Book 2: Chapter 32: Flight of the Bumblebee

Book 2: Chapter 32: Flight of the Bumblebee

Five weeks earlier, in a land far to the northeast of Tropica, a lone bumblebee followed a terrific scent.

He had recently reached maturity, meaning it was time for him to attract a mate by creating every male honeybee’s magnum opus—royal jelly. Not that he was aware of this; he was a bumblebee. What he was aware of, however, was that he had an instinctive desire to create the sweetest royal jelly that there ever was. Such an act would broadcast his virility and attract potential queens.

While this species of bumblebee could create their own honey, it was a laborious process of making honey to sustain oneself, while only setting a small portion aside for the royal jelly. So, when the lone bumblebee caught the scent of fresh honey in the air—a fuel source he could use to make his queen-attracting goo—it was only natural that he went to steal some.

His instincts told him to prepare for a fight; for honey to be exposed to the air meant that something large had broken into a hive. Despite his size, the bumblebee was agile, and he could utilize that speed to requisition some precious honey for his royal-jelly endeavors.

As he reached the source of the smell, the bumblebee paused and scanned his surroundings—there was no movement, neither predator nor bee. A series of containers sat within an open crate, and an unmistakably viscous liquid dripped down their sides.

Honey.

The bumblebee darted forward, landed on one of the golden trails, and began its feast.

Suddenly, there was movement from above as something large enough to occupy the entire sky appeared. The bumblebee tried to take flight, tried to flee, but his legs got caught in the honey for just long enough to seal its fate. It bumped into the sky-obscuring object and spiraled down to fall amongst the jars.

Darkness engulfed the prison he found himself in.

***

A mercenary captain scanned the surrounding faces as his client checked the last crate loaded onto his wagon by a well-dressed merchant. He had five subordinates with him: four veterans and a fresh recruit.

“What do you think that one holds?” the recruit whispered.

“It’s honey,” another mercenary answered. “Worth its weight in gold, that stuff.”

“Wow...” The recruit’s voice was filled with wonder. “The king’s coffers are something else...”

“Eyes forward,” the captain growled, gazing at the pedestrians traversing the street.

Each mercenary snapped to attention and made themselves busy, recognizing the threat of discipline in his voice.

***

The recruit, having been sufficiently chastised, made sure to cast a suitably suspicious gaze over the capital’s citizens as they passed by. Many of them looked at the cart and guards with curiosity, but upon seeing the butt-chewing, rock-splitting expression on his captain’s face, all averted their eyes.

The form of a plump yet nimble insect caught his attention, and he cocked his head, watching a bumblebee make a beeline for the open crate. He smiled at his wordplay, but then the client—who his captain had repeatedly insisted was someone rather important in the royal retinue, picked up the crate’s lid and set it down, sealing the bumblebee inside.

“Wait!” the recruit said, taking a step forward.

In the blink of an eye, four swords were drawn. The captain’s body grew tense, and the sea of passing faces froze.

“Report!” the captain roared, glancing at the recruit for a fraction of a second before turning to scan his surroundings.

The recruit winced.

“There was a bumblebee in the crate when it was sealed. It won’t survive the trip—our client is going overse...” he trailed off as he recalled at the last possible moment that the client’s overseas destination was a secret. He flicked a glance at the ocean of citizens watching before returning his attention to the client and his captain—both of their faces turned murderous, and the latter grabbed him by the collar.

He went searching in the sloop for his crowbar, and as soon as he returned, he forced it into the crack between crate and lid. He pushed down on the bar, and nails creaked as the lid came free. The moment it did, something came flying out. He leaned back instinctively as a bumblebee—a damned bumblebee—bumped into him, then fell backward onto the sand. He rolled over, watching his yellow and black assailant as it flew for the trees.

He shook his head, and all he could do was laugh.

“Brought low by an insect—what would my master say?”

He got back to his feet and brushed sand from his leathers. He didn’t know how long it would take his contact to arrive, so he’d need to set up a camp and get his wares out of the weather.

He resumed unloading crates.

***

The bumblebee’s exuberance at freedom was swiftly diminishing as he flew from flower to flower.

There was something wrong with the nectar here.

No matter how much nectar and pollen he fed on, his hunger was never satiated. He tried flowers of every color and variety, yet each time, the result was the same. After three days of traveling, he began to grow weary. His usually rapid speed slowed as his body went into maintenance mode. All the while, he tried every new flower, hoping one of them would alleviate his starvation.

***

Over a week after regaining his freedom, he was sluggishly droning beneath the forest’s canopy when he caught the scent of his salvation. At first, the smell was but a whisper on the breeze, but after only minutes of searching, the taste in the air was undeniable.

He had once more found honey.

He trailed its scent, getting closer and closer with every wingbeat, eventually coming to an unguarded hole. The bumblebee landed far from the opening and walked forward silently, not wishing to alert any defenders of his presence. The opening was large, and he crawled inside, his wings twitching from anticipation.

He didn’t have far to travel before finding the life-saving goo; mere seconds from the surface, he came across the hive. It was tiny, consisting of only five chambers, but that was more than enough to replenish his energy. As the bumblebee raced forward to the undefended gold, he came face to face with death.

A wasp, even larger than the rotund body of the bumblebee, stared at the intruder with compound eyes. Before the bee had a chance to react, the wasp’s wings buzzed in alarm. The bumblebee turned and fled. He had to escape the hole, had to get back to the canopy of the forest before he was swarmed.

Just as the entrance came into view, the first defender arrived.

A wasp zipped inside, the beat of its wings making a low drone, relaying the alarm to any surrounding wasps. With its mandibles open and legs spread wide, the wasp attacked. The bumblebee tapped into its reserves and took flight; he slammed into the approaching insect. Barbed legs grabbed at him, but he tore free and continued out into the open air—just in time for the rest of the defenders to arrive.

Too many wasps to count had come in defense of their hive, and each of them lunged. Barbed feet grasped, mandibles closed, and stingers lashed out. His speed slowed as countless wasps attempted to engulf him. The bumblebee’s striped body was a blur as he twisted and spun in response, doing everything he could to get away. Just as he made it through the tangle, his flight hitched to the side.

There was a tear in his right wing, and now that he was past the cloud of wasps, pain coursed through his entire body from myriad scratches and punctures. His hunger forgotten, the bumblebee fled.

***

With each passing day, the bumblebee grew more delirious. Scholars could spend days, weeks, and possibly even years arguing whether it was possible for an insect to be beset by delirium—unfortunately for the bumblebee, the opinions of scholarly nay-sayers didn’t alleviate his condition.

A wasp’s venom coursed through his circulatory system where a stinger had punctured his side, and given that he hadn’t eaten anything he could properly digest in weeks, his body hadn’t had the chance to cleanse it. With a halting, almost-drunken flight, the bumblebee flew in no particular direction. Lacking a sense of time and space, the bumblebee followed his basic instincts, continuing to move despite the carnage wrought within and without his body.

An unknowable amount of time later, something pierced through the bumblebee’s delirium. A scent, as sweet as it was familiar, called out to him.

He bobbed along beneath the canopy, slowly but surely heading the call.