CHAPTER 6 : HONEYED HAVOC

“Chaos is all around us. There are infinite paths to one destination. Think of them like unnecessary strings that fray from a grander tapestry. Cut those strings and weave them into something new.” ~Maral Becken, Havoc Tips And Tricks

NILAH

There’s something strange about the farm boy.

First of all, what kind of name is Egg? Did his mother hate him? I wouldn’t be shocked, he’s a horrid little urchin if you ask me. And an idiot. And skinny as a scarecrow. Havoc help me if I ever have a son like him.

Second, he’s a boy. Historically, boys aren’t allowed to live in Little Abbey. For various reasons. It’s supposed to be a place of refuge for witches, and men can’t see or manipulate havoc anyways, so there’s no point in trying to teach them.

Third, he never shuts up.

“I was a king, I was important, you should all be bowing and kissing my feet bla bla bla.”

At first I just assumed Bavetna needed help with planting and grounds maintenance and picked up the nearest half-starving orphan she could find, but now I’m not so sure. She disappeared in the middle of the night last week, and the next morning he was there, hauling sacks of fertilizer and complaining about everything.

We study the rooster for a while, trying to get him to nod his head or gesture with a wing, but no matter what we do he won’t comply. He just watches us.

It’s creepy.

“Either Norasmus is dumber than looks, or he’s messing with us,” Egg says.

“How do you know his name is Norasmus?”

He shrugs. “That’s what Bavetna called him. All the chickens have names,” he starts pointing, “that brown one with the spots is Radish, that one with the floppy tail is Lily, eating that beetle is Pippit...and then there’s Augustine.” He shudders. “She pecks me every chance she gets.”

Good for you, Augustine.

I scratch my chin, thinking. “Well, havoc, when used in large quantities, can sometimes alter nature over time. Maybe living so close to Little Abbey gave him intelligence?”

“You keep saying havoc like it means something.”

Ugh. How do I explain havoc to a potato farmer who may or may not have been a king? “It’s,” I gesture broadly, “everything.”

“Oh.”

“But also nothing.”

“Great,” he says sarcastically, “thanks for clearing that up.”

See? Waste of time.

I shake my head. “Never mind. Let’s leave the rooster. The honey won’t collect itself and I’d rather get this punishment over with.” I lead him away from the coop and towards the fish pond, where a small circle of young poplar trees grow, casting a net of shade.

He slows down.

“Hurry up, I’m not doing this by myself.” I pause to look back. His hand is in his pocket, and he’s eyeing the trees uneasily. “Are you afraid?” I ask, holding back a laugh. “It’s just honey weevils.”

“I’m not afraid!” he says far too quickly and too loudly, cheeks red.

Sigh.

“Look, you’d have to be the unluckiest boy alive to run into two undershadows in one week, and we’re well inside the perimeter—” I stop myself, rubbing my chin, “then again, you are unusually clumsy—”

“Did you say weevils?”

“Yes, so be quick. Their stinger-snouts can cause nasty burns.”

“But...doesn’t honey come from bees?”

“Sure, regular honey.” Was he born yesterday? “This is woodpepper honey.”

He stares at me blankly.

This is going to be a long day.

“All you need to know is that it’s excellent on toast and can warm you up, even in the dead of winter.”

“I wanted to see a bee,” he says, face falling in disappointment.

He says weird stuff like that a lot.

Egg must have noticed my expression of disbelief, so he explains further. “Starfloat is too high for bees, and too windy. We have our honey imported.”

Uh-huh.

I open my mouth to reply with something biting, but my name is called from the stone bridge that arcs over the pond. My heart drops to my feet. Oh no.

Revory is leaning on the bridge’s wall, mouth slanted in a smug grin. Her hair is tied in a ponytail to match mine, but is bright red, like a fox. Around her are a group of fellow students from our advanced class.

They wave, giggling.

I immediately turn and poke Egg in the chest. “Embarrass me in front of my class and I will make that undershadow look like a mewing kitten!” I hiss.

He raises his hands innocently. One is still holding his lunch. “How about you collect the gross beetle honey and I’ll go back to clean the baths?”

Part of me thinks that’s a fantastic plan. He’ll only slow me down. I’m also slightly concerned his clumsiness is infectious, but I ultimately shake my head. “No, the Warden will know if I let you off the hook. This is supposed to be a punishment.”

“If they didn’t want us eavesdropping they should have talked quieter,” he mutters.

