Chapter Text
An unexpected, yet not unfamiliar feeling grasped Hornet’s heart. She had felt it only once before, that sudden emptiness that filled her soul once a hard-fought, long-sought goal was achieved. Now, at this depth of the Abyss, looking at Lace laughing at the absurd end of their journey as the voided silken threads vanishing around them, Hornet was left to ask, what now?
The time when she felt this emptiness before, it was in Hallownest, when her duty as sentinel to a dying land was suddenly relieved. Her Little Ghost, once tested and underestimated by her very own shell, removed the Radiance infection by itself. Leaving her to ponder the abrupt outcome as she stood waiting at the Black Egg. It was a moment of warmth in the Abyss, having her Little Ghost and the voided siblings ferrying her and Lace back to the surface. It warmed her, knowing her Little Ghost survived.
The echo of Lace’s laughter subsided. She looked at Hornet, seeking for an answer that avoided Hornet as well.
“What now?” She asked Hornet, “Shall I beg for forgiveness, or for mercy so you will end this pathetic existence you so called?”
“You shall have none of that from me, child. Do not forget, your life is your life. There is no more silken shadow over you now. Live as you never have before.” Hornet speaks calmly.
“You speak so easily, spider. How do you live as you never have before?”
“Return with me to Bellhart. It is a settlement below the Citadel, where pilgrims make their rest on their way. Many bugs survive there. You can learn to live, and discover what life means to you.”
Hornet said so easily it surprised her. As the words rung out in this dark chamber, images of the bugs she came across flashed through her mind. Shakra. Sherma. Pavo. The Pinstress and the Seamstress. More and more bugs all lived in bated breath, wondering if their world would end in the next moment at the mercy of happenings they did not know exist. An urge rose with Hornet to come back and bring them the news, that this chapter of their life might have come to a proper conclusion. And just like Hornet, and Lace even, they would be left with the opportunity to write their new one. Had her had this same urge back in Hallownest? Did she even remember a bug there she was eager to share the fate of her Little Ghost? Perhaps she did, but it was so long ago.
Lace said nothing, only returned a blank stare. She followed Hornet quietly as the two trekked back to the diving bell, and rose to the surface. But as soon as the bell arrived at Deep Docks, she leapt away without so much an utterance. No matter, Hornet pressed on to her next journey.
She made a detour first to share the news with Ballow and the Forge Daughter. They didn’t seem much excited, only relieved that they could continue their work uninterrupted. Hornet had wondered if they were touched by the silken cursed, seeing their single focus on their service to a Citadel long gone. But as she left, the jokes and banters shared between the colleagues reassured Hornet that some bugs were just that dedicated to their craft.
The sight of Bellhart warmed Hornet in ways that surprised her. Pavo was there as usual, but there seemed to be a lot more pilgrims as well, all donning a glee not usually found anywhere in Pharloom. But it was real, and infectious. They sang, softly but steadily and cheerfully. The words rung out within these brass walls, carried not the strength of their faith or the mercy of the Citadel, but the relief of lightened hearts, being saved from a calamity.
“Miss savior, I am filled with utmost relief and joy to see you return safely. What you have offered to us, promises of tomorrow dawned not darkened, I scarcely believed it can be delivered. And yet, resounding chorus fills Bellhart once more. Please, come join us in celebrating this life no longer cut short!”
The faint echoes of bells made Pavo’s words rung like a fine song. Hornet was relieved, but she was half distracted.
“It warms me to see life returns to Bellhart. But I do not see Shakra. Where is the yellow shell warrior that charged herself to the defense of this settlement?” She asked.
“She must be at her camp up in her usual corner. She sustained a lot of injuries, but alas Bellhart lacks a proper doctor. She must be tending to herself.”
“My thanks, Pavo.”
Hornet leapt away before Pavo could response. Her Needle proved useful in stringing her over the crowd toward where she would find Shakra.
“Hornet Wielding Needle! You have kept your promise. A battle of glory you must have had, and a timely one indeed. I have kept my promise, as you see.”
