Esprit de Corps - Chapter 28: Constant Sorrow
Title: Esprit de Corps: Constant Sorrow
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Jack, OFC, Barbossa, OMCs
Rating: Soft R, for vivid and perhaps, disturbing imagery.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, nor do I make profit in writing it.
Summary: Jack, Barbossa, Jordan, and Colin have finally reached the Acheron, and commence their negotiations with Charon for Isabella's release until an unexpected visit from the Queen of the Netherworld leads them off in the right direction.
A/N: The physical description of Charon and the Acheron is based on an illustration in the Divine Comedy (Gustave Doré, 1857).
Chapter 28 - Constant Sorrow
“Whisper on a scream, doesn't change a thing
Doesn’t bring you back, blue on black.”
Kenny Wayne Shepherd
---
By the tranquil merging of the stream into the Acheron, the souls of the dead reflected on how they would pass restfully beyond the scope of the sun. However, that notion was unreachable when they arrived at their destination, causing them to hide far from the demon man that waited to ferry their souls.
The sleep of immortality did not await them in the place where life and love had been long forgotten. The only sounds in their ears were the faint trickles of the waters beneath, and the screams of those that were waiting in line to depart along the last leg of their journey to Hades.
Before entering the plain on its passage from rugged highlands, the Acheron flowed through a profound and gloomy gorge, which was one of the darkest and deepest of the glens that the human mind could only imagine. On either side precipices rose sheer from the water’s edge to a height of hundreds of feet. Their ledges and crannies were tufted with dwarf oaks and shrubs. Higher up where the sides of the glen receded from, the mountains rose to an unfathomable height over woods of black pine, adding to the somber magnificence of the scene.
A precarious footpath led along a perilous ledge high up on the mountain side, from which the dead gazed down into the depths of a tremendous ravine. The deep and quiet stream could be seen rushing and foaming along, often plunging in a cascade into a dark abyss, but so far below them that the wailing of the souls was lost in mid-air before it could reach their ears.
Barbossa had no mind to wait in line to confront the demon man, dragging Jack along in his confident procession.
Jack was only conscious of black silence and eternity as Barbossa dragged him further. They were silently being followed by Jordan and Colin, though he knew the silence would not last for long. Jordan had his own plans in mind - stupid ones, like all the other whelps. Not only that, but he was sure that Jordan wouldn’t let Barbossa speak for very long, and reminded himself to stand far away from Jordan when they spoke to Charon.
In the beginning, there was not dread, Jack never feared the long ennui of infinite time, and so for many years he thought of little, for he cared for nothing other than immortality. He was who he was, and that was all he was. In one day, the earthy dampness of the grave greeted him, and he could have shrieked aloud when the true meaning of immortality that he desired was finally unmasked, showing it’s true colors. The immeasurable pain she bore when he first laid eyes upon her mirrored how pained she looked when her final breaths escaped her.
He couldn’t help but feel responsible for such pain.
The dead were the only ones who knew the sights and sounds of the horror that bound them. It was the cries and wailing of pain that they heard in that lonely and desolate place that would surely bring them nightmares, but many would thrill with horror at the cry of some dead body lying near them who woke as he walked by, and found itself still conscious, even in death.
“Yer very quiet, Jack. Grief becomes you.”
With a slight wrinkle to his nose, Jack let out a growl. “I hope you’ve prepared a good treat. I doubt you can say anything acceptable to the likes of him, but I’ve gathered that you’re not too proud to beg. Try to stay off your knees, Hector. I can’t tell you what it does for your reputation.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’d be the one to know the implications of that, but I’ll not be the one on my knees,” Barbossa said, smiling wickedly. “Mayhap it will be the contrary, when yer on yours beggin’ for her forgiveness.”
“Not if she kills me first,” Jack said softly.
“One can only hope.”
The smell of the sweat exuding from their bodies struck the onlookers with the same force that it struck the demon man, prompting him to look away from his work.
‘Three heartbeats. Nay, there are four. Mortals.’
His nostrils flared.
“Where are you mortals going to in such haste?” the demon man demanded, snarling at the four men who had approached him with such conviction.
Barbossa swayed to a halt, interlocking his fingers together diplomatically. “What occasion prompted ye fer a new boat, Charon?”
“None at all, if I had a mind to be wrecked again in the Stygian Lake,” Charon replied sarcastically as he eyed the man cautiously, attempting to decipher his familiarity.
“Is it because ye had too large a company?”
“Yes,” Charon said simply, with a slight edge to his response. His large company was a result of Hera’s corruption, but he had no voice or significance to speak against her, especially not after she provided him with a new vessel to keep him from rebelling. “I came hither to provide myself with a good strong three oared boat; for my boat was so rotten and leaky with age that it would not carry such a burden. I have suffered through that shipwreck already, and the bodies still swim with the frogs.”
“Ye carry shadows, not bodies,” Barbossa corrected.
“They are nothing but water spiders today. Tomorrow they shall rest forever in the bellies of their worst nightmares. Yet, there may be enough of them to grab a hold of my boat as we pass, but you know we are just shadows just as they.”
“I remember once that ye had a great company, an’ your boat would not hold them. I ‘ave seen three thousand hangin’ upon yer stern and you were not able to sense any weight.”
The demon laughed, dropping the heavy oar to the ground beside him. “I confess that I carry too many at once. Some have passed slowly out of the body, being reduced to little or nothing with consumptions and hectic fevers, but as for those that are torn out of their bodies, they bring a great deal of corpulent substance along with them and they are sent away to the shores along with those who have not paid for their passage.
“You see, my business is to steer, the ghosts are to row. I have no respect for persons of rank. Kings and Cardinals row with me, and every one takes his turn as much as the poorest peasant, whether they have learned to row or not.
“The French and the Spaniards bring much less weight with them than the rest, but their ghosts are not as light as feathers either. As for the Englishmen and Germans that feed well, they come sometimes with such weight that I’m in danger of going to the bottom in carrying only ten, and unless I had thrown some of my lading overboard, I would have lost the passengers all together.”
Jordan huffed, becoming irritated at the nonsense Barbossa and Charon were discussing. “But they don’t bring anything along with them. They come naked to you.”
