The first rains had ruptured the invisible membrane of the new season. Life sprouted forth, manifesting fresh opportunities. Termitomyces had pushed forth its fruit. The termites barely had time to observe the change, so engaged they were in reconstructing the upper portion of their magnificent tower.

It was the king who first called attention to the emerging mushrooms. From the darkness of the innermost chambers, he could sense their arrival. The mushrooms were already becoming fertile, reproductive; and with their ascension and opening he, too, felt a certain arousal that went unfulfilled.

"It's time for reorganization of the colony!" he proclaimed to his attendants. "We have adapted over time to gain advantages over our enemies, and recent events have illustrated the incompetence of our system. Now, we're entering a new season; it's the perfect time for our colony to blossom. We must grow strong against these drivers!"

Other termites began to hear concerned murmurings about the king's dissatisfaction. Sebastyana, hard at work on the termitarium, was delayed in hearing the news. At length, the worker Dmitria approached her in a state of perplexity, wanting Sebastyana's input on the latest development.

"What do you think of this? The king plans to ask Termitomyces directly about our situation; he intends to spin the cosmic wheel."

"What?" Sebastyana paused in her work, utterly confused.

"The king plans to access the mushroom for advice," Dmitria explained.

"Advice on what?"

"Have you not heard?"

"No, it seems I haven't."

"The king is dissatisfied with our defense of the colony against the drivers."

"Is he? Why? What could anyone have done better?"

"He believes we need to evolve," Dmitria explained. "He wants Termitomyces to direct us on how to improve ourselves against the drivers, so that we may defeat them more swiftly in battle. He's going to ask directly, by feeding off the mushrooms. Workers are collecting portions of the mushrooms now."

"Now?" Again, Sebastyana was dumbfounded. "Did I miss the ceremony? I would have liked to participate."

"No, there was no ceremony. The king believes it best to access the mushroom as soon as possible."

"Is he skipping the entire ceremony?"

"Yes, it would seem so."

Sebastyana slammed down the muddy brick she'd been holding. "That nitwit!"

Dmitria was surprised by Sebastyana's exclamation. "You speak of the king in this manner?" she asked.

"I do. I've had some unpleasantness with the king, and . . . oh, I don't know what I'm saying. It does no good to get angry. But I'm not at all pleased by this nonsense. Termitomyces requires ceremony; it doesn't like to be taken lightly. The king should know this as well as anyone."

"But surely Termitomyces will understand our predicament!"

"Fungi are widespread and engaged with countless cares, my friend. Termitomyces may be our partner, but we are not its main concern; nor are we its only colony, and it will take care not to spoil us. Any termite should approach the mushroom with shrewdness and humility. Fungi will serve their own purposes."

"Aye, so I've heard; but we've done much good for the world, and certainly Termitomyces will find favor with us," Dmitria insisted.

"Let's hope so," Sebastyana murmured. "And let's hope that the king comes to his senses, and Termitomyces finds favor with him as well."

The reproductives had left their sheltered cove near the nursery; their wings were broad, their bodies fully formed, ready to leave the nest when the rainy season was at its climax; but for now, they were content to gather round the king. His majesty's personal chamber was cramped and warm. Termites made way for the arriving bits of mushroom, and then closed again in a tight circle.

"We brought you portions of the stem and cap," Liana explained, offering one of the tender morsels to the king. "Your inquisition is taking place at just the right time, sir. The mushroom is at its finest; it has bloomed well, but has not been transgressed upon by other insects."

"Excellent!" The royal termite accepted both portions that were offered him, lifting the fleshier, darker one to his mouth. "I suppose I should eat from the cap first. That's the head of the mushroom, and we need its critical thinking skills, yes? Oh mushroom, thank you for being there for us; please help us in this time of need. I approach you ceremonially and with deep respect. Et cetera." The king bit into the mushroom and began chewing away.

Termites watched in awe as the king finished his meal and waited for the mushroom to begin communicating. No one had accessed the mushroom in years; the termites did not know what to expect, but they knew the legends well. The mushroom was supposed to speak through spectacular, vivid visions. This technique was novel for termites, who normally had little or no vision; their eyes were nearly blind, detecting only shadows and blobs against dim splotches of light. Many termites writhed with envy at the notion of receiving splendid visions from Termitomyces.

At length, the king began murmuring to himself. His observers gathered more closely.

"What is he saying?" someone asked.

Gerard, the king's attendant, turned toward the speaker. "Quiet," he hissed.

The king's words clarified a little. "It's my responsibility," he said in a low voice. "Tell me, and I will tell my termites. It's my station in life. Give me the power . . . ."