Shakra spoke finely, depsite the scratches on her shell. Hornet froze for moments, before collapsing on Shakra to give her an embrace.
“Hornet Wielding Needle!”
“Shakra, relief is all I can speak to see you are here. Forgive this improper of me. I have had a long journey, yet the thought of you has always kept my needle sharp.”
“And likewise, yours mine ring.”
“While you may prefer the comfort of your own camp, as long as you are recovering, may I offer you my Bellhome? The warmth of a spa bath and the comfort of bed may accelerate your recovery?”
“My thank, Hornet Wielding Needle. I need some time to convalesce, and perhaps be encouraged by the lively air new to this settlement. If your offer still stand by when I can move my shell freely again, I will accept it.”
“You only need to ask. If I can help, I will.”
Hornet slowly removed herself from Shakra, and decided to sit down by her, watching the bugs of Bellhart turning a new page together. She shared with Shakra the journey she had made since the advent of the voided calamity to its recent conclusion. And enjoyed the commentary that Shakra had. It seemed so long ago, even if it wasn’t, when they were still journeying through Pharloom, and happened upon one another at the most miraculous wonders of this land.
“Shakra Wielding Ring. Now that there is no more charge to Bellhart, what will you do? Will you consider traveling further to find worthy foe and larger land?”
Between the celebration, Hornet sneaked in a heavy question. What would be next? She had lived this long, but it always seems her life had been tied to individual purpose at a time.
“The land of Pharloom remains dangerous, and while these bells still ring, more pilgrims will continue to arrive. I have dedicated most of my being in Pharloom to the search of my mentor, and after, the defense of Bellhart. I think I will find plenty of worthy battle still here in this land. And what of you Hornet Wielding Ring?”
She wondered what she sought in hearing an answer like that. A bit of relief swelled within her. A bit of calmness, too.
“It dawns on me now there’s much to do in the aftermath of this calamity. I should make haste to see Little Sherma in Songclave up above. And to Flick the Fixer at the Survivor’s Camp. And now that I realize it, even the bugs in Bellhart. They should be made known the truth of the Citadel they long sought.”
A sense of purpose returned to her, yet Hornet did not feel at ease as she thought she would. She had been a warrior, braving head on higher beings that rained down destruction and oppression without care. Yet, the uncertainty of the challenges to face these bugs of Pharloom, she wondered if she was sharing the anxiety they might feel. She turned to Shakra and shared of her journey, of Grand Mother Silk and Lace. Of the Weavers and the Citadel of Song’s history that hopefully, had been finally laid to rest.
“Hornet Wielding Needle, it is a fascinating tale you had shared. Though I must apologize for not properly recognize the length of the journey you have had. A bug of your finesse and station. I feel I have been invited to understanding beyond my grasp.” Shakra says.
“Yet, I feel the need to call upon your shell once again, Shakra, much like once before when I called upon your rings for Bellhart. I do not know yet what forms will this new challenge take, sharing this history with the pilgrims. Will they grieve the sacrifice they have made for nothing? Or will they cling onto that belief which bestow them a strength beyond a miracle, only to be trapped by that same source? I do not know where I stand in all of this.”
It dawned on Hornet. The few shells that knew who she was, who knew what she might be grappling with, fell for Pharloom. The Snail Shamans. Not even once did they acknowledge the risk to themselves. Their shells gone before Hornet had a chance to thank them for their sacrifices. She wondered if they had survived, how they would see Pharloom. Would they have continue on their roles, being the Caretaker and the Chapel Maid, under their guises to do a little more for the common bugs? Hornet stood up and made ready to leave as her mind wandered to the next adventure.
“Must you leave now? And not take for a moment the respite you so earned?”
Shakra’s words held on to Hornet. Even as she stood, she was barely taller than a sitting Shakra. Their eyes met.
“I have not thanked you enough for what you have done, Hornet Wielding Needle. Not only for what you have done for this land and its bug. Not only for granting my wish at the trail’s end. But for being a companion for me in this journey. We still have long days ahead. But may I offer you my gratitude now, one that has been delayed for so long?”