“So it seems, but at their first coming, they bring the dreams of all these things along with them,” Charon explained, trying to grasp the concept of such thoughts.
Colin narrowed his brow. “Are dreams so heavy, then?”
“They load my boat,” he said, chuckling after a moment. “Load it, did I say? Nay, they have sunk it before now, but discussing my boat is not the real reason why you are here.”
“Charon, my friend, we’ve come to negotiate-” Barbossa began.
“We’re here for Isabella Selene,” Jordan interrupted, hearing Barbossa growl in the background, but he didn’t care, his general was waiting to be saved.
‘Stupid whelp.’ Jack sighed, placing a hand on his face out of embarrassment.
A piercing laugh filled the air, prompting the souls on the small boat beside them to wail in horror. “Is that so? I’ve never heard of her,” he said, sweeping an elegant arm out to the endless line of dead souls. “It’s best that you start looking now.”
---
In the deeps of the netherworld, one with yearning eyes would await her presence when the day sinks into night and all the heavens are fair. In her tireless watch, the tearful Queen pent in the wide expanse of Hades, gazing across the darkness of the dense nether air as she searched for her own peace of mind.
Up rose the hideous shapes, screams of terror and phantoms pale. They were the people of her sad realm, and she heeded not the bitter wailing that will not be stilled in death. Though doors of adamant were closed on them, the sooty winged phantoms continued on in their flight, bent on some errand from their awful King - errands that she was not allowed to hear, nor see.
The triple barking of the beast of hell brought her mind far beyond the scenes her gaze was set upon, and to her ears came other sounds than these.
The barking caused her to recall the words of her King. Her sweet mouth trembled when she heard him utter his word with such a clear depth to those gloomy eyes. “Persephone, until earth yields you up, may cows not find their pasture, springs run dry, and let no blossoms come to apple tree or pear!”
Sweet musings of a wicked monarch - musings that she fell for without question.
However, the sounds she heard past the hideous barking were not the sounds of familiar wailing or woe of the dead. No, what she heard dwindled along the lines of the living. At that moment, the air filled with the stench of sweet human flesh and bone.
No mortal could hope to enter the World of the Dead and return, but these mortals were different.
---
“But you must know her! She’s young and she has brown hair,” Jordan began, struggling to depict what Isabella looked like, but found himself interrupted by an impatient finger.
“Most of the dead that I ferry are young, with cherry-red lips and hair black as the raven’s wing, but here they are old, so old that they now possess short white hair that has almost all fallen out. I do not have the time or the patience to learn their names and listen to their life stories. I have a duty to fulfill to my King.”
“She must be here! She was brought by Ares himself! Surely you must have seen him. We’ve come such a long way, and we’re not leaving without her,” Jordan protested, realizing that their negotiations were not as convincing as he once thought.
“Ares brought me only one soul that I care to remember, without payment. The one you seek is one of many and you will not find her easily. You will probably not even recognize her, because your mind is frail, and too fragile to see what you do not wish to see. As you’ve said, you have come a long way already, but that’s all the more reason to turn back,” Charon said, stealing a glance at the boat of souls moored behind him. He was growing irritated as the moments drew on, and wished to return to his duties.
The wailing of the poor, abused souls grew silent as faint footsteps echoed in the mist.
“She has hair like yours, long and coarse, dark and wavy. She wears a tunic of the purest white, but is covered in filth. She is shorter than you are. She has mole in the center of her neck and a scar on her chest from her battle,” said a voice, not too distant from where they stood.
Out of the shadows appeared a robed and hooded figure, carrying a sheaf of grain. It was a woman with a distantly archaic smile, yet she was demure. She was the culmination of a thousand beautiful flowers from the earth and the farthest verge of the salt sea.
“Hector Barbossa,” she said with a smile. “I thought you would never return to me.”
Barbossa drew forward rather confidently, closing the distance between him and the goddess in a few short steps. “Persephone, my Queen, how could ye think of me in such a way? Do I appear to be one that would renege on a bargain?”
“It has been too long since I’ve negotiated with sea nymphs, but Calypso seemed so desperate to have you back. It almost seemed like she wanted you all to herself, really. I thought was never going to see your face again.”
“I’m not one to disappoint,” he said, narrowing his brow.
“So you aren’t, for here you stand,” she said, turning to gaze down the shores of the shadowy River of Woe.
“Nonetheless, I must say that I’m pleased to hear that I do not possess a face that ye can easily forget,” Barbossa said, smiling wickedly. “I’m naught but a humble servant.”
Persephone turned to face Barbossa, ignoring his statement. “Her arms are swollen. Her tongue is also swollen and chapped, and it has been bleeding from reluctance.”
Isabella had a sharp tongue when necessary. Jack knew it well enough, and he wouldn’t be surprised to have seen her unleash it, even in death.
“She is young enough to be your daughter, but old enough to be an ancestor, and she is only bones. Is this the woman you seek, Hector?”
‘She is only bones?’ Jack thought, feeling his stomach twist into knots from such an image.
“Yes, we’ve come to negotiate her release,” Jordan said, noting Jack’s apprehension as he stepped forward into address Persephone.
“Negotiate?” asked Charon, bringing a hand to his chin. Jordan’s talk of bargaining obviously sparked his interest.
Barbossa unlatched a small pouch from his side and tossed it to the immortal being. “Twenty-nine obolus coins in exchange fer one soul. Do ye recall ‘er now, Charon?”
Charon fumbled with the pouch, opening it to reveal the shiny silver coins, and absorbed them with his greedy eyes. His hand slide through the light fabric on his waist, finding the object he was searching for.
With a flick of his wrist, Charon tossed the thin metal item to Barbossa and whispered, “One soul.”
Barbossa peered down at the object in his palm, and sneered.
It was a key.
Persephone smiled, brushing past Barbossa, allowing her hands to travel along Jordan’s face and chest. “You know, she looks like you, beautiful warrior-king. Lean. Muscles. Scars. She looks just like you, actually. Only she is dead,” she said, running the back of her hand along Jordan’s cheek, appearing to enjoy his mortal warmth. “She is in constant sorrow.”
