Chapter 10: Bees

The next morning Violet woke early, got dressed and slipped out of her bedroom window into the back garden. It was chilly out and for a moment she simply watched the sky, which had gone a velvety shade of silvery blue. The stars had already been extinguished like so many streetlights and already she could see the sun threatening to rise on the eastern horizon.

But though she waited for a few moments, expecting the cat to pop out or at least attempt to startle her, the pre dawn morning remained still and silent.

After a little while of standing in place and shuffling at the dewy grass, Violet decided she was bored and went to fetch her rucksack and notebook. Settling against the side of her house, next to the bright and curious flower from the other side of the river (which had begun to perk up a bit and no longer looked quite as rumpled), Violet reviewed everything she’d written the previous day.

Her plant drawings were somewhat shaky and the writing itself wove across and over the faded blue lines printed onto the notebook pages. She’d been scanning for danger while writing, which hadn’t exactly lent itself to neatness.

Violet sighed and vowed to do better in the future.

Still, everything was at least legible enough that she decided to retouch it. Once that was done and her botanical knowledge more neatly arrayed, she drew over the faded bits of her sigil as well. It had begun to look quite colorful, dappled with pink and red and now white. Violet took a moment to admire it, supposing that the brightness of the colors would help with scaring off any demons she might encounter.

Setting her notebook across her knees, Violet waited patiently for a few minutes more but still the cat did not make an appearance. It was after she grew bored again and was drawing patterns in the dew with the point of a stick that it occurred to Violet she could simply go into the woods by herself.

She had to weigh this realization for a long moment, stomach swirling, a curious and almost excited numbness tracing her cheeks. It was scary, yes, but she had gone into the woods only the previous day and emerged alive and well. Besides, she had her sigil, and a pocketknife and a hatchet besides that.

…And she wouldn’t go very far. Certainly not beyond view of her house.

Though she was quite nervous and trembly, Violet only hesitated for a few seconds before slipping between the rails of her fence and edging into the woods, ready to turn and bolt back out at a moment’s notice.

The woods were much darker than they had been the previous day and Violet’s thoughts turned inexorably to her electric lantern…which she had left on her bedside table at home.

But she didn’t let herself become frightened (not very, anyway).

A pair of big silver eyes opened a few feet in front of her, splitting the gloom.

“You’re being awfully bold this morning.” The cat remarked.

Violet made herself straighten up and not clutch her notebook quite so tightly. The cat was seated atop a flat, mossy stone nestled between two slender aspen saplings. It had a shred of orangey lichen hooked around one ear and its fur was still settling. She had probably interrupted it in the middle of a hunt.

“I have my sigil.” Violet said, injecting confidence into her voice.

At that the cat smiled. Its teeth were bright with blood.

“I suppose I promised you a walk yesterday,” it said, trying to sound reluctant and failing. “…And if you’ve ventured into the woods that clearly means you’ve come to collect.”

“Yes.” Violet said, and though she didn’t want to admit it, felt a bit more secure with the cat by her side.

“Alright….” The cat stood and stretched, fluttering one ear to dislodge the lichen there. Its front claws, sharp and pale, tickled the moss for a moment before they were neatly retracted. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve had a very busy night.”

However strenuous the night had been, it didn’t seem to have sapped the cat’s energy one bit. It slipped down off the stone and trotted on ahead, glancing momentarily back to make sure that she was keeping up.

The cat’s pace was brisk, but not so fast that Violet couldn’t adopt a quick walk to keep up. As she went, one hand hooked into her rucksack’s shoulder strap, the other keeping hold of her notebook, she could see the first rosy light of dawn falling through the treetops like liquid fire.

“Above you,” the cat said suddenly, coming to an abrupt halt. “You’re about to miss them.”

Violet blinked and looked quickly up, a sudden prickle of unease rolling through her as she scanned the canopy. Her eyes flashed over leaves and little patches of reddish gold sky, then seized upon something unusual; a little cluster of brownish black shapes hanging from the fork of an oak branch. They’d been shaded by a thick spray of leaves and were nearly invisible in the murk. For a moment Violet simply stared, trying to figure out what they were, then one of the shapes shivered and twitched, a dark, leathery wing unfurling before being tucked back in.