Shakra spoke with piercing calmness. Even a shell blessed by a Pale Wyrm like that of Hornet could not withstand such sincerity. Yet all her heart felt was warmth and serenity. Hornet sat down. For tonight, Pharloom was not in danger no more. Tomorrow can wait.
*~~*
The hallways of the Citadel was left hollow. With no silk to control, the remains of bugs laid throughout these Chambers and High Halls. It had always been a sad sight to see, perhaps veiled by the constant danger of silken bugs then. With that threat gone, the barren laid bare. Upon her way to Songclave, Hornet saw a few pilgrims here and there scavenging, still getting used to this uncertainty where no haunted bugs would harm them. They greeted her heartily, a cheerfulness not seen before. It made her wonder how she could find the Second Sentinel now, whether it would recognize the threat was no longer.
At Songclave, the air was lifted, but the festivity was not as present as it was in Bellhart. Songclave for so long had been ridden with sorrow and fear. Even at their journey’s end, wrestling with the reality of the promised reward had never been easy.
“Red Maiden, oh how I am glad to see you! When you said your effort may take you away from Pharloom, I had feared we could no longer see each other. Our prayers stay true, and you are brought back to us!”
Little Sherma exclaimed upon the sight of Hornet. At his cheer, other bugs saw Hornet, and began making circles around her. They had known her for being the Red Maiden playing the needolin, guiding the bereaved chorus. Somehow, being surrounded by this circle, she felt compelled to play a tune again. The singing felt lighter, a weight had been lifted from the heart of these pilgrims. They might not have known yet their wishes had been granted, but surely, they had felt it.
After some moments, Hornet got Little Sherma aside and began recounting what had happened. She shared with sincerity about the Citadel now crumbled and hollow, unsure how Little Sherma would receive all of this. And if it was even proper to ask him to shoulder this responsibility.
“Red Maiden, t’is a great journey you have embarked on. I am honored that you chose me to share this burden with you. I still find it difficult to believe about the monarch of the Citadel and all that befall the fate of our pilgrims. But let me share the words with our brothers and sisters. Together, we will help each other and find our ways forward!”
“Little Sherma, it is heartening to hear your courage. Though you wield no weapon, your heart and mind are sharper than barbs and blades of this land. Share the words. On my next return with supply, I will find ways to aid you in guiding the pilgrims here.”
Hornet felt relief and continued to surprise her. Had it been so intense just exchanging words? What had gripped her heart and soul this way that even the slaying of old hearts, the battle for lost child, could not compare? At least now she knew for sure, a loneliness gripped her shell. A loneliness foreign to her. She had always been accompanied by her purpose. But in identifying this new challenge, she lacked someone she could converse with.
On her way back to the Ruined Chapel, Eira the Bell Beast and her children had made great companions. Hornet did not know whether they understood her words, as she shared with them what changed. They had accompanied her throughout this journey. Aside from Shakra, they were probably the closest to watch over her. Yet even here, she did not know if the voided calamity had struck them in anyway, other than the rude awakening of a certain Bell Eater. She entertained the thought of settling down the Eira, accompanied the beastlings for an amount of time, away from the world above.
But alas, she arrived at the broken remains of the Shamans. Not even a shell left to give them a proper burial. The Ruined Chapel, once illuminated by the light of these Shamans and echoed the song of their spells, now left as hollow as the Citadel. Hornet decided. She cleaned up the remains and gave them a Hallownest gravestone. The work was done in silent. But her mind was raging with floods of grief, gratitude, anger, regrets. Her needle work was less than she was capable of, but she was so preoccupied to recognize it. What were these feelings, she wondered? Had these always been here, only shadowed by her constant fixture of the path forward? Or were they new, given to her by her bindings of others? Time lost her as she grappled with her thoughts, until the path forward beckoned her. Time to move forward, things remained to be done, Hornet told herself.
With a last look at this Chapel, one that might perhaps never see the light of day again, she saw the words left on their gravestone.
Here lies the traders of power and spell
Lives offered for the common bugs who wil never know
Graced by daughter of Hallownest
As if the Chapel spoke to her, its gate shut behind her steps. She joked to herself, may another Weaverkin never be brought to this land against her will, only to stumble upon this Chapel and bind with these remains.
