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Hornet expected somber news when she first saw the humble pin on Bellhart’s wishing wall. It didn’t call out for attention. It was a simple matte green with Shakra’s recognisable scrawl, bearing her trademark expert craftsmanship. Hornet thought it may have been crafted out of the carapace of one of those bile-bugs in that wretched swamp.
It extended a hand to Hornet, beckoning her to return to the swamp. It read that Shakra was in need of her assistance. Hornet thought of Shakra, tall, proud and strong. She didn’t think the journey bode well.
Still, she gently removed the matte green pin from the Wish Board, web of wishes, woven fabric laden with hopes. She had granted wishes before. This time felt different. Hornet mumbled for the Bellbeast to be just a little faster. Her steps held just a little more urgency as she climbed the rotted wooden planks in Bilewater. Higher and higher, until she saw the remnants of where Shakra’s humble camp used to be. The firefly pit had long been put out. A cave opened behind it, spilling blue light onto the muddy green-grey swamp grounds.
Hornet thought of the Temple of the Black Egg. Something holy but sad.
The air was tingling with Shakra’s pheromone tracks. She must be near. The writhing maggot sludge disappeared into the blue rocks, and for the first time, Hornet saw clean water in Bilewater. It poured down from great gaps in the ceiling, like cracks in the sky leaking bits of heaven. Was this how it used to be, before something horrible happened to this place? Over the roar of the water, Hornet heard a low familiar hum.
“Shakra!” She called out, and instantly was a little embarrassed. Her voice felt so small amongst the thundering waterfalls. Goal accomplished though. She saw an iconic amber shape rise behind a cluster of rocks.
“Poshanka! Hornet wielding needle. I have heard that name said with reverence throughout this land.” Shakra’s voice never wavered, but Hornet sensed it contained a stoic sadness.
Hornet had known death since before her first moult. On her travels she had seen her fair share of corpses. But the body of Shakra’s master held a quiet kind of dignity that she had rarely seen. It wasn’t slumped or fallen over, but rather sitting cross legged in eternal meditation, mask pointed up at the cracks in the roof. A heavy chain of tan beads was draped around its neck. Not rosaries, but some charm beyond this land. The body looked almost small next to Shakra’s towering form.
“I expected somber news when I first embarked on this journey.” Hornet offered her condolences.
“She met her end through old age. In my culture, that would have been seen as a great shame,” Shakra’s voice cracked, and for a moment Hornet saw a glimpse of a younger and more inexperienced warrior-in-training. A child crying for her mother. “However I am proud of her. I called her Master, but she was my mother just as much – or even more – than the bug who’d spawned me.”
“She had chosen a fine place to come to rest.” Hornet murmured. Such a death wouldn’t be easy to take, but just like it had come to Hornet, Shakra would be a stronger warrior at the end of it. Hornet felt a sudden urge to place a claw onto Shakra’s shell to comfort her, but ultimately elected to keep a respectful distance.
“My Master’s wisdom persists even now. Would you join me in song-sending?”
Hornet was a little taken aback, but equipped her needolin all the same. She didn’t consider herself the most skilled player – she had only recently picked it up in her travels. She wasn’t sure if she could give this great bug an appropriate send-off. But a true warrior honours their promises. And so Hornet began to play. Shakra sang a more somber version of her familiar call - the proud, ancient song of a faraway people. Although Hornet did not understand a single word, she felt the ache of it all reverberate throughout her shell. No doubt, Shakra’s master would be proud to see where her young prodigy stood after all these trials and travels. For the first time, Hornet understood Pharloom’s obsession with song. Music happened when bugs felt emotions too great to be contained in words.
The two bugs’ warrior-song became entwined in a synchronised dance. The steady drum of the waterfalls helped them keep rhythm. For a moment they weren’t two orphans but warriors who had travelled to the end of the world and conquered it. Yes, they had made it to the end of the world. They had come out bruised, but alive and triumphant.
Hornet thought of the long sticky days of Shakra’s search for her Master. Together they had climbed higher and higher towards Pharloom’s crown, journeys running parallel with one another. Yet they had found each other and traded and conversed. Two young warriors with a different end goal in mind. She was sad to see Shakra go.
“Much thanks for granting my wish, Hornet wielding needle,” Shakra said softly, after their combined crescendo faded and was lost to the crash of the water. The green carapace piece seemed to dissolve into nothing in Hornet’s pocket. Another wish in a long line of wishes granted. Hornet wondered what drove her to keep granting wishes for nothing in return. But she was nevertheless glad she had done this for her tall warrior companion.
“You are most welcome, Shakra.” Hornet breathed.