He trailed off, and was silent. The others waited motionlessly in the dark chamber.

It happened that the king had, indeed, started receiving visions. Vibrant, colorful forms had burst before him, gracefully intertwining to form a new setting. Presently, he was seeing the mushroom; it was a slender creature with a spinning cap, blooming in a damp, mossy garden, and on the stem were two eyes that opened and closed. It blinked at the king as it spoke.

Ooey rahuh eerev enough time rut, the creature said in clipped, clear notes. The king listened in awe. It was some sort of cryptic message, some foreign language he couldn't understand. It had a cadence not quite like the termite language.

Ooey rahuh eerev enough time rut . . . ooey rahuh eerev enough time rut . . . . The creature nodded, as if to prod the king to translate the message. Ivahdah eenehm sphal.

"Ivahdah eenehm sphal," the king repeated carefully.

Back and forth, they repeated the words; the mushroom spoke, and the king tried to mimic the speech.

"Ooey rahuh eerev enough time rut. Ivahdah eenehm sphal . . . ."

At last, the vision began to slip away. The king was aware of the reproductives gathered closely around him. He felt a twinge of dismay as the colors faded, leaving him once again in the stuffy darkness.

"What's this?" he snapped. "Give me some room to breathe, will you? You're sucking up all the oxygen. How do you expect me to have visions when I can't even function properly?"

"Our apologies, sir," Gerard began. "You had asked for an audience; we did not mean to impede upon you. Do you mean to say you didn't have visions?"

"Of course I did."

The termites waited expectantly.

"I received a mystical, magical message from Termitomyces. It was uttered by the mushroom itself. I saw the mushroom, animated like us; it looked at me with two eyes, and it had a wide, fleshy mouth. It gave me a message." The king paused.

"What was the message, sir?" Liana asked carefully. "Were we given instructions?"

"The message was spoken in Termitomyces' own language. It's complicated . . . I can't expound on it yet. I need to meditate." The king settled toward the rear of his chamber, turning his back on the others. "I need to meditate now," he clarified, when his audience failed to depart.

"Of course, sir." Gerard waved the others away. Termites filed quietly out of the chamber.

"I'll wait outside," Gerard told the king.

"Please do," the royal termite replied, but abruptly he turned and hailed Gerard. "Wait a moment. I did get an important message that was meant for all termites, and perhaps I should share it before I go into meditation. Termitomyces kept telling me 'ooey rahuh eerev enough time rut, ivahdah eenehm sphal.' I was made to memorize the phrase. The manner in which it was spoken was mystical in itself; I only need to meditate, and interpret it, as Termitomyces wishes. There is a need for contemplation . . . ." He turned his back again. "I know what was intended, but I lack understanding of the specific words. It's hard, even for me, to explain the mushroom's ways."

"Of course, sir."

"Good. Well then. I'll need some time alone. My session with the mushroom is not over."

"Yes, sir." Gerard slipped out of the chamber.

It didn't take long for the outcome of the king's quest to be known among the colony. The worker Sebastyana had some opinionated words on the subject; she was working side by side with Dmitria, who tried to listen objectively to Sebastyana's proclamations.

"That's for the best, it is," Sebastyana said. "Garbled nonsense that can't be interpreted. It's just as well. Now we can focus on our work, and stop worrying about all this silly evolution business. We can hardly evolve any more than this."

"But that's not true, Sebastyana. What would we know about evolution? Termitomyces knows more than we do, and even Termitomyces knows very little. We are minute in the scheme of things; let's not forget that."

"Ah, I suppose you're right. I should stop fretting over the king's behavior. It does me no good; it simply fills my body with tension, and slows my work."

Sambo, who had been working on the lower portions of the mound, approached the two termites and greeted them cordially. "Hey, my fellows; I hope that your minds are at peace."

"So do I," Sebastyana muttered. "And you, is your mind at peace?"

Sambo paused, and Sebastyana sensed a certain disconcertment about him.

"Is something the matter?"

"No, but I come with some news. The king has interpreted his vision."

"Did he have a vision? I thought he just heard some utterances."

"Well, he did. I mean, he got a message, and he did see the mushroom in his visions. The mushroom spoke to him directly . . . ."

"So what does the king say now?" Dmitria asked. "Does he have some advice for us?"

"He says that we have not been spiritual enough in our daily lives. Termitomyces requires ceremony, and we are being asked to build a shrine to it, and to attend services at the shrine, so that we may earn its favor and its protection."

"What?" Sebastyana spluttered. Her tone was sharp. "What shrine? What services? What are we supposed to build?"

"I'm not sure. The king is asking for a party of workers to start building it. He's designing it now, down in the lower chambers."

