I perch at the edge of my chair as Sarah explains her visit to her close friend, Jeff, while he lingers hopelessly within the clutches of a psychiatric institution. Oddly, she believes him. And again, not as author but simply as passive listener to her family’s saga, I believe her. He is clear-eyed now and renders a tale unto Sarah that is fantastical. He and his wife are in France. He is a relic hunter. That is genuinely his profession, or was, and he discovers a trinket whose contents absorb his mind and body instantly. Once opening the tiny relic, he involuntarily is made captive to an onslaught of images so fraught and full of dark sights all in the name of France’s ancient formation. His wife especially has no idea of his unearthly ravings surrounding the Kings Childeric and Clovis. Magic, madness, and history on the brink clash over and over in a light show that explodes behind Jeff’s eyes. So what of him? What of his wife? What of the creature that brought this all into being? I don’t understand it yet. If I tell you all that I have heard, might there be hope? Might you have an answer? Help Sarah. Help me. But please, if not us, help Jeff.
Sting of the Golden Bee