Who is the Queen of Dying?

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It was decided that the journey would start early in the morning, mostly because that’s when preparations were finished. Twister and Myco would lead, with Twister managing the soldiers and burrowers, and Myco managing everything else. The ants selected for the trip were alerted by couriers.

It was Chop who sought out Fern and told her she’d be coming along, much to Fern’s surprise. At first Fern was suspicious, but a quick bout of snooping proved it was true. Okay, we’re off to a good start. One thing’s gone right, so far, Fern had thought.

Now she was with Chop near the main entrance of the colony.

All the ants had been given lightweight rations of nectar or juice in hollow seeds with the instruction to save them for the Ancient Colony’s depths. The scholars carried bundles of rolled up leaves. After ensuring everyone understood the plan and the route, they set off. A crowd gathered to watch them until they disappeared into the brambles and their scents were blown away in the breeze.

The walk started off peaceful. The giants were an ever-present threat but avoidable so long as they stuck to the center of the thicket and traversed the proper pathways. Sharp thorns that the birds were wary of only harmlessly glanced off the insects’ bones, if they were somehow clumsy enough to bump against the huge things in the first place. Even better, there were no grasshopper sightings.

Soon, the cloud of unease that had settled around them dispersed, and some small talk started up. Twister allowed it.

After she was certain that she wouldn’t be lectured at for speaking, Fern turned to a wasp marching alongside her and coughed. The wasp must have thought it was hilariously squeaky, and that did wound her pride a little.

The wasp tilted her head to the side so one eye looked down at the swarm of ants beside her. Her eyes were covered in spots and splotches of brown and amber. “Eh? Who’s that?”

“Hi. It’s me,” Fern said, “I wanted to ask something.”

“Go on.”

“So, back at your hive there was a wasp named Frond,” Fern said, “She told me about this thing called the Queen of Dying…”

“Mm,” Dapple said, “The Queen of Dying. She is a fierce hunter, a bringer of disease.”

“Disease is bad, though. And you have a song about praising her.”

“True. Disease is bad, but when something is killed by her, we get to eat, so there are reasons to sing our praises. Like after a successful hunt, or when we find a dead mouse.”

“But couldn’t she also kill you?”

Dapple nodded. “Of course. The Queen can’t afford to be picky with prey any more than you or me, and we know to be careful of her wrath… but a little ‘thank you’ never hurt anyone.”

“I guess not.”

Fern wondered if the Queen of Dying was real. If a deathborn could be real, why not her? Then she had another thought. “What do you mean by wrath?” she asked.

“Famines, plagues, those kinds of things. You know, I was just talking with Twister about this earlier…”

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Twister groaned from the front of the swarm without turning to face them.

“No, no,” Dapple snapped, although it was more good-natured than irritated, “I didn’t get to say it last time because you were so busy huffing and puffing. Besides, a story will help us pass the time.”

“Just be quiet about it, I’m in no mood to fight preybugs.”

“Of course, of course,” Dapple nodded, “You see everyone, way back when, many generations ago, there were grey-shelled ants. We wasps weren’t too friendly with them, but we weren’t enemies either. Mostly, we just stayed out of each other’s way. Although, sometimes they ate a wasp or we ate an ant, as tends to happen.

“Now, normally we don’t care much about the histories of other bugs. You’ve got to focus on yourself, keep the grubs fed, write your own stories and all that. One day, though, some hunters noticed some strange things by the grey-shells’ place. We saw in the graveyard that there was growing a pile of bodies filled with deathroots, and our hunters were coming home with rooted prey.

“We started talking to those ants, worried the disease might cause us trouble. And the hunters had noticed non-ants falling ill, too. Well, the grey-shells had made a grave mistake, they’d dug right into the chamber of the great Queen of Dying, and she had cursed them for disturbing her rest. They didn’t realize it, of course.”

Twister scoffed.

Dapple ignored her and continued her story in an even lower voice, “We offered them help. We had a plan, you see: A big heap of food would be just the thing to put her at ease. Enough for her to take a long rest once more, so long as her nest remained undisturbed.”

“Did the ants take that advice?” Fern asked.

Dapple shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, “I just know that eventually, there were less and less ants coming from that nest entrance, and then there were none at all.”

“When I was a larva, someone told me a story about wasps being compelled to walk into that nest and never return! I had nightmares in my cocoon!” a yellowjacket added, “That’s why we don’t dig anymore.”

Fern opened her mouth to speak, but Dapple cut her off.

“The story’s not over yet, there’s one more part. The Queen wasn’t done with the ants. The story goes she crawled out of her nest to hunt the last of those flying ants down, but our queen, Mighty Queen Elm, bravely defied the Queen of Dying’s wrath.”

Now Fern was highly interested. “What? Really?”

“Yes,” Dapple said, “Disease followed her wherever she went. All kinds of other creatures were getting sick, they say even the plants and mushrooms were getting all shriveled up, so Elm gathered up her best hunters and prepared a feast for the Queen of Dying. She sealed her and all the dead bugs that could be found underground. They say there were some ants still alive that helped, but I don’t know if I believe that.”

“And the Queen of Dying stayed down there until now?” Fern asked.

“Depends on who ya ask, and whether who you’re asking wants to scare ya. Anyway”—

 “Wait a minute, you believe in this Queen of Dying thing, but don’t believe an ant or two could’ve survived a plague?” Twister asked.

“Plagues are efficient things once they get going. You lot were lucky, though, ya got a warning first.”

“We were. But efficient? We’ve got spotted bugs running around.”

“That is weird,” Dapple admitted.

“A mercy from the Queen after all these seasons, maybe,” a wasp suggested.

“A proper mercy would be taking the stupid root back to whatever underworld it crawled out of.” Twister’s tone was bitter.

The wasps all looked at one another and shrugged.