"Did he explain the nature of the services?"

"No, not yet. He wants us to build the shrine first."

"And how should we know how to build it, when we don't even know its function? Oh, this king . . . ." Sebastyana shook her head. "All this he derives from an incomprehensible utterance? We're not ceremonious enough in our commitment, in our daily toil, and the king - who can't even bother to perform the mushroom ceremony - is admonishing us for not being ceremonious enough? I tell you . . . ."

"You are displeased?" Sambo asked.

"Yes . . . but perhaps I should wait and hear the king before I judge his plans. I'll go down there now, and join his team of shrine workers. I would like to know what he's concocting for our colony." Sebastyana shook the dirt from her claws and started down the mound, with Dmitria following close behind.

They found the king already in the midst of his instruction. His voice floated down the corridors as Sebastyana and Dmitria approached; he gave orders, laid plans. As the two termites entered his chamber, they found him drawing out some sort of mural on the wall.

"What's he doing, then?" Dmitria asked another worker.

"He's drawing up a miniature plan for the shrine," the worker replied in a low voice. "He wants it carved into the outer walls of the mound, so other insects and mammals can see it. It's supposed to depict his vision . . . I think he's drawing himself standing next to the mushroom."

"Drawing himself into the shrine, is he?" Sebastyana muttered.

"Hush, Sebastyana," Dmitria whispered. She crept closer to the mural, gingerly pushing her way through the crowd.

"There," the king was saying, adding a few light scrapes to the wall. "That's it. That's the vision right there."

Termites gathered around, lightly running their claws and antennae over the sketch. The chamber was silent as the first observations were made; then, as the minutes passed, the workers began to murmur quietly.

Dmitria was shaking her head, returning to Sebastyana. "That is hopelessly ridiculous," she said in a low voice. "He drew a huge smiley face with two google-eyes on top."

"This meeting is ridiculous," Sebastyana replied quietly. "We should be out there working on the mound. We're totally vulnerable right now."

"Everyone knows that. Listen to everyone muttering; I'll bet there isn't one termite aside from the king who thinks this is worth our while."

The king addressed the group, his voice strong and confident. "I'll take six hundred of you and put you to work straight away; the initial design can be laid out on the exterior of the mound, on the western side, facing the forest. Then you can start laying on the finer details. I want this completed before the end of the week. In the meantime I'll be composing rituals for the ceremony. We can start worshipping a week from today; this will be our holy weekday from now on. It will commemorate the day that I accessed he mushroom."

Sebastyana waited in frustration. None of the other workers were speaking up; they stood about and exchanged subtle, nervous gestures. She carefully took it upon herself to confront the king. "Please, sir, I think that most of the workers would like to continue repairing the damage caused by the . . . ."

The king's face burned with fury as he turned on Sebastyana. "You're full of observations that never seem to amount to anything," he admonished her. "Perhaps you'd like to confront Termitomyces yourself, and rebuke its offers of protection. Are you more highly evolved than Termitomyces, or any higher in rank than your king?" Sebastyana clearly heard the smugness in his voice. She restrained her words with difficulty.

"I would appreciate fewer interruptions," the king continued. "We will do as we've been told. You, on this side, count yourselves. About two hundred of you stay here; study the sketch, and get to work." He gestured impatiently and then stood off to one side, watching his children as they scuttled around his artwork.

Sebastyana and Dmitria ascended slowly toward the surface. "Termitomyces told us to make this drawing? I don't believe it," Sebastyana said. "He keeps changing his story. First he gets an unintelligible message, and now he says he was told to set up a shrine. What is Termitomyces going to do to protect us - rise up from the ground, and strangle the ants with its mycelium? I have a mind to access the mushroom myself, and see if I can't make something of this nonsense."

"Our king seems a bit disorganized," Dmitria agreed. "Why on Earth would he put our workers up to a task like that, when we haven't even -"

The tunnels suddenly echoed with cries. Sounds of pandemonium drifted through the termitarium.

"What now," Dmitria muttered tensely. The two termites rushed to an outer gate, looking out at the eastern landscape.

"Damn." Dmitria took a couple steps back from the gate.

"I'm going to warn the others," Sebastyana said, disappearing back down the tunnel.

An aardvark was approaching the eastern wall; it poked its nose around the base of the mound, finding a vulnerable spot where the rains had washed away several layers of mud. Its assault was quick. The base began to disappear under the long, curved claws, coming away in huge chunks. The upper portion of the nest was quickly exposed.

"Soldiers!" Darius was shouting. "Everyone here at once! Gather on the eastern side!"

