"Gilman, Carolyn Ives - Honeycrafters, The2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilman Carolyn Ives)

THE HONEYCRAFTERS
by
Carolyn Ives Gilman
1991

The motherhold of Magwin Ghar had prospered for nine journeys, until the day Renata Oblin came out of the west.
The band of beeherders had come to the very brink of Dawn to begin their nectar quest. They were erecting their dome tents on a sparse meadow beside a swift, chalky blue meltwater river. The immobile sun hung low in the east; to the west the sunlight touched the tips of ice peaks under the dark bank of clouds that always hung at the edge of permanent night. Here, they were at the beginning of things, where land was born from ice and night. Everything around them was young.
The children were playing with their enormous shadows when they saw the stranger coming down the pathless slope of scree. They stood still to stare. She was dressed in barbarian leathers, and coming from the west, where only storm and glaciers dwelt. As word spread through the camp, people stepped from their tents to watch her approach. When she drew near they saw what they had half feared, half hoped: a ceramic broodpot in a pouch strapped to her chest.
She raised an arm in greeting and called in a clear, strong voice, "Whose motherhold is this?"
"Magwin Ghar's," someone answered.
She dropped to one knee to touch the ground in thanks. When she rose, her eyes swept them all in. "I am Renata of Oblin Motherhold. Many whiles ago I journeyed into the Dawnland to seek my future. I have found it. I bring you a new hive mother!"
She touched the broodpot at her breast, then looked around, exhilarated, as if she expected them all to cheer at her hero's deed. But the people's looks were grave and uncertain. Because of her, their lives were all about to change.


Dubich Rhud had always known the day would come. Ever since he and Magwin Ghar had walked the marriage line together it had been there, somewhere in the future: the day a challenger for the motherhold would come, and Magwin would have to face death. But he had never guessed how full of helpless rage he would feel.
His voice sounded eerily calm as he told her the news. They sat inside her tent with their favorite pillows drawn close together. The beeswax candles cast a soft light on the intricate patterns of the woven wall-rugs and the comfortable layers of carpet on the floor.
"I am not ready to die just yet," Magwin said grimly. She still had the look of the wrestler she once had been--strong neck, solid, muscular torso, stocky legs. But now her close-cropped hair was the color of granite, and her face was leathery from years in the sun.
"There cannot be two leaders in the same motherhold," Dubich said, fingering the long braids of his gray beard. "Someone is going to die. Unless you step aside."
"Ha!" was Magwin's response. She raised her arm, clenching her fist and staring at her bunched biceps. The skin was loose, mottled with age spots. But there was nothing old about the flash in her eyes.
"Why not give way, Magwin?" Dubich said quietly. "It is the way of nature. Youth should replace age."
"When age has nothing more to offer," Magwin said. "I built this motherhold. I know how to run it."
It was not what she had said nine journeys ago, when she had been the one challenging old Borsun Ghar for control of the motherhold. She had been a whirlwind then: a swift temper, a loud laugh, forthright and bold, with a tender side only Dubich and a few others knew about. Gods, he had been proud of her.
"So you will fight her?" Dubich said unwillingly.
Magwin reached out for his hand. There was a teasing twinkle in her eye. "Don't worry, old man. I still have some brain cells that are as good as new, you know."
She loved it--the challenge, the conflict. Once, Dubich had enjoyed watching her, advising from the shadows. But lately, he'd lost his taste for battles. It had been so quiet, the last journey since their children had left for other motherholds. He had grown used to a maturer marriage and the slower rhythms of age. He did not want to lose it all. The stakes in this battle were just too high.
Someone shook the door rattle and Magwin shouted, "Enter!" It was two of the master honeycrafters, come to get good seats for the confrontation everyone expected. Magwin welcomed them from her pillow, and Dubich rose to serve some hydromel in carved horn cups. Soon more arrived, and more, till the tent was crowded, and people began to collect outside, where they could hear through the tent sides.
When Renata Oblin entered the tent, Dubich was startled at how young she was--younger than their own daughter. Yet she stood at the entrance with a careless self-confidence. She was tall and agile, with a long braid of brown hair. An archer, Dubich thought, or a climber.
"You are welcome to my tent, wanderer," Magwin said formally.
Dubich held out a cup of hydromel. Renata shook her head and, in a supple movement of tanned limbs, settled down, legs crossed. Now everyone knew how the land lay. Renata would not accept hospitality from someone she intended to kill.
"What is that around your neck?" Magwin asked.
In answer, Renata placed the brood pot on the soft carpet, then opened it.
People leaned forward to see. Slowly, a large insect crawled free of the pot, too young yet to fly. There were several indrawn breaths, for she was a larger mother bee than any in Magwin Ghar's hives; and stranger yet, she was a glossy black all over.
"That is a fine creature," Magwin said. Her voice was bland, but Dubich could hear the envy in it. It had been a long time since their own hives had had an infusion of new bee-blood. A motherhold could not last long with puny, inbred bees. "How did you find her?"
"I left Oblin motherhold a journeypiece ago," Renata said. "I had five companions, young women like me who had all reached the wander-age. They went to find new homes among other motherholds, but I was not content with that. I turned toward the land of Dawn. I set out to find a new hive mother and bring her back.
"The Dawnlands are wide and cold, and constant storms rage along the boundary where night begins. I traveled through unmapped new lands, along the edges of the glaciers. I lived among the rockfalls, eating lichen and beetles; the sun was only an orange ball on the horizon. I always looked for a nest where a mother bee was hatching from her winterlong slumber. Once I found a nest but the mother had flown east hours before I got there. I thought I was cursed.
"But I would not give up. At last, as I lay too tired to pull myself upright, the ground began to rock under me. There was a roar fit to bring the sky down and near me a hillside collapsed into a valley. Afterwards, I staggered out onto the fresh brown slope and saw there a mother bee climbing from her nest. The avalanche had cleared away a thick layer of gravel the glaciers had left. Without it, the mother would have perished, buried; and so would I."
She looked around at her spellbound audience, and her voice became forceful. "I set out to find my own people then, for I knew I was fit to lead a motherhold." Her eyes turned to Magwin Ghar.
"That may be true," Magwin said in a voice of calm and ice; "but you will not lead my motherhold."
"Then we will quarrel," Renata said. "Look at my bee. Have you got her equal?"
No one answered. Everyone knew they hadn't.
"I can have your bee," Magwin said.
"Do you challenge me?"
Dubich held his breath, hoping Magwin would not be impetuous. She must not challenge; she needed to choose the weapon.
Magwin said nothing. "I smell old blood here," Renata gave the ritual taunt. "Are you afraid?"
Still no answer.
"Very well, then," Renata said, impatient. "I will challenge you. Prove your fitness to lead this motherhold."
"All these people are witness that you have made the challenge," Magwin smiled, a predator who had trapped her prey. "It is my right to choose the contest."
Renata straightened in surprise at the sudden vigor of her opponent's voice. She looked as if she suspected trickery. "Choose, then," she said.
"The times are gone when a holdmother needs brute force to rule. Leadership skills are what count now. I challenge you to a test of leadership. Each of us will take a swarm and the people to tend it. We will compete for one journey. At the end, whoever produces the best honey, wins."