‘Verity, you have to come with us.’
‘I’ll die,’ said Verity. ‘You said you weren’t a murderer but you are.’
‘That was before your Daddy declared war.’
Verity opened her mouth to scream but Drianne was quicker. A shaft of power streaked through the veil, ripping it open and stopping Verity’s mouth, closing it. Then the sick girl shut her eyes, slipped into a deeper sleep than she’d probably known for years, slumped to the floor.
Mielitta gulped. She had not realised the strength of Drianne’s power.
‘Have you killed her?’ she asked.
No. She’s asleep and I’ve given her sweet dreams. Is this really necessary? What if Rinduran’s right and she dies in the Forest?
‘She’s dying anyway. And she’s Rinduran’s weak spot. We must use it. And what if the Forest offers healing for her?’
You don’t believe that. She has extreme allergy.
‘Kermon, take the girl through the water gate to the edge of the Forest. Use whatever glamour and excuses you need if you’re questioned. Nobody apart from her family will recognise her, so some story tale of a faint and of her being your betrothed will work fine. You’re known so you’ll get away with it easily enough. Drianne and I will meet you after we’ve been to the schoolroom.’
While Kermon walked through the ripped veil and gently settled Verity’s slight form onto his muscled shoulder, Mielitta asked, ‘Drianne, can you disguise me?’
You should have asked me that before you ripped up your gown. Such a waste! But yes. A little glamour will repair your clothes and change your face, without tiring me.
Mielitta restrung her bow and slung it over her shoulder. She’d check the rest of her equipment later. ‘And hide my weapons?’ she asked, belting her quiver around her waist. She accepted Drianne’s cloak as a rough cover-all and hoped that glamour would refine the effect. Then she gave Kermon the water gate password and wished him good fortune.
He meant it, said Drianne, when Kermon was gone. What he said to Bastien. He would have married you. He loves you too. He’s a good man.
‘Maybe,’ acknowledged Mielitta. ‘But I’m not a good woman.’ She didn’t have time for all these complications or for tact. ‘And I have my bees to think about. Let’s go.’
