NINETEEN

We’ll Meet Again in Another Life … If You Believe That Sort of Thing

Dungar lay deep within the bowels of the ship, a half drowned mess covered in debris. Miraculously, he and Nobeard had survived however many thousands of pounds of force the waterfall delivered into their ship. If it weren’t for the captain’s quarters being directly above them, they likely would have been pulverized under the immense water pressure. He was rather envious of the rest of the crew, for he knew they had to have fared better than him, Nobeard, or Jimminy.

Jimminy. Of all the awful sights Dungar had seen within the last day, the image of his only friend crushed under a waterfall before his very eyes was certainly the most haunting. The phrase “no one could have survived that” was well known to be considered an example of famous last words; but much as he would like to believe Jimminy awaited him up there on that deck, Dungar knew that there was indeed no way that anyone could have survived that.

What remained of the ship was in tatters. There was a gaping hole in the main deck where Jimminy had been laying before the destruction occurred. The gap in the deck allowed the cargo deck to be flooded with light, revealing that it was now also flooded with a foot high layer of water. Assorted scrap piles of wood and shattered planks could be seen sticking out of the makeshift reservoir.

Soaked to the skin, Dungar rose from the water and ascended the staircase. The wreckage in the cargo hold paled in comparison to that of the main deck. All three masts had been torn from the ship and were long gone, as well as any sails. Both the captain’s quarters and the helm too had been utterly destroyed, few traces of either remained. The bowsprit at the front was also gone, likely the first thing destroyed by the waterfall. With no sails for propulsion, and no manner with which to steer, the ship was little more than a block of wood adrift at sea.

But the damage made no difference to Dungar; it was for the pirates to worry about. His mind would not be focused on anything besides Jimminy’s fate. There was no trace of him above deck or in the cargo hold. Even if by some miracle he had managed to survive the torrent, he would have been washed overboard to content with the legions of nopefish.

Nobeard was the next to surface above deck, followed shortly by whatever remained of the crew. They too surveyed the carnage with hearts as broken as their beloved vessel. The pirate captain put a hand on Dungar’s shoulder as they solemnly continued to inspect the scene.

“There be no greater honor fer our kind than a death at sea, lad. Whether it be yer dear matey, or my beloved Polina. He may not have been a pirate in the strictest sense of the word, but damn if he didn’t have the spirit of one. I liked that lad, and we’ll all miss him too.”

The words, kind as they were, offered little consolation to Dungar. His lonesome life had resulted in him cultivating his own appropriate methods of coping with loss. Those methods involved solitude and introspection, neither of which he would find aboard a vessel of post-traumatic pirates.

“I need to get off this boat. Sooner rather than later.”

Nobeard was surprisingly accommodating to the notion. “I understand, lad. With the ship being the way she is, we cannot steer her to any docks. But within her lower portions there be an old lifeboat that I can row ye to shore with.”

“Much obliged, captain.” Dungar thanked him with the faintest sheepish smile he could muster.

Nobeard retreated into the bowels of the ship and emerged shortly afterward single-handedly carrying a small dinghy. The rails of the ship were also destroyed in the deluge, so the small lifeboat was easy to drop over the side.

“We be lackin’ any lowering apparatus, matey.” Nobeard explained as he handed a length of rope to some pirates. “So you’ll have to trust some of the laddies to lower ye down.”

Nobeard was the first to jump ship, hardly even slowing during his descent. Dungar was much more careful and meticulous about it. He’d gotten wet enough that day and would be content to avoid water for the next little while. When the two men were settled, Nobeard locked in the oars and began to row.

“Best get comfortable, matey, this will not be a short voyage.”

Night had fallen by this point, and the exhaustion from the day finally started to hit Dungar. He couldn’t even remember the last time he slept. He knew for certain that he hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep since this whole misadventure had begun. The gentle rocking of the lifeboat and the smooth, rhythmic sounds of the paddles were starting to make him drowsy, but he wouldn’t allow himself to sleep while Nobeard was rowing him somewhere.

“How’re you feeling, laddy?” The pirate captain asked in a gentle tone.

“Tired.” Dungar mumbled. “And rather confused about a lot of things now that you mention it.”

“Well perhaps I can try to cure yer confusion?”

Dungar straightened up and faced Nobeard. The more he tried to wrap his head around the events of the day, the more questions he found himself asking. Nobeard was likely just as able as anyone else to potentially answer them.

