Bee World: The First Dance | Book One, Chapter 1 — The Hive Awakens

Before the sun touched the top of the old tree, Flame knew something was different.

She felt it through the wax beneath her feet. The hive was never silent. Even at night there was the faint shuffle of thousands of small bodies, the brushing of wings, and the steady work of a colony that did not stop simply because the Garden had grown dark. Before sunrise, its music usually became quicker and lighter.

This morning there was another note beneath it.

Worry.

“Are you listening to the wax again?”

Nook was working on the next sheet of comb, where newly built cells shone pale and clean. She had a way of seeing how one small space depended upon all the others. A cell made for nectar could not also hold the colony's growing young.

“I'm listening to everyone,” Flame replied.

“Then perhaps you'll hear me ask you to move.”

Flame moved. Nook inspected a bead of fresh nectar at the rim of a wax cell and coaxed it back from the edge.

“Do you think the little ones can hear us?” Flame asked.

“Perhaps.”

“Do you think they know their names?”

“They haven't been given names.”

“Then how will they know which ones belong to them?”

Nook paused. “When the time comes, I expect they'll find out.”

Flame liked Nook's answers. They were rarely as satisfying as she wanted, which meant there was always room for another question.

The colony lived inside a hollow of the old tree. Great sheets of honeycomb hung from its inner wood, with just enough space for bees to pass between them. The brood stayed warm near the centre of the colony. Higher up, capped honey glowed amber where a narrow line of daylight slipped through the bark.

The living wood sheltered the colony. The bees had drawn their sheets of wax from it, filled the cells with food and places for the young, and left narrow spaces where bodies could pass. Every new piece of comb changed how the colony moved.

To Flame, it was the most wonderful place in Eden.

It was also becoming terribly familiar.

She knew the warmest comb, the scent of ripening honey, and the sound Nook made when the wax was not quite right. She knew when the guards at the narrow entrance were irritated. What she did not know was what lay beyond the flowers she could see from the tree.

A sudden rush of wingbeats announced the first returning foragers.

“Give them space,” called Anchor.

Anchor guided two weary bees onto the comb and waited until both had settled. There was something reassuring about Anchor's manner. When other bees hurried, Anchor grew steadier.

Flame rushed over. “Did you see the lilies? Did you go past the southern meadow? Were there new flowers near the river?”

“One question at a time,” Anchor replied.

“Which one?”

“The one that matters.”

Flame considered this. “Did you bring enough?”

“No.”

The answer stopped her.

The returning bees passed their small loads into waiting cells. Nook glanced toward the storage comb she had prepared. There was room for plenty more nectar. There simply wasn't much more to put there.

More foragers returned with similar news. The southern meadow was still bright, but its blossoms were closing. The western grove offered nectar only after a difficult flight against the wind. The nearest yellow flowers had already been visited again and again.

“Then we should go farther,” Flame said.

“We might,” Anchor answered. “But farther out is only half a journey.”

Flame knew that answer. Bee Righteous had said something like it before. She suspected the older bees traded their best advice when she wasn't listening.

A precise tapping came across the comb.

Once. A pause. Twice.

Loop had arrived.

Loop remembered when blossoms opened, how the light shifted, and how long the foragers took to return. A change that escaped everyone else rarely escaped Loop.

“The blue blossoms opened late yesterday,” Loop reported. “Early the day before. Today they have hardly opened at all.”

“Maybe they're tired,” Flame offered.

“Not in the way you mean.”

“How do you know?”

“I checked.”

“Once?”

“Three times.”

“Then perhaps the fourth—”

“The fourth time is tomorrow. And tomorrow is what worries me.”

Even Anchor gave a low hum of agreement.

The news spread through the colony as a change in movement. More workers gathered near the foragers. Others inspected the stores. Across the comb, Nook began clearing another row of cells.

“What are you doing?” Flame asked.

“Making room.”

“But Anchor said we didn't bring enough.”

“Which is exactly why I'll be pleased if we're wrong.”

That sounded like Nook. Even when she was uncertain, she wanted the hive to have a place for whatever tomorrow might bring.

