The Poison of Woedenwoud (Magicfall Book 3) Read online

  She was brought into a large room and left there alone. It was devoid of furniture, devoid of any feature at all except a low-walled pool toward the back of the room. It was not filled with water, as she’d expected, but with some sort of creamy golden substance that looked quite thick, like honey. She stood there, considering dipping her finger in to taste it. Evelyn had experience with bees, and Ling knew everything about them that she did. These creatures looked very bee-like. They acted bee-like. Even her cell had looked a lot like honey comb, though considerably larger than anything in Meuse, Brielle, or anywhere else, she suspected.

  She was convinced the entirely black one she’d first seen was the queen, the red and black banded ones her daughters. The magic of this place must have shaped them into what they were now. The mating she’d witnessed suggested these creatures were mortal like humans were, but she wondered if their evolution into these humanoid and intelligent beings was a result of the magic of this place. She wondered if the stuff in that pool would poison her.

  “You can taste it, if you wish.”

  Ling spun on her heel to find the queen standing just behind her. Her surprisingly human-like hands were clasped gently at her chest, her head tipped to the side. Her human-like mouth curled at the corners, but otherwise her expression was unreadable.

  “I don’t know what it will do to you. It would kill a mortal, even a Kindred, no matter how gifted. There is far too much magic in it for their kind. But you are not a mortal, are you?”

  Ling remained silent, considering how to reply. She and her friends would live or die based on this creature’s decisions. If they had any hope of getting out of the Woedenwoud, sealing the breech, and ending this war, it rested with the figure in front of her.

  “My queen—I believe the correct term in my language is queen…”

  The creature’s head tipped the other direction, and the corners of her lips quirked even higher. “There are similarities between us and them. But make no mistake, the differences matter more. But that name shall suffice for now.”

  “My queen, you are correct, I am not mortal. I was made by a warlock for reasons I cannot fathom.”

  There was no change in the queen’s expression. “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “We seek passage through your forest, nothing more.”

  “Why are you here, really? Why does one of the Kindred travel with you? And why did you bring the mortals with you? The stench of them…most offensive.”

  Kindred. Ling didn’t know what that meant, but was certain she must be referring to Fern. The small hope she’d been harboring deep inside gave a sudden lurch. Fern was still alive.

  “There is war outside of this wood,” Ling said. “A breach has been opened, magic is draining away from the world. I suspect you know of it, you mentioned as much when you found us.” Ling had read that section of the grimoire several times when she’d awoken this morning. The queen had said Ling and her companions had survived as long as they had only because of the loss of magic. They were feeling it here, though clearly not to the extent they were experiencing in Brisia, and maybe elsewhere. “We seek a way to close that breach.”

  “We know of it, as we know of all things. All things except for you. We have no record of you or your companions. We’ve consulted the librarians.”

  Ling stared back in confusion, not understanding the queen’s meaning. The queen sighed, a frustrated puff of air. “Has the world really forgotten about us? Even the Kindred?” She grunted, tapping a foot against the soft wax of the floor in agitation. “There is nothing for it then. Come.”

  The queen turned and scurried out of the room. Ling hurried to keep up with her. The others cleared a path for their queen as she hurried through the warren of infinite cells. Ling followed as closely as she could, jogging to keep up. They seemed to be heading downward in a slow, meandering way. It took them the better part of an hour to get to their destination, and Ling wondered how large this city really was.

  They finally entered another large room. It seemed made of the same substance as the rest of the hive, but the walls here were opaque and blackened. The light was dim and came from small patches of algae or mold on the walls that were being tended to by an army of very small scarlet daughters, these without the black bands on their bodies. Those not currently busy stood lined up along the walls of the space, half buried in the dark wax there.

  Ling scanned the space and then cried out in surprise when she realized her companions were all there. Drake and Celene stood side by side, Drake deathly pale, but standing. Dreskin was scissored in scabs, but had a smile on his face. Fern stood off from the others, clearly very uncomfortable, with one leg fully encased in a blackened shell of what appeared to be wax very similar to what this room had been created with. The queen gave them no time to exchange pleasantries; she and a handful of the small scarlet daughters hustled all of them through a small door at the back of the room.

  This room was even dimmer than the previous one, but Ling could clearly see white shapes hanging from the low ceiling. They looked like the larvae of newly hatched bees. She wondered why they would be hanging like this. Normal bees didn’t do that, but perhaps things were quite different for this race. Or maybe they were maggots, or the larval form of some other creature. She couldn’t be sure.