“What exactly were the nymphs?”

“Well I already told ye. They were nothing, just figments of yer imagination.”

“But if they only existed in my imagination, then how did you know about them? Everyone can’t imagine the same thing.”

“You would be correct, lad.” Nobeard agreed. He paused for a few moments, trying to work out an explanation in his mind. “As I’m sure ye have deduced, that was not me first excursion to the Wizard Tree. I have had many. Each time one goes, they learn things. The tree, she hordes herself protectors, you see. There be many out there who seek her fer nefarious purposes. As such, she reaches into yer mind and offers you what it is ye desire most, in exchange fer fealty. Many men find beautiful women offering them naughty favors to be particularly compelling. I meself do not see the nymphs per se, but rather a different variety more to me … tastes if you will. As such, I figured it was a safe assumption that you would see the nymphs. Was I right?”

The blacksmith briefly pondered the question as he recalled the experience in his mind.

“Not entirely. I was greeted by the nymphs, but there were no ‘favors’ being offered. They offered me a banquet and hailed me as some sort of hero …”

At that, Nobeard began to laugh to himself. “Ah so that’s yer game, ye egotistical bastard. Got yerself a hero complex. Watch out, they often lead themselves to recklessness.”

“I don’t know if that’s really what it was, though.” Dungar insisted. His voice grew softer as he struggled to find the words to express what he experienced. “It was more personal than that. They didn’t just want a hero, they wanted … me.”

Nobeard stopped his chuckling and looked at Dungar again with his cocky smile.

“Look at you eh, matey? Didn’t think ye were even capable of opening up. Makes me ol’ heart happy to get a glimpse at the teddy within ye.”

He hadn’t even realized just how much he had been sharing until Nobeard laid it out for him like that. Accusations of being a teddy were about as vile as any insult could be.

“Hardly.” Dungar growled at the captain.

“Aw no need to be like that, lad. Everyone wants to be loved. Even big tough bastards like you who would never admit it. Don’t worry, matey, I promise I won’t think you’re any less stiff and scary.”

If Dungar had to listen to one more second of this he may actually consider jumping into the water and swimming for it.

“Where did the treasure come from?”

“Oh right, I never did explain that did I? Well, not that I really have all the answers anyway. The legend goes that many years ago, before Lake Deeplu even existed, the Wizard Tree stood proud at the top of a hill, just minding its own business doing tree stuff. But there was a wizard in those days that prided himself as the mightiest wizard in all the land. He made a point to challenge all other magical beings to prove his superiority. No matter how many of his thaumaturgic foes he bested though, all anyone could speak of was the insurmountable prowess of the wizard tree. So he tracked it down, not that it was particularly hard to find, and made it a point to somehow best the tree in some sort of competition. However the tree, as ye have seen, be just a tree. It is not susceptible to such mortal desires as materialistic greed or reputation and social status. As such, the wizard found himself at a loss for ways to coerce the tree into competition. For a brief time he considered simply destroying the plant, but he was just an egoist, not a savage. Finally, he settled upon a course of action. He gathered together all of his prizes and awards, every valuable artefact he possessed, and made his way deep into the twisted labyrinth of the tree. He braved all of the hazards that the plant could throw at him until he made it into the very room where we found that box. Only instead of there being a chest to take, he had brought with him a chest to leave. And he left that chest there as an open challenge to all the other wizards in the land to prove their mettle. He felt that not only had he beaten the tree by bypassing all of its defenses, but also that until his treasure was retrieved by another, he would stand as the most formidable mage in all the land.”

The two men drifted in silence for a few minutes after that, each contemplating the nature of the story, trying to determine if there was even a moral to be found.

“The funny part is:” Nobeard finally spoke. “That his legacy and even his name were completely forgotten anyway, and his treasure was retrieved by a ragtag buncha dimwits using nothing but a pocket full of bombs and a reckless disregard for personal safety.”

They both got a good chuckle out of that.

“That was quite the explanation.” Dungar pointed out. “I thought you said you weren’t an encyclopedia?”

“Aye, I am not. But I love stories. There be few things as enthralling as a tale regarding the marvelous things beyond yer imagination that lay out there in the world. How could ye not want to explore and adventure when ye are privy to the possibilities that await ye? The treasure be a perfect example. But even if ye tread out into the great wilds and come up empty handed, I challenge ye to have such an adventure where ye don’t emerge enriched by the mere experience.”

