The Twinning: Verse One: The Silver Coins
Chapter 3: Bartlebug
III
Bartlebug
The roses seemed to go on forever. Michael must have been walking for twenty minutes, and still the field of red velvet stretched out in all directions before him as far as he could see. Looking behind him, the stump on which he had been sitting when he first arrived was no longer in sight. Just a sea of red and he was in the middle of it, although he had observed something odd while he was walking. In some places, random patches of the red roses were faded and dull. In others, the roses seem to have disappeared all together and at times, Michael swore he had observed bunches of the roses fading in and out, like the reception on his television when the weather kicked up. But he didn’t care. It was utter bliss. He loved every moment he was in this strange new place. He loved the too-bright colors. The smell of the roses seemed to attack him in waves, drifting carelessly through the air until it found him, then bombarding his senses with that sweet smell. As he walked he noticed a bee, only it was ten times larger than any bee he had ever seen. Michael thought it was about the size of a small dog, maybe a bulldog. It had the same yellow and black stripes, but no stinger on its bottom, at least none that Michael could see. It had a pair of large antenna, and a face that resembled something human. In fact, Michael thought it was watching him with the same wonderment and awe with which Michael looked back at the bee. He did not notice the bee start to follow him.
So on he walked, stopping every once and a while to rest, simply enjoying the world around and take in every sensation. Thoughts of school or his real life quickly faded. After an hour’s worth of walking through the red rose sea, the field abruptly stopped. Michael had been so enthralled with the place, he didn’t even notice when one moment he was ankle deep in roses, the next he was on plain old ground with patches of brownish grass here and there. Perhaps, if Michael could have turned around quickly enough while he was walking, he would have noticed the roses appeared only where his eyes were looking, as though putting on a special show for his eyes only. Now, however, the show ended and Michael was left with not a single rose, just dust and hardpan. He stopped and turned around.
“What?” he was completely dumbfounded. The field of roses was completely gone. It had simply vanished. All that stretched out before him now was barren, a massive expanse of hardpan. Crab grass and cracked desert spread in every direction. Sparse vegetation and dead things littered this landscape, this antithesis of what had been here before, this opposite. The sky was now duller than before. It was as if this place had died. The boy noticed several strange animals skitter by. One looked like a cross between a rat and a kangaroo while another, clearly capable of flying, was hopping along the dusty hardpan shooting its tongue at anything that moved. Michael didn’t know what to think, but he was suddenly very afraid. He had been wandering carelessly for the past hour, completely content with life, no worries floating around his head. In fact, nothing had been floating around his head. It was as if he had been in a blissful daydream. But now all he wanted was to get as far away from this place as possible.
“Don’t look so shocked, boy. I don’t know how you were able to hold the Fabrication as long as you did…Mya is the only one in this Kingdom who can use the Fabricant…what are you doing here anyway?”
Michael spun around looking for the source of the voice, looking for another person in this now desolate waste. He didn’t see anyone. Then he glanced down at the ground. A few feet away, standing on its hind legs with its other pair of appendages crossed on its chest, was the bee Michael had seen in the rose field. Michael just stared at this strange creature with mixed feelings of fright and amazement. Suddenly, the bee shot into the air, buzzing furiously, and came toward the boy with blinding speed, hovering a few inches away from Michael’s face, examining him. He could see this creature was actually quite large and menacing, and the cuteness Michael had seen in it vanished at once. Michael could now see quite a bit more of this creature than he had been able to in the rose field. He did, in fact, have a human face, except it was pitch black, save for his eyes which were white pinpricks, tiny points of piercing white among a sooty backdrop. His nose was long and straight. Michael could not help but notice a small green marking of some kind on the creature’s hind quarters in the shape of a circle. The bee-creature looked very menacing.
“I will not repeat myself again boy. Why are you here? Are you a citizen of BlanchField?”
Michael wasn’t sure what to do. He could tell this creature meant business, and although Michael was scared of the desert that had taken the place of the lovely rose field, he felt he needed to stay in this world a bit longer, as if he was supposed to do something. So he lied.
“Of course I am,” he said.
“Well then explain your clothes?” Snipped the bee.
“I…well…I made them myself,” he said. Thinking back to what the pretty girl in the rose field had said, Michael added, “My family is poor, like commoners. We can’t afford good clothes. We have to make our own.”
“Humph, sounds like lies to me,” muttered the bee. Then looking up at Michael, he said, “What is your name, boy?” The bee furrowed his eyebrows.
Michael thought again to the conversation with the girl. “Michael the Smith.”
