Read Online The Tenth Power by Kate Constable - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Constable
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her cloak, and to hide the Clarion safely under a pile of straw. ‘We’ve wasted too much time already.’
‘I’ll help Gilly with the sled,’ said Trout. ‘I can’t sing the winds away, but I can help pull.’
Gilly gave him a quick, grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’ She hesitated over the High Priestess’s silver-topped staff. ‘What should we do with this? It doesn’t seem right to leave it here, in the hay.’
‘I’m sureTamen would like to have it,’ said Calwyn bitterly, but Gilly shook her head.
‘She’s afraid to touch anything that belonged to Marna, in case she catches the snow-sickness.’
‘Well, leave it there,’ said Calwyn. ‘It’s safe enough for now.’
They helped Gilly to carry Marna’s body down the ladder from the loft. Calwyn felt a pang of distress that they had to drag their beloved High Priestess about like a sack of apples. But, she reminded herself, this was not really Marna. Their Lady Mother had joined the great river that Halasaa spoke of, the First and greatest of the powers, the joyous flow of being that included the Goddess herself, and the spirit that animated every living thing. Marna was among the stars, and the whispering leaves, and in the sleeping soil that waited for the touch of spring.
Mica and Calwyn lifted Marna’s body onto the sledge, and watched as Gilly and Trout disappeared into the whirling snow.
‘Ready?’ shouted Calwyn. Mica nodded, and sang a chantment of the winds to make a tunnel of clear air through the heart of the blizzard, so she and Calwyn could run to the orchard and the river and the beehives.
Before they reached the orchard the wind dropped. Snowflakes swirled around their heads, and floated silently to rest. ‘You can stop singing,’ panted Calwyn, but Mica shook her head.
‘Gotta fill our footprints in.’
Before long, the gnarled, dark skeletons of the apple trees loomed from the stark white snow. Clouds scudded across the sky, and the moonlight was fitful; from moment to moment, the landscape was illuminated with silver, then plunged into darkness again.
A faint murmur rose from the dark mound that was the first of the domed hives. Mica hung back. ‘Is it full of bees? Ain’t they sleepin?’
‘Bees don’t sleep in winter. But they won’t harm us if we treat them with respect,’ said Calwyn.
Mica screwed up her face. ‘They’ll sting me!’
‘They won’t sting you, I promise! Come on, Mica. There are twenty hives, we must hurry. All you have to do is tell me if you can sense something inside the hive, an object with power, like the Clarion.’
Mica sidled gingerly up to the hive. ‘Do I have to touch it?’
‘Here!’ In exasperation, Calwyn grabbed Mica’s hands and pressed them to the wall. Mica yelped.
‘Ssh! Don’t startle them!’
‘I’m scared of them bees, Cal!’ hissed Mica reproachfully.
Calwyn let go of her hands.What had Marna said to her that very day? You must learn to listen. Even Darrow had been wary of the bees at first.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to touch the hives. Just get close enough to tell. I’ll listen to the bees, I’ll warn you if they stir.’
Mica nodded, somewhat mollified. She edged forward, hands outstretched, still expecting the bees to swarm out and attack her. She shook her head. ‘There ain’t nothin here.’
Calwyn tugged her. ‘Let’s try the next one.’
Each hive had a name and a history.This one was colonised in the summer Darrow had come to Antaris. This one had a temperamental queen; it had done poorly two years in a row. This one by the bend in the river was a happy hive, Calwyn’s favourite; she could distinguish the taste of its honey from any other. And this one, in summer, was always surrounded by clover. It was the oldest of the hives, and a crack ran all the way down its side. But Mica couldn’t sense a hint of magic anywhere.
‘You sure it’s here, Cal?’
‘There’s still Timarel hive. It must be in there.’
‘I’ll help Gilly with the sled,’ said Trout. ‘I can’t sing the winds away, but I can help pull.’
Gilly gave him a quick, grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’ She hesitated over the High Priestess’s silver-topped staff. ‘What should we do with this? It doesn’t seem right to leave it here, in the hay.’
‘I’m sureTamen would like to have it,’ said Calwyn bitterly, but Gilly shook her head.
‘She’s afraid to touch anything that belonged to Marna, in case she catches the snow-sickness.’
‘Well, leave it there,’ said Calwyn. ‘It’s safe enough for now.’
They helped Gilly to carry Marna’s body down the ladder from the loft. Calwyn felt a pang of distress that they had to drag their beloved High Priestess about like a sack of apples. But, she reminded herself, this was not really Marna. Their Lady Mother had joined the great river that Halasaa spoke of, the First and greatest of the powers, the joyous flow of being that included the Goddess herself, and the spirit that animated every living thing. Marna was among the stars, and the whispering leaves, and in the sleeping soil that waited for the touch of spring.
Mica and Calwyn lifted Marna’s body onto the sledge, and watched as Gilly and Trout disappeared into the whirling snow.
‘Ready?’ shouted Calwyn. Mica nodded, and sang a chantment of the winds to make a tunnel of clear air through the heart of the blizzard, so she and Calwyn could run to the orchard and the river and the beehives.
Before they reached the orchard the wind dropped. Snowflakes swirled around their heads, and floated silently to rest. ‘You can stop singing,’ panted Calwyn, but Mica shook her head.
‘Gotta fill our footprints in.’
Before long, the gnarled, dark skeletons of the apple trees loomed from the stark white snow. Clouds scudded across the sky, and the moonlight was fitful; from moment to moment, the landscape was illuminated with silver, then plunged into darkness again.
A faint murmur rose from the dark mound that was the first of the domed hives. Mica hung back. ‘Is it full of bees? Ain’t they sleepin?’
‘Bees don’t sleep in winter. But they won’t harm us if we treat them with respect,’ said Calwyn.
Mica screwed up her face. ‘They’ll sting me!’
‘They won’t sting you, I promise! Come on, Mica. There are twenty hives, we must hurry. All you have to do is tell me if you can sense something inside the hive, an object with power, like the Clarion.’
Mica sidled gingerly up to the hive. ‘Do I have to touch it?’
‘Here!’ In exasperation, Calwyn grabbed Mica’s hands and pressed them to the wall. Mica yelped.
‘Ssh! Don’t startle them!’
‘I’m scared of them bees, Cal!’ hissed Mica reproachfully.
Calwyn let go of her hands.What had Marna said to her that very day? You must learn to listen. Even Darrow had been wary of the bees at first.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to touch the hives. Just get close enough to tell. I’ll listen to the bees, I’ll warn you if they stir.’
Mica nodded, somewhat mollified. She edged forward, hands outstretched, still expecting the bees to swarm out and attack her. She shook her head. ‘There ain’t nothin here.’
Calwyn tugged her. ‘Let’s try the next one.’
Each hive had a name and a history.This one was colonised in the summer Darrow had come to Antaris. This one had a temperamental queen; it had done poorly two years in a row. This one by the bend in the river was a happy hive, Calwyn’s favourite; she could distinguish the taste of its honey from any other. And this one, in summer, was always surrounded by clover. It was the oldest of the hives, and a crack ran all the way down its side. But Mica couldn’t sense a hint of magic anywhere.
‘You sure it’s here, Cal?’
‘There’s still Timarel hive. It must be in there.’
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