Jordan flinched, leaning away from her icy touch, but could not help but be entranced by her beauty. “Do not fear me, warrior-king. Afar, shaded by willow and poplar, flows the silvery woeful river of the underworld. You will find her upon her shores, and you mustn’t go far from where we stand; her hell won’t allow her to move.”
“What should we do when we find her?” Jack asked, finally finding his voice.
She laughed, adjusting the tunic upon her shoulders to warm herself from the cool breeze. “You will kiss her. Everybody knows that.”
Jack would kiss her. It was the first thing he would do when he laid eyes on her again out of sheer impulse.
“But how do we help her?” Colin asked, making his presence known to the goddess, but Persephone was not interested in the fair haired warrior. Instead, she was interested in the dark skinned man, adorned with long knotted hair, and dark eyes of the deepest brown.
She shrugged her shoulders as she approach Jack, seeming reluctant to elaborate for a moment. “Draw the needles out of her arms, and stop the blood with your mouth. She is not helping herself anymore, and she hates to move.
“It will hurt,” she whispered, encircling Jack. “Paint your face now, so that you look like the warrior in your dreams and thoughts. There will be snakes crawling beneath your skin, but only one of you will truly feel it. You might vomit from the pain, and because the snakes are sickening,” she said, looking into his eyes as if she were reading his thoughts about Isabella’s death. Her narrowed brow confirmed that she knew that it was by his hand that she was dead.
“Release her from the shackles and lie down next to her very carefully. Wrap your arms around her. She will not hug you back. Rest your head on her shoulder. You will have to go to where she is in her mind. Close your eyes. It might hurt. No, it will hurt. You can cry, but it won’t help.”
Jordan and Colin looked at one another, attempting to figure out who would be the one to travel such a journey into Isabella’s mind to save her. Jordan averted his eyes to Barbossa, who stood unmoving, staring at Charon in silent deliberation.
“She will turn her head and look at you. Call her name. She will recognize you and smile. She is so tired, and she hurts. She hurts so much that she is confused. She doesn't know where she is. She won’t thank you when you come back. She will blink and try to kill you.
“Take her by the hand. Hold her tightly. Give her one of your torches to warm her. Don’t worry if she doesn't talk at first. Voices take a long time to come back, and then lead her out. Don't look back,” she said, moving forward with them into the mist.
A few moments into their journey, Jordan finally broke their silence. “Why are you helping us? You’ll get nothing from this. Charon now possesses the coins,” Jordan said, finally letting his curiosity get the better of his mind.
Persephone stopped in her tracks, slowly looking over her shoulder. “I owe the woman that you seek far more than words could ever explain, warrior-king. She brought my Ares back. Ares is my brother and I will forever be his loving sister. Your woman did not deserve this fate, just as much as I didn’t deserve mine.”
“There are some souls that cannot escape their fate. Hera designed a Hell just for her many years ago. I would know, I was ordered to do it. Ares has no power over it, for he cannot upset my King.”
The goddess sighed softly, sweeping a hand out before her. “I cannot venture any further with you. My King will not be pleased to know of your arrival. You must go now, swiftly. Do not lose your way.”
Persephone caught Jack’s arm as he passed her by, her grip prompting him to stop. He looked into her eyes.
‘There is no way to truly bring someone back from the dead. Body, mind and soul will be permanently affected, but you will make the journey anyway. Hold onto her when she is released, she will take you back. The gift of immortality is no longer with her.’
In a moment, Jack’s eyes were on the ground. He attempted to pull away from the dark goddess to continue on with the others, but she stopped him.
‘Do not return to this place, it is not your fate to rest here.’
Again, Jack tugged away from her grip, and finally pulled away from her with greater force. He didn’t look pleased at all.
She sighed, wondering if he had understood her, but it was no longer her concern.
---
The ghosts that rose from every darkling corpse were thin and pale, and in agony. Each was greeted by their own hell, which was not visible to their eyes. Instead, the apparitions wandered aimlessly along the shores, screaming, pulling out their hair, and begging for mercy every so often.
From what, they did not know.
On a path winding upward toward the foggy shores, black vipers fluttered their wings with urges to fly, draping the black stoned as they hissed. Their features were sprinkled upon the mud as if the land was made of quills and the inkwells of skulls were filled with black water.
They came to a field glittering with the thousand sloughed skins of arrowheads and stones seemed to shudder with their footsteps as if they were leaping forward to give themselves into the broken hearts of the living.
As they reached the heat-rippled shoreline, they closed their eyes. The luminous beach dust pounded out of funeral shells. The wing and the egg shaped stones, broken war-shells of slain fighting conches, and dog-eared immortality shells were visible in the dull light of the moon. The waters slithered up upon the shores once more, containing invisible fingers of ghosts grasping the sand to catch a breath of air before returning to the depths. Each time they returned to the shores, the lost souls clutched the muddy sands for mercy, unwilling to return to the River of Woe to repent for their sins.
It was as if they had walked out from themselves among the stones of the shore. They watched as the bodies of ghosts bloomed from every angle into the fog to float out over the trees, seeking to be one with the unearthly fires kindling and dying in the dark forbidden forests of Hades.
With the flame of a nearby bonfire, the flesh of the bodies pealed off their bones, the hunger to be new lifted off their souls and an eerie blue light bloomed on all the ridges of the netherworld. They gasped at the sight of the blood sacrifice; the souls had taken the fire into their arms, and burn themselves to ashes.
One soul was still running.
His neck was broken and he could not scream, but he continued to run, holding his head up with both hands.
But he would not die, for he was already dead, and his time in Hades would be spent aiding a forever broken neck.
He must have been thinking of the flames, for in an instant, he threw himself into the bonfire of corpses, in an attempt to alleviate the pain of his broken neck.
The corpses would not stop burning.
With mental instability and fear, they continued on, away from the burning corpses and into the fog. Jack couldn’t have been more apprehensive, but it was not the first time he visited the doldrums of death. However, that wasn’t a good enough reason for him to stop his shaking.
Jack walked a step or two behind Barbossa, who seemed very confident in his sense of direction.
