Silo Saga: The Choosing (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Silo 13) Read online

  The priests from level 140 had carried to the gardens baskets filled with flowers and grains and spices. The climbers took the baskets and offered them to the bees, lifting each small woven basket to the hive level. Later, when the offerings were lowered, the baskets were coated black with bees. Using smoke pots, the keeper and his shadows pushed the bees into jars and presented them to the priests.

  Gathered in a circle around a fire pit, each climber took a jar. When it was Théo's turn for a jar, the head priest, Desiree, refused to give him one. But then Trinidad bade her offer the blue glazed jars, the ones that held the hive of the magic queen.

  The priests watched, whispering excitedly, dressed in overalls of bright fabric, their hair tied with ribbons and gleaming metal bangles. Only once a year did the priests come among the climbers, and it was to perform the jar ritual—to find the bravest of all, the man who could keep his hand in the jar the longest without killing the bees.

  Sitting beside Lejeune, Théo caught the eye of a beautiful girl dressed in yellow overalls. She smiled to show her mutual interest. Her hair was wrapped in vine, signifying that her father had been a climber, too.

  My name is Théo, he mouthed.

  She shook a finger at him and turned away.

  Did I offend her, Théo wondered, or was that a wry smile she flashed before averting her gaze.

  On Trinidad's word, the ritual began. Théo kept his hand in the jar, enduring terrible stings, the flesh of his fingers screaming like hot needles had been plunged into them, but Théo killed no bees.

  None.

  When the other climbers pulled out their swollen hands, only a few bees escaped.

  Théo pulled out his hand, and the priests gasped. A cloud of bees flew out into the night air. Their bodies glowed in the firelight, and most of them flew away. Several lighted on his face and began to sting. Théo would have wiped them away were it not for the smiling girl in the yellow overalls. Her face was rapt with wonder, and Théo knew she might share his hammock that night. What were a few bee stings in comparison?

  Then as Théo followed the track of her eyes, he realized that she was staring not at him, but at his brother.

  Lejeune had also removed his hand from the jar. Like Théo, he had released a cloud of bees, but they did not attack him.

  When he raised his hand, there was not a single sting on his skin.

  "See?" Lejeune said. "Not a mark on me."

  The priests gasped again, and the other climbers sat astonished.

  Only Trinidad seemed unmoved.

  "I am the chosen one." Lejeune walked to the girl in the yellow overalls. "And I chose you."

  She took his hand and rose to her feet. Her eyes were downcast. She did not speak, but she followed as Lejeune pranced away, pumping his fist to the mechanics that had gathered on the fringe to watch. The leader, Petros, led the mechanics as they gave him three cheers.

  "Lejeune will be the keeper of bees," the head priest said. She was a round woman in faded pink overalls, and she seemed to mock the disappointment in Théo's face. "The other shadow will be given to the mayor."

  It was then that the voice of Théo's mother first whispered to him, Kill Lejeune and you can have the girl in the yellow overalls.

  "No," Trinidad said as he ladled porridge into a wooden bowl, "with you, the pain was never in the stings."

  When Théo was not yet six, Théo came as an orphan to down deep. His mother, a delivery nurse in the uppers, had died of the sleeping palsy. After crying over her for three days, Théo had been left alone in their apartment. When the sheriff found him, alone, drinking from the toilet and eating the roots of house plants. The sheriff sent his mother to be buried in the deeps, where her body would feed the soil that fed the silo. Théo was banished there, too, sent to live among the other outcasts.

  For years, Théo shadowed one mechanic after another, but unlike the grease and sweat that stained their overalls, the stink of being born an upper would never wash off. Théo was the best rope maker, the best climber, the bravest of the boys, and he could snap green bamboo in half with his bare hands. His old life had poisoned their minds. The priests said he spoke with spirits, that the magic of the bees could never touch him. He lived on the fringes, never belonging, until a year ago Trinidad found him eating, as always, alone.

  Trinidad had walked over and asked him, "Can you climb?"

  "Yes, keeper."