Hornet next made her stop at the Survivor’s Camp and was greeted with Flick the Fixer. Utter confusion and aimlessness was the mood of the camp. With the influence of the silken haunting removed, the song of the Citadel silenced perhaps forever now, there was little left to call on these pilgrims. Their beliefs and ways of the pilgrimage remained, but perhaps the urge to begin had waned. Flick seemed to notice this, too, but alas, the bug was too focused on others than his own pilgrimage.
“Ah, miss! Wonderful to see you again. I surmise you, too, not only notice a great change across this land, but also play a role in it?”
“You guessed correctly, Fixer.”
They exchanged words, sharing what had been shared with Little Sherma and Shakra.
“Ah, this would be a great challenge to our beliefs, but perhaps a great salvation to some as well. This pilgrimage had done in a lot of good bugs, I tell ya’. But it is great fortune that for those who still want to journey to the Citadel, we can take our time and prepare better.” Flick said.
“You still deem worthy to make the pilgrimage yourself?”
“I’ve not been one touched by this silken haunting, I think not. My call to the pilgrimage has been less about the gilded Citadel and the great songs. So even without this silken thread, I am still called to it. But right now, this Camp needs me, perhaps more than ever. This location, while safe, is tucked so far away in a corner, surrounded by the Marrow’s dangers. I think it might be proper to relocate back to Bone Bottom. It will also be easier to feed off the greens of Mossland. Oh, we can rebuild Mosshome and start proper burial at Bonegrave. I will have much to discuss with the fellow pilgrim.”
There was a certain eagerness in excitement in Flick’s voice that struck Hornet at odd.
“You wish to raise a settlement?” She asked.
“Not a one that is raised, miss. A settlement we already have. Bugs are all here. I only wish to better the settlement. Make the living or going easier for any that stay or pass through. If they so choose to raise one, it is their wish. My wish is to aid only, and receive the recognition for my aid. Once we have a wish wall again, I might call on your help to gather shell shards, miss.”
He laughed heartily. How old was this bug that could speak so nonchalantly about a great change? The exchange livened her spirit a little, and she said her parting.
A last stop, one as hard as any she had made since returning from the depth. The scene remained as she had left it. Zaza, sitting there in silence, resting next to his master the fallen Garmond. His remain had shed the voided grasp. But it made poorer a sight. The sorrow so common to her now, the fallen of a fellow warrior, somehow struck harder seeing what was left behind. She sat down next to Zaza and offered words of comfort and clarity.
Since felling Garmond, she had returned to this spot frequently to check on Zaza. He stubbornly refused to budge from this spot, and offered very little in response to Hornet’s care. She often time asked permission from Eira to bring a few beastlings here to make friends with Zaza. The gesture warmed him, and the beastlings taken a liking to him, too. But Zaza would not speak, only sang chords of loss and missing.
Grief was a strange beast. Hornet thought she had a good grasp on it, having living this long with it. But her experience with her own did nothing for her in the comfort of others. She struggled with words to explain to Zaza what had transpired, not knowing herself to what end she was trying. Alas, it calmed her knowing Zaza remained safe. She would come again.
*~~*
“Miss saving! Having some time to help-help us deliver goods-goods today?” Tipp the courier greets Hornet cheerfully as usual.
It had been only a few days since her return from the Abyss, but Bellhart had changed almost too quickly. Fewer pilgrims continued on their pilgrimage. Most chose to stay here in the safety and comfort of Bellhart. They restored bellhomes and strung them up. Streets took form on the ground and, more amazingly, up in the air. The business of Frey and the Pinsmaster Plinney thrived more than ever. Relic Seeker Scounge remained indignant of the outside world as usual. Shakra had also offered her services to sell maps and if needed, protection, to pilgrims who remained adventurous. As for Hornet, she found herself wandering, helping out with the odds and ends. Despite the restoration of peace, conflict found other sources to emerge from. Thankfully, the minor disputes of common bugs only disturbed the peace of Scounge. She had rarely had to step in to smack these bugs into a more diplomatic resolution. Today, she was hoping to find a motivation to help her go to Fleatopia. The long trek through the Putrified Duct deterred her more than usual.