At the heart of the colony, Queen Bee moved slowly across a warm sheet of comb. She was larger than the workers gathering around her. She paused at clean cells as she continued her work, surrounded by bees attending her and exchanging news through touches of their antennae.

Flame had always admired the Queen's patience. Around her, the hive could fill with questions, while she continued the quiet work on which its future depended.

Anchor and Loop brought their reports. Nook joined them. Bee Righteous arrived from a higher comb, where he had been listening to the changing hum.

Bee Righteous was broad-bodied, gold-and-charcoal, and possessed of an inconvenient habit: he appeared whenever everyone else had decided there were only two answers to a problem.

He stopped beside Flame.

“You've been listening,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What have you heard?”

“Everybody is worried about flowers.”

“And what are you worried about?”

Flame looked toward the young bees and the workers caring for them.

“I don't like it when everybody sounds frightened.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then how do we stop it?”

“I don't know yet.”

Flame stared at him. “You don't?”

“Not knowing is often where a useful question begins.”

The Queen listened to the reports and regarded the gathering workers.

“We have food for today,” she said. “The young are cared for. The hive is warm. We will not behave as though a difficult morning means the whole Garden has failed us.”

The gathering settled.

“But we cannot wait until the stores are empty before looking for the next good bloom.”

Loop moved closer to Anchor.

“We could search beyond the reeds,” Loop said. “The sun reaches that side of the river differently now. There may be flowers we've been passing without noticing.”

“The wind is strong over the water,” Anchor replied.

“Not all morning. I watched the reeds. Between the gusts there is a pause.”

“Then go in the pause,” Flame said.

Several bees turned toward her.

She wished, for an instant, that she had remained quiet.

Anchor looked at her. “How will you know when the pause comes?”

“Watch the reeds like Loop does.”

“And if the wind blows differently when you return?”

Flame opened her mouth. Nothing came.

She hadn't thought about coming back.

Queen Bee waited while Flame looked down at the wax beneath her feet. So many lives depended on the workers who left each morning and found their way home.

“Then teach me,” Flame said.

She expected someone to laugh. No one did.

“What would you look for?” the Queen asked.

“Flowers we haven't found.”

“And if you found them?”

“I'd bring nectar.”

“And if the flowers were too far away?”

Flame thought carefully. “I'd come home and tell you where they were.”

The Queen glanced at Anchor and Loop.

“You may join a small scouting flight. Not to be first, and not to carry the most. To observe, to learn the way, and to bring back what the hive needs to know.”

Flame's wings sprang open. “I can do that!”

“Can you turn back when you are told?”

Flame stole a glance at Bee Righteous. He seemed interested in her answer too.

“I can try.”

“That,” said the Queen, “is a more useful answer.”

As the scouts prepared, Nook brought Flame a little stored nectar.

“You're flying farther than usual. Take this before you go.”

Flame accepted it. “Will you save space for what I bring home?”

“I already have.”

“What if I find nothing?”

“Then I'll use the space for something else.”

Flame laughed. Nook touched antennae with her.

“Just bring yourself back.”

At the entrance, Anchor tested the air. Loop watched the reeds across the river. Flame tried very hard not to start flying before the others.

Bee Righteous came close enough that only she could hear.

“What do you hope to find?”

“Something wonderful.”

“And what do you hope to bring home?”

“Something wonderful.”

He gave a low chuckle. “Those aren't always the same thing.”

Before Flame could demand an explanation, Anchor lifted into the sunlight.

Loop followed.

Flame sprang after them.

The world opened beneath her wings.

The tree that had sheltered Flame all her life fell away until the hive entrance was only a dark slit in the bark. The river glittered below. The meadows spread across the valley like a vast painted carpet.

She had flown beyond the tree before, but never so far with so few companions. Everything seemed larger now. Leaves billowed like green sails. Dew clung to the grass in bright globes, each reflecting a piece of sky. The river's distant hush had become a roar.

“This way,” Anchor called.

They followed the southern meadow. Flame remembered it crowded with yellow blossoms; now many had folded inward, and the air carried less sweetness.

