His Story

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Photo credit: NicksMacro

The absolute dark in Leftenant Chaz’s brain gave way to the starry dark of night. And pain. Pain in his shoulders. Pain in his—

“What the hell—?”

His wings were gone.

What happened? Clutching his head, he squeezed his eyes shut to sort out the confused images now swirling in his brain. Night raids. Captives. Flying home. A tearful young face begging to be mastered.

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Leftenant Chaz

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Photo credit: Rundstedt B. Rovillosos

Menace hung over The Arids, droning its way across the dying waste, closing in on the General’s War Council. Leftenant Chaz didn’t care that it was hours till sunrise; he and his squad flew whenever his uncle ordered.

Landing at the base entrance, the leftenant left his men to harangue the prisoners while he reported in.

“General Hai,” Chaz announced, interrupting a Council discussion, “we have prisoners. They need marking.” He turned his back and left.

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Lost?

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Photo credit: wallpapershddownload

“What do you mean, ‘the Queen is gone’?” Sam’s cry traveled farther than she’d intended.

“She’s not in the Hiverarchy. She’s gone,” the elderly councillor repeated.

Unable to imagine why her mother would leave the security of home, Sam wanted answers. “When did she leave? Where did she go?”

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Lieutenant Terrance

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Photo credit: Shikhei Goh

Lieutenant Terrance of Bog had his orders: build an Alliance army to defeat General Hai. He’d spent yesterday with Ambassador Arturo, visiting every Freelands tribe except the bees, explaining the importance of the Alliance and signing up recruits.

The first meeting on their list was with the Communal Hierarchy of Wasps. The air at the overflowing Arena thrummed an anxious whine when their ancient leader stood before them, clearing his throat with a rasp of coughs and expectorations.

“We are not accustomed to working with other Freelands’ tribes,” the elderly wasp began, “but when times change, they demand we change our ways with them. The Massacre changed our times. The Rebels who attacked us and killed our unborn have attacked others, not only in the Freelands, but in the nearby kingdoms of Bog and Fen as well.”

A low hum ebbed through the gathering.

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Tipping the Flower

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Photo credit: Katherine Ricarda

“What are you thinking?” Arturo asked Clifton.

“It should be easy — I’ll ask to stay with the Hiverarchy while I’m here. I can talk to the workers about the Alliance, and maybe start a… buzz.” They both grinned. “Kýrios may be the Most Revered, but he’s not a dictator, he’s an advisor to their Queen. He’ll listen to the majority even if he doesn’t agree, and he’ll share what he hears with her.”

“What if he still advises against joining?”

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Kýrios

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Photo credit: Steven Falk

They’d done it. The new Alliance Council had crafted an agreement every tribe in the Freelands agreed to honor. Well, every tribe but one. The Hiverarchy of Free Bees had declined all invitations to join the proceedings.

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Reunion

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Photo credit: Nick Garbutt

“Excuse me, Ambassador,” a member of the newly formed Alliance Guard murmured to Arturo, “troops from Bog have arrived. A Lieutenant Terrance would like to speak with you.”

Momentarily diverting his attention from the Council’s discussion about observing different funeral rituals within the Alliance Army, Arturo replied, “Show them to the staging area and bring the Lieutenant here when he’s satisfied with his troops’ accommodations.”

On Arturo’s other side, Barry asked, “Da Knights are here? Would youse be all right if I go along to see ’em? Dis seems ta be windin’ down, an’ everybody’s gonna need some sleep soon, so how’s about if I come back dis afternoon?”

“That works for me, friend.”

Barry jumped out of his seat. In two leaps, he’d caught up with the Guard. “Lead the way!” he urged.

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Honored Guests

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Photo credit: Mark Berkery

As the sun touched the horizon, they followed the dry staccato of an ancient cough and found the venerable leader of Freelands’ wasp community plucking dinner from a stalk of grass.

“Honored One,” Elliot called, “please forgive us for interrupting your meal. Thank you for inviting us to continue our conversation about creating an alliance between the Freelands, Bog, and Fen.”

“Elliot?” the creaky old wasp squinted at him. “Elliot! It’s good to see you and your friends, young sir. We didn’t expect you until tomorrow. Here, join me — have a bite to eat.” He held out a wiggling morsel that Barry’s tongue found almost before the invitation was extended.

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The Verdict and Breakfast, Too

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“Arturo, son of Miguel and Valeria, regarding the charges that you are responsible for the return of the rebels and the devastation they spread throughout our people’s homes in the Freelands, we find it is possible the rebels would not have come back if they had achieved their goal to begin with. Therefore, we find you are inextricably connected to the massacre.”

Arturo closed his eyes.

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