Amber Honeywell's Arc

Chapter 9 of 14

Amber stopped at the wooden shelf by the gate, where rows of ordinary golden jars caught the late sun. She set her hand on the post and faced the woman. Behind her, the great tree leaned over the garden, its hidden hive bundled in sacking and ivy. Bright color still seeped through the cloth and ran down the bark in slow threads. The basket woman looked past Amber to the stained roots. Her careful smile did not move. "I did not come for a jar," the woman said. She lifted the cloth on her basket. Inside lay an empty straw skep and a folded queen cage. "I came for the bees. Give me one frame. One queen. The hive will follow." Amber's hand tightened on the post. Eleven years pressed against her ribs. She thought of the girl and the yellow flowers. She thought of doubt, and what it had cost to let it in. "No," she said. "Not one bee. Not one comb. Take the jar on the stone or take nothing." The woman studied her a long moment. Then she lowered the basket, lifted the small jar from the garden stone, and tucked it under the cloth. "You have chosen who knows," she said. "Others are walking already." She turned down the lane. Amber stood at the shelf until the footsteps faded. The hive behind her pulsed under its cover, leaking color into the soil. She had kept her bees. Now the road would bring the rest.