Bats, Violet realized. She was looking up at a tightly packed cluster of fuzzy brown bats, all settling in for a long day’s rest.

She’d been told before that bats, like all creatures that went out at night, were wicked and cruel, but the ones nested above her only looked sleepy and small, not at all dangerous.

“I thought bats lived in caves.” Violet said, taking a studious step back, just in case.

“They live anywhere that’s dark and dry. I don’t know about you but I quite like bats. They’re….” The cat settled back to think of an appropriate descriptor.

Violet nodded slowly, giving the sleeping bats another look. Peering closer, she could see pointed, furry muzzles and little twitching ears. They almost looked like winged dogs, she supposed.

“I guess they’re alright.” She started to say, but the cat spoke first.

“Tasty.” It concluded, and laughed at the shocked look that Violet gave in response.

“But….” She looked from the bats to the cat and back again.

“You know I hunt,” the cat said, entirely dismissive of the confused unease on Violet’s face. “In fact, I recall that we had our first conversation over the corpse of an unlucky squirrel. You hardly seemed bothered then.”

“It’s not that…I was just….” Violet tried to find the right words to phrase her reply. “You spoke to the bees, and they replied. So if bees can talk then it stands to reason that other animals can as well…right?”

“Of course.” The cat said simply, then hesitated, a realization coming to it in turn. “I thought you already knew that. After all, here I am, speaking to you in the Queen’s English.”

“In the what?” Violet asked, feeling ever more confused.

The cat rolled its eyes.

“Did you not know that?” It asked wonderingly.

Violet hesitated. She’d simply assumed that creatures like the cat were very rare. After all, the other animals she’d run across hadn’t ever spoken. The birds had simply chirped, the bees had only buzzed….

Clearly, that wasn’t entirely true.

She looked up to the bats once more and shivered.

“I don’t know if I could eat anything that talks.” Violet said uneasily.

The cat only shrugged.

“You are an omnivore,” it allowed. “I don’t have that luxury.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t….” Violet trailed off, suddenly uncertain. In her mind she’d been treating the cat like a little furry person. It could talk and do all manner of other things typically reserved for humans, after all. But if other animals could do that as well, and if the cat killed them….

Did that count as murder?

Considering the question made Violet feel uncomfortable. It shot new complexities into what had before been a very simple part of life. Cats hunted and ate other living things. Really, most creatures did. Even the meat Violet herself consumed came from somewhere.

But murder didn’t feel like a correct descriptor. She couldn’t use a human term to describe what went on amongst animals, for even if they talked and displayed human traits (or at least traits she’d assumed were human) they were not human at all.

Certainly the way the cat looked out upon the world was foreign to her even at the best of times, but whether that came down to a simple division in viewpoint or something as vast as their differing species, Violet could not say.

When it came down to it, she supposed that while the cat was more similar to her than any other animal she’d yet encountered, it was still different. To judge it by human standards, at least in matters that did not immediately effect her, would be folly.

“Hmm.” Violet murmured to herself, then was silent.

“You’re pondering something.” The cat observed.

That wasn’t totally correct but Violet still shrugged.

“I was just wondering why I hadn’t heard anything talk before.”

At this the cat smirked, looking a little bit proud of itself.

“Oh? Was I really the first one?” It asked.

Violet ignored the feline preening going on in front of her.

“I’ve watched the bees in my neighbor’s garden,” she said. “But they never talked to me.”

“I expect the queen knew that her hive would be burnt if she ever started speaking to people.”

Violet hadn’t considered that, but now that she did it made an unfortunate sort of sense. The woman keeping the bees probably wouldn’t have reacted well had her hives started chatting to her about the weather…or whatever else bees used as conversation starters.

“Hmm.” She said again.

“I doubt the ones out here would have such a compunction.” The cat said as it turned to resume leading their jaunt through the woods.

“Such a what?” Violet asked, brow knitting.

The cat sighed and shook its head before glancing back at her.

“I’m asking if you’d like to try speaking to the bees.” It said.

Violet opened her mouth to say something, found nothing there and closed it again. She’d watched the cat communicate quite normally with a whole hive just the day before, but that didn’t seem to mean much when it came to her.

“What if they sting me?” She asked, a little nervously.