The great monster poked its sticky tongue into the nest, withdrawing dozens of frantic termites. Dmitria heard their screams as they disappeared into the watering mouth.

"Attack it," Darius commanded loudly. "Crawl up its sides. Bite its eyeballs. Glue its eyelids together. Come on, everyone at once, go; we have to get rid of it, or we're done for!"

Soldiers rushed onto the mammal. Several more were licked up and swallowed before the animal finally retreated, thrashing and rubbing its wounds in the dirt.

Chaos ensued until the dreaded animal was gone. Termites gathered around the exposed nest, frantically trying to cover the vulnerable areas. Hours passed before they could pause to lament the dead.

As the repairs continued, the king insisted that the shrine work not be delayed.

"Oh, we need our workers now more than ever," Sebastyana moaned, "and still the king insists that we build a shrine. I tell you, soon there won't be anyone left to admire it."

"I think the king is doing rightly," Sambo replied, passing chunks of dirt to the other workers. "It will do us good to convene and honor Termitomyces together. We even have a new devotional chant: Ooey rahuh eerev enough time rut; ivahdah eenehm sphal!"

"How will that do us any good?" Sebastyana protested. "We're not separate from our spiritual acknowledgements; we honor them in everything we do. All our actions are performed with the spirit in mind. Our home is a shrine; it is a functional acknowledgement of our spiritual duties and our blessings. Termites are not a selfish lot, and we always work together."

"Perhaps so, but we can always improve. A holy day may help us keep our focus."

"Yes, a holy day spent admiring a picture of our king."

"Now you're just being accusatory," Sambo admonished her.

"I suppose I am. But I tell you, I have a mind to access the mushroom, and see if something hasn't gone wrong with all this. It's only the king's authority that makes me hesitate. And it's only the king's authority that compels workers to build that shrine. I overhear many complaints, and I know that most termites are unhappy about it."

"Perhaps that will change," Sambo suggested, "once we start worshipping."

"We shall see," Sebastyana replied. "In any case, I don't believe that Termitomyces is so vain as to ask us to worship it above the Spirits."

Construction on the mound and the mural went on for days. At length, sounds of alarm rang once again through the termitarium; the same aardvark had returned for another meal, its dripping snout aimed for the same area it had ruined before. The animal's frightening claws ripped away at the mound as soldiers rushed out to meet it.

"Get that thing away from here, once and for all," Darius urged the soldiers. "Teach it a lesson. Don't stop attacking until its eyeballs are shredded. Swarm over all its vulnerable parts. Climb into its nostrils; suffocate it."

The aardvark's claws had already done significant damage, uncovering much of the nest. Desperate and determined soldiers met the animal with unprecedented aggression; the aardvark shrieked and scrambled away, thwarted by the savage attack.

"All right; get to work, termites. We've . . . ." Darius froze. In the distance, he heard a familiar whispering sound. Thousands of tiny legs were approaching the mound, creating the shiverings and clackings he'd heard only days ago.

A swarm of ants, thousands upon thousands, was sweeping toward the termitarium.

"No," Darius said softly.

The nest was still wide open; there was no time for the workers to close it up.

"Soldiers, the drivers are coming. I need a few thousand of you to surround the nest opening," he shouted. The soldiers immediately rushed to the base of the mound, positioning themselves expertly; but Darius felt only a deep, knowing dread, watching the advancing horde. Millions of ants flowed toward the colony in a bloodthirsty wave.

There was little that could be done. The colony was about to suffer tremendous losses, and everyone knew it.

Perhaps because of this knowledge, everyone fought fiercely, exposing themselves to all the necessary sacrifices, yet maintaining a certain order as well. Inside the nest, rows and rows of termites lined up, creating a barrier between the ants and the royal chambers. Thousands of workers hurried to fill the gap in the mound and other vulnerable places, while others simply surrounded the gaping wounds, as if to prevent them from infection; and hundreds more joined in the battle, using their small mandibles as weapons against the invaders. They clamped down into the ants' softer tissues, maintaining their hold even after they died. Many advancing drivers had to drag the decapitated heads of such termites with them. Darius watched the scene with a mixture of pride and grief. Then, a frantic worker called to him from below:

"Darius, we need more soldiers in the nest. The drivers have found some of our underground tunnels."

Darius shouted orders, gave encouragement, offered praise. Soldiers and workers poured back into the nest, dividing their warriors between the above and the below. Darius thought it best to run down and check on the royal couple. As he traveled the cool, dark tunnels, he heard an enormity of assaults below. The sounds filled him with dread. Drivers were already filtering into the nest, and if they weren't stopped soon, they would overtake the royal chamber.