Barbossa surely knew the landscape better than the rest of them, so the haste in his step was from guilt more than fear. Jack would be on his knees begging Isabella for her forgiveness, and he did not have the same plan in mind. Retrieving her from Hades would be apology enough, he supposed.
Jordan and Colin were walking side by side, attempting to gather a deep awareness of their surroundings - a soldier’s frame of mind, yet they were tired and sick of war. Its glory was all moonshine. Those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded are the one’s who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War was hell, and they knew it well.
After a few moments, Colin nudged Jordan on the shoulder, pointing out a long shape in the distance, which turned out to be grimmer than they anticipated.
As the men drew near, the shape turned out to be a long wooden stake with the torso of a man separated from his head. The torso was ripped open, as if it were being eaten by an unknown, invisible source.
“Oh, how endearing. Our valiant betrayers are here to salvage what’s left of their little whore,” the head said, with a shriek of laughter. “And there’s not much, to my knowledge.”
Hermes.
“The war has started. Can you feel it, soldiers?” Hermes asked, focusing on Jordan and Colin. “You must think that war is such a cruel thing. How it easily separates and destroy families and friends, and mars the purest joys and happiness granted us in this world. It fills our hearts with hatred, doesn’t it?”
Jordan didn’t humor him with an answer.
“I think it’s rather delightful. Exhilarating, even. It’s a mad game that we all love to play, because it restores power to those who should rightfully possess it. You see, young soldier, it’s natural to kill and be killed. There’s no training necessary, because it’s just so naturally human.”
“I’d beg to differ, capitis. You kill because you are afraid of our own shadow,” Jack said, narrowing his brow at the head.
“You are afraid of my shadow as well, Mr. Teague,” he said with a laugh. “I can see you trembling in your boots right now. A little dignity, if you don’t mind. Only one thing is for certain in this world - as long as I can speak, expect me in your nightmares. Now, go. Save your little whore, before her time runs out - if it hasn’t already.”
“Let us go,” Barbossa said with a firm grip on Jack’s shoulder. “Tis not wise to linger ‘ere.”
Jack shrugged it off and continued on, not even looking back when he heard a deafening shriek coming from Hermes’ direction. Whatever had been eating him before had certainly returned to finish the job.
They walked on again for about another half mile. Now, the shores were utterly deserted. Beyond them, no living thing broke the blank perspective of emptiness and desolation. No sound broke the solemn stillness of the netherworld’s night. All the life and heat of day were dead. The utter solitude of the hour and time seemed intensified by the contrast. Insensible as it was the quietude had its influence on them and dulled their senses.
A cry in the dead of night startled Jack from his doldrums. The other men did not hear it, but he did.
Thus, in this horrible apathy, this dead insensibility to all outward things, night changed to morning, and morning to sunset, and sunset to night again, but his loyalty and his unswerving belief in her existence could not be altered, even if she were to tell him that it did not matter, and that she had no care for life.
He was willing to save her even if she accepted her demise.
Then through the fog he saw her, and he wasn’t so brave anymore. Several yards in front of him was where she was, on her knees, clothed in nothing but mud ridden sheet of white fabric, and chained to two large boulders behind her. Her head hung limply from exhaustion.
Shaking his head, he refused to believe what his eyes were showing him. It couldn’t have been her.
No, it simply couldn’t be.
From behind, it seemed as though she had dragged the boulders a short distance before she finally gave up, dropping to her knees in hopes for mercy.
The first thing he became aware of was the fire he felt in his legs as he pushed forward through the muddy shores. He ran to her, and dropped to her side. The next thing he became aware of was the dull, dead, aching pain around her wrists, they were enclosed within iron shackles.
With both of his strong, but shaky hands, he cupped her face. “Bella, can you hear me, love?”
She smiled.
Barbossa, Jordan and Colin quickly found their way to his side, and spoke to her as well.
“General!” Jordan said, checking her neck for any signs of a pulse.
Jack grimaced, slapping his hands away from her. “There’s no pulse you bloody fool!”
And then she began to speak.
“Can I come home, now?” she asked faintly.
Jack sighed in relief. “Of course you can, Bella. We’re taking you home. Just hold on a moment, love,” he said, looking over at Barbossa for the key.
“I’m so glad you’re back. Many things have happened since I’ve been away, Mother. I’m sorry I did not come to find you sooner. The traitor lost both his name and his face. Ares took his head, and left him broken and dead. He will no longer seek us.”
The group paused with her words, realizing that they weren’t directed toward them.
She smiled again. “We’re safe now. Can I come home, please? I can show Father how I’ve learned how to fight. I promise that I’ll never leave again.”
With a disapproving nod of her head, she let out a small laugh. “Prove it? Alex, you’ll be the first to find out!”
Suddenly, her head shot up, eyes still tightly shut. “Where are you going?”
Jordan quickly got down to his knees beside Jack. “We’re not going anywhere! We’re right here!” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Jack dropped his hands to his sides, wide-eyed in disbelief, but Jordan was quick to take over lightly tapping her face. “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” he whispered.
“S’not wise, lads,” Barbossa said, pulling them both back away from her. “Tis best to keep our distance fer now.”
Just as they thought she had calmed, a passionate fire erupted within her. Rage overtook her limbs, tensing her every muscle, and then she stood, pulling forward with all her might as she attempted to pull the boulders forward with no avail.
“No!” she screamed, feeling her tears overwhelm her eyelids. “Don’t leave me again! Stop! Don’t leave!”
She pulled forward again with all the strength she had left, digging her toes deep within the muddy shores of the Acheron for leverage against the boulders, but she could no longer budge the massive weight.
With her final cry, she dropped to her knees again, losing a tormenting fight with her mind. Isabella Selene, a grand general of her time, was reduced to nothing but a caged animal.
A long moment passed before her head shot up once more.
“Can I come home, now?” she asked.
Jack crawled beside her again. “Of course you can, Bella.”
“I’m so glad you’re back. Many things have happened since I’ve been away, Mother. I’m sorry I did not come to find you sooner. The traitor lost both his name and his face. Ares took his head, and left him broken and dead. He will no longer seek us.”
