Page 29 of The Last One
He sets up two stools on either side of a campfire. A big metal pot sits atop hot stones over the fire.
I sit on one of the stools while he fusses with the hives. “You’re lucky to work with these bees,” I say. “Ilovehoney. There’s no better taste in the realm.” Not a recalled memory—just common sense.
“This isn’t about the honey.” He reaches beneath one of the hives. “This is what I need.” He lifts the wax sheet he just harvested and trundles over to a small table with wood plates. “What’s your name, young one?”
I dip my head out of respect. “Kai, sir. And you are?”
“Jamart.” He presses the wax sheet beneath the wood plates. Honey drips from the plates and into a tub beneath the stand. He then takes the pressed wax and washes it in another tub until it’s as gold as the honey.
“Wax.” He holds up the clean flat sheet. “That’sthe treasure, Kai. Wax makes candles. Everybody needs candles. In their houses, in their churches, in their stores. Healers like Freyney need it for medicines. Coating the throat and covering sores. The rich folk with important business to do. They mix it up with resin and make seals to close their fancy documents.”
He scratches at a fresh, red sting on his neck. “I should be one of those rich folk, to tell you the truth. But my bees are dying. There’s no water. Bad air. Dying flowers. This town, it’s killing the bees.” He pushes out a breath, then says, “Let’s get to it, then, while we can.”
Candle-making is quiet work. Jamart doesn’t speak as we suspend the dripping wicks from sticks across buckets.
“Any family?” I ask. “It’s so quiet here. Other than the bees, of course.”
“No,” he says. “Wife’s passed. My daughter, Lively… She’s gone. Not dead. Just… She got in some trouble and… She’s in the jail down the way.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” A pit opens in my stomach as I remember the conditions of that horrible place. No one deserves to be imprisoned there, no matter what they did. “May I ask what happened?”
He stares at the bubbling wax. “She took down the colure that used to hang on my front door.”
Olivia’s fear at the mention of magic and her warnings echo in my mind.
“That’s horrible,” I whisper. “The leaders of this town should be driven out.”
“Don’t say that,” Jamart says quickly, eyes nervously skipping around the garden. “We’re all doing the best we can.”
I can’t agree with him, but I understand his need to change the subject. I don’t want my words bringing even more trouble to him or his family.
The buzzing grows louder as more bees dip in and out of the hives and bumble from foxglove to lavender.
“I think every bee in Maford is here,” I say, grinning, trying to lighten the mood.
Jamart laughs. “Of course they are! They want to meet our guest.”
I blush and wave my hand in small circles. “Hello, hive. Such an honor to meet the makers of my favorite thing in this realm and the next.” I cast my gaze around the garden that used to be so abundant and vibrant. “You don’t worry that your neighbors or bandits may take the hives and wax and everything else?”
The candlemaker studies his workshop, his cheer diminishing. “I think about it almost every day.”
I peer at the bubbling cauldron, the drying candles, the golden sheets of wax. “This may not mean much, but I wish you protection and peace, Jamart. This is a lovely place of respite, at least for me, which sounds a little selfish but…” I sweep my hand—this town ishorrible. “I wish to come back to your shop so I hope that it will never be harmed or looted.”
Jamart’s eyes glisten with tears. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I’ve forgotten natural kindness, and your blessing reminds me that it still exists. Your presence brings me hope.”
I force myself to smile. “I’m just here, sir. Making candles. Enjoying your company.”
“It is in your nature to be kind,” he says.
“Sure,” I say, chuckling, “but I’m just…” I shrug, confused. I haven’t gone out of my way to be cheerful, to be respectful. I am who I am. But I’m glad Jamart sees beyond my hair and my height, what I am or where I’m from.
“You’re just being yourself.” He smiles as he takes another wax plate from the last hive.
I suppose I am, and now, I have more information about who I am. I’m kind, cheerful, someone who brings peace to someone like Jamart. I like that. And I like him, and I want to know more about him. As we work, I can’t help but dip in and out of his head, a butterfly fluttering the fields. His thoughts are simple:“bees, wax, candles…”
And then his thoughts turn to…
“Oh Guardian, gentle Lady of the Verdant Realm, hear the humble plea of Thy devoted servant seeking the grace of Your divine touch. Coax life from the earth and cast Thy benevolent gaze upon my humble hives. Let their honey flow like liquid sunlight radiating the warmth of Your divine favor.”