  "Can you climb fast?"

  "Very fast."

  "Very fast is good," Trinidad said. "Today, I take you as shadow."

  The other climbers had murmured among themselves. Even Théo was shocked. Two months earlier, Trinidad had taken Lejeune as his shadow. He was tall and graceful, with big hands and feet and a brain the size of a hornet's nest, they said. There was no smarter boy than Lejeune, and what's more, the bees loved him.

  What does Trinidad need with two shadows? Théo had wondered but gave no action to his doubts.

  He had simply followed the very old man up the staircase to his apartment. He was given a hammock and a pair of strong climbing shoes.

  "Now you are home," Trinidad has said.

  Lejeune never seemed unhappy to have another shadow around, especially one who worked so hard. There was always work to do, even though the caster's apartment was small--one room with a kitchen, a table, and hooks in the ceiling for sleeping hammocks.

  There was always work to do, and Lejeune had seemed glad for the help. At first, they were like real brothers, sharing food and climbs and work, until the day that Trinidad included him in Lejeune's training in bee keeping, and then a gap opened between them.

  The gap had grown wider since, like the chasm that separated the two parts of the silo.

  As Théo sat weaving the vines, he wanted to ask Trinidad, Why not me, why not allow me to become the keeper of bees? He was the best rope maker, the best climber, and he did not fear the sting of the bees. Lejeune was clumsy, and he could not make his own rope. Was it only because the bees did not sting him?

  When he finished weaving a rope from the vines, Théo handed it to Trinidad. The old man tested its strength with his teeth and a hooked blade comb knife. It was the sharpest blade they owned, and even it could not cut through the vine rope.

  "Good work," Trinidad said, winding the ladder around his arm. "Your brother would be well served by such a rope. Have you prepared the basket for him?"

  Théo nodded, yes. The basket was outside near the silo. Théo had traded a spoonful of blood honey to a weaver for it. When it was loaded, it would weigh more than a grown man. Théo had lined it with sheepskin to keep the honey from dripping out of the basket and onto the ground far below. The honey was far too valuable to be wasted. It could cure all ills and mend all bones. A pot of blood honey was said to have the power to bring back the dead, although no one would think of wasting a whole pot on only one person.

  "You are a good brother," Trinidad said and went off to meditate. "Even if Lejeune doesn't deserve you."

  Your brother, Théo's mother whispered, only deserves to die.

  3

  At six bells, the priests came, a line of color snaking up the spiral staircase to level 132. Their overalls were red, pink, orange, and yellow, like blossoms on a rose vine. They bore baskets on their heads, each of them filled with offerings to the bees—strawberries, sweet oranges, apples, and nuts. There was also rice and millet, which the bees would bless with their own bodies. When the grains were planted, they would grow higher and taste sweeter than any other.

  Théo stood near Trinidad and Lejeune as the first of the priests arrived. He could only wonder what would happen after he was sent to the cleaning? In a hundred years, none of the volunteers had returned. They said that cleaning meant instant death, but Théo knew nothing else about it. All he heard was rumors and commandments. Don't ask about the silo. Don't ever wonder about the outside. Never say you want to go out.

  Théo still had a few memories of the display screens his mother had taken hi
m to see after the cleanings. He remembered climbing one step after another, then finally reaching the viewing screens. Outside, they saw a dead world, devoid of color, clouds raging in the sky. After staring for a few minutes, they would begin the walk back down to the mids.

  Since coming down deep, he had forgotten about the sun. Light came from grow lights and fixtures. The only way to tell day from night was to use the bells that rang on the hour. Maybe doing the cleaning wouldn't be such a terrible fate. At least he would see the sun again.

  Or instead, his mother whispered, you should follow your brother up the silo and kill him. A simple shove, and the clumsy ox would fall to his death.

  "No." Théo whispered, then bit his knuckle to hush his mother's voice. "Don't talk to me about such things. I will not kill."

  You will, she answered, when the time comes.