“Michael the Smith? A blacksmith then are you? Fine, come with me. I think the King would like to speak with you…” The bee examined Michael, looking him up and down with untrusting, sinister eyes. “You seem…odd and I still can’t work out how you were able to hold onto Mya’s Fabrication like that…come with me boy.” The bee turned, gesturing for Michael to follow him.
Michael had heard this creature mention something quite a few times now in their brief conversation; something Michael thought he heard the bee call Fabricant, or Fabrication. Whatever that was, Michael had no idea. He would simply stay alert, keep his story warm in his head, and see what happened.
“By the way,” said the bee, turning back in mid-air and glancing at Michael, “I am Bartlebug.” The bee turned back and continued his flight.
Michael had no idea where they were going. It seemed the desert stretched out before them endlessly. He could see mountains far off in the distance, and crab grass growing on the caked hardpan ahead of them, but nothing else. The place was quite empty.
Bartlebug suddenly stopped, and hovered. Michael heard him mutter a few words to the air, but he couldn’t make them out. Then, the sky seemed to shimmer, and wave; like the air above a gas grill or the road on a hot day. This phenomenon stretched across the expanse of the desert, as far as Michael could see left and right. It was an amazing sight. Michael watched open-mouthed as a city took shape before his eyes. He could see huge spires rising from the tops of buildings. He saw streets begin to snake their way into view. He began to see people moving about, walking here and there. He saw birds flutter out of nothing. He heard noises: horses, children playing, people selling wares, dogs barking. An enormous city now stood before Michael, except he had only seen a city such as this in a history book. Michael realized this was some sort of medieval village; not a bustling metropolis like New York. There were no cars, no skyscrapers, and no street vendors selling hot dogs. Michael liked what he saw.
Bartlebug watched Michael in silence as he stared at the beautiful Kingdom, as if he had never seen the place before, and his suspicions grew even greater.
“Come Michael the Smith. I am taking you to see King VanVargot. Follow me,” said Bartlebug sternly.
Michael wanted to wander about for a little while and explore this new place, so he made up an excuse to be rid of Bartlebug.
“May I return to my…shop…and speak with my…parents before we go?” asked Michael.
“No,” said Bartlebug and that was all.
“But please, I will only be like five minutes.”
“Five what?” asked Bartlebug. “It matters not. The answer is no. And if you don’t like it…” Now Michael saw what was missing from Bartlebug’s bee body. As Bartlebug hovered there in the crowded street, he extended a gleaming black stinger from his bottom, a hard onyx carapace that gleamed with moisture. It was as long as Michael’s arm, and just as thick. After it was fully extended, tiny spurs like fishhooks popped out all over the stinger. Michael was instantly intimidated, and resolved then and there to never cross Bartlebug.
“I will use this, and you do not want that. Now, silence until we reach the castle.”
Michael did as he was told and followed Bartlebug along the burrows and alleys. Michael noticed a street sign very similar to the one which designated his street back home, and he assumed this BlanchField used the same kind of naming system. The sign read Merchant’s Row. Indeed, the street’s name certainly did it justice. Michael was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people selling things on this long thoroughfare, things Michael had never heard of before, and some he had. The noise was uproarious and deafening. Michael noticed one woman standing in front of a small tent. It was obvious to Michael that she had put the tent up herself.
“What would you like young man? I’ve got everything your heart could desire,” said the woman in front of the tent as Michael and Bartlebug passed by. Michael noticed she was missing several teeth and a yellow liquid of some kind seeped from her sore-covered mouth.
“Duccats? Pearls? Maybe something for a lady?” The woman continued in this manner until Michael could no longer hear her. The boy said nothing and Bartlebug hovered on in silence.
Further down the street, Michael noticed a creature similar to Bartlebug running another tent. There was a sign in front of this blue and green tent which Michael could read. The spidery letters spelled fruit.
“Yam-peppers? Sugarberries?” The bee shot wildly through the air, buzzing and shouting. “Silvermollies? We have it all! Cheap prices, no better deals in all the kingdom!”
Michael watched as Bartlebug shot this fellow a nasty glance as they walked by his stall, and the fruit selling bee-creature seemed to quiet down, although only a little. It was clear to Michael that Bartlebug was well known here. At last, they reached the end of Merchant’s Row and Bartlebug led the boy onto another wide street. Michael looked for a sign, but did not see one. This new street was not as crowded as Merchant’s Row, but people were coming and going regularly. Michael observed their strange clothing. Many of them wore cloaks and capes of various colors with odd-shaped hats. Some, mostly the children Michael saw, wore outfits resembling overalls except they seemed to be made out of a very soft and colorful fabric.