That was when they realized that she was in cycle of utter misery.
---
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Jack, OFC, Barbossa, OMCs
Rating: Soft R, for vivid and perhaps, disturbing imagery.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, nor do I make profit in writing it.
Summary: Jack, Barbossa, Jordan, and Colin have finally reached the Acheron, and commence their negotiations with Charon for Isabella's release until an unexpected visit from the Queen of the Netherworld leads them off in the right direction.
A/N: The physical description of Charon and the Acheron is based on an illustration in the Divine Comedy (Gustave Doré, 1857).
Chapter 28 - Constant Sorrow
“Whisper on a scream, doesn't change a thing
Doesn’t bring you back, blue on black.”
Kenny Wayne Shepherd
---
By the tranquil merging of the stream into the Acheron, the souls of the dead reflected on how they would pass restfully beyond the scope of the sun. However, that notion was unreachable when they arrived at their destination, causing them to hide far from the demon man that waited to ferry their souls.
The sleep of immortality did not await them in the place where life and love had been long forgotten. The only sounds in their ears were the faint trickles of the waters beneath, and the screams of those that were waiting in line to depart along the last leg of their journey to Hades.
Before entering the plain on its passage from rugged highlands, the Acheron flowed through a profound and gloomy gorge, which was one of the darkest and deepest of the glens that the human mind could only imagine. On either side precipices rose sheer from the water’s edge to a height of hundreds of feet. Their ledges and crannies were tufted with dwarf oaks and shrubs. Higher up where the sides of the glen receded from, the mountains rose to an unfathomable height over woods of black pine, adding to the somber magnificence of the scene.
A precarious footpath led along a perilous ledge high up on the mountain side, from which the dead gazed down into the depths of a tremendous ravine. The deep and quiet stream could be seen rushing and foaming along, often plunging in a cascade into a dark abyss, but so far below them that the wailing of the souls was lost in mid-air before it could reach their ears.
Barbossa had no mind to wait in line to confront the demon man, dragging Jack along in his confident procession.
Jack was only conscious of black silence and eternity as Barbossa dragged him further. They were silently being followed by Jordan and Colin, though he knew the silence would not last for long. Jordan had his own plans in mind - stupid ones, like all the other whelps. Not only that, but he was sure that Jordan wouldn’t let Barbossa speak for very long, and reminded himself to stand far away from Jordan when they spoke to Charon.
In the beginning, there was not dread, Jack never feared the long ennui of infinite time, and so for many years he thought of little, for he cared for nothing other than immortality. He was who he was, and that was all he was. In one day, the earthy dampness of the grave greeted him, and he could have shrieked aloud when the true meaning of immortality that he desired was finally unmasked, showing it’s true colors. The immeasurable pain she bore when he first laid eyes upon her mirrored how pained she looked when her final breaths escaped her.
He couldn’t help but feel responsible for such pain.
The dead were the only ones who knew the sights and sounds of the horror that bound them. It was the cries and wailing of pain that they heard in that lonely and desolate place that would surely bring them nightmares, but many would thrill with horror at the cry of some dead body lying near them who woke as he walked by, and found itself still conscious, even in death.
“Yer very quiet, Jack. Grief becomes you.”
With a slight wrinkle to his nose, Jack let out a growl. “I hope you’ve prepared a good treat. I doubt you can say anything acceptable to the likes of him, but I’ve gathered that you’re not too proud to beg. Try to stay off your knees, Hector. I can’t tell you what it does for your reputation.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’d be the one to know the implications of that, but I’ll not be the one on my knees,” Barbossa said, smiling wickedly. “Mayhap it will be the contrary, when yer on yours beggin’ for her forgiveness.”
“Not if she kills me first,” Jack said softly.
“One can only hope.”
The smell of the sweat exuding from their bodies struck the onlookers with the same force that it struck the demon man, prompting him to look away from his work.
‘Three heartbeats. Nay, there are four. Mortals.’
His nostrils flared.
“Where are you mortals going to in such haste?” the demon man demanded, snarling at the four men who had approached him with such conviction.
Barbossa swayed to a halt, interlocking his fingers together diplomatically. “What occasion prompted ye fer a new boat, Charon?”
“None at all, if I had a mind to be wrecked again in the Stygian Lake,” Charon replied sarcastically as he eyed the man cautiously, attempting to decipher his familiarity.
“Is it because ye had too large a company?”
“Yes,” Charon said simply, with a slight edge to his response. His large company was a result of Hera’s corruption, but he had no voice or significance to speak against her, especially not after she provided him with a new vessel to keep him from rebelling. “I came hither to provide myself with a good strong three oared boat; for my boat was so rotten and leaky with age that it would not carry such a burden. I have suffered through that shipwreck already, and the bodies still swim with the frogs.”
“Ye carry shadows, not bodies,” Barbossa corrected.
“They are nothing but water spiders today. Tomorrow they shall rest forever in the bellies of their worst nightmares. Yet, there may be enough of them to grab a hold of my boat as we pass, but you know we are just shadows just as they.”
“I remember once that ye had a great company, an’ your boat would not hold them. I ‘ave seen three thousand hangin’ upon yer stern and you were not able to sense any weight.”
The demon laughed, dropping the heavy oar to the ground beside him. “I confess that I carry too many at once. Some have passed slowly out of the body, being reduced to little or nothing with consumptions and hectic fevers, but as for those that are torn out of their bodies, they bring a great deal of corpulent substance along with them and they are sent away to the shores along with those who have not paid for their passage.
“You see, my business is to steer, the ghosts are to row. I have no respect for persons of rank. Kings and Cardinals row with me, and every one takes his turn as much as the poorest peasant, whether they have learned to row or not.
“The French and the Spaniards bring much less weight with them than the rest, but their ghosts are not as light as feathers either. As for the Englishmen and Germans that feed well, they come sometimes with such weight that I’m in danger of going to the bottom in carrying only ten, and unless I had thrown some of my lading overboard, I would have lost the passengers all together.”
Jordan huffed, becoming irritated at the nonsense Barbossa and Charon were discussing. “But they don’t bring anything along with them. They come naked to you.”