  When the priests had packed onto the stairs like sheep herded through a pass, they came forward and placed the baskets on the ground. The climbers raised the baskets, using vine ropes and pulleys to lift them to the upper levels.

  Blossoms floated from the baskets and drifted down like white, pink, and red raindrops.

  The priests supplicated themselves and bowed three times to Trinidad, who looked up into the darkness, a string of blossoms around his neck. His back was bare, and he wore only a climbers' bee veil.

  Lejeune bowed before him, and Trinidad placed the veil over Lejeune's head.

  "Keeper," the priests chanted. "Keeper of bees."

  "Keeper," the other climbers responded. "Keeper of bees."

  Lejeune grinned and raised a hand in salute. It was more than Théo could bear. He turned away, even as he saw Trinidad watching his reaction.

  The old man knew.

  Théo could feel Trinidad's eyes in his head, dreaming his wicked dreams, and he saw into the dark corners of his shadow's mind.

  Let him, then. Let Trinidad know what he had done, taking Théo as a second shadow to a vain, clumsy fool.

  He has done this to you, his mother whispered. If there had been a spanner wrench in his had, Théo would have crushed Lejeune's skull with it.

  Hands shaking, Théo left the circle. He leaned over the handrail and looked down into the deeps, catching his breath. This was not his home. He didn't belong here.

  Théo saw smoke rising from the level below. The mechanics gathered beneath them were lighting the bonfire to smoke out the bees. Clouds of white smoke wafted up toward him. Because the silo was very high, the smoke took a long time to cross the abyss. When the white clouds reached the hive level, the smoke would calm the bees. It masked the pheromones they secreted and kept them from becoming aggressive.

  But it didn't work on every member of the hive. The queen's workers were fierce warriors. Théo had felt their stings, and they were unlike any other.

  Absentmindedly, he touched the swollen skin above his eyes.

  "The smoke is ready," Trinidad said. "Shadows, are you ready to climb?"

  The old man had moved silently to Théo's side. The climbers and the farmers chanted a prayer repeatedly. They asked the spirits to calm the queen, to allow them to borrow their jelly, and to make a new keeper of bees.

  Théo knew the spirits were not listening to them, not the angry spirits like his mother.

  Théo nodded. "Yes, I am ready."

  "Are you sure?"

  Théo hesitated. Was he?

  Trinidad smiled at him, the lines around his blue eyes thick with age.

  Yes, Théo nodded, he was ready.

  "Good. You are a strong boy. You work hard, and you served me well. For that you must be rewarded."

  His heart soared. Théo made a silent thanks to the spirits for answering his prayers. Lejeune is unworthy, Trinidad would tell him, and you are the better shadow. It is you who will climb the ladder to the queen's hive, you who will carry out the blood honey, and you who will devour the queen and become keeper.

  Théo smiled. How could Théo not be happy for himself?

  "It pleases me that you were pleased," Trinidad said. "For your reward, you will bear your brother's basket down the ladder and hold it in place for him."

  The smile on Théo's face froze like hot steam in the air. That was his reward, to became Lejeune's beast of burden?

  "It is a great honor to look upon the queen's hive," Trinidad reassured him. "Your brother is not a strong climber, and he will need your strength to bear the weight of the honey. When it is filled, you both will carry it down, because it is too heavy for one hunter alone."

  Maybe it was too heavy for Lejeune, but not him. There was something caught in his throat, and it felt as thick as a root, a root that grew deep into his gut. It was choking him, and there was nothing he could do to get it out.

  While Théo stared into the abyss, the green glow of the emergency light illuminating a distant path, one of the other climbers strapped the basket to his back.

  It was the basket Théo had prepared for Lejeune.

  "Is it heavy?" Trinidad asked him.

  "Not yet."

  "It will be. That is when the burden is the greatest and your strength will be needed most."

  With a great cheer, Lejeune started up his vine rope. Théo followed on a second rope a short time later. Within a few steps, Théo realized that something was not right. His rope felt new. The vines were springy and light, and Théo could smell the sap on his hands.

  Théo watched Lejeune ascend a few feet.

