Buzzford's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Buzzford knelt in the mud outside the cedar cabin at the edge of Frog Hollow and counted dead larvae into a tin cup. Six. All of them shriveled grey, all of them fed the last of the weak jelly from the swamp hives. A blackwater queen needed royal jelly thick enough to coat a spoon and dark enough to stain it. Buzzford had none. Without a queen, the swarm they had spent two years courting would answer to some other beekeeper, or to no one, and the hollow would keep chewing them up like it chewed up everyone who came here without a hive of their own. The cabin door opened behind them. Nessa Mudwren came down the porch steps in her brown vest and heavy boots, arms crossed against the cold. She looked at the tin cup and did not say she was sorry. That was one thing Buzzford liked about her. "The swamp hives are finished," Buzzford said. "The jelly's watered out. I need the black comb from the drowned oak, and I can't get to it without crossing the fen." Nessa's mouth tightened. The fen belonged to the grey fox with the golden eyes, and everyone in the hollow knew what the fox took as toll. They went together at dusk. Buzzford carried a smoker and a clay jar. Nessa carried a short knife and a strip of dried liver as tribute. The fox met them at the third stand of reeds, sleek and unhurried, its yellow eyes lit like coins. Nessa laid the liver on a flat stone and stepped back. The fox ate, watched Buzzford a long moment, then turned and walked into the reeds along a path Buzzford had not seen. They followed. At the drowned oak, black comb hung from a split in the trunk, heavy and dripping. Buzzford climbed, smoked the guard bees quiet, and cut loose a slab the size of both hands pressed together. Jelly welled up dark as tar. The clay jar filled to the neck. Back at the cabin, Buzzford set the jar on the table and pressed a fingertip to the surface. The jelly clung, black, thick enough to pull a thread. Nessa watched from the doorway. "You have your queen-food," she said. "Now you need a larva worth spending it on." Buzzford nodded. Only one hive in Frog Hollow carried eggs young enough and strong enough to take the change, and that hive was not theirs. It belonged to the woman who had driven Buzzford out of the hollow three winters ago, and she would not sell.