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The first time Hornet was taken to see the city, it overwhelmed her. Too bright, too loud for one still used to her mother’s nest. The palace was at least calm. The city was nothing of the sort.
It occurs to her that if it was more then like it is now, dead and drenched, it would have hurt her less.
She sits on a ledge on the outside of a tower, high above the ground level where soldiers still follow their old patrols. Any sounds they might make are drowned out by the quiet rain, and most of the old lights are broken or dead.
Somewhere behind the wall at her back is the memory of music, so clear she imagines she can hear it.
She was taken here to see a singer once. She was young and angry, because it was easier to be angry than scared. She hated the city and she hated her handlers and she wanted to go home. She remembers squirming, biting, trying to run away, and then the singing started.
It floored her. Struck her through and washed away the pain and fear of the city.
Singing was never a thing in Deepnest. Music, yes, but not like this.
She came back often, as she grew up. The only reason she ever braved the city on her own, sometimes even sneaking out through the servants’ elevator just to go and listen to the song.
Now, the singer is dead, the city is quiet, and the rain is playing tricks on her mind.
She should move, perhaps. Find another place to sit that isn’t haunted by lost music, but the whole world is ghosts now. Her mother is sleeping, the Queen locked away, Vespa dead, her father missing, her sibling bound. Everyone is gone, is dead, missing or mad. At least this haunting is a pleasant one.
Movement catches her eye. A bug sneaking around below. One she hasn’t seen before.
A newcomer, not infected by light, not moving like it’s strong enough to fight the ones that are. An outsider, but not a warrior, just an old bug with a long beard, making their way through the rain.
That’s good. An outside warrior, Hornet would have had to kill. She does not feel like killing, today.
Still, she needs to investigate, needs to ensure this newcomer poses no threat to the old seals, so she rides her silk down to meet them.
She says, “What is your purpose here, stranger?”
The stranger startles upon her arrival, but rallies quickly, meeting her defensively. “I am Lemm, relic seeker, and while I don’t know what business it is of yours, I am here because Hallownest is by far the most fascinating of known ancient kingdoms. Why, it is the place to be for those of us dedicated to history!”
The ‘ancient kingdom’ part leaves her wrong-footed. The rest of the world has left them behind. It is always strange to be reminded.
“Why?” she asks. “What is there to gain? This place is long dead, its inhabitants mindless or turned to dust. There is no one left to be remembered.”
“Why… but that is exactly why, young lady!” He gives her his full attention, regardless of the mindless soldiers still roaming the city around them. “There is so much history that would otherwise be forgotten! So many marvels one has to work actively to preserve! All one has to do to see an example is look up!”
He gestures towards the ceiling, hidden in shadow far above, and despite herself, she looks, rain getting in her eyes.
“The city was already in peril when it was built, did you know?” he asks, continuing without waiting for an answer. “The water flowing from above will eventually drown this place. When the city was still bustling, there are stories of entire clans of bugs dedicating their lives to maintaining the ceiling, so that this would not happen. Most bugs living here never even knew they existed! But, it is said, if you had sharp eyes and knew where to look, you could spot them on occasion, flitting along up there.”
Hornet blinks against the rain. She remembers being little, hating the city and most everything in it. She hadn’t known then, but she vaguely remembers seeing something moving far above and wondering what it was.
She says, “And now that they’re gone, the city is drowning.”
“Maybe so,” Lemm says. “Though, I have a theory there are some left to patch up the biggest leaks. After all, we still only have this steady, even drizzle, and no cataclysmic flooding. They were supposedly amazingly good at hiding. A few might well have avoided the calamity that wiped out everyone else.”
It’s hard to believe, but Hornet doesn’t know much about how flooding works. “Still here, maintaining a city of ghosts? It seems pointless.”
“Oh, I suppose they’re doing it for themselves, not for the ghosts. They still live here, after all, as do several of us.”
It’s a strange thing to consider, the few cognizant beings still left in this place, finding a way to live in a space not fit for living. “Is that why you are here as well, digging up forgotten things? For your own sake? To satisfy your curiosity?”