The fungus gardens were in disarray, ripped apart and depleted by scavenging ants. Seemingly endless lines of drivers slashed their way through the city of termites, dismembering or devouring their victims. Darius scrambled to find an available route to the heart of the nest, locating one at last and rushing to the innermost chamber, where workers had packed themselves thick against the onslaught.

"We're going to evacuate the reproductives," Darius told them. "I need a group of you to go ahead of them and ensure their safety. The drivers are advancing from the west. Take the reproductives through an eastern route. Tell the soldiers on the way to go to the outer exit with you and guard the reproductives during take-off. Do it now." Darius fled ahead of them, gathering soldiers as he went.

The crowd around the royal chamber thinned out as workers began to depart. Racing through the deep, wet tunnels, they led the reproductives from their lair at the edges of the nursery. A wave of termites flowed into the eastern soil. Workers flattened the ground at the exit, creating a take-off pad; the mass exodus was thus kept orderly. One by one, the winged ones flew away from the gate, doused by the beginnings of a gentle rainstorm. Workers and soldiers prayed for the safe journeys of their sisters and brothers.

The royal chamber was strangely quiet. Termites stood immobile, simply waiting for the battle's outcome. In earlier days, the queen and king had taught their children not to fear such events as these; the colony was, after all, just a colony, and its time would pass just as everything else passed. The most devout communities, the mightiest conquerors, the most determined survivors had come and gone, and would come and go again. Termites had only to do what they could in life. They were not exempt from the fate of all things; nor was death an ugly fate, for death reunited creatures with the Spirit, and nourished new forms of life.

As the echoes of war battered the chamber walls, Gerard wondered if the workers couldn't do more to protect the colony. "Perhaps we should try to evacuate the royalty," he suggested.

At his side, the queen and king were silent.

"Too late," someone replied. "Listen; they're all around us."

The walls began to crumble. The scraping, whispering sounds of the drivers invaded the crevices, exploding into slashings and rippings as the ants broke through and set upon the crowd.

Above, the sky was thickening with clouds. Swollen rain drops pelted the earth, sending crippled insects and corpses sliding down the walls of the now miserable termitarium. Sebastyana was left standing in the still gaping wound of the upper nest as the small remainder of drivers finally gave up and retreated to the west.

A band of monkeys, undeterred by the rain, had taken an interest in the unprotected mound. Sebastyana watched silently as they scraped away at the mound and poked thin blades of grass into the nest. Disoriented and exhausted termites responded with final bursts of strength, clamping down fatally on the vegetation; the monkeys slipped the grasses into their mouths, sucking off the termites and swallowing them.

Sebastyana mumbled a protest, and then fell exhausted into the mud.

Days passed without much activity. Mammals and insects alike seemed to have passed off the ruined termitarium as a useless graveyard. Termites crawled among the wreckage, salvaging what they could of the gardens, tending their wounds, nurturing strength. The healthy ones began to clear out the tunnels, tirelessly disposing of battered corpses. The king's body was the most difficult to carry. The queen's body was not so difficult to transport; she had been devoured almost whole by the drivers.

Flood waters had washed some of the reproductives back down into the tunnels. The event had been a blessing; now that the royal couple was gone, a new queen and king had to be selected. Termites gathered to choose and initiate a female and male from among the winged ones. The feat was performed quickly by the tired colony. They left the chosen couple in front of the king's shrine to complete the initiation; the two reproductives broke off their wings and immediately commenced to mating.

Miraculously, the shrine was still wholly intact among the ruins.

Sebastyana had nothing but bitter words for the phenomenon. While others spoke of miracles and meaning, she refused to believe in the shrine's magic. "What good has it done us?" she demanded. "We wasted our energy on this silly wall picture."

Workers voiced their disagreement. "But why, then, is it still unflawed, when everything else has been marred?"

"Because it was built at an inverted decline, so the rains wouldn't wear it away. That's why," Sebastyana retorted. "Can any of you really make sense of this shrine? Termitomyces prayed for a partner, but it didn't create us. The Spirit created us, and yet the king claims that Termitomyces wants us to worship it. I must speak to Termitomyces myself; I cannot rest until I have done it. Dmitria, I would like you to personally assist me with the preparations, if you will. All termites are welcome to join in the ceremony. I would be overjoyed if you all would celebrate the occasion with me."

"Are you sure that's the right thing to do?" a worker asked. "It would be like disrespecting the king."

"Would it? All termites have always been welcome to speak to Termitomyces, but with reason and respect. I believe I have both, and I know the ceremony; so I will conduct it, and hope that the fungus will respond with compassion."

