-Tales from the End of the World: Stone Crabs-

The ring of the harsh, rhythmic voice in Barbossa's ears instantaneously brought an image of Tia Dalma to mind, for it was undoubtedly her. The accent and the nigh-superior tone were irritatingly unmistakable. Though it had been quite a long time since he'd last clapped eyes on the woman, he could just see her furtive grin and the exotic light of her eyes. Barbossa was under the assumption that she left many people with that sort of impression.

"Well, 'tis good t' finally have me talents recognized." The statement was downright arrogant but the brusque hint of irony made it almost bitter. While they were much closer to figuring the issue out, Barbossa was still dead, still stuck in a rowboat in a watery Hell. Or Davy Jones' Locker. Or wherever this was. He'd never really inquired into the location but the pirate had a hunch it was the infamous Locker. Even he, who wasn't a venerated expert on the afterlife, had heard of the myths behind the dreadful limbo. And now he knew them to be quite true.

Fiddling with the scrap of parchment without looking at it, Barbossa cast a look around. He wasn't quite sure why he did this; perhaps to try and see if Tia Dalma had joined them as the apparitions had. "Yer not gonna see 'er, mate," the middle Hector stated. The younger man had leant forward and was resting his elbows on his knees, raised eyebrows amazingly as expressionless as the rest of him suddenly had become. Glancing at his other counterparts, Barbossa watched them nod. And indeed it was true; there was no physical sign of the mystic anywhere. Tia Dalma reinforced this.

"Him be right. I still dwell on de mortal plane, dough I speak plainly wit ya."

"Ah." Barbossa glanced down at the paper between his fingers. The youngest Hector beat him to the question that was dancing on the tip of the pirate's tongue.

"Through that name, then? 'Twas only after we said it that ye spoke."

"Yes." There was a pleased note in the monosyllabic purr. "But now be not de time to inquire into such tings. Dhere be more important tings--"

"Important things such as…?" From the ruffled pause, Barbossa took it that his interrupting had not been to Tia Dalma's liking. "Eh…such as bringin' me back t' life, per'aps?"

"How astute of ya." Her tone gave away nothing. Barbossa let himself revel in the phrase. "Yes, I'll be 'elpin' ya t' find de way out of death. Aftah all, ya still owe me a favah."

The silence was only brief. Barbossa gave a sudden bark of laughter, stuffing the paper into a pocket and getting to his feet. "Indeed I do," he stated decisively, cocking a lopsided, unpleasant grin. Finally, they were getting somewhere. He looked around at the other three Hectors. They met his gaze and seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "Though I'm thinkin' there's a bit more to it than that."

"An' not just him, either," the corpse declared, getting to his feet as well. Barbossa knew he foresaw some sort of task ahead of them. The other seemed willing enough.

"Aye," said the other two. Tia Dalma's velvety chuckle poured over them.

"Even in death, ya be stronger willed dan de circumstance. I explain once yer back in me comp'nay."

"Right." Barbossa wasn't too worried about an explanation. He was more interested in actually escaping the Locker than learning Tia Dalma's reasoning. It had been ten years since he'd really been able to do something about his fate, something that would have immediate results and didn't require recovering hundreds of little coins. And when he could feel the salt spray on his face again…that was when he'd be in complete control again.

The middle Hector joined the older two in standing. "So what is it we do first?" he asked, arms slightly akimbo. Barbossa applauded himself for not being an apathetic youth.

"Nah, it ain't 'we'," Tia Dalma said. "It only be him that can travel de way." The four Hectors knew instinctively who the mystic meant: Barbossa, the real one. Almost grudgingly, the four seemed to admit this. The middle made a dismissive gesture.

"So what is it he does first, then?"

Tia Dalma's response was utterly unhesitant. "Step out of de boat." So ready it was, it took Barbossa a moment to register. He leaned a little to peer over the gunnels. The dark water looked no less inviting than it did when he first came to. He didn't relish the thought of having to drop into it. Who knew how deep the water was?

"Ye want me to throw meself…into that?" he asked slowly, gesturing at the inky surface. Even the others seemed a bit wary of the idea.

"Yes." Tia Dalma's tone was unyielding. "Unless ye want t' stay dead." So the plunge into the dark water was the only choice. Barbossa peered over the side again with a short sigh, planting one boot on top of the gunnels.

"Over the edge, then." He felt a hand slap against his back and he glanced down to see his boyhood self grinning up at him.