“So it seems, but at their first coming, they bring the dreams of all these things along with them,” Charon explained, trying to grasp the concept of such thoughts.
Colin narrowed his brow. “Are dreams so heavy, then?”
“They load my boat,” he said, chuckling after a moment. “Load it, did I say? Nay, they have sunk it before now, but discussing my boat is not the real reason why you are here.”
“Charon, my friend, we’ve come to negotiate-” Barbossa began.
“We’re here for Isabella Selene,” Jordan interrupted, hearing Barbossa growl in the background, but he didn’t care, his general was waiting to be saved.
‘Stupid whelp.’ Jack sighed, placing a hand on his face out of embarrassment.
A piercing laugh filled the air, prompting the souls on the small boat beside them to wail in horror. “Is that so? I’ve never heard of her,” he said, sweeping an elegant arm out to the endless line of dead souls. “It’s best that you start looking now.”
---
In the deeps of the netherworld, one with yearning eyes would await her presence when the day sinks into night and all the heavens are fair. In her tireless watch, the tearful Queen pent in the wide expanse of Hades, gazing across the darkness of the dense nether air as she searched for her own peace of mind.
Up rose the hideous shapes, screams of terror and phantoms pale. They were the people of her sad realm, and she heeded not the bitter wailing that will not be stilled in death. Though doors of adamant were closed on them, the sooty winged phantoms continued on in their flight, bent on some errand from their awful King - errands that she was not allowed to hear, nor see.
The triple barking of the beast of hell brought her mind far beyond the scenes her gaze was set upon, and to her ears came other sounds than these.
The barking caused her to recall the words of her King. Her sweet mouth trembled when she heard him utter his word with such a clear depth to those gloomy eyes. “Persephone, until earth yields you up, may cows not find their pasture, springs run dry, and let no blossoms come to apple tree or pear!”
Sweet musings of a wicked monarch - musings that she fell for without question.
However, the sounds she heard past the hideous barking were not the sounds of familiar wailing or woe of the dead. No, what she heard dwindled along the lines of the living. At that moment, the air filled with the stench of sweet human flesh and bone.
No mortal could hope to enter the World of the Dead and return, but these mortals were different.
---
“But you must know her! She’s young and she has brown hair,” Jordan began, struggling to depict what Isabella looked like, but found himself interrupted by an impatient finger.
“Most of the dead that I ferry are young, with cherry-red lips and hair black as the raven’s wing, but here they are old, so old that they now possess short white hair that has almost all fallen out. I do not have the time or the patience to learn their names and listen to their life stories. I have a duty to fulfill to my King.”
“She must be here! She was brought by Ares himself! Surely you must have seen him. We’ve come such a long way, and we’re not leaving without her,” Jordan protested, realizing that their negotiations were not as convincing as he once thought.
“Ares brought me only one soul that I care to remember, without payment. The one you seek is one of many and you will not find her easily. You will probably not even recognize her, because your mind is frail, and too fragile to see what you do not wish to see. As you’ve said, you have come a long way already, but that’s all the more reason to turn back,” Charon said, stealing a glance at the boat of souls moored behind him. He was growing irritated as the moments drew on, and wished to return to his duties.
The wailing of the poor, abused souls grew silent as faint footsteps echoed in the mist.
“She has hair like yours, long and coarse, dark and wavy. She wears a tunic of the purest white, but is covered in filth. She is shorter than you are. She has mole in the center of her neck and a scar on her chest from her battle,” said a voice, not too distant from where they stood.
Out of the shadows appeared a robed and hooded figure, carrying a sheaf of grain. It was a woman with a distantly archaic smile, yet she was demure. She was the culmination of a thousand beautiful flowers from the earth and the farthest verge of the salt sea.
“Hector Barbossa,” she said with a smile. “I thought you would never return to me.”
Barbossa drew forward rather confidently, closing the distance between him and the goddess in a few short steps. “Persephone, my Queen, how could ye think of me in such a way? Do I appear to be one that would renege on a bargain?”
“It has been too long since I’ve negotiated with sea nymphs, but Calypso seemed so desperate to have you back. It almost seemed like she wanted you all to herself, really. I thought was never going to see your face again.”
“I’m not one to disappoint,” he said, narrowing his brow.
“So you aren’t, for here you stand,” she said, turning to gaze down the shores of the shadowy River of Woe.
“Nonetheless, I must say that I’m pleased to hear that I do not possess a face that ye can easily forget,” Barbossa said, smiling wickedly. “I’m naught but a humble servant.”
Persephone turned to face Barbossa, ignoring his statement. “Her arms are swollen. Her tongue is also swollen and chapped, and it has been bleeding from reluctance.”
Isabella had a sharp tongue when necessary. Jack knew it well enough, and he wouldn’t be surprised to have seen her unleash it, even in death.
“She is young enough to be your daughter, but old enough to be an ancestor, and she is only bones. Is this the woman you seek, Hector?”
‘She is only bones?’ Jack thought, feeling his stomach twist into knots from such an image.
“Yes, we’ve come to negotiate her release,” Jordan said, noting Jack’s apprehension as he stepped forward into address Persephone.
“Negotiate?” asked Charon, bringing a hand to his chin. Jordan’s talk of bargaining obviously sparked his interest.
Barbossa unlatched a small pouch from his side and tossed it to the immortal being. “Twenty-nine obolus coins in exchange fer one soul. Do ye recall ‘er now, Charon?”
Charon fumbled with the pouch, opening it to reveal the shiny silver coins, and absorbed them with his greedy eyes. His hand slide through the light fabric on his waist, finding the object he was searching for.
With a flick of his wrist, Charon tossed the thin metal item to Barbossa and whispered, “One soul.”
Barbossa peered down at the object in his palm, and sneered.
It was a key.
Persephone smiled, brushing past Barbossa, allowing her hands to travel along Jordan’s face and chest. “You know, she looks like you, beautiful warrior-king. Lean. Muscles. Scars. She looks just like you, actually. Only she is dead,” she said, running the back of her hand along Jordan’s cheek, appearing to enjoy his mortal warmth. “She is in constant sorrow.”