Sebastyana set about her work as soon as the nest was in reasonable order; the ventilation shafts were just good enough, and the mushrooms were just slightly past their peak. As Sebastyana and Dmitria scoped the fungal blossoms for suitable portions, they were greeted by the small gang of beetles who had taken up residence there.

"Good day to you," Sebastyana said distractedly to the curious bugs. "If you don't mind, we'd like to take some of this crop that we have helped cultivate."

"And how do you like the mushroom?" Dmitria inquired.

One of the beetles, hovering large and ominous above them, responded. "It's all right in here. The spokes are a bit too close together for me, but it won't be a problem once they've rotted away a bit."

"They get in your way, do they?"

"Well, I like to nestle in between them."

Another beetle spoke up: "It's good enough for me, and I say if she doesn't like it, she should find a larger mushroom."

"Hey now . . . like I said, I won't be leaving any time soon. I thought you'd reconciled yourself to it."

"Well, I liked it better when it was quieter, that's all."

"See how you'd like it if a predator came to settle here, instead of me."

Dmitria interrupted gingerly. "Now, let's not argue, if you don't mind. My companion and I are here on a spiritual quest, and would like to go about it in a peaceful atmosphere."

"What spiritual quest?" the larger beetle asked.

Sebastyana turned from her inspection of the mushroom and hailed her friend. "Here, I think this part of the stem will do. Will you be so good as to remove this portion? I'll go up and see to the cap."

"Of course, Sebastyana." Dmitria turned her attention again to the beetles. "My friend there is doing a walking meditation, so you'll have to forgive her lack of conversation. We're performing a mushroom ceremony. The mushrooms give us visions when we eat them."

"Visions, like what?"

More beetles and small flies poked their heads from the mushrooms, suddenly intrigued.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I've never done it before. But termites tend to have visions regarding spiritual conflict and harmony, or about upcoming dangers."

"Are you for real?" the second beetle exclaimed.

"As real as I am standing here right now. And if you'll excuse me, I'll just remove this portion of the stem. See, we're not taking very much. Just one small piece of the stem, and one small piece of the cap. I'm sure it won't be a bother to you."

The insects continued to chatter as Sebastyana carefully made her way over the caps, first testing one, then another. Her claws and antennae roamed gently over the spongy material. She sought an area that contained just the right moisture, just the right firmness and freshness. Finally, she felt a tingle of recognition; she had found the right section of the mushroom.

Sebastyana scooped up a sizeable chunk and carried it back toward the base of the moundlets. "I've found a good piece, Dmitria."

The two termites recited prayers of thanks to the Spirit and to their friend Termitomyces before departing. As they started away, the other insects began poking and scraping at the surrounding mushrooms, hesitantly consuming large portions of the cap.

"Well I'm not getting any visions yet," the larger beetle said after a few minutes had passed.

"I hope that changes. Perhaps you will envision a new place to live," the second beetle replied.

The sounds of bickering and laughter faded as the two termites headed into the recesses of the nest, still singing their offerings of respect and thanks. Sebastyana reached the chamber where some of the other termites had convened for the ceremony. This chamber was part of the fungal garden, left in tatters by the invasion. The termites offered food to what was left of the inhabiting fungus.

When all the songs and offerings were finished, the group quieted. Sebastyana bowed her head and began to devour the mushroom pieces.

Then, she waited. Several minutes passed before her perception seemed to change.

As she'd anticipated, her vision began to sharpen. If it had happened all at once, it would have completely overwhelmed her; but it changed little by little, coming in gradual bursts of color and sharpening edges. Animated objects loomed before her. The darkness faded. She was in a network of vines, connected by transparent sheaths. She could finally see what the vines looked like. She realized she was looking at the fungal garden, although it seemed to have expanded and mutated. The fungal vines stretched and thickened before her. Unidentifiable objects began to float along the pathways.

In the center of the matrix was a bare spot, laid out on the ground like a stage. It began to crack. Something sprouted from below, flexing itself against a barrier of earth.

Slowly, the life form rose up. It was dirty white, streaked with faint brown, straight and slender. Its peak began to unfold. A mushroom cap opened up, and below the cap was a face; eyes and a mouth were visible on the stem.

The eyes opened up. They were black on white, little discs floating in huge eyeballs. The mushroom had silly-looking google eyes. Its mouth smiled wide.

Ivahdah eenehm sphal, the mushroom said. Its cap spun and flapped.

Sebastyana didn't know how to respond. She simply waited in silence.

Ivahdah eenehm sphal, it repeated, nodding its head in encouragement.