  The small scarlet daughters pushed her and her companions aside, lining them up along one wall. The queen joined them there. Then each scarlet daughter moved to stand next to one of the five hanging larvae in the room. They turned to the queen, and waited.

  For three breaths Ling wondered what was going to happen, then at a signal from the queen, each of the five purely scarlet daughters raised one of their legs and slashed the larvae, gutting them from top to bottom. Guts and blood sprayed, covering the floor and the walls. Ling felt it cover her own face and arms, and she clenched her mouth tightly against a shout of surprise and disgust.

  “Do not move,” the queen warned. “The slightest movement can ruin the prophecy, and we take the death of our own quite seriously, so moving would not be a good idea.” The queen’s voice took on a menacing tone, and Ling held herself stiff as the small scarlet creatures scurried over the room. They seemed to be analyzing the blood spray, the way the guts lay scattered on the floor, the patterns in which they fell. They analyzed the distribution of gut on Ling’s body and on the others, including the queen herself. She and her companions stared in silence, watching the story unfold around them.

  “I am sorry that our prophecies have been lost to the world,” the queen said after she’d been fully inspected by one of her daughters. “There was a time we were consulted by the most powerful from the outside. But that time has long passed into history. Now none even know of our existence. Even the Kindred no longer remember us, it would seem.” She wiped the blood from her face with her hands and licked it off with a narrow tongue. “This way.”

  They left the room with the hanging larval corpses behind. They were offered nothing with which to clean themselves, so the blood stayed where it was on each of them. They moved into an enormous room, so tall Ling wondered if it extended the entire height of the hive. Pinned out along the walls were larval skins, dark shapes printed tightly on every one of them.

  “This library contains every story: those that have happened, those that may happen. The story of every being who has walked or will walk the surface of this world.”

  It was gross, but it was impressive. There were far too many for her to count, and she wanted to read them all. She moved to nearest pinned out story and found it was written in a language she did not recognize.

  “But we have no story for you. For any of you. No story of your births, of your lives, of you coming here. Most unusual.”

  “But you have a story about the breach?” Fern asked. “A story of the Mari, of our war with the warlocks?”

  “Yes, Kindred. We know all of it. We’ve known of this time for centuries. We’ve prepared for it and will survive it.”<
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  “What of the Mari? Will we survive it? What of Alyssum, what do your stories say of her?” Fern approached the queen, holding her hands out in front of her, palms open. “Is she alive?”

  “Our stories are not for you,” the queen said, her voice dripping disdain. “You, Kindred, have forgotten, and, as such, are not worthy.”

  Fern shrank away from the queen, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. Ling understood how she must be feeling. She, too, wanted to know about Alyssum. Wanted to know about Witch and her father and Rudy.

  “Who are they for then, if not for us?” Ling asked of the queen, wanting answers, but very aware their fate rested with her. “If we fail, if we can’t close that breach, your magic will eventually fail too. You will die. All of you.”

  The queen turned to look at Ling, her antennae turning forward and back, in constant motion as she stared at Ling. “What will come to pass will come to pass. It is not our place to choose. It is our place to serve.”

  “Then serve! Tell us how to seal the breach!” Dreskin stood beside Drake, and Ling could see the tension in his shoulders, in the wideness of his stance. Celene looked terrified, eyes wide, mouth closed so tightly her lips were white. Her arms crossed her chest as if she were trying to hold her very body together.

  “You are not permitted to speak. We do not permit males in here. You are tolerated only because you travel with these two,” the queen said, pointing her chin toward Fern and Ling. “But my tolerance only goes so far. Speak again, and I’ll hang you up and gut you to see what story you have to tell.”

  She turned and walked out of the room, Ling and the others on her heels. “We serve only one, and it is not interested in what you do. But your absence from the stories is interesting. As we have no guide, I will get you out of this place, the Woedenwoud as you call it. Be ready in the morning. I cannot stand the smell of your mortality any longer than that.”

  She spread her wings and vanished into the maze of the hive, leaving her daughters to the task of herding Ling and her companions down the curving hallways of comb. They were left in a slightly larger cell, together this time, with a pile of strange and unrecognizable fruit and vegetables heaped in one corner.

  “Eat,” one of the scarlet-banded daughters said as the cell closed up behind them. “It will not harm you. It’s several days journey to the border, and this is all you’ll get, so eat well.”