Jordan flinched, leaning away from her icy touch, but could not help but be entranced by her beauty. “Do not fear me, warrior-king. Afar, shaded by willow and poplar, flows the silvery woeful river of the underworld. You will find her upon her shores, and you mustn’t go far from where we stand; her hell won’t allow her to move.”
“What should we do when we find her?” Jack asked, finally finding his voice.
She laughed, adjusting the tunic upon her shoulders to warm herself from the cool breeze. “You will kiss her. Everybody knows that.”
Jack would kiss her. It was the first thing he would do when he laid eyes on her again out of sheer impulse.
“But how do we help her?” Colin asked, making his presence known to the goddess, but Persephone was not interested in the fair haired warrior. Instead, she was interested in the dark skinned man, adorned with long knotted hair, and dark eyes of the deepest brown.
She shrugged her shoulders as she approach Jack, seeming reluctant to elaborate for a moment. “Draw the needles out of her arms, and stop the blood with your mouth. She is not helping herself anymore, and she hates to move.
“It will hurt,” she whispered, encircling Jack. “Paint your face now, so that you look like the warrior in your dreams and thoughts. There will be snakes crawling beneath your skin, but only one of you will truly feel it. You might vomit from the pain, and because the snakes are sickening,” she said, looking into his eyes as if she were reading his thoughts about Isabella’s death. Her narrowed brow confirmed that she knew that it was by his hand that she was dead.
“Release her from the shackles and lie down next to her very carefully. Wrap your arms around her. She will not hug you back. Rest your head on her shoulder. You will have to go to where she is in her mind. Close your eyes. It might hurt. No, it will hurt. You can cry, but it won’t help.”
Jordan and Colin looked at one another, attempting to figure out who would be the one to travel such a journey into Isabella’s mind to save her. Jordan averted his eyes to Barbossa, who stood unmoving, staring at Charon in silent deliberation.
“She will turn her head and look at you. Call her name. She will recognize you and smile. She is so tired, and she hurts. She hurts so much that she is confused. She doesn't know where she is. She won’t thank you when you come back. She will blink and try to kill you.
“Take her by the hand. Hold her tightly. Give her one of your torches to warm her. Don’t worry if she doesn't talk at first. Voices take a long time to come back, and then lead her out. Don't look back,” she said, moving forward with them into the mist.
A few moments into their journey, Jordan finally broke their silence. “Why are you helping us? You’ll get nothing from this. Charon now possesses the coins,” Jordan said, finally letting his curiosity get the better of his mind.
Persephone stopped in her tracks, slowly looking over her shoulder. “I owe the woman that you seek far more than words could ever explain, warrior-king. She brought my Ares back. Ares is my brother and I will forever be his loving sister. Your woman did not deserve this fate, just as much as I didn’t deserve mine.”
“There are some souls that cannot escape their fate. Hera designed a Hell just for her many years ago. I would know, I was ordered to do it. Ares has no power over it, for he cannot upset my King.”
The goddess sighed softly, sweeping a hand out before her. “I cannot venture any further with you. My King will not be pleased to know of your arrival. You must go now, swiftly. Do not lose your way.”
Persephone caught Jack’s arm as he passed her by, her grip prompting him to stop. He looked into her eyes.
‘There is no way to truly bring someone back from the dead. Body, mind and soul will be permanently affected, but you will make the journey anyway. Hold onto her when she is released, she will take you back. The gift of immortality is no longer with her.’
In a moment, Jack’s eyes were on the ground. He attempted to pull away from the dark goddess to continue on with the others, but she stopped him.
‘Do not return to this place, it is not your fate to rest here.’
Again, Jack tugged away from her grip, and finally pulled away from her with greater force. He didn’t look pleased at all.
She sighed, wondering if he had understood her, but it was no longer her concern.
---
The ghosts that rose from every darkling corpse were thin and pale, and in agony. Each was greeted by their own hell, which was not visible to their eyes. Instead, the apparitions wandered aimlessly along the shores, screaming, pulling out their hair, and begging for mercy every so often.
From what, they did not know.
On a path winding upward toward the foggy shores, black vipers fluttered their wings with urges to fly, draping the black stoned as they hissed. Their features were sprinkled upon the mud as if the land was made of quills and the inkwells of skulls were filled with black water.
They came to a field glittering with the thousand sloughed skins of arrowheads and stones seemed to shudder with their footsteps as if they were leaping forward to give themselves into the broken hearts of the living.
As they reached the heat-rippled shoreline, they closed their eyes. The luminous beach dust pounded out of funeral shells. The wing and the egg shaped stones, broken war-shells of slain fighting conches, and dog-eared immortality shells were visible in the dull light of the moon. The waters slithered up upon the shores once more, containing invisible fingers of ghosts grasping the sand to catch a breath of air before returning to the depths. Each time they returned to the shores, the lost souls clutched the muddy sands for mercy, unwilling to return to the River of Woe to repent for their sins.
It was as if they had walked out from themselves among the stones of the shore. They watched as the bodies of ghosts bloomed from every angle into the fog to float out over the trees, seeking to be one with the unearthly fires kindling and dying in the dark forbidden forests of Hades.
With the flame of a nearby bonfire, the flesh of the bodies pealed off their bones, the hunger to be new lifted off their souls and an eerie blue light bloomed on all the ridges of the netherworld. They gasped at the sight of the blood sacrifice; the souls had taken the fire into their arms, and burn themselves to ashes.
One soul was still running.
His neck was broken and he could not scream, but he continued to run, holding his head up with both hands.
But he would not die, for he was already dead, and his time in Hades would be spent aiding a forever broken neck.
He must have been thinking of the flames, for in an instant, he threw himself into the bonfire of corpses, in an attempt to alleviate the pain of his broken neck.
The corpses would not stop burning.
With mental instability and fear, they continued on, away from the burning corpses and into the fog. Jack couldn’t have been more apprehensive, but it was not the first time he visited the doldrums of death. However, that wasn’t a good enough reason for him to stop his shaking.
Jack walked a step or two behind Barbossa, who seemed very confident in his sense of direction.