Sebastyana spoke hesitantly. "I've come for help for my termite colony and the forest life around us. You prayed for our creation, so I've come to you . . . ." She trailed off, uncertain about how to proceed. The mushroom's ridiculous appearance had thrown her completely off track. "You're the mushroom, aren't you?"

The mushroom smiled its gaping, happy smile and didn't respond. Sebastyana almost forgot about the purpose of her visit; she suppressed an urge to burst out laughing.

Ivahdah eenehm sphal, the mushroom repeated.

"I'm afraid I don't know what that means," Sebastyana explained patiently. "Perhaps there's another way you could tell me. Perhaps you could show me. I've been told that you give termites visions, that you explain things by . . . ."

All at once, everything around her changed; she could hear the force of the transformation. Bam. The vines were gone, and she was suddenly looking down at herself, a pale termite in a darkened chamber. She could hear the impatient rustlings of Dmitria beside her, and the whispering of air as it moved in and out of her spiracles.

The vision seemed to shift. Dmitria and the chamber disappeared, but Sebastyana was still there, floating in space, her legs splayed. Every detail of her physiology was visible. Then the vision changed again, and Sebastyana could see inside herself; every part was made known. She was awed by the complexity of it. But then it seemed to flatten, and the dynamic effect was lost.

Her body was laid out like a map. Its digestive system became a blueprint; it was physiologically and chemically comprised of complements and oppositions to the surrounding world, designed to coexist specifically with Termitomyces. Hormones were measured and timed in harmony with the fungus. Sebastyana zoomed in on her own brain, on the parts that were studded with certain receptors, little chemical recipients just waiting for the right moment to meet their matches. The mushroom's chemical messengers had locked into the neurological receptors, and the termite's thoughts and intentions were flowing through the links, working with the mushroom to create her visions.

As soon as she understood what she was seeing, the image was replaced by a map-like view of the earth. She zoomed in to a close-up of the ground. Ants crawled over its surface, hurrying around in search of food. Sebastyana was immediately filled with revulsion. She noticed the mushroom beside her; it was watching her carefully, and she quickly put her feelings in check.

"These are some of the creatures who have been terrorizing us," Sebastyana began, and then stopped. She realized that the mushroom already knew about the ants; it had been there during the battle, had monitored everything through its founding mycelium. She decided to keep quiet and pay attention to the vision.

Her focus settled on a group of leaf-cutting ants. She saw the ants toiling in the heat, diligently cutting out chunks of vegetation, carrying off loads far greater in size and weight than their own bodies. One by one they filed home. Sebastyana's focus shifted again, and she saw the underground nest with its carefully arranged stacks of leaf material. In each stack was a familiar life form: a fungus, one of the wood-eating species, much like Termitomyces. Sebastyana watched in awe as the ants brought food to the fungus, carefully tending the garden and enjoying its fruits. The fungus digested the cellulose of the plants, and then produced simple, nutritious meals for its attendants.

Sebastyana's focus shifted again. She had a magnified view of the ants' bodies, and she saw the crevices there, saw how the ants had manipulated their bodies to form pockets in which they carried symbiotic bacteria; the bacteria produced various medicines that benefited the ants and their gardens, and fought off harmful creatures. Sebastyana saw how a particular type of fungus tried again and again to invade the leaf-cutters' nest and devour the gardens; but the bacteria consistently killed off the invading spores, protecting and preserving their benefactors. The bacteria, the fungus, and the ants all depended on each other absolutely; they were bound in a long-standing system of tender, devoted friendship.

The vision suddenly expanded, and Sebastyana saw several other species of fungus-cultivating ants, feeding various dead plant materials to their gardens, gently weeding and sheltering the fungi. Everything expanded again, and she saw hundreds, perhaps thousands of creatures intricately engaged in symbiotic relationships with other life forms; and all of these were tied to each other in a complex, yet somehow simple series of chains. Sebastyana was overwhelmed with emotion. She felt a profound sense of love for the organisms who inhabited the earth.

But her sentiment was quickly interrupted by a wave of darkness. The setting seemed to shift; energy fields segmented, and she saw bits of light being sucked away by small, wandering entities. Sounds of life were drowned out by a low, droning hum. The sound was sucking on the light, swallowing it up. Life forms pulsed with light of their own, and the droning entities sought them out and adhered to them, feeding on their light, cultivating little voids in the organic hosts. Sebastyana saw the entities drawing near her home. Dread and awe swelled in her guts. One of the entities saw a suitable receptor, attaching itself to Garros. Another entered the tunnels, traveling below the surface of the earth, to the innermost chambers of the nest. It found its receptor on the termite king. Latching on, it began to feed, to increase its size. It parasitized its prey; the king's light slowly began to wane. Sebastyana realized with clarity how easy it would be for the king to rid himself of the parasite. It was a weak life form. But it enveloped the king in a hazy cloud, distorting his perception; and the king fed it unknowingly.