  Drake moved to the pile of food and plucked a round purple something or other from the pile. She sniffed at it, shrugged her shoulders, and took a bite. She settled down a short distance away and leaned against a wall, turning her face upward. Ling could see the muscles in her jaw clenching and unclenching as she chewed. Celene moved across the room and sat next to Drake, ignoring the food altogether.

  Ling looked at Fern, wondering if she’d warn them off this food as well, but Fern was withdrawn and distant, and Ling doubted she’d even noticed.

  “Who are these people?” Ling asked, studying Fern’s back. “They’re not mentioned in your stories, Fern? You said nothing of them, but they clearly know plenty about you. Kindred.”

  Fern turned toward the group, her eyes reddened as if she fought back tears. “They are legends only, even in the oldest of our texts. They should not exist, should not be here.”

  “Well, they are here, that’s quite plain,” said Dreskin, pushing his hair back from his face and pacing the length of the room. “What do you know, Fern?” He snatched up a piece of something from the pile on the floor and popped it into his mouth.

  “Nothing. Little more than mutterings. They are called Magabeille in the histories, and they may have been Mari once. Though nothing is clear on that point. They left Marique and vanished for centuries before reappearing as seers. But they weren’t seers, not really. They had glimpses of truths, but their minds were twisted and mad. Maybe from whatever magics live here in the Woud, maybe from centuries of isolation, I don’t know…these stories are so old even we consider them myths. Whatever they are though, they cannot be trusted.”

  “They seem pretty trustworthy so far. They pulled all of you out of the teeth of this cursed wood and healed you. You’re all alive, I’m alive, only thanks to them,” Celene spoke up for the first time. She lay prone beside Drake, one of her hands resting on Drake’s shin. Dark shadows lined her eyes; she was gaunt and pale with exhaustion, her voice tired and low.

  “I mean their stories can’t be trusted—” Fern said, but Drake interrupted her.

  “What stories? All I heard were hints and allusions. She said nothing that made me think they knew anything of the future. Or the past for that matter.” Drake’s words were tightly clipped and angry.

  “Why would they say they had no stories about us if it wasn’t true?” Celene countered. “Why make up something like that?”

  “Maybe they didn’t make it up,” Dreskin said. “Maybe they don’t have stories about us. But who cares whether they do or don’t, as long as they get us out of here.”

  “They may be mad, but they always knew who was who,” Fern said. “They would visit the Mari from time to time, ages and ages ago, long before even the warlocks came there. Always they came blathering nonsense. But they always knew every Mari they ran into, their names, the names of their friends. Everyone.”

  They were all quiet after that pronouncement, considering Fern’s words. Fern walked across the small space and sat down next to the pile of food. She found grubs buried in the fruit and gathered them hurriedly, popping them one by one into her mouth.

  “They at least know you well enough to know what you need to eat,” Ling said. “They knew enough about all of us, our biology, to know how to heal us.”

  No one had a reply to that observation. Fern finished chewing and swallowed hard. She leaned back against the comb and looked upward at the ceiling. Ling allowed her eyes to follow the direction of Fern’s gaze. There was nothing up there, just the smooth arcing line of the comb they were housed in.

  “If there are no stories about us, it’s because we don’t exist. In any time, or any place,” Fern finished.

  “We clearly exist—” Dreskin began, but this time Fern interrupted him.

  “It may simply be we won’t exist long enough. Perhaps our stories are so brief that magic decided we weren’t worth the mention.”

  Ling moved to Fern’s side and sat down hard, strength draining out of her legs. They’d all sacrificed so much, all in defense of magic. If Fern was right, what did that mean? Even if they failed, why didn’t their lives even merit a mention of their births? Ling realized it meant they would fail. If they succeeded, she was certain their names would have been logged. Few would know of it, but at least the Magabeille would know. But if they failed…perhaps the awakening magic of the Woedenwoud banished them from all of history for their failure.

  She shifted her gaze back downward, at the faces of her friends, the faces she’d travelled with for month after month, fought beside, risked everything with, and tried to tell them what she felt, the pattern that she saw. She wanted them to argue the point, to convince her there was some other explanation.

  With a shock she realized her companions slept, every one of them. Eyes closed, mouths still, bodies lax and limp where they lay or sat propped against a wall. She saw movement over by the door and a looming black shape. The queen.

  Ling looked over in surprise as the queen reached a hand toward her.

  “You too,” the queen said, one finger pushing onto Ling’s forehead. And then darkness settled over her.

  ~ The End ~

  Afterword

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