“Loop was right,” she said.

“Usually,” Loop replied.

“Does that mean we should go home?”

“It means we should keep looking with our eyes open.”

Beyond the meadow grew a stand of reeds. Wind pressed through them in long waves, hiding the pale stones along the bank.

A gust caught Flame from the side. She tilted and corrected herself just before a swaying stem swept across her path.

“I meant to do that,” she announced.

“Then perhaps mean to fly higher,” Loop replied.

Flame laughed, but climbed.

From above, the river changed shape. It divided around pale stones and met again beside a fallen branch. Beyond the branch lay a narrow break in the trees.

Then something else caught her attention.

A scent.

Sweet. Fresh. Unfamiliar.

“Flowers!”

She surged toward it.

“Flame,” Anchor warned.

The open wind struck her wings. For one dizzy moment the river seemed to swing sideways beneath her. She fought the gust, only to turn farther from the bank. The far trees looked suddenly close enough to reach.

She could keep going. She might arrive first.

Then Anchor's voice reached her through the rushing air.

“Don't fight the whole wind. Find the sheltered side of the stone.”

Flame looked down. One tall stone stood beside the water. Behind it the reeds stirred gently while those in the open air bent almost flat.

She angled toward that stillness.

The pressure eased.

Anchor settled beside her. Loop followed with a burst of wingbeats.

“I said there was a calm between gusts,” Loop told her, “not that you should fly through the worst one.”

Flame tried to laugh. It came out as a shaky buzz.

“I'm sorry.”

Anchor rested beside her.

“Did you find something?”

“I smelled flowers. Beyond that fallen branch.”

Loop examined the far bank. “I saw the branch. I didn't see flowers.”

“They're there,” Flame said. “I'm sure of it.”

Anchor looked at the reeds, then the water. “Then we'll look. Together.”

Flame had expected to be sent home. Instead, Loop began watching the wind.

“One gust. Another. Then the gap.”

The reeds bowed. Rose. Bowed again.

“Now.”

This time the three crossed together, keeping low where the air moved gently behind the stones. Anchor led. Loop called out the changes in the wind. Flame watched both companions, remembering every turn.

On the far bank they passed beneath the fallen branch and entered a narrow opening between flowering shrubs.

Flame stopped.

There were flowers everywhere.

White blossoms hung above a still pool. Pink clusters spread across sunlit rocks. Small blue flowers climbed through moss, and beyond them pale golden blooms opened beneath leaves as broad as clouds.

The scent was so rich she could almost taste it before landing.

It was a hidden garden inside the Garden.

Water ran over stones. Leaves whispered. Somewhere among the blooms another tiny creature moved, dusted in pollen and absorbed in its own work.

Loop landed on a blossom. “It's real,” came the amazed whisper.

Anchor tasted nectar from a nearby flower. “Rich. Plenty here.”

Flame dropped into a white blossom and let its sweetness fill her senses. Pollen gathered in the fine hairs of her body.

She imagined the workers arriving tomorrow. The empty cells Nook had prepared. The nurses caring for the young. Queen Bee continuing her quiet work.

They could all share this.

Happiness rose in her so suddenly she wanted to sing, although she did not know what song a bee might sing.

She had found something that mattered to more than herself.

Loop was already comparing the blooms with those near home.

“These open later,” Loop said. “Maybe the shade keeps them cool.”

Anchor checked the safe crossing and the landmarks leading back.

Flame wandered among the flowers, discovering a leaf whose edge held three bright droplets, a warm stone sheltering a little blue blossom, and a white flower shaped like a cup.

Everywhere she looked, something beautiful was doing something useful.

The water fed the roots. The leaves sheltered the blossoms. The blossoms offered food.

Even the fallen branch had pointed the way.

Then the sunlight shifted.

“We need to go,” Anchor called.

“Already?”

“The wind will change.”

Flame looked longingly across the flowers.

“Could we stay just a little longer?”

“We could,” Anchor replied. “And then we might spend much longer getting home.”

Loop was already checking the return route.