Several times on this journey through town, Michael thought about running, just taking off as fast as he could and trying to escape Bartlebug and each time he thought otherwise. For one thing, Bartlebug could clearly fly, and it would not take the creature long to stop Michael from the air. Second, Michael’s clothes were a dead giveaway and he would not have time to find a disguise. He decided he would just have to find the right moment to shift back to Earth.
As the pair continued down this long road, a loud noise from one of the homes on the side of the street caught Michael’s attention. Before he even had time to react, a woman burst through a large door onto the street. She brandished a large rolling pin and was yelling at a child, who tried miserably to get away from her, but she was too big and the child was not crafty enough.
“You rascal! I don’t want to find you stealing my pies again!” She brought the rolling pin down with a loud thump. “Come near that window one more time, and I will turn you over to the King himself!”
“What is the trouble here?” asked Bartlebug, lowering himself behind the large woman with the rolling pin. Michael stood close by and watched.
“And who’s askin’!” said the woman, turning around. When she saw who it was asking, she dropped the rolling pin and let go of the boy. Instead of running, the boy stood motionless, terrified of the bee creature and too frightened to move.
“Bartlebug is asking wench, the King’s Hand!” said the bee. Michael did not know what the term King’s Hand meant, but it sounded official.
“A thousand apologies sire. I am in a bit of a rage at the moment. But now I’m fine, a thousand apologizes,” said the woman, bowing.
“Ye’sir, I’m sorry too,” said the boy. At last his fear melted and the boy bolted, retreating down a nearby alleyway.
“I do not like ruckus, especially when I am escorting someone to the King,” said Bartlebug, motioning to Michael.
“Aye,” said the woman, eyes turned down.
“So go back to your dwelling, and continue baking your pies. Filth,” said Bartlebug.
Michael’s anger grew with every word that escaped Bartlebug’s soot-colored mouth. He had seen people act this way before, at school. Sometimes teachers would treat the students poorly simply because they could. Michael knew the word for it, power-trip. Michael hated people who acted high and mighty, and in that moment, as Bartlebug shunned the poor woman, who wanted only to have her pies left in peace, Michael knew this creature would be his enemy. Michael knew the same way he knew that Jacob Niles was his enemy, the same way he knew that everyone who ever made fun of him and caused him pain became his enemy in some way. Bartlebug brought pain to peoples’ lives simply because he could, and Michael hated him.
At last, the woman retreated back to her home and slammed the door. Michael thought he could actually smell the infamous pies baking in her oven.
“Let’s go boy,” said Bartlebug with disdain. “I don’t have all day to waste on the likes of you.”
The pair continued down the street until the road ended abruptly. Michael looked up and nearly lost his breath. There was a murky moat running in a circle around the largest and most magnificent edifice Michael had ever laid eyes on. There were spires and pulpits, and windows and steeples at nearly every junction of this building. It was constructed haphazardly, but upon closer inspection one would find it to have perfect design and symmetry. Directly ahead of Michael and Bartlebug, a massive wooden door with large metal buckles stretched from the ground to the top of the castle wall. This palace was so large, Michael was convinced he would be able to fit his entire neighborhood inside and still have room. The castle’s design amazed Michael in its uncanny resemblance to castles he had read about in books and seen in movies. It looked like something straight out of Robin Hood. Next to the wooden door was a small opening, and inside Michael could see the hovering form of another large bee creature. It called to Bartlebug and Michael’s escort told the gatekeeper to open the door. The gatekeeper made a sound of compliance. Michael listening as the massive gears controlling the drawbridge churned and screeched then the wooden door began to lower slowly.
“Step back,” demanded Bartlebug. Michael did so. The wooden door crossed the entire moat and landed with a loud thump a few feet ahead of Michael and Bartlebug.
“This way, Michael the Smith,” said Bartlebug, taking no measures to hide his sarcasm. Michael followed the bee creature, unsure of where he was going and afraid.
As Michael and Bartlebug traversed the moat surrounding the castle of BlanchField, Michael’s history teacher, Mrs. Paige, had just noticed Michael Smith’s seat was empty.
“Where is Michael Smith?” asked Mrs. Paige, the eighth-grade history teacher at Levi Middle School. Jacob Niles raised his hand.
“I saw him in the bathroom ‘round lunch, but he never came out. Maybe he fell in.” This remark was followed by a series of laughs from Jacobs’s cronies.
“Alright, that’s enough. Jacob, go to Mr. Andrews and tell him Michael is skipping my class. Go now please,” said Mrs. Paige.
“Okay Mrs. Paige,” replied Jacob.
“Now, who can tell me who defeated General Lee at Appomattox courthouse?”