I crack half a smile, then scowl. He is definitely not funny. “Just follow my lead,” I whisper and walk across the bridge, chin up. “Hello, Revory,” I say cheerfully.

“Nilah.” She smiles, her voice is sickly sweet. “Be careful. I’d hate to see you get burned.”

“Your concern warms my heart. Good work on yesterday’s assignment. What you’d get again? Third place?”

“Second.” Her smile disappears and her green eyes flick over to Egg. “Glad to see you're making friends with new people. Especially those in high places. What did he called himself again? The Homeless King?”

The girls snicker.

I'll give credit where it’s due, that was a good one.

Egg looks down at his feet. “The Endless King,” he says under his breath.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Sure,” Revory flicks her ponytail over her shoulder, “and I’m the High Maelstrom of Starfall.”

I grab Egg by the elbow and drag him with me to the other side, beneath the shade of the poplar trees. “Don’t let her get to you. Her daddy was a merchant who dropped her off the first chance he got. Her own parents don’t like her.”

“Shocking. What’s your excuse?”

“Hey! I saved you at the well, need I remind you? And I helped you in the baths—”

“Set the baths on fire—”

“No. That was...” I flare my nostrils, close my eyes and inhale deeply. “Never mind.” There’s no point in explaining the unusual flare of havoc I pulled from. It was probably a fluke anyways. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The honey weevils are contained within a domed net of chicken wire that encircles the tree glade. I unlatch a small door and duck inside. “Okay, so I’m going to conjure smoke—”

“I’ve had enough smoke to last me a lifetime, thank you.”

“It’s harmless. It’ll just make them sleepy. Once the smoke is thick enough you can reach into their hives and collect—”

“Why am I the one reaching into anything?!”

“Will you stop interrupting me?!”

He falls into brooding silence.

That’s better.

“Collect the combs. There’s ten hives and you can only take one per hive, otherwise they’ll stop producing honey.”

“Isn’t there protective equipment? Some kind of shield?”

“The Warden uses this as a teaching exercise. She likes us to think on our feet.” We approach the cluster of wicker domes at the center of the glade.

“Why are the hives so big?”

“Shh, I’m concentrating.” My brow pulls together and I reach out with my senses for havoc.

The world around me shimmers, and light rises like a wave of water, blinding my vision. Yet I can see so much more.

There’s an anthill next to my left foot, they’re deciding which way to tunnel. A bluebird is making her nest two trees over, and choosing where to place a fine piece of string she collected this morning.

Locating sources of havoc, for some reason, is much smoother than it was in class. It’s like someone turned the faucet on. Is this how the masters feel all the time?

Giddy, I draw from the anthill, directing their tunnel away from a spider nest. The undecided path gives just enough of a spark to fuel a simple smoke spell. I weave the rune in the air with my index and middle finger squeezed together—a spiral with a tail that points downwards.

A trail of smoke rises from my palm. I direct it towards the first hive, soaking the dome until the steady humming lessons. “Go,” I say.

He hands me his lunch, which I tuck into my skirt pocket, and cautiously tiptoes over to the dome. He rolls up his sleeve and reaches inside. “This feels gross.”

“Just grab the comb. Hurry up.” I focus on keeping the smoke steady. The havoc source was small, it won’t last long.

He pulls out a comb the size of his torso and nearly drops it in surprise. A sleepy-eyed honey weevil is perched on the netting. Its long, needle-like snout is drooping downwards, and its beady black eyes are misty. It yawns.

“I thought they were bugs!”

“They are.” I roll my eyes.

“This is as big as a cat!” He holds it at arm's length.

“Just put it back in the hive. We have nine more to go.”

“No thank you. I’m not touching it. Don't you have servants for this?”

I’ll kill him. I’ll strangle him. I’ll feed him to the weevils I swear—

“How’s it going, Nilah?” A sweet voice calls from behind us. “Weevils giving you trouble?”

“No!” I shout back. My smoke screen is fading. I refocus on it. “Everything is fine!” I lower my voice and direct my best death glare at him. “Do it, chicken legs, or I’ll throw you down the well myself.”

He squints one eye at the weevil, the corner of his mouth pulled back in disgust. Slowly, he sets down the comb in the grass, picks the bug up like a bomb, and slides it back into the hive.

I call on the bluebird again, who is deciding whether to go hunting for worms or collect more colorful threads for her nest. Collect more threads, I nudge, and conjure an image of a bundle of bright red threads by the pond.