“Just you today?”
“My brother Pill is on his way help-help others. Pharloom is safer now, thanks to you. Pill is fast-fast to Fleatopia already.”
Hornet smiled to hide her disappointment.
“The old bug up cold requests the challenging-challenge delivery again. The lacquer to bring is sloshy-slosh. Will you help-help?”
The Mask Maker! How could she forget! Hornet agreed to the task and departed quickly. The eagerness excited her pace, and she soon found herself at his doorstep.
“Maker, I desire your counsel…”
At her greeting, the Maker removed his mask so defiantly as if he held grudge from her last time.
“A proper greeting is in order, do not miscontrue, Old One. I’ve felt the silence of the land. The stirrings of the voided threads are no more. The monarch finally accepted her fate, no doubt forced by you, did she not?”
“To the contrary, it was with her daugther that I confronted. The monarch, misguided as she was, remained a mother in her final moments.”
“Ah, and yet here we were, thinking that it was the monarch that wishing to rise to her throne once again. But now that her throne is left unseated, will your ancient bug claim it, restarting the cycle for us mortal bugs?”
Hornet found a place to sit and took her moment.
“I once affirmed with you that I sought freedom for myself. But now with this freedom claimed, I found my heritage calling once more, seeking dominance befitting my blood. I fear this is a battle not to be fought with needle and silk, but with character of shell.”
“Is this what you seek my counself for? To do what with this newfound freedom, or to give in to your nature and bring the monarch’s whim on us again?”
“Speak of me so unkindly, Maker, though warranted. You may speak some truth of it, but I feel it different. Though the station beckons on me remains the same, it is not dominance I seek, but services.”
“Ha! You managed to surprise me! Enlighten me, Old One. What is this services you speak of?”
“I once stood sentinel to a dying land… My homeland. A kingdom walked only by hollow shells. I had thought I would see the same fate fallen upon this land. And I offered my effort to this land the same as I did to my home. But here, my effort is rewarded with warmth I had long missed. I once thought of returning to my land, for much is needed to be done there, too. But there’s much this land is wishing for as well.”
“Aye. You already know ways out of Pharloom. But to walk now is to leave the job half done, you feel. So then, are you afraid that without a monarch to oppose, your services will turn into your dominance?”
Hornet nodded. To have someone who understood her concern helped her greatly in verbalizing these thoughts. They had plagued her so much these past few days, and talking with Shakra, a warrior at heart, offered more comfort than sympathy or solution.
“My apology, Old One. This is a question not meant for a mortal bug like me. My kind may live long to see the rise and fall of higher beings. But we are not privy to their conquest and power.”
“You’ve done much, Maker. My thanks. And I almost forgot. Lacquer for your long work, from Bellhart below.”
The Maker laughed. The first time Hornet had ever heard one did so.
“Though I have received this before. Seeing your caste serving us mortal bugs must remain a wonder of Pharloom. My thanks.”
Hornet said her parting and left. A wonder of Pharloom, she repeated the words to herself. Was it really so rare? Her father, the Pale King, and even her mothers, the Three Queens, always spoke highly of the obligations to their bugs. They had the powers to live themselves, these obligations merely decorated their lifespan. She unconsciously touched the cogwork core that would spin into a buzzsaw in her pouch, conjuring an ocean of homesickness and longing. Long as they lived, no matter how long the time she spent with them, it would only be further distanced away from her presence.
She returned to Bellhart that night, surprised to see a council of Pavo, Shakra, Flick, the couriers Tipp and Pill, and Little Sherma waiting for her.
“Red Maiden, we have been waiting!” Sherma, as always, greeted her with a cheerfulness that could color the Blasted Steps.
“We were discussing matters of these settlements, Hornet Wielding Needle. Your input will be much appreciated.”