“You’re fairly polite, I’m sure they wouldn’t maul you too badly.” The cat said lightly and then started off. It had to pause a few steps further on as it realized that Violet wasn’t following.

Violet folded her arms. The cat let out a long suffering sigh.

“I was joking,” it assured her. “Bees are quite docile when it comes down to it. Worse comes to worst, I’ve heard that extreme doses of bee venom can induce euphoria in the moments before death.”

Violet rolled her eyes, supposing that there wasn’t anything she could do to get the cat to stop its morbid remarks, and trailed after her feline companion as it led her deeper into the trees.

It didn’t take them much longer to reach the hive, which seemed a bit busier now that they were approaching it in the cool and quiet of the morning, just as the first flowers were beginning to open. The air was rich with noise and Violet paused at the edge of the clearing, feeling nervous.

“What should I say?” She asked, but the cat only curled into a cozy little nook between two overlapping tree roots and trapped the tip of its own tail between its front paws.

“That’s up to you,” it said distractedly. “I wouldn’t worry about it, bees aren’t big on traditional conversation structure.”

That wasn’t extremely helpful, but the cat seemed casual enough that Violet decided there probably wasn’t too much danger involved in her errand. Besides, if worst came to worst then she could always just turn and run. Bees were territorial after all, it wasn’t like they chased people. She was hardly facing off against a demon or a monster.

Feeling a little more confident, Violet started forward into the clearing, bees humming busily past her ears. One bounced off the front of her skirt, then spiraled awkwardly around her, wings beating furiously.

She stopped a few meters short of the hive and stood awkwardly for a moment, the high, almost piercing hum of its occupants worming ever deeper into her ears. Violet glanced uncertainly back at the cat, but it only raised its brows expectantly, all but urging her to go on.

Violet cleared her throat and straightened up, squirming uncomfortably as a honeybee skittered across the back of her neck before resuming its flight. They were definitely growing thicker in the air around her, investigating her presence with muted curiosity.

“Hello?” She asked. “Um…my name is Violet. I’m here to talk to…to all of you.” Her eyes flitted around the masses of bees as she waited for a response. In her mind she imagined the bees on the hive itself arranging themselves into letters and spelling out a message, or perhaps the timbre of the hive’s buzz would shift into something recognizable as words….

But nothing happened. The flight of the bees around her did not change, nor did the insects on the hive adjust their routines in even the slightest way. Violet waited, confused and disappointed, then looked to the cat once more, appealing for help.

“Can they not understand me?” She asked. “How come they aren’t saying anything?”

“You’re talking like a human,” the cat remarked, as though this were an obvious misstep. “Of course they can’t understand you.”

“But you talk like a human!” Violet protested, terribly confused.

“I’m very practiced,” the cat said. “And very rare. You can’t expect a common honeybee to learn English just for the sake of speaking with you.”

Violet blinked, almost overwhelmed with indignant questions once more, then made the conscious decision to swallow all of them down.

“How do I talk to them, then?” She asked instead.

The question seemed rather grave and pressing to Violet, but evidently the cat did not share her opinion, for it only gazed blandly into the gathering swirl of bees and offered a tiny shrug.

“Try contemplating the nature of a beehive.” It said, then was back to playing with its own tail.

Violet considered retreating. There were quite a lot of curious bees buzzing around her now, including a few she was certain had gotten stuck in her hair. None of them were hostile or even acting particularly aggressive, but there was a certain rising pitch to their noise that Violet didn’t much like.

She took a deep breath and made herself stand still. Then she stared at the hive. Up close it was even larger than she’d considered the day before, as tall as her and bulbous in a way that reminded her of a misshapen bell. The spot where the cat had cut away the honeycomb was already scabbed over with fresh seams of wax. Violet could see the ghostly imprints of hexagonal cells beginning to take shape across the material.

The cat’s advice seemed nonsensical, entirely unrelated to the matter at hand. Then again, so had its instructions considering the sigils. And those had worked.

Perhaps there was something to it, buried deep down.

Steadying herself, Violet ignored the tickle of tiny legs as more bees landed on her arms and neck. She had to resist a powerful urge to swipe them all away.

Consider the nature of a beehive….