Nobeard smiled at him again as he finished.

“I haven’t known ye long, mister Dungar. But, whether ye believe me or not, even I’ve seen changes in ye just within the span of our own miniature excursion together.”

Introspection was much less effective when a third party is doing it for you. Dungar knew pondering any insights Nobeard had to offer while the man was still talking would be fruitless. Tuning the captain out, he looked up into the night sky and let his mind wander to how he would continue his quest without Jimminy. Whether or not the clown was still with him was only of partial consequence anyway.

He had been so preoccupied with other pressing matters throughout this trip that he still hadn’t taken the time to consider just how he intended to kill the queen. According to word he had heard, the Koey making public appearances was quite rare. And even when she did, she was always surrounded by guards. It wasn’t just the act of killing he needed to concern himself with either; he also had to consider the aftermath. If he were to assassinate the queen in front of a crowd of people then he would undoubtedly be thrown in a cell to rot, that is, if he wasn’t executed on the spot.

He had come no closer to formulating a plan by the time he succumbed to the gentle rocking of the boat and drifted off to sleep.

“Wakey wakey, lad.” The soft voice of Nobeard roused him. “Land ho.”

Startled, Dungar twitched awake. The sky was still dark, but traces of dawning light could be seen creeping over the horizon. Their little dinghy was beached on a narrow sandy stretch adjacent to a sparse looking forest. A look back to the lake indicated that the pirate ship was nowhere in sight. His chauffeur must have rowed for a long time.

Wasting no time, Dungar hopped out of the boat and onto the comfortably solid and secure land where he could walk with perfect balance and not have to worry about fish sneaking up on him. He was on his own now, the reigns of his journey placed firmly into his hands. The pressure of the excursion felt even greater than ever now, no one to share the burden. Unless, of course, he could recruit someone.

“You’re welcome to come along. If you want.”

“Hah, oh I am, am I?” Nobeard laughed. “’Fraid not, laddy. I don’t know where yer goin or why yer goin there, but my place is aboard the Polina with me crew. Them maroons would be lost without me anyway, they don’t even know the difference between port and starboard!”

Dungar laughed. He didn’t know the difference between them either, but it was slightly less relevant for him.

“I guess this is where we part ways then. Farewell, captain. Good luck with your, uh, boat.”

“This not be a privilege I grant to many, laddy. But call me Lukey. Ye have earned it.” Eyes gleaming, Nobeard tossed Dungar his flint then triumphantly stared out into the water. “And fear not, matey. For as long as there be wind on our quarter and sails flowing free then there be no finer vessel to sail this gorgeous sea!” He paused for a moment then turned back to Dungar. “Of course, the sails be currently out of commission, so catching up shan’t be too difficult! Well, lad, until we sail again, fair winds to ye!”

On that, Captain Nobeard, the fearless captain of what remained of the mighty Polina, shoved off the beach and, with several mighty oar strokes, drifted off into the sunrise.

For the first time during his entire adventure, Dungar was truly on his own. His newfound independence, despite being somewhat daunting, actually felt quite comfortable to him. The decisions now fell to him, such as what route to take and pretty much nothing else. As he trudged up the hill and into the forest, he lamented to himself how overrated the concept of being the leader was if there was no one but one’s self on the journey. Fortunately, his isolation was eliminated almost immediately when he reached the crest of the hill and found himself face to face with a crowd of identically dressed individuals.

As the twig underneath Dungar’s foot snapped, all heads in the congregation turned and faced him. Everyone in the crowd sported a blood red robe and wore it with the hood up. In the center of the group was a large stone statue of some sort of angry looking theological creature that they appeared to be worshipping. Everyone was still for a few moments during the stare down before the mass of individuals stood up and turned to face Dungar.

“Uh …” Dungar began uncertainly. “I don’t suppose you lot are one of them friendly groups of cultists?”

“Jum, Jum, Jum, Jum!” The group began to chant in deep voices.

“Uh … I don’t suppose that means yes?”

“Jum! Jum! Jum! Jum!”

“Didn’t think so.”

The blacksmith was helpless as the horde rushed towards him, his strong arms futile against the combined might of the crowd. His struggles and kicks did little to impede his kidnapping.