Lemm huffs. “No need to be so hostile. I am hardly hurting anyone. One would rather assume the dead would appreciate being remembered, were they capable of appreciating anything.”
“You should be careful to assume such things.”
“No? You don’t believe the dead of this place deserve to be remembered?”
Hornet’s grip tightens on her weapon, mind flashing to too many people who have been remembered too thoroughly. “They deserve to rest. Many things here did not die properly. You are stirring up old ghosts better left alone.”
Behind Lemm, an old infected soldier is wandering too close. It will spot them soon enough. Hornet shifts her weight and keeps her eye on it. Lemm seems not to notice at all.
He’s indignant now, saying, “I can hardly allow superstition to get in the way of my search for knowledge.”
“Superstition?”
The soldier spots them. Hornet throws her needle. It passes over Lemm’s shoulder, piercing cleanly through the soldier’s chest. It falls lifeless to the ground as she retracts her weapon, and Lemm looks back in shocked surprise.
She says, “This ancient city is still haunted by the living bodies of its dead. When you kill them, they are still there on your next pass through. Did you assume you were imagining it?”
Lemm blinks at the crumbling husk. “Ah, I didn’t even notice… thank you, Miss, that could have ended very badly.”
“It always does, in the end.” She fixes him with a glare. “You’re entirely defenceless. Why are you here? Are you really so willing to throw your life away for your own curiosity?”
“Oh yes, any day of the week. You are not yourself at all curious as to what happened here?”
What can she say to answer that?
Aside from his regrettably admirable dedication, no, she’s not curious. She doesn’t have to be. She remembers well enough. If she didn’t… maybe she would wonder, but she doesn’t know. She can’t allow herself to dwell on would-have-beens.
Maybe none of this matters. If they’re lucky, if the strange little vessel from Greenpath is what she suspects, hopes, this might all end. They might be able to put the kingdom to rest.
It might take her with it.
Does she want to be remembered, afterwards?
There is a mercy in being forgotten that she has been longing for since everything went wrong. There is too much wrong here, too many tragedies that deserve to be buried and left, but she herself does not want to end, does not want to die, will fight needle and claw to avoid it.
“I am curious as to what comes after,” she says. “I would like to know what becomes of this place once it stops killing people. What happened before is less important.”
“The hope is that one can learn from history, so that what comes after might be better, is it not?” To his credit, he is less focused on her now, is keeping an eye out for other threats, though there are none near.
“No matter how much you know, there is little mortal bugs can do against the gods.”
“Oh, I don’t know about gods. They make for interesting stories, but I’ve always found the actions of bugs to be more interesting.”
No gods, huh?
Hornet looks up towards the darkened ceiling again. With every god of Hallownest fading or gone, that might become a reality soon. Will bugs still be able to live here at all? Will things grow, water flow, children learn to think?
There were no true gods in Deepnest that she knew. Maybe all of Hallownest will grow to become more like it was, in her childhood. Bugs working with bugs, building and weaving for their own sake, selfishly or together. Maybe there will still be singing.
She wants to live to see a kinder world than this.
“Have you started dreaming yet?” she asks.
“I’m sorry…? Miss, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, if you don’t know, it hasn’t started.” She looks at him to make sure he’s not about to disregard her. “Dreaming of light. It was always the first symptom. Eventually it starts haunting your waking hours, but by then it’s usually too late. I doubt you’re the kind to be able to resist it. Almost no one is. If it begins, leave.”
“I am certainly not going anywhere on some passing bug’s command!”
“Advice, not a command. You made your way here, you can find your way out if necessary. If you dream and stay, you die, but I care little about your decision as long as you don’t wake anything too terrible.”
“…Miss, are you implying…?” he begins.
She doesn’t hear the rest. Lemm is frustrating but harmless, unlikely to damage the seal or plunge Hallownest into yet another tragedy. The only reason left for staying in the conversation is politeness, and there is no one left to enforce that for her, no handlers, no civilized rule, only herself and the ghosts.
She casts her needle towards the darkened ceiling and rides her silk away.