Again she stared, swallowing hard. Her mouth felt dry. Violet thought about the honeycomb the cat had fetched for her and remembered its texture. The wax had been flexible yet almost impossibly strong, each hexagonal cell layered atop others, meeting them at an angle that allowed them to bear the weight of an entire huge structure. And the honey had run like water, warm and sweet. All of the bees still inside had generated that heat, Violet realized, and felt a little surge of amazement as she considered that fact.

Where before the beehive had simply been a big, solid mass of wax and honey and crawling, humming insects, now she could see added intricacies. There were tunnels leading in, places where bees were queued up and taking turns to either go home or fly out in search of pollen. Others stuck strictly to the hive and built new cells to support new structures. If she were to open the entire thing so she could look at its layout, Violet suddenly knew that the hive would unfurl like an immense, sweet flower, dripping its lifeblood across the forest floor.

Around her the buzz seemed to drop into the background, the movements of the bees on her body becoming somehow synchronized. If the hive was like a flower then the bees were like a watch, each insect serving as its own part, moving in sequence to fulfill a predetermined path specifically engineered to keep the hive healthy and alive.

There were drones along the outside, all identical and the same, making no movements but those that would benefit the collective whole, all connected by an invisible latticework that Violet could only detect the edge of. It lingered just past her perception, vast and effective, trailing within the hive and to its center, to the source of the heat; where larvae squirmed and occupied their own specially ordered cells, where the darkness was absolute and a matriarchal chamber yawned open, filled to the brim by a pale, blind thing that somehow still saw and knew all the contours of its hive and the space beyond. It knew the glow of pollen and the warm sweetness of honey, the sting of birth. And each motion it made pushed the hive as a whole.

It….

Violet jerked back, the bees flying off of her in a fuzzy blanket. A piercing sting expanded across the back of her left hand but she hardly felt it as she caught her heels on something in the grass and fell onto her side. Scrambling away, she retreated to the edge of the clearing, heart thudding unevenly in her chest. For a moment she wasn’t quite sure she was even herself, her mind felt caught between the sweltering, blind singularity at the center of the hive and the brightness of the outside world. Then reality snapped firmly into place and she let out a shivery little groan.

“What…what was that?” She asked, her voice small.

The hive still sat before her, as it always had, but now it wasn’t just wax and honey and bees. Now it was something else entirely.

“You listened,” the cat said, voice light and high with surprise. “That’s good. You did a good job.”

Violet wasn’t listening. She stared down at the back of her left hand, where the pain from her bee sting was beginning to register, coming in hot, aching pulses. A little black stinger, hardly any thicker than a human hair, stuck crookedly from the center of the reddening weal growing across her skin.

Leaning in, the cat delicately removed it with its teeth, then spat the little lance away. Violet hardly noticed.

“There was….” She struggled for words, tracing an impossible shape with both hands, trying hard to describe what she’d…seen? “It was horrible.”

Her voice was small. She’d begun to shiver.

“Horrible?” The cat asked.

Violet nodded, eyes bright with sudden tears.

“The bees don’t think or…they…it’s like they’re windup toys, they just go around and around and there’s something in there making them do all of that…” Her words came as a jumble and Violet hunched her shoulders, shifting uncomfortably as a flight of honeybees buzzed overhead.

“You saw the queen.” The cat said.

Violet said nothing. After a moment the cat continued.

“I can see why that might have been a shock. Bee society is…different.”

“It’s awful.” Violet muttered.

The cat only shrugged.

“C’est la vie.” It said lightly. “…Consider how a queen bee would feel if you showed her around your village. She’d recoil as well, the whole thing would be too chaotic for her to process, all just a mess of atomized individuality.”

“But….” Violet had to take some time to steady herself. She still felt shaken and slightly sick, but the rude shock of seeing the terrible pale thing was beginning to fade a little bit. Now the strongest emotion that remained was confusion.

“What?” The cat asked.

“You can deal with that,” Violet pointed a careful finger at the hive. “But you can’t tolerate my village?” She stared hard at the cat.

The cat met her gaze, suddenly looking unamused.

“The bees may be terrible,” it said. “But at least they talk to me.”

Violet had no rejoinder and instead turned her gaze to the ground. After a moment the chilliness went out of the cat’s disposition and it stood and stretched.

“Anyway,” it said, tone lighter. “Witch hazel is good for bee stings. Let me show you where to find some.”