Slowly, the energetic parasites grew and took up more space. They formed massive blurs and dark spots. They began to merge with one another. The lights of the earth went out. Then Sebastyana heard it: the sound of a terrible power, rising from the unified entities, screaming over the landscape. A wave of darkness sped through the earth. Living things wailed and withered under its force.

Sebastyana was gripped by a new, alien terror, the magnitude of which she had never experienced. The land was ripped away before her eyes, sucked into a void of despair. But the earth was not enough; the entities wanted more. Sebastyana felt herself reeling, hurtling toward the abyss. She cried out to the mushroom, begging for help.

At once, the vision vanished, and the mushroom appeared before her, surrounded by a colorful garden. It did a funny little dance and began to speak.

"What does that mean?" Sebastyana asked desperately, recovering from her fear.

"Ooey rahuh eerev enough time rut . . . ooey rahuh eerev enough time rut. Ivahdah eenehm sphal." The creature's eyes sparkled with merriment. Suddenly it reached into the air and grabbed the actual sound waves of the individual words, inverting them, playing them backward:

You are a very funny termite . . . you are a very funny termite. I have had many laughs. The mushroom guffawed helplessly.

"You've got to be kidding me," Sebastyana muttered.

The mushroom did its dance again. Sebastyana stood there in bewilderment, wondering what to make of it.

The garden's colors began to fade; its forms shifted. Sebastyana began to recognize the familiar surroundings of her home, and she realized that she was being gently escorted out of the visionary state.

Dmitria was right there as she descended, fidgeting with anticipation.

"Are you back yet? Are you down?"

"Yes, I think it's ending."

"Okay. Are you sure?"

"Yeah . . . ." Sebastyana stretched her legs, slowly adjusting to her surroundings.

"Did you see anything?"

Sebastyana waited until she felt grounded, and regarded Dmitria with quiet seriousness. Flatly, she said, "Yes, I saw things."

"Do you know what the ooey rahuh thing means?"

"Yes, I know what it means," she replied in the same flat tone.

Other workers were creeping into the room, alerted by Sebastyana's voice. They crowded eagerly as Sebastyana made her revelation.

"It's our language, but the words are inverted. Try saying the individual words backward. You have to separate some of the words to get the message, but it says 'You are a very funny termite. I have had many laughs.' The mushroom played a trick on the king. I saw all of it. I saw . . . ." Sebastyana shook her head and made a sound of disbelief. "I don't know how I'm supposed to describe what I saw. It's like . . . I'll have to make up an allegory." She paused. "No, I guess I don't. I already have the allegory. It happened here . . . ."

"What did you see?" Dmitria persisted.

Sebastyana embarked on a clumsy, painstaking attempt to relay her visions and her realizations. The narrative was speckled with interruptions; everyone had questions, mostly regarding the visionary aspect of her experience. What exactly did it look like? was repeated over and over again.

At length, everyone decided it was best to get back to work. They filed out quietly, perhaps deep in thought. Sebastyana migrated toward the etchings on the outer wall. Several workers trailed after her, watching quietly as she stood under the image of the mushroom and the king.

"So, this was all a joke," Dmitria said, gesturing to the wall.

"Yes, it was a joke. And not a very funny one, if you ask me. I can't imagine why Termitomyces would jeopardize its own protectors. But then . . . ." Sebastyana paused for a long time, thinking. "I don't know. I guess it served its purpose."

"Good. Now we can tear all this crap down, right?" Dmitria regarded the etchings with tired relief.

"Of course." Sebastyana shook herself and addressed the group. "It will be nice to get back to the basics. We'll need to scrape away all this stuff and begin adding to . . . ." She trailed off, uncertain. It suddenly did seem odd that this piece, out of the whole termitarium, had not suffered the least bit of damage - not even a scratch. Sebastyana reached up and ran her claw lightly over the figure of the mushroom. You are a very funny termite . . . .

She remembered with overwhelming sentiment her visions of intertwined life, of tender friendships and delicate balances; of the pieces of the void lurking here and there, drifting, looking for receptors to hook into and feed on. She remembered seeing the king's vulnerability, the receptor he'd created for his parasite, his obliviousness to what was happening. If he had only recognized the nature of the exchange, he could have thwarted the parasite easily. It was such a weak entity.

"No, never mind," she said, holding up a claw at the advancing workers. "Leave it there. Let it serve as a reminder."