“Gahhhhh!” Dungar yelled as he attempted to fight off his abductors. “Doesn’t anyone in this bloody land have the decency to just leave travelers unmolested!?”

His protestations fell upon deaf ears as he was pulled away by the group. His feet dragged limply against the ground as he was hauled off to yet another unknown destination. He elected to no offer resistance this time, deciding he’d rather save his strength to crack skulls as soon as someone was foolish enough to let go of him.

None of the cultists seemed to pay him much mind. They all just marched purposefully forward, continuing their “Jum! Jum! Jum!” chant. Their feet hit the ground in unison as their robes flapped behind them. Dungar hoped against hope that it wasn’t some more ridiculous magic business. He’d certainly dealt with enough of that lately.

They reached the crest of the hill they were scaling to find a small clearing filled with tents surrounding a large tree. In the tree was a shack of sorts that appeared to have been hastily built. Dungar was forced to his knees in front of it as the chants changed to “Immolate! Immolate! Immolate!”

Suddenly magic didn’t seem like an inferior course of action.

Immediately a robed figure emerged from the tree house and hurried down a convenient sliding pole. The golden embroidery on his similar red robes and his prestigious abode indicated he was likely some sort of authority among these people. The chanting stopped and a hush fell over the congregation as their leader made his descent. Soon as his feet touched the ground, the man bustled over towards Dungar and the group.

“Hello, gents! Much as I have assured you I appreciate your delightful sentiments, you really don’t need to kill every passer-by that we encounter!”

The cult leader’s loud and cheerful voice alone would have been enough to arouse Dungar’s suspicions, but the familiar uncharacteristically posh accent left little doubt in his mind. He tilted his neck upwards to find himself face to face with the patchy black goatee and beady brown eyes of his deceased sidekick.

“Oh hello, Mista Dungar! Fancy meeting you here, mate.”

As was often the case when dealing with Jimminy Appaya, Dungar had no words. There were so many questions and so many conflicting emotions welling up in his throat, but so few ways to verbally convey them.

“WHAT?!?!—” was the best he could manage.

Immediately one of the cultists smacked him over the head.

“Speak only when spoken to!”

“He was speaking to me!”

The cultist slapped him again.

“I said speak only when spoken to!”

“… but you just spoke to me!!”

The same cultist backhanded him yet again then leaned in close.

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Dungar looked helplessly back at Jimminy who was failing to stifle his giggling underneath his hood.

“Alright, mate, that’s enough. You can leave him with me and get back to your culty business.”

In an instant, Dungar was dropped to the ground and the entire herd of cultists set off back towards the statue as if nothing had happened. He growled under his breath as he got to his feet and watched the robed men unapologetically leave. But Jimminy was much more important now. The man who he had seen die before his very eyes now stood before him as solid and whimsical as ever.

“Erm. Wot are you looking at, mate?”

“What do you think I’m looking at!?!? You’re dead!”

“Oh my god, I am?! Does that mean you are too? Is this the afterlife? A lot more servants than I would have reckoned to expect …”

Well if it wasn’t Jimminy then it was certainly a convincing impression. Dungar still couldn’t believe it. He had Jimminy back. The bumbling idiot had somehow resurrected himself and came back to him. Foreign feelings of relief and gratitude floated through his mind. He could feel the uncomfortable desire to hug the fellow, or shake his hand, or at least crack a bloody genuine smile.

“Just when I thought I was rid of ya.” Dungar grunted with a slight frown. “I suppose you still want to come along.”

Jimminy laughed as he followed Dungar northward. “I’m like herpes, mate. I may go away for a while, but you’re never rid of me!”

Dungar did not respond. He just walked in silence for a few minutes hoping that Jimminy would take it upon himself to explain, well, everything. Unfortunately his cohort did not seem to consider any explanation necessary. When the man spoke it was to simply address his usual random thoughts. However rather than sigh or silence him, Dungar found himself quite content to take part in the small talk session.

“Those blokes seemed rather fond of me, I wonder if I should have at least said goodbye or something. Perhaps farewell, it seems more formal. Though, they didn’t seem to have a particular affinity for formalities. Come to think of it, all they really seemed to care for was lighting blokes on fire. Boy, what an awful way to go that would be, eh? I meself was engulfed in flames once. Don’t worry though, mate, I lived. I was rather thoroughly barbecued though. Slap some sauce on me and I reckon I woulda been delicious! You hungry, Mista Dungar?”