Barbossa surely knew the landscape better than the rest of them, so the haste in his step was from guilt more than fear. Jack would be on his knees begging Isabella for her forgiveness, and he did not have the same plan in mind. Retrieving her from Hades would be apology enough, he supposed.
Jordan and Colin were walking side by side, attempting to gather a deep awareness of their surroundings - a soldier’s frame of mind, yet they were tired and sick of war. Its glory was all moonshine. Those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded are the one’s who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War was hell, and they knew it well.
After a few moments, Colin nudged Jordan on the shoulder, pointing out a long shape in the distance, which turned out to be grimmer than they anticipated.
As the men drew near, the shape turned out to be a long wooden stake with the torso of a man separated from his head. The torso was ripped open, as if it were being eaten by an unknown, invisible source.
“Oh, how endearing. Our valiant betrayers are here to salvage what’s left of their little whore,” the head said, with a shriek of laughter. “And there’s not much, to my knowledge.”
Hermes.
“The war has started. Can you feel it, soldiers?” Hermes asked, focusing on Jordan and Colin. “You must think that war is such a cruel thing. How it easily separates and destroy families and friends, and mars the purest joys and happiness granted us in this world. It fills our hearts with hatred, doesn’t it?”
Jordan didn’t humor him with an answer.
“I think it’s rather delightful. Exhilarating, even. It’s a mad game that we all love to play, because it restores power to those who should rightfully possess it. You see, young soldier, it’s natural to kill and be killed. There’s no training necessary, because it’s just so naturally human.”
“I’d beg to differ, capitis. You kill because you are afraid of our own shadow,” Jack said, narrowing his brow at the head.
“You are afraid of my shadow as well, Mr. Teague,” he said with a laugh. “I can see you trembling in your boots right now. A little dignity, if you don’t mind. Only one thing is for certain in this world - as long as I can speak, expect me in your nightmares. Now, go. Save your little whore, before her time runs out - if it hasn’t already.”
“Let us go,” Barbossa said with a firm grip on Jack’s shoulder. “Tis not wise to linger ‘ere.”
Jack shrugged it off and continued on, not even looking back when he heard a deafening shriek coming from Hermes’ direction. Whatever had been eating him before had certainly returned to finish the job.
They walked on again for about another half mile. Now, the shores were utterly deserted. Beyond them, no living thing broke the blank perspective of emptiness and desolation. No sound broke the solemn stillness of the netherworld’s night. All the life and heat of day were dead. The utter solitude of the hour and time seemed intensified by the contrast. Insensible as it was the quietude had its influence on them and dulled their senses.
A cry in the dead of night startled Jack from his doldrums. The other men did not hear it, but he did.
Thus, in this horrible apathy, this dead insensibility to all outward things, night changed to morning, and morning to sunset, and sunset to night again, but his loyalty and his unswerving belief in her existence could not be altered, even if she were to tell him that it did not matter, and that she had no care for life.
He was willing to save her even if she accepted her demise.
Then through the fog he saw her, and he wasn’t so brave anymore. Several yards in front of him was where she was, on her knees, clothed in nothing but mud ridden sheet of white fabric, and chained to two large boulders behind her. Her head hung limply from exhaustion.
Shaking his head, he refused to believe what his eyes were showing him. It couldn’t have been her.
No, it simply couldn’t be.
From behind, it seemed as though she had dragged the boulders a short distance before she finally gave up, dropping to her knees in hopes for mercy.
The first thing he became aware of was the fire he felt in his legs as he pushed forward through the muddy shores. He ran to her, and dropped to her side. The next thing he became aware of was the dull, dead, aching pain around her wrists, they were enclosed within iron shackles.
With both of his strong, but shaky hands, he cupped her face. “Bella, can you hear me, love?”
She smiled.
Barbossa, Jordan and Colin quickly found their way to his side, and spoke to her as well.
“General!” Jordan said, checking her neck for any signs of a pulse.
Jack grimaced, slapping his hands away from her. “There’s no pulse you bloody fool!”
And then she began to speak.
“Can I come home, now?” she asked faintly.
Jack sighed in relief. “Of course you can, Bella. We’re taking you home. Just hold on a moment, love,” he said, looking over at Barbossa for the key.
“I’m so glad you’re back. Many things have happened since I’ve been away, Mother. I’m sorry I did not come to find you sooner. The traitor lost both his name and his face. Ares took his head, and left him broken and dead. He will no longer seek us.”
The group paused with her words, realizing that they weren’t directed toward them.
She smiled again. “We’re safe now. Can I come home, please? I can show Father how I’ve learned how to fight. I promise that I’ll never leave again.”
With a disapproving nod of her head, she let out a small laugh. “Prove it? Alex, you’ll be the first to find out!”
Suddenly, her head shot up, eyes still tightly shut. “Where are you going?”
Jordan quickly got down to his knees beside Jack. “We’re not going anywhere! We’re right here!” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Jack dropped his hands to his sides, wide-eyed in disbelief, but Jordan was quick to take over lightly tapping her face. “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” he whispered.
“S’not wise, lads,” Barbossa said, pulling them both back away from her. “Tis best to keep our distance fer now.”
Just as they thought she had calmed, a passionate fire erupted within her. Rage overtook her limbs, tensing her every muscle, and then she stood, pulling forward with all her might as she attempted to pull the boulders forward with no avail.
“No!” she screamed, feeling her tears overwhelm her eyelids. “Don’t leave me again! Stop! Don’t leave!”
She pulled forward again with all the strength she had left, digging her toes deep within the muddy shores of the Acheron for leverage against the boulders, but she could no longer budge the massive weight.
With her final cry, she dropped to her knees again, losing a tormenting fight with her mind. Isabella Selene, a grand general of her time, was reduced to nothing but a caged animal.
A long moment passed before her head shot up once more.
“Can I come home, now?” she asked.
Jack crawled beside her again. “Of course you can, Bella.”
“I’m so glad you’re back. Many things have happened since I’ve been away, Mother. I’m sorry I did not come to find you sooner. The traitor lost both his name and his face. Ares took his head, and left him broken and dead. He will no longer seek us.”
That was when they realized that she was in cycle of utter misery.
---