Page 20 of By the Moonbeam and the Mist
After a hearty breakfast of cocona and scrambled eggs the next morning, we all headed out for our first classes.
Now that we were second-years, we’d be starting our week off with Ms. Pincette rather than A History of the Esholian Biome, much to Rodhi’s delight—he was practically skipping down Bascite Boulevard as we joined the flow toward campus.
Still, it was strange not to head directly to that musty classroom Mr. Fenway had once haunted, where we’d first learned that bascite came from faerie blood. Stranger still was the idea that somebody else would be teaching in his stead, since Mr. Fenway had fallen ill and passed away last year. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember much about his death beyond that he’d had some sort of fungal infection… which made me wonder if Steeler had been involved in that memory too, somehow. If he’d killed Mr. Fenway just as he had Fergus.
“How long till you think Rodhi jizzes in his pants?” Wren muttered, wrenching me from these thoughts as we crossed the estuary bridge and came to the courtyard where all the different sectors branched off. The angle of the sun made the Testing Center cast a long shadow over half of it, as if trying to cloak that spot where Jenia had been hauled away.
“Uh.” I swapped glances with Emelle, who was biting her lip. “I’m going to pass on trying to imagine anything related to Rodhi’s jizz.”
“Hey.” Rodhi whirled and pointed an accusing finger at us. “I canhearyou guys tittering. Be warned—say one bad thing about my manly cream and I’ll set an army of spiders on you.”
Wren stopped and clutched her throat, gagging.
“Oh,ew. My breakfast just came back up.” She resumed walking, her hand still clasped around her throat. “By the orchid and the goddamned owl, Rodhi, never saymanly creamagain or I’ll have Gileon beat you up.”
Gileon, of course, heard none of this; he was too busy lagging behind, discussing weightlifting with the rhinoceros beetle that had apparently stuck with him after the Branding. The beetle sat on his shoulder much like how Willa would sit on mine, occasionally fluttering its shelled wings when it got to a passionate part of the conversation.
“Alright, I’ll see you weirdos later.” Wren waved to us at the entrance to the Wild Whisperer section, looking relieved at the prospect of parting ways. “I’ve got Predators & Prey with Mr. Conine, so hopefully I’ll encounter something dangerous enough to take my mind off the taste of vomit in my mouth. Have fun with your new lover, Gil!” And she whisked away down a side passageway.
“Nuisance is not a lover,” Gileon called after Wren halfheartedly, then looked down at the small, horned creature on his shoulder. “He’s a very special friend. Aren’t you, Nuisance?”
The beetle cheeped ayes, and Gileon followed Emelle, Rodhi, and me down the familiar twists and turns to Ms. Pincette’s classroom with a grin widening his face again.
The Wild Whisperer sector vibrated with life, as always. Monkeys chatted to each other on rooftops, tossing cringy jokes back and forth and pulling each other’s tails. Birds—kingfishers and honeycreepers and herons—traded gossip as they swooped and zoomed over our heads. I could even hear high-pitched, breathy voices every time we passed a cloud of butterflies, although we didn’t pause long enough to listen in.
Before long, we were back in Ms. Pincette’s classroom, and it almost felt the same as last year. Except now I wore aslitted dress instead of pants, a knife handle pressed against my thigh beneath it, and I was all too aware of an unknown drug circulating through my body. I didn’t feel any different, but perhaps it had yet to take hold.
“I won’t tell you to settle down,” came a punctual voice I hadn’t heard in months. The last time I’d seen Ms. Pincette, she’d looked much too pale in the face of Dyonisia Reeve, but could I blame her? I was practically pissing myself at the thought of seeing Dyonisia again, especially to tell her I couldn’t manage the task she’d given me.
But when Ms. Pincette snapped the classroom door shut and turned to face us, I saw that she looked much better than before. Her chestnut hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, her eyes glistened with their usual sharp intensity, and her chin was once more held high. Only the vaguest hint of undereye circles told me she might still be haunted by… something.
“I won’t tell you to settle down,” Ms. Pincette repeated, walking back to the head of the classroom, where a single, cloaked tank stood on a pedestal, “because you are adults, and it’s your own lives at stake if you don’t take this class seriously.”
Thatshut everyone up. I’d never seen Rodhi go so still in his seat beside me, every hair on the back of his neck on high, predatory alert.
“Now.” Ms. Pincette swung to face us once more, her hands clasped behind her back. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed the surplus of insects around campus lately. It’s just our luck that we have a plethora of fire ants willing to help us learn about…”
She unveiled the tank before her with a graceful flourish.
“… the hive mind.”
CHAPTER
9
Hundreds of flaming orange ants scurried around the tank, which Ms. Pincette had filled with waxy leaves and twigs. This far away, I couldn’t hear more than their endless, raspy droning, but a small part of me shivered at the way their voices seemed to echo each other’s.
Because they were all chanting the same thing, I realized with a jolt. Connected by more than just their formations and lines.
At that thought, the dull ache in the back of my head gave a jolt of its own, like it was trying to jump out. Fire ants.Fire ants.I’d known a fire ant once. Had talked to one. I was sure of it.
But I couldn’t remember how, or why Steeler might have taken that knowledge from me. What did fire ants have to do withhim?
“Ants,” Ms. Pincette said, and my eyes jumped back to the front of the classroom, “have a special connection with each other that we as humans will never achieve. Their memories are collective, not individual, and they are able to transmit pieces of information to each other via the very air. Which…” She gave arare smile down into the tank. “Comes in handy if you need to talk to someone over a great distance, for our ant friends can then relay those messages for us.”
It took a few blinks from all of us before Ms. Pincette seemed to refrain from rolling her eyes and repeated herself.
“Wild Whisperers can talk to each other from across the very island, if they wish. As long as they utilize the hive mind.”
