Partings - A Dark Sun Story

The following story takes place about three months before the start of Chapter 4 of our Dark Sun game.

                My best friend is leaving. I have no idea when I will see him again. No matter where I look in this small guest room, I am confronted with the evidence of this. His duffle bag is half packed, half unpacked, but I see order within the apparent chaos. His most prized possessions are in the bag, secure, ready for tomorrow. The rest is careful chaos so when he fights with C’aro and storms away it will seem random. I am the one that asked him to do this, and now I cannot help but feel I am losing a vital part of myself.

                “Zarnian,” Jingleheimer is looking at me with that easy smile of his. I instantly smile in response, unable to stop even if I wanted to. “Are you ok? You came in here and froze. Were you frozen by my magnificence?” He raises a brow playfully as he strikes a pose. Truthfully he is in wonderful shape. Though his right arm has lost some muscle tone, the rest of him is becoming even more formed to compensate.

                I just raise my eyebrow skeptically, because this is what he expects, then I can’t help but laugh. When I do, he does. Everything is right again. He has a way of making this so. He is the only one who does this for me. I try to push those thoughts to the back of my mind. “Tomorrow approaches,” I say, a statement too obvious. I follow up with the first thing on my mind. “Go over the preparations with me again.”

                He rolls his eyes. He has been over this with me more than once, but he knows I need to hear it this night of all nights to calm my nerves. “Tomorrow starts off normally. Then, C’aro and I get in an argument. I call him fat.” I crack a smile again. He mulls this over a moment. “No, C’aro isn’t really fat. Portly. I’ll call him portly. It’s a new word I picked up with all the training on talking better and writing dune code.”

                “So you call C’aro portly,” I nudge, flinching at his grammar.

                “Yep.” He beams. “That part is going to be fun. There just aren’t that many times when you can call your boss a whole sack full of shit and have a reason.” I nod my agreement. “Then, when I go tell the guys what happens, Giffen, DeMatteis, Maguire and Kirby get so pissed they quit with me. We go to the merchant square before word gets out that we’re fired and we take our codlu, along with a wagon of stone that Maribel sold C’aro.”

                “Thieves,” I feign scandal.

                “We scrape together our money and we go to Sharp’s where we used to house our codlu and we buy a few more for the road. Teixeira and Bradstreet hear that we are leaving town and then they come with us. We leave town and then I send a note to Marishika telling her to come meet me and then we have the House of the Jingling Belt.”

                I nod. That’s the plan. I’ve used my spies and go betweens to make sure that everyone involved is loyal, and all but Marishika loyal to me. I cannot and will not have Jingleheimer compromised. Even the thought of the danger he could be in makes me freeze. I know how to solve this. I already saw the mug partially wrapped in his bag. Without asking, I walk over and retrieve it. It is a bright light blue glazed ceramic mug with the lightning bolt of the Sky Followers etched in it. I sit on the floor, before setting that cup before me and taking its twin from my shoulder bag. Finally, I take out one of the bottles of mescal I brought and fill each mug. Jingleheimer sits on the floor with me and I hand him his mug before I raise mine. “To the House of the Jingling Belt! Long may it trade.”

                Lifting his mug high, he salutes, “To seeing you naked at Denning’s wedding where we got these horrible things,” he drinks, closing his eyes. “This is one of the many good things about drinking with you. You always buy the expensive stuff.”

                “I drink rarely. I may as well not waste my time. And, Talmeza made these herself,” I state, not out of defense for the ugly mugs but because his comment about my nudity makes me uncomfortable and I am trying to deflect it. I take a longer sip than perhaps I should. The familiar sweet liquid burns as it trickles down into my belly. Suddenly, I laugh. Seeing Jingle’s quizzical expression I explain, “I could have lived without seeing Ohzon Sky Finger, I mean Sky Father, prancing around naked the whole ceremony.”

                Jingleheimer laughs at that, really laughs. It is warm and welcoming like hot stew after a long hungry day. “Well, it wasn’t all Ohzon’s fault. It was cold that morning and the cold tends to do horrible things to the male body.”

                “You didn’t have any problems,” I blame the mescal. The words are gone and I can’t get them back. Instead, I drink more.

                He pretends to be scandalized, clutching his arm over his already covered chest. “I am shocked at you! Staring at my private area.”

                “Like I could help it!” The words are already gone, I may as well make it sound as if I intended them. “You could have just told me you were part half giant.”

                He bows slightly, pretend shame replaced with some actual pride. “My cousin Barok has the Rainbow Sword. I have the Steel Cudgel.”

                I can see someone being knocked out with that thing, but we have to stop talking about his penis, because I am going to end up blushing like some stupid slave girl… instead I change the subject, drinking more first to make a delineation in the conversation and because I need more to drink so I can get the image of Jingleheimer naked out of my mind. I have to replace that image with something sweet, innocent. “I saw you talking with Timmuth earlier.”