  The rungs of his rope were wider and further apart. It was not a rope of his making.

  As if he understood the silent question, Lejeune called down to Théo. "Like my rope? The one you braided had too many steps, so I made my own. This is a rope made for fast climbing."

  Or falling.

  He took three quick steps up the rope ladder and was far ahead. "See?" he called. "Even you could not catch me now."

  He disappeared into the roiling clouds of smoke. Théo did not hurry. This was no game, and no matter what, Théo's fate would be the same.

  They were not shadows racing each other for power. They were climbers who held the deepers lives in their hands.

  Only a fool would think this was a race.

  "See," Théo said to the bees, "this is who you have chosen as your keeper, a childish fool. I hope you are happy."

  But as soon as the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. They tasted like rust on his tongue.

  When Théo ascended into the smoke, he lost sight of Lejeune. When the smoke cleared, Théo saw him again, standing in the rungs of his ladder, just a few feet from the hives that filled the entire level.

  As Lejeune climbed higher, his ladder strained more from the tension of his weight. One rung made a popping noise, and Théo saw that the knots were coming loose. He pulled the veil over his face and stared at the massive hive. The air was growing blacker. Below them, the leaves of the vines formed a blanket of green. The smoke filtered through it, and Théo could not see anyone below.

  He swung his ladder near Lejeune. "Brother! Be careful!"

  A bee lit on Lejeune's bare cheek, and Théo saw why Trinidad wore a beard—to protect his face from the stingers. Having no such protection, Lejeune was distracted by the hairs of the bee's abdomen on his cheek, so he puffed breath out of the side of his mouth.

  The bee crawled down his shirt.

  Lejeune tied himself to the vine rope. He pulled the brown, broadly woven veil over his head. He held a length of bamboo above his head and jabbed the white combs, which were heavy with wax.

  The combs peeled back as if he were slicing open a ripe fruit to reveal the rich, dark honey.

  Wait for the basket, you idiot, he thought.

  Like his brother, Théo tied himself to his ladder. With one foot braced on the ladder rung, Théo plant the other on the basket and then threaded a bamboo pole across the top of his thigh. Théo wedged it beneath the swinging basket.

  The honey fell into the basket just as Théo secure it. Théo could smell the
earthy perfume of magic in the air, like ground cloves and fruit zest.

  "Look at this honey!" Lejeune finished cutting another chunk of hive, and it fell heavy into his basket. "It is the color of blood!"

  When Théo didn't answer, Lejeune added, "For the chosen one, this will be short work."

  He cut away another chunk of comb, and then another. Théo could tell from the way they hit the basket, the chunks were growing smaller. In a few minutes, Lejeune would reach the queen and her cache of black jelly.

  His fate will be sealed, Théo thought, and so will mine.

  Kill him now, his mother whispered. Théo imagined Lejeune hanging upside down on the climbing ladder, swinging to and fro.

  All it would take was a tiny push.

  Théo reached out his hand.

  "I have her!" Lejeune yelled in triumph, and his voice echoed down the silo.

  A great cry came from below as the priests, climbers, and mechanics cheered.

  Lejeune held out the quavering mass of black jelly, cupped in both hands. The queen was fighting for purchase, and Théo could see her trying to escape the trap.

  "In the jar!" Théo said. "Put the queen in the jar!"

  But Lejeune did not follow the ritual. With a childlike glee, he watched the black jelly shake, delighting in the way jiggled in his hands.

  That was when the smoke died.

  When Lejeune captured the queen, the mechanics covered their fires to clear the air. Without the smoke to ward away the bees away, they swarmed toward their queen. Thousands of workers rose into the air, a black, swirling mass that bore down on him.

  Lejeune stared agape at the black cloud. In his stupor, he dropped the mass of black jelly, and Théo quickly swung the basket so that he could catch it.

  "I caught the queen!" Théo yelled to Lejeune. "Go!"

  The bees swarmed the basket instead as his bamboo pole clattered down the ledges below. The bees stung him—on the face, the neck, the back, even on the soles of his feet.