“Uh. Yeah, I suppose I could eat.”

“I’d think so, big fella like you and all! Blimey, look at ya. Bet you put food away like a redbear! Curious creatures they are, redbears. I remember the first time I saw one I was all like ‘whoa! That looks nothing like how I pictured it!’ Right? I mean you’d think with the name redbear they’d be more … Ah wot am I even saying, you know what a redbear looks like. I’m a bit hungry too, mate. Those blokes loved their food stockpile, but all they ate was raw birdies. Wot kinda meal would you go for if you had a pick?”

“Hmm.” Dungar grumbled as he briefly pondered the question. “Well, I suppose it’s been awhile since I’ve had a good venison—”

“Deer meat eh! Have yourself quite the refined palette don’tcha? I tangled with the stuff once, didn’t work out well. I was laid up in the infirmary for weeks!”

“Huh, is that right? It give you a parasite or something?”

“Well no. It beat me up and kicked me down a hill. They’re some vicious buggers!”

They both laughed at that as they kept walking. The already thin forest was beginning to completely dissipate as the cultist compound disappeared behind them and out of view, yet Jimminy continued to wear the robes he was outfitted in.

“Why are you still wearing that thing?” Dungar asked him.

“It’s called a diro, mate. Big shot blokes of the Dynamism religion are supposed to wear em. Er, I’m also totally naked underneath.”

“Wait. You’re religious?”

“Well, not particularly. But I woke up in their wee compound completely nude sometime last night and they put these robes on me and started calling me ‘messiah,’ whatever that means! Anyway, once you get used to them, they’re quite nice company. They built me that adorable tree house, lit every poor sod we came across on fire, then you showed up! Hello!”

“Messiah … Jimmy, they think you’re some sort of manifestation of their god!”

“Oh nonsense. They worship some horned guy named Dynam. There was a statue of him around there somewhere.”

“It explains everything though.” Dungar insisted. “Well, except how you ended up there in the first place. But they gave you fancy clothes and built you a bloody house, Jimmy. Why would they do that?”

“Well. Perhaps they’re gracious and accommodating to weary travelers?”

Dungar stared at him blankly.

“When they found me they kidnapped me and tried to light me on fire on your behalf!”

“Perhaps you need to work on your first impressions, mate?”

“JIMMY!!!”

Things went quiet for a moment as Jimminy took a moment to actually ponder Dungar’s claims. Surely even he could figure out there was something quite off about his situation.

The two men had finally cleared the sparse forest and had emerged into an immense hilly field stretching far into the distance. The bright blue cloudless sky contrasted beautifully with the verdant countryside. Copious rocky outcroppings jutted from the lush green grass and exotic flora that painted the ground vibrant colors as a cool breeze blew what almost sounded like music through the rocky formations. As Dungar took it all in, Jimminy appeared to have reached a conclusion to his conundrum.

“You know, now that you mention it, mate, there was that weird business when I was in the service.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, while I was in Nom I got mixed up with some rather shady characters if you will. Me and some of me mates went out one night and got throshed and sloshed. Long story short, while we were out on the town, some snooker loopy looking gent offered me three coppers to hang onto some demon soul thingy or whatever for him while he cleaned its jar or something. It’s all a bit fuzzy, really. But I assure you it was nothing, mate. I do remember that there wasn’t even anything in the jar. Easy three coppers for me!”

Dungar opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it and looked away instead. He realized he wasn’t too sure what to believe. He couldn’t decide which was a more ridiculous notion: Jimminy leaving that exchange completely unscathed, or Jimminy being possessed by evil spirits and not even knowing it.

“Er, Mista Dungar, could you perhaps grant me a favor?” Jimminy asked, snapping the blacksmith out of his train of thought.

“Will it involve getting us almost killed?”

“Most likely not.”

“What is it?”

“Well, I was hoping we could make a quick pit stop before making our final push into Jenair. I’m sure your missus can wait a little while longer.”

“You want to make a pit stop? Where? For what?”

“Well, you see, mate, there’s a little town just a teeny tad bit out of the way.” Jimminy explained as he gazed into its direction. Then he turned back to Dungar, eyes gleaming. “It’s the residence of me one that got away.”