                “He’s  a good boy, for being a murderous little shit.” I flinch. I am the one that gave him that title, back when he was Bay’s. It is one of the many things I now feel badly about. “He told me that you promised to buy him an iron dagger if he trains hard every day, and introduced me to his new telepathic tutor, Darius.”

                “The tutor is almost a boy himself, but Timmuth likes him and is taking to his lessons. He trains for 2-3 hours a day with Darius, trains 2-3 hours with Nathan or myself to improve his weapon skill and after the evening meal I teach him reading, writing, and dune trader code.”

                “That’s a heavy schedule.” He purposely keeps his tone light, but I know there is more to the statement.

                “He needs to be ready for what may come, with our without me. If I fall, he has to have the best possible chance. I owe him that, I owe him so much more.” When I drink, I find my hands are shaking. “When we escaped Nibenay, I said I couldn’t watch him. Bay said he would. Timmuth deserved me to be there for him. He was an innocent little boy. It wasn’t his fault that his family was who they were. It wasn’t his fault that his brother was a bastard, his mother almost killed me and his father not only sold Malik, he…” I feel Jingleheimer’s hand on my shoulder. I don’t need to say more. He can see through me. He always does. I drink again to calm the pain of the memory. “Because I was selfish, he had his arm broken in combat and ended up a slave. He now has scars on his little body from Drugar beating him. Did you know that while he was a slave some other bastard slave tried to rape Timmuth and when he fought back and bit his attacker, he was beaten for attacking another slave?”

                “Fuck,” Jingle hisses, but he his rubbing my shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for not raising Timmuth immediately. Hey, look at me,” I was staring into my mescal. Meeting his gaze is not easy, but I force myself. “You sacrificed everything to rescue that boy. His father…” he pauses, not continuing. I am grateful he didn’t finish that thought. “And all you see is the innocent child and not the son of the man that hurt you. You are the most amazing and occasionally crazy person I know.”

                “Thank you,” it sounds stupid. I blame the drink. I drink more to chase away the warm feeling that has nothing to do with alcohol. I have to get away from this topic, too.

                Reaching into my bag I pull out two bundles wrapped in cloth. I hand him the smaller one first. He takes it, a small smile spreading over his face. “You got me cloth?”

                “Open it and stop being difficult,” I go to drink but my mug is empty. I fix that and top his mug off, too.

                He unwraps the material, balancing it on his lap. Inside are 8 coins, all unique. His smile is genuine now. “Where did you get these?”

                “Around,” meaning the elven market and I also have had my guards scour for them on caravan trails. They still are looking, with a small bounty for finding nice coins. “For your belt.”

                “I’ve been working on it.” He points down. The belt and coins are all new, not the loving, worn belt he had when we met. That is gone, destroyed in the raid and battle that took the use of his arm and almost took his life. I looked everywhere to find some scrap of it, but I only was able to find a single worn coin in the elven market a while ago. He keeps that one safe. Since the others are gone he least I can do I find some new coins for him, and get revenge on the bastard that did this to him.

                In the second package is a set of crodlu reins with coins attached, a mirror for his belt. “For Ten-Bit!” his masterwork war crodlu stallion. His eyes shone with joy as he made them jingle. “Thank you.”

                “Of course,” I smile and tip my head. I am trying to keep this casual, to keep everything bottled in one more night. I can lose it after he’s gone, but for now I need to keep this light…

                As he stares at the reins and coins his smile fades, replaced with something dark and serious. He sets them down gently on the bed before taking a very long drink of his mescal. I brace myself for whatever I might hear next. “Zarnian, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You promoted me from some caravan guard to captain and now Dune Trader, no one else would do that. But, I want you to do something for me.”

                “Anything,” I try to make it sound less eager than it is.  As with other things tonight, I fail.

                “Look me in the eye and promise me that you will stay the fuck away from that one eyed son of a bitch guard captain.” I open my mouth to protest but he glares at me. He knows my inner heart better than anyone else. Then the glare is gone, replaced with a hollow sadness which stabs through me harsher than any spear ever could. He drinks again, before meeting my gaze. His eyes look through me; he is rewatching the raid. “He just stormed in, they all did. We were prepared but…” We haven’t talked about the raid before and we won’t now. He stops. I understand. Some events you just don’t want to share even with the ones you care for the most. After a pause, he sees me again. He is back in the room with me. “I don’t want you fighting him. I know you’re the best around, I know how well you can fight and I am here to tell you that he is almost as good as you, if not as good. Plus, he’ll have a lot more people with him. If he… if he hurt you because you were trying to get revenge for me because basically I couldn’t do my fucking job in the first place… fuck!”

                “Jingle…”

                “No, Zarnian, I mean it. If something happened to you, especially because of me…” He looks down into his mug now, brooding. He sips his drink as I do mine, waiting for the pain to lessen. That takes more time than we have tonight. He knows it. Taking some deep breaths he calms down. His smile returns but it is sad, forced, and pained. “Let’s talk about something less traumatic. I heard you and Trakas were officially done this time.”

                I laugh, because this is no less charged or uncomfortable, but I understand it is him putting up a shield for himself. “Yes, this time it is permanent. We are friends, and our children like brothers.”

                “What finally did it?” Now the sparkle is really returning to his eyes, the playful mischief that makes me smile. “Was it that he kidnapped our oracle and lied to you about it? Was he really banging Cael after all? Did he snore? Was it because he was an inch shorter than you?”

                “Partially, not to my knowledge, not unless he was very tired, and I didn’t care at all.” The list does the trick and he laughs. All the residual tension is gone. To celebrate I drink more. I am starting to feel the effects. My hands and toes feel tingly. The fact I just thought the word ‘tingly’ tells me I am getting drunk.

                Jingleheimer must see me pondering the state of my own inebriation because he asks, “Are you ok?”

                I nod, feeling the warmth on my cheeks, the smile on my lips. Good. If I can get wasted tonight I can go without saying what I can’t. I can pretend everything is ok. I can pretend this isn’t his last night. I feel the smile start to fade. I drink more. I am becoming numb but my inner armor is starting to fall away. I close my eyes. Tonight of all nights I need that armor.

                “Are you sure you’re ok?” He sounds concerned and with my eyes closed far away. How much did I drink again? “I shouldn’t have brought up Trakas. Fuck.”

                “No, it’s…” I stop. Speaking is bad. I am going to shatter my shell.

                His tone switches, tender now. I can feel his hand on my wrist. There are no words to describe the comfort it brings. I am going to talk, but I need to hide the full truth. I remember my training through the alcohol mist and bury the truth in a lie. “I am going to miss you.” This is true. Opening my eyes I look at him and almost break. The drink had made me weak. That rhymed. Fuck. “Before, we were separated but at least you would come sometimes with the caravans. I could look forward to that. Now, we won’t see each other for months, or more and I just…” My hands are fists and I am shaking. I spill some of the mescal, so I sit the mug on the floor. I am fucking this up. I know the booze is causing me to be weak, but I am so scared I grab the mug again and drink more. Anything to numb myself.

                “Is that it?” His brow is raised quizzically. He knows there is more, of course, I am acting like an idiot. He is concerned, and I am on the verge of collapsing inside.

                “There were two reasons I broke up with Trakas.” The words are coming now, running like water from a broken pot. Jingleheimer takes a drink from his own mug, bracing himself. “We have different lives in different places. I cannot be with someone where I am second or third.”

                “And?”

                “There was someone else.”

                “Malik?”

                “Yes, but no. Once Malik died, it made me think and my eye turned toward someone else.”

                “Oh.” A shadow flutters across his expression, unreadable. “Does this guy even know you have feelings for him?”

                I shake my head, which makes me even dizzier. The room will not stop spinning now. My hair slaps into the mescal and flicks my cheek with some of the liquor. I am aware of this but I have no idea how to stop it in my current condition.

                He drinks more, but the mug does not hide the frown pulling at the corners of his lips. Something is bothering him. Probably, he is annoyed that I had to bring this up right before he leaves. I am an idiot. He breathes, measuring his words. When he speaks there is a note of defeat to his voice. “You should tell him. You fucked that part up with Trakas. Just tell this guy or better yet grab him and kiss him.”

                Carn trained my body to react without my mind. My body does that now. Suddenly, I am kissing Jingleheimer. He tastes like mescal and spice. For a few seconds, he is frozen. I start to pull away, ashamed that I have misread this as badly as I did the situation with Trakas, but then he grabs the back of my head and pulls me even closer. I crawl into his lap while we are still kissing. I want him and I can feel he wants me, too. This feels so right, even though I am to dizzy to see, made more so by our passion. The room is getting darker and darker. I don’t care. All I want is to get his pants undone, but my fingers fumble with the knotted string, which will not loosen. I climb from his lap and concentrate now, but I can’t see anymore. This is hard. Then his hand is on my wrists, stilling them. I try to ask him why but everything is fading.

 *****

                The next morning I wake in my own bed, Timmuth asleep in the cot next to mine. My head throbs and my mouth his dry as the desert itself. When I sit up, I am stabbed through the head with a dagger. It feels that way. What happened last night? I remember getting drunk. I remember kissing Jingleheimer…

                I kissed Jingleheimer.

                I bury my face in my hands, the shame washing over me. I didn’t want him to know. Now, he probably hates me. I have loved three men in my life, and I have ruined it with them all. I could not get the sword to Malik in time to save him, I could not make it work with Trakas, and now I practically raped Jingleheimer when he has no interest, or does he?

                Other memories of last night come like ghosts. I remember a strong arm around my shoulder helping me down the hall to my room, then into my bed. Lips on mine, soft and sweet. A promise that if I still was interested when I was sober, he would wait. Then weight of something being pressed into my palm and my fingers being closed around it. I open my left hand to find Jingleheimer’s coin there, the only one we saved from his original belt.

                I breathe and allow myself to smile. I pour a small glass of water from my nightstand and raise it silently into the air. To the House of the Jingling Belt, long may it trade but more importantly to Jingleheimer, may he be with me soon.