Flame tried to hold the place inside her memory: the pool, the gap in the trees, the fallen branch, the pale stones, the reeds, the river turning toward home.

She was certain she would remember everything.

They took wing.

But the Garden looked different on the way back.

The sun had moved. The pale stones shone so brightly that their shapes blurred. From the other side, the fallen branch no longer pointed toward the opening; it lay tangled among many others.

At the river, Loop stopped.

“The wind has shifted.”

Anchor tested the air. “We'll go around the larger stones.”

Flame looked back. The hidden flowers had disappeared behind a wall of ordinary-looking leaves.

“Will we ever find them again?” she asked.

“Yes,” Anchor answered.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because we paid attention to how we came.”

Loop tested the gusts twice. They crossed safely. The familiar meadow appeared, and at last their old tree rose from the hillside.

Flame had never been so glad to see it.

They slipped through the narrow opening in the bark. Warm air and the sound of thousands of wings surrounded them.

Home.

Nook was on the storage comb when they returned. One glance at their pollen and tired wings brought her down to meet them.

“You found something.”

“We found everything!” Flame cried.

She rushed toward the gathering workers, hardly waiting for Anchor and Loop to land.

“Flowers! Beyond the river! More than I could count! White ones and pink ones and the sweetest nectar you've ever tasted!”

Bees gathered from every side. Queen Bee came near enough to hear.

“Tell us where,” the Queen said.

“Past the reeds.”

“Which reeds?” another forager asked.

“The tall ones. Near the pale stones.”

“There are pale stones all along the bank,” Anchor observed.

“After the fallen branch,” Flame tried.

“Which branch?” asked Nook.

“The one that looks different when you're flying home,” Flame said.

A few bees exchanged puzzled looks.

She hurried on. “You cross when the reeds stop bending, but the sun isn't in the same place on the way back, and the river turns, and then there's a gap between the trees—”

She stopped.

Every word had been true.

None of them had shown the way.

Loop described the changing wind. Anchor identified the safer stones. Nook asked how much nectar a forager could carry before growing tired.

All their questions mattered. Flame knew the answers. But she could not fit what she had seen into words that anyone else could follow.

Queen Bee listened without scolding.

“You found a place that may help us all, Flame.”

“Then why can't I make them see it?”

“They haven't travelled beside you.”

“That's exactly the problem.”

The Queen turned to the waiting workers. “We won't send a large flight along a route they cannot yet follow. Anchor and Loop will check it again tomorrow.”

It was a sensible decision.

Flame hated it.

She had imagined returning to cheers, with the whole colony ready to fly toward the flowers she had found. Instead the gathering dispersed. The others returned to the work of the hive, and the flowers remained far away.

She slipped toward the edge of the comb, where sunlight came through the bark.

Bee Righteous joined her.

For a while neither spoke. They watched foragers return from familiar patches, curve through the opening, and settle on the comb.

“I thought finding the flowers would be the hard part,” Flame said.

“And was it?”

“Yes. Until I got home.”

He waited.

“I can see everything in my head. The pale stones. The reeds. Where the river bends. Even how the wind felt.”

“Then you've brought home more than nectar.”

“But nobody else can see it.”

Bee Righteous regarded the narrow opening.

“What do you wish they could see?”

“Everything.”

“That would take a very large pair of eyes.”

Flame laughed despite herself.

“No. Just the way. I wish I could show them the way without telling it one little piece at a time.”

“Then perhaps you haven't finished discovering,” Bee Righteous said.

“I already found the flowers.”

“Yes.”

“What else is there to find?”

He looked toward the daylight.

“That's your question.”

And he left her with it.

Flame stayed beside the warm wax as the light shifted across the comb. She watched the last foragers make small turns before settling. She remembered Loop waiting for the pause between gusts, and Anchor finding the sheltered side of the stone.

Without realizing it, she moved her feet.

A short turn.

A tremble.

Then stillness.

She frowned and tried to imagine the river again.

Not a word. Not a picture.

Something she could do.

Beyond the tree, the hidden flowers waited for morning.

For the first time in her life, Flame did not have a question for someone else.

She had one for herself.