“Aye, miss. What’s with the Citadel bugs being gone, we were thinking if we can do something to help the pilgrims on their journey. The roads have not been safe, but more than that, bugs from far and away still arrive in Bone Bottom to make ready for their trip up top. We were thinking safer roads are needed. But beyond that, we are blind to what else we can do.”
Hornet casted a look at Pavo. Of all the bugs here, she had thought Pavo would be most capable of this kind of matters. Pavo wore that sheepish look like when the voided calamity had just fell Bellhart.
“Resident! Steward of Bellhart I am. Governor of it, I am not. I am a guide, not a leader.”
“Pavo, I had not spoken.”
Hornet hid a laughter. This reminded her of the history lesson her mother Herrah the Beast once told. Of how the Pale King struggled for years appeasing the Deepnest clan for safe passage, and eventually gave up that effort better suited for elsewhere. Much of her father’s obsession with building and industry might prove useful here.
“We may have a lot to do. Pharloom has relied on couriers like Tipp and Pill here to provide for itself. It is hard work for individuals, but should be easier for the collective. I suggest we shall first seek counsel from all the couriers, ask of their needs and services to ensure that we have not only a safe path, but a safe route for supplies all the way from Bone Bottom to Songclave, perhaps even to Fleatopia. We should seek their permission and counsel as well, should they want to deal with other bugs not flea. Next, we need to think of housing these bugs, those who are already here, and those who will arrive…”
The more Hornet spoke, the more vigorous her words coursed through her. Even if most of these were just history lessons of the constuction and running of the City of Tears. Or, truth be told, bedtime stories when the Pale King ran out of fables more suitable for children, even one as Old as her. The more she spoke, the more this nostalgia swelled in her.
The discussion went on for hours that night, and longer into days after. Slowly, a vision was formed. Ideas were shared and deliberated among the bugs here in Bellhart, then in Songclave and Bone Bottom, now included Mosshome in it. Hornet led the effort in some of these ideas. Shakra, Plinney, and herself helped trained a few bugs interested in the way of combat and pins. She oversaw the construction of roadmarker and elevator throughout the road of Pharloom. The shape of Hallownest took form here and there, limited to only an afterimage of her heritage. She resided over meetings between bugs of different settlements and kinds now. The couriers, helpful as they were, spoke as fast as they flew, and it fell onto Hornet to relay and moderate the conflict in words and feelings of the bugs at the table. It had been hard work.
But it had been warming. And surprising, too, when one day Little Sherma greeted her like this.
“Red Lady Mentor! Hearty day to you!”
“Red Lady Mentor?”
“Oh, my! My apology if it offends you. Many bugs call you so these days. Shakra referred to you as Mentor to these bugs. Pavo had taken to calling you Lady in likeness of respect in his steward tradition. We kept adding on, and now the title stuck. Is it not kind to you, Red Maiden?”
“No, not at all, just, surprises me.”
The title sounded foreign to her, but it was not unwelcomed. In fact, it had been oddly illuminating. And kind. It clicked something in her that day.
*~~*
There were much to be done. But today, she returned to Zaza. She sat down and shared with him, while the beastlings played in the background, what she had journeyed through. What had occupied her heart and mind since that day she ascended from the Abyss. And even further, since the day her voided siblings left Hallownest.
She knew now what she wanted for Zaza. She spoke these words with the utmost care.
“Zaza, permit me to offer Garmond a proper burial. I know not of the way your village deliver the fallen. But let me offer my tribute to our mutual friend and warrior in a way that honors him.”
She took her breath. Anxiety gripped her, but she had steeled herself for this.
“And Zaza, permit me to help you live on, in honor and memory of your dear friend Garmond. His cause and yours has been met. The monarch from up high had been vanished. And now bugs of Pharloom are learning a new life. Let me help you, if not for you, then for Garmond.”
She let the words float in the air. It was not a matter of convincing. It was a matter of consoling grief. The choice was Zaza’s.
They stood in silence for longer, long until Zaza let out a screech and began digging the ground, clumsily in his own way. Hornet finally smiled of relief and joined in.
That night, a gravestone emerged in a corner of Blasted Steps. And Bellhart received a new resident.