She takes off and I snatch her unused path, winding it around my core like a ball of yarn. I sign the symbol for smoke again. Egg manages to collect four more combs without incident, shaking off any weevils as he goes.

I hear a sharp scream from the pond.

“Get it off me, get it off!”

SPLASH!

The bluebird flies back to her nest, pleased with herself, holding a verifiable treasure trove of red hair.

Serves you right, Revory.

“Um, Nilah?” I return my attention to the hives and freeze. My smoke is gone.

A very awake honey weevil has crawled out of its hive to perch on the top of the wicker dome. Its nose is perfectly straight, pointed at Egg and lit with a small flame at the tip. It flaps its wings, creating a humming sound and more weevils crawl out. The furthest nests we hadn’t reached yet are suddenly swarming and black with weevils.

“Pick up the combs, slowly,” I whisper.

Shaking, he lifts the pile of combs to his chest and backs away.

A dozen more stingers torch up, shooting flames in the air. The humming grows louder as their wings beat in unison.

“Run!” I shout and dive for the dome’s door.

There’s a yelp behind me. I burst out of the dome and Egg somersaults through the door shortly after. The combs snap and break at his feet, but that’s the least of his concerns.

His pants are on fire.

I slam the door shut, lock the weevils inside and leap backwards as their snouts shoot flames at me through the wire.

SPLASH!

Egg is in the pond, steam rising around him. He’s accidentally fallen on Revory, who is flopping in the mud like a dying fish. “Get off, get off, get OFF!” She squeals and kicks him in...well...a sensitive area.

He rolls over, groaning.

Revory stomps out of the pond, soaking wet, and casts me a look of death. “This is all your fault.” With a final shriek and a stomp of her foot she escapes back to the tower. The girls, having had their show, follow.

Without saying a word, I gather the honeycombs and walk over to Egg.

“You okay?”

“No,” he says, eyes shut, his voice a full octave higher.

Guilt gnaws at my insides. This was my fault. I lost my focus when I played that prank on Revory.

Just like the baths.

Normally, an unattended fire will just burn itself out. Girls have forgotten to close the tinderboxes before. But the havoc I used was...different. There hadn’t been a source, exactly. It was just...there, readily available to draw on, and the flames I conjured kept burning long after they should have.

Turns out, the unluckiest thing to happen to Egg was me.

He stands up and flicks off the mud that’s caked on half his face. His hair, normally wispy as a field of wheat, is plastered to his forehead and neck. There’s a burnt hole on the back of his pants, but luckily his oversized tunic covers most of it.

“Tirma can patch that,” I say.

“I’d rather jump off the tower roof.”

“Understandable.” I bite my lip. “Come on. Let’s eat lunch.” I walk over to the wildflower garden and sit against the wooden fence. setting the honeycombs beside me. Marigold and harebell petals brush the back of my neck as they sway in the breeze.

He sits next to me, though edges away, like I might eat him.

I hand him his bundle, and he unwraps it. The egg sandwich is soggy by now, and the apple is pathetically small, but he bites into it like he’s been starving for a month. His eyes close. “I could kiss Yendy.”

I laugh, but it peters out. This is...awkward. I bring my legs up to my chest and smooth down my skirts. The sun is warm and the air smells like oncoming rain. Gray clouds are rolling in from the mountains.

Half a sandwich is placed under my nose.

“Here,” he says.

Surprised, I take it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We chew in silence for a few minutes.

“So,” he says through a mouthful of potato, taking minuscule bites to savor it, “explain havoc to me again.”

This startles me. He sounds genuinely curious. I consider it for a moment. “Okay. Havoc is like this sandwich.” I hold up my half. “Part of it went to you, but part of it went to me.”

He keeps chewing. “I’m not following.”

“Havoc is like...the leftovers. The uneaten half. It’s the other piece of the sandwich. You made a choice, and left another path behind.” I rearrange the bread so the lettuce is on top. “You take all the unchosen bits of the sandwich and create something new. That’s havoc.”

He nods slowly. “I think I get it.”

“You do?”

“No.”

I hang my head and exhale through my nose.

“But it isn’t you. I’m probably not smart enough to understand it.”

“Well, you do only know useless things,” I grin, “like how to play the lionette tarbuckel.”

“It’s an underappreciated instrument.”

“Sure it is.”