"Best o' luck, boyo," he said with a grin that was both unpleasant and foolhardy at the same time.

"Aye. And it ain't like we won't be seein' ye, either," the middle one added with a shrug. "After all, we're you."

The corpse only smirked. There was nothing he needed to say that wasn't already clear. Barbossa mirrored the look. Perhaps it hadn't been so bad being forced to interact with himself. "That be true," the pirate said. He could practically hear Tia Dalma grinning. "See you in the afterlife, gents." And with that and one hand planted firmly to keep his hat in place, Barbossa stepped out of the boat.

He started sinking almost immediately even as he tried to make some sort of attempt to swim. Swimming was something he wasn't the best at but he at least knew how to keep himself afloat. Why the skill wasn't keeping him from sinking like a cannon ball in a pond was beyond him. A moment of panic seized him. He couldn't exactly breathe under water; he should be drowning. However, Tia Dalma's voice echoed in his mind. "Yer already dead. Dhere be no need to panic."

"Ah." The utterance came out in a garbled, choked sound, a profusion of bubbles swarming around his face a moment before scooting up to the surface. Meanwhile, he just kept sinking. Experimentally, he drew in a breath. Water rushed down his nose and into his lungs but, while he could feel it, the liquid wasn't smothering him and had no effect whatsoever. Barbossa couldn't help but feel incredulity at the situation.

Underwater, it was incredibly dark; he could barely see his hand when he held it out in front of him. And it just seemed to keep going. It's depthless, more than likely, he thought wryly as he tried to look past the darkness.

"Patience be a virtue, Barbossa," Tia Dalma chided, one of those sly smiles in her voice.

So yer readin' me thoughts now, are ye? Well, it's too bad that I rarely employ virtues.

"Yes," came the ambiguous reply. "Just wait. De bottom'll be comin' up in a bit." Barbossa looked down past his feet. He had a hard time trying to visualize anything remotely resembling a sea bottom. The experience of free falling through water wasn't completely unfamiliar. Though he hadn't been able to stay conscious through it, the time he was washed overboard had felt something like this. However, there had been a lot more water action than this. And then he'd been able to break the surface at least once before sinking. In this dark soup, he just sank like a rock. At least he was right side up, feet pointing towards wherever the bottom was supposed to be.

This went on for what felt like an eternity. Tia Dalma stayed resolutely silent throughout most of the travel, in spite of the various questions Barbossa tried to ask. After several moments of miffed silence from the disembodied voice, he gave up with the inquiries. He was firmly convinced that she didn't want to voice her reasons for resurrecting him until he truly was resurrected. There was something she was hiding. She certainly was a mysterious one. It was as if she and Barbossa had been close acquaintances for years the way she spoke with him. If he hadn't already witnessed and experienced the impossible, he'd say that this wasn't possible and he was having some sort of hallucination or dream brought on from the bullet still lodged in his chest. How could a mortal possess the power to raise the dead?

Lost in thought, Barbossa didn't notice the bottom until his feet met with something solid. Unready for the sudden stop, he nearly toppled over as his legs buckled under him. "Behold de bottom of Davy Jones' Lockah. Dhere be few who evah truly get tah see it," Tia Dalma said suddenly. Barbossa cast around instinctively but found he could still see no farther than a few inches. He rolled his eyes.

Can't exactly see anythin' if ye hadn't noticed.

"I 'ad. S'why I sent ya dis." Barbossa's attention was captured by a bobbing white dot that had appeared to his left. Upon closer observation, he found it to be floating towards him, growing brighter as it closed in. The dot turned out to be a floating ball of white light. "Dis'll light de way. Can't have yah by chance steppin' intah a crevasse."

Oh no, 'o course not. Barbossa followed the little light with his eyes as it floated in circles around his head. It paused almost excitedly in front of him, bounced up and down a few times and started in a direction that veered off to the left. I take it that I follow?

"What do you tink?" Tia Dalma's tone wasn't scathing. Barbossa shrugged and followed after the light.

Firm, white sand stretched all around him from what he could see, broken up by clumps of what seemed to be dark colored weeds. In all, it seemed to be a normal sea bed and nothing entirely special. It was strange to find something so ordinary in a place like this. Yes, the longboats were rather common place but they moved on their own, obviously something normal longboats didn't do. His boots threw up clouds of the sand as he walked and the clouds hung there, suspended in the dead tide. In spite of its commonplace appearance, this was still Davy Jones' Locker.

