The Honey Jar

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Jars of honey. Image by PollyDot from Pixabay.

She brewed the best mead across the breadth of the Empire. There was no need to be humble, it was just a fact. Her secret was the bees. She leaned over and delicately opened the top of the hive and inspected inside. She made sure there was no damage, brushed away any cobwebs that had built up. As she worked she began to hum a light melody that rose and fell, echoing around the empty glade where the hives stood. If you protected them from rain, kept mice and bears from damaging the hive, and made sure the queen was happy, then you could produce good mead. She didn’t make good mead. She made great mead.

After a few moments she stopped humming and her soft voice took over. This was how you made great mead - singing. She carefully removed a section of honeycomb and held it over a glass jar, watching the honey creep its way down and into the container. When it was half full she attached the lid, replaced the honeycomb, and reassembled the hive.

If she was being truly honest, the years collecting poisons and lethal venom, brewing them into deadly concoctions had given her some helpful experience. In comparison, turning this viscous honey into heavenly mead was child’s play. She examined the final hive, the bees inside working away as she sang. She reached for the half-filled jar and froze, suppressing a shiver that crept up her spine. Something was watching her.

Another skill she had picked up over the years. A feeling she knew all too well. She also knew she had limited options. She could reach for one of the dozen blades she had hidden about her body, but she had no idea where the threat was. The glade was surrounded by densely packed forest. No, she had to wait. Let the attack come and trust her instincts to keep her alive. She picked up the jar of honey and started to make her way out of the clearing.

She looked down the track that led back to her inn. The path was draped with overhanging branches, the floor covered in tangled weeds, grown thick in the early spring. If she started on that path she would never see an attack coming, and the terrain would make fighting back difficult. Her best chance was to stay in the glade; from the centre she would have a clear view in every direction.

She stopped and placed the jar on the floor. Leaning down she pretended to adjust her boots. Her ears strained, waiting. The attack came fast, straight ahead. The beast tore through the dense wood, its vicious snarl ripping through the morning stillness. She dove to one side, out of its path, withdrawing a small blade from her boot as she rolled. She came up in a crouch, knife ready to strike if another charge came.

The beast lurched around, steadying itself. She had a clear look. It stood on all fours, the bulk of its body hunched over its front legs. Twice the size of a horse and draped in a thick coat of matted fur. Two tusks jutted from its thick round head, protruding from the curtain of fur that covered its face. A behemoth.

She had read about them during her training and since retiring she still heard the occasional tale from travellers. Herds of them had roamed the northern woods before the Empire had decimated their population during its early expansion. Rumour was most of them had migrated further north, away from the ever growing Empire. She didn’t have time to question how it came to be this far south. She needed to focus on taking it down.

It charged again and she rolled as fast as she could. For such a brute it had surprising speed. It came round rapidly for another attack, she tried to dive around it and bring her knife into its hind quarters. She misjudged her timing and was knocked into a heap. She righted herself quickly and tried to recall what she little knew of the beast. Not the cleverest creatures, but an impeccable sense of smell paired with brutal strength made them deadly. They were also stubborn, once they caught the scent of prey they would endlessly track it across any terrain. Eventually while its prey was resting, or because it had collapsed from exhaustion, it would come crashing down with its enormous hooves, crushing the life out of you. That didn't bode well for her. All it had to do was wear her down, eventually she’d make a mistake, then it would be over.

The behemoth spun around, nearly knocking over one of the bee hives. The hive rocked gently in position. With that much fur it must struggle to see. But that didn’t matter, that wasn’t how it hunted. She looked at the head of the beast, then at the beehive, a thought forming.

She risked a quick glance to her left and right. The sun glinted off the jar of honey to her right. Somehow it had survived, she must have dropped it when she dove out of the way. It lay a few strides from a tree trunk at the edge of the glade. She might only have one chance to take this thing down, if she missed she would be crushed against that tree.

She darted suddenly, sprinting, hoping to reach the tree before the beast caught up with her. She felt the ground below her feet rumbling, she knew better than to risk looking behind her. Lungs heaving with effort, she threw herself the last few steps and swept the jar up in one hand. She tumbled through the air and let the jar fly under her body, flicking it up, directing it towards where she hoped the beast's head would be.

She heard the glass smash. Then she felt the massive impact, first her back, a heartbeat later the front of her body suffered the same fate. She had avoided the tusks but its head had caught her, sent her reeling into the tree. All the air had been knocked out of her. She propped herself up on one elbow, struggling to catch her breath, and looked towards the beast.

It had backed away and begun circling the centre of the glade. Its face was dripping with honey, now the only thing it could smell. Without that sense it couldn’t easily find her. It stomped its feet in fury. She eased herself back onto her feet, using the tree as a support. Even when stunned the beast was dangerous, she couldn’t risk getting closer to kill it. One stray hoof and she’d be dead in an instant, a streak of blood across the grass. She withdrew a long thin blade from her sleeve. Her breathing was ragged but her hands were steady. She waited a moment then let the blade fly. It cut through the air and struck clean, piercing the centre of the beast's oversized head. With a thud it collapsed into a heap of fur.

She approached its body and rested her hand on its neck and gently patted the strange creature's neck. There was something under the dense layer of fur. She buried her hands deep and pulled, a leather strap had been tied around its neck. She pulled it loose and found a small metal capsule attached to the long strap. As she unhooked the capsule the small metal cylinder fell open and a piece of parchment unfurled in her hand.

There were just three words scrawled on it: see you soon. She sighed as she rolled the parchment up and secured it back in the capsule. She had spent half her life making enemies. This was hardly a surprise. In all her time, there was one thing she had learned - nothing lasts forever, especially peace. She turned away from the behemoth's carcass and looked at her hives. Well, if she was lucky she might have enough time left to make one more batch of mead. She walked towards the hives, her hum once again filling the peaceful spring air.

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