Chapter Five
The priests and warriors dressed their ranks and became still, silent. In unison, they broke into a high-pitched chant:
… From Life to Death,
Death to Life,
As ever, the Cycle repeats.
Birth and Growth,
Night and Day,
Ripening and Death,
Dawn to Dusk,
As ever, the Cycle repeats.
From Mother to Daughter
From Life to Death
From Hive-Daughter to Mother,
From Death to Life,
As ever, the Cycle repeats,
It is the Way …
The Chosen-Male cohort leaders chanted the Cycle of Life prayer in counterpoint to the priests.
Oftentimes Suh-Joh had listened to the priests in the deep caverns, chanting the Cycle of Life’s many verses to reinforce their faith in the traditional ways. It was also the prayer used to comfort those who were about to be consumed by the insects.
Soon, she thought, I shall die. She rose to move away from Lok-Nih’s body.
The Chosen-Male cohort leaders moved quickly, forming a line before her. The first in line stared briefly at the dead Hive-Mother, then flexed in ritual abasement.
“Blessed Hive-Mother,” a voice spoke quietly. “You must acknowledge them. Prick them and imprint them with your hormones. They are yours.”
“Mine?” Suh-Joh turned to the voice.
It was the scarred and worn visage of the senior priest. “Yes,” he said. “They came to pay homage to you as their new Hive-Mother.” Though stooped with age, he was still large.
“Me?” She glanced back and forth between the old priest and the cohort leaders. “Now?” She felt a wave of fear that threatened to bubble over.
“Yes,” the senior priest said. “Zak-Joh foretold this to me. He said it was your destiny. And today, Lok-Nih confirmed it. It has come to pass. Now you must do your duty.”
Suh-Joh hesitated. Things were moving too fast.
“If you don’t, they will turn on you,” the old priest said. “Then the insects will seem like a kindness.”
Suh-Joh leaned forward and gently nicked the first cohort leader with one of her quills. The line moved forward as each Chosen-Male cohort leader abased himself to receive a touch from one of her quills.
“Now, blessed Hive-Mother,” the senior priest said. “They are yours, in body and spirit.” His breathing flaps stilled.
“In body?” Suh-Joh felt a strong urge to mate. It came from being in close proximity with the Chosen-Males. She could smell them.
“Yes, but you must not mate with any of these,” the senior priest whispered. “They are your half-brothers. Inbreeding this close is too risky.” His breathing flaps stilled momentarily.
More cohort leaders came out of the passageways, many of whom Suh-Joh had never before seen. It was like seeing a hive she never knew existed. There were far more Chosen-Males in the Hive’s warrior corps than she had previously believed, many old and scarred from battles.
After the last cohort leader gave his allegiance, the priests began to hum the refrain of the Cycle of Life Prayer. The oldest priests gathered up Lok-Nih’s corpse and carried it aloft into the warrens. They beckoned to Suh-Joh to take her place directly behind Lok-Nih’s body.
Suh-Joh followed. A mass of warriors fell into formations before and after her. As they marched through the tight passageways, from time to time their tough exoskeletons scraped and rattled against the rocky walls. Upward, through the tunnels, past the Hive’s outer defenses, they marched to exit at the base of an orange sandstone cliff on the surface of Hool.
Shading her eyes against the brightness of the sun, Suh-Joh struggled up a path carved into the side of the steep cliff. She followed the priests who carried Lok-Nih up to the mesa overlooking the valley from where they had come.
The priests took the corpse to a scorched and blackened mound in the center of the mesa. Holding Lok-Nih’s body up where all could see, they continued to hum the Cycle of Life prayer.
From below came a line of priests carrying bundles of quills that Lok-Nih had taken from the enemies she had defeated. The cohort leaders lined up, each placing a bundle of oil-bush branches on the mound. Long lines of warriors assembled behind their cohort leaders in formations among the spiny crimson xerophytic vegetation covering the plateau.
The Mother-of-the-Sky grew large and red as it sank toward the jagged snow-tipped mountains in the west. In the fading light, the lush maroon ribbon of food crops that followed the valley far below outlined its narrow waterway like a stream of blood.
The two Children-of-the-Sky emerged in the darkening heavens: One low and large in the east, the other gibbous and high above.
Fascinated and fearful, Suh-Joh watched, filled with uncertainty as the priests continued to hum the refrain. When the last cohort leader stacked the final faggot, the priests became quiet. Gently, almost reverently, the priests placed Lok-Nih on top of the byre along with bundles of quills.
The evening wind sighed distantly, and the air grew chill. The spicy scent of the bruised and broken oil-bush branches filled the air.
Suh-Joh approached Lok-Nih’s body. A ripple of motion stirred the silent Chosen-Male warriors. She raised a forelimb.
The throng grew still. All eyes followed her.
“Hoo-Lii Lok-Nih, the Spirit-of-the-Mother calls you,” Suh-Joh sang out the traditional farewell given to warriors who fell in battle. She knew it was rare for a new Hive-Mother to attend the cremation of the old; most cared little about those whom they replaced. But Suh-Joh had known and cared for Lok-Nih, her true mother.
Hesitantly at first, the cohort leaders responded, “Hoo-Lii. Hail Lok-Nih. The Spirit-of-the-Mother calls you.”
Suh-Joh stepped back, wondering what came next. Again, silence settled over the dark mesa.
A Chosen-Male cohort leader advanced with a flaming torch raised on high. He paused before thrusting the burning branch deep into the stacked oil-bush branches. At first the flame flickered fitfully until the oil-bush branches ignited with an explosive crackle and began to burn with a greedy intensity. The black-tinged flames grew enormous, wildly imploring congress with a rising wind and a purple sky.
Light from the flames reflected off the nearby mourners’ burnished hides as they backed away. The warriors took up the farewell chant, repeating it again and again until their collective voices echoed distantly off the far hills like the rarely heard sound of thunder.
“Hoo-Lii Lok-Nih. The Spirit-of-the-Mother calls you.”
“Hoo-Lii Lok-Nih. The Spirit-of-the-Mother calls you.”
Silence fell as the warriors ended their chant. Lok-Nih’s rotund form slowly blackened and blistered in the rising flames. Her still-erect quills flickered one by one into a brief incandescent glory. As fire consumed her body, black greasy smoke roiled heavenward, carried away on a cool breeze to disappear into the star-studded night.
Suh-Joh stared away from the fire. Lok-Nih, you chose me for this role, she thought. Why me?
The senior priest made his way before the assembled warriors. He raised his forelimbs on high. The massed warriors grew still, unmoving, focused on the senior priest.
“Hail Suh-Joh, our blessed Hive-Mother.” The senior priest’s voice carried over the silent throng. He raised his forelimbs again.
“Hail Suh-Joh, our blessed Hive-Mother.” The salute by the warriors echoed over the mesa, only to be repeated again, and again.
They’re mine, Suh-Joh thought. They’re all mine.
Her old ambition to be a Hive-Mother, quasi-dormant, burst forth with the ferocity of an oil-bush struck by lightning on a summer’s day.
Lok-Nih, you made me a Hive-Mother, you gave it to me. She paused. You loved Zak-Joh and you did it for him, too. Yes, you did say that I reminded you of him. It doesn’t matter, I understand.
Suh-Joh shivered as the heat from the funeral pyre’s flames faded. The Chosen-Male warriors have sworn their loyalty to me. Mine is their only Hive. When news of my succession reaches other Hives, there may be trouble. However, the strength and loyalty of the Chosen-Male warriors, no, my Chosen-Male warriors, she thought, should be enough to withstand any challenges and overcome any obstacles.
“My warriors.” Suh-Joh’s voice stilled the assembled Chosen-Male warriors. “Fear not, for I will lead you to great victories.”
“Hail Suh-Joh, our blessed Hive-Mother.” The Chosen-Male warriors en masse raised their fore-digits as a sign of their support and willingness to fight.
“Hail Suh-Joh, our blessed Hive-Mother.” Their voices swelled and echoed back from the hard rock surface of Hool.
Their voices stirred pride within Suh-Joh. They are mine, mine completely, she thought. Yes, mother, you gave me my dream and the tools to fulfill it. Now, I must fulfill your dream too.