Barbossa wasn't the only one down there, as he came to find out. He'd been following the bouncy little light for quite a while, chatting on and off with Tia Dalma about various subjects. They had entered a mutual silence when the first one appeared. There, drifting almost aimlessly in the dark water was a person. Both Barbossa and the light paused as the body floated by, its face sunken and mournful, and its eyes not seeing. It was garbed in what seemed to be some sort of night shirt. It's a ghost, Barbossa thought automatically. The entire figure was a pale white color. It didn't even register the man and the light watching it. And there's more. A shift of movement had stolen his attention and Barbossa found that there were more wraiths floating around them like an undead river – men, women, young and old, all there. There were even a few small wraiths that looked to be children.

"More soul dan ghost," Tia Dalma's voice said. Barbossa wasn't sure if he imagined the indignation in her tone. Still watching with a macabre sense of curiosity, he started moving again with the light floating just ahead of him.

Doesn't some myth say that Jones is supposed t' ferry them t' the other side?

"It does. But Davy Jones 'as been…lax in him duties." No, there was no mistaking the ire in Tia Dalma's tone. Barbossa couldn't help but wonder at this. She sounded almost upset. "Dhere should'na be dis many…" The light tentatively pulled to the left a little, cutting across the swath of pale souls and heading away from them. Tia Dalma and Barbossa fell again into silence.

This halt in conversation lasted far longer than any of the previous ones. Thinking to himself, Barbossa didn't particularly mind this. There were a number of things to be planned out once he got back to being alive. He was in the process of enjoying the thought of a nice, shiny green apple when a pain shot through his chest. Coming to a halt in movement, he clapped a hand on the bullet hole over his heart. He inhaled a large amount of water as he gasped. It felt as if someone was stabbing a sharp metal instrument into his chest. What the devil…! Something met against his hand. Simultaneously looking down and removing his hand, he watched in amazement as the bullet floated out followed by a cloud of blood. The bullet rotated in place as if some invisible hand was examining it and then shot off into the dark not unlike someone had tossed it over their shoulder. Barbossa stared in the direction the bullet had taken, the pain now having subsided into a dull burning sensation.

Tia Dalma's voice broke through his astonishment. "'Ad tah remove dat or else yah body wouldn't be in fit condition for yah soul to re-enter."

You did that? Ye could've bloody told me so I'd be ready fer it! Barbossa exclaimed. The mystic emitted a dismissive noise.

"Fate don't tell ye when yah destiny's gonna 'appen," she countered.

Aye but you ain't Fate, Barbossa grumbled and continued walking. Tia Dalma's light chuckle was uncharacteristically dark.

--

Years it seemed before the scenery finally changed and the flat stretch of sand started to climb upwards in an incline. Barbossa heaved a mental sigh of relief. As the incline continued on, the dark of the sea bed started to dissipate. Gradually, warped beams of light cascaded down through the water and Barbossa could see farther past the little bulb of light. Does day exist here? he queried absently. A sun in Davy Jones' Locker seemed uncanny but if seaweed was there, why not a day and a night?

It took Tia Dalma longer than usual to reply. "…Dhere be a sun. De Lockah functions just as Eart' does…" She laughed. "Dough here de inhabitants ain't bein' so lively." Barbossa snorted derisively, exhaling bubbles. As the soft light grew stronger and the chill of the deeper water began to fade, the little bulb of light started go out as it became more superfluous by the foot. It was entirely gone when Barbossa found he was able to reach up and feel the tips of his fingers break the surface of the water. What sort of shore, he wondered, was waiting for him? Would he step out and find himself in a real world place like Haiti? No, escaping death couldn't be as easy as just hopping out of a boat and walking to shore.

Within a few seconds, his head broke the surface. Immediately, he began coughing up the water he'd inhaled during the trip. He had to squint against the suddenly harsh light of the sun no longer softened as it has been under water. Maybe a hundred feet ahead of him was a barren, sandy shore. Hiding most of the inland from view was a chain of sand dunes that weren't too much off the beach. "Now yah get tah see what de real Lockah looks like. Or at least a little bit o' de shore. Dis be de place where Davy Jones sends dhose who break contracts wit 'im." Tia Dalma's voice was no longer confined within Barbossa's mind. It sounded as if she was there sloshing through the water beside him. She made a sudden, impatient noise. "Eh, someone be comin'." He could almost hear her grin. "Someone yah be quite acquainted wit. I only be a moment."

Barbossa could only guess what she meant by the acquaintance statement. He spoke between coughs, hacking up the tasteless sea water. "So what…do I do…in the meantime?" he asked. "I don't 'ave all day t' wait fer ye while ye play hostess."

"Just wait on de shore. I'll send someone fer tah guide yah until I return." Her tone was amused now but the sound of her voice was fading, as if she was drawing away. Just before she faded out completely, Barbossa caught the tail of end of something she said. "Jack Sparrow. I a'ways knew ye…" The dead pirate came to a sudden halt just at the water's edge, frozen in the process of wringing out his hat. Jack Sparrow. Just thinking of the name had made him angry. Hearing someone say it was just downright infuriating. He set about quickly putting his hat back on, not wanting to abuse the dilapidated head piece by venting his frustration on it. And he'd been in a relatively good mood, too, up until now.

A scowl heavy on his features, Barbossa looked around to try and pick out this person Tia Dalma was supposed to be sending him. There literally wasn't a soul in sight. He heaved an irate sigh, coughing up a little more water in the process. A moment before he decided that it was taking this 'guide' far too long, he felt something tapping on his boot. He looked down, jumped in surprise, and promptly kicked a multi-appendage'd creature away from him. Anger forgotten, Barbossa pulled out his pistol and trained it on the little thing from about a yard away.

Something was telling him not to shoot the thing though he wanted to dearly. The thing was in the process of righting itself after being flipped over by Barbossa's kick. Taking almost hesitant steps, Barbossa inched forward, staring hard at the thing. It was only a little longer and wider than his hand and vaguely round, not unlike one of those perfectly oval, white stones one finds on the beach. But, this rock had little, grey, segmented legs and claws and was amazingly similar to, of all things, a crab. Carefully lowering the hammer on his pistol, Barbossa scooted closer and crouched down next to it.

The thing had succeeded in righting itself and seemed to be in the process of berating the pirate with a series of rapid claw clackings for kicking it. The little crab of stone was insulted! Barbossa stared at it for a moment, a multitude of thoughts running through his mind, most of them incredulous. This place just kept getting stranger by the minute. Blinking finally, he came down to it that perhaps this crab-thing was the 'someone' Tia Dalma said she would send. After all, he doubted there were any actual people in the Locker alive enough to act as a guide. "I find I feel a bit like an idiot tryin' t' talk to an offended crab in Jones' Locker but…" Barbossa paused, knowing he didn't feel this way when he talked to his monkey Jack. Ah well…What the drab didn't know wouldn't hurt it. The crab ceased its clackings seemingly to listen to what he had to say. "Are ye the one Tia Dalma sent?" he finished, sliding his pistol back into his sash.

The crab dipped its oblong body in a crustaceous imitation of a human nod. Barbossa grimaced slightly. "Apologies. I hadn't realized." The crab waggled one of its claws at him much like a disapproving mother would and smartly turned away from him to being scuttling along the shore. Still feeling somewhat silly, Barbossa straightened and followed after the crab. The thing was far too human for his tastes. During his time aboard the Kracken, if they were some place where they sold exotic foods they would indulge in some sweet crab meat. Barbossa told himself he wouldn't do that anymore.

Yet another long trek ensued, this time along the barren shore between the high dunes and slippage of the surf. It still somewhat amazed Barbossa that while waves lapped on the shore, there was hardly any sort of current under the surface. No doubt some odd, unworldly power of sorts. He didn't try to come up with a reason for it. The crab scuttled along at a rather brisk pace, its pointed legs leaving little dimples in the sand where it tread. Under the harsh sun, it didn't take long for Barbossa's clothes to dry out. He busied himself with looking around at the scenery. It turned out that there wasn't much to look at: dunes, sand, water. The horizon was endless.

Barbossa was growing impatient. They had to be getting to their destination some time soon. He couldn't exactly ask the crab and Tia Dalma had all but disappeared. No doubt this was due to Jack Sparrow, the blasted cur. That would be one of the first things he'd see to when back on Earth – the eradication of the eternally drunk captain. Barbossa enjoyed the thought of having no Jack Sparrow to plague him and the ship that should rightfully be his. The Black Pearl was practically owed to him now. In his own opinion, he'd taken it from Jack fairly enough the first time. But no, the blackguard wouldn't just give up. Now Jack had exacted his revenge and it was time for Barbossa to get his. It was only fair. An eye for an eye after all. He'd give Jack the either option of living and handing over the Pearl or the option of death. He should have just killed the bothersome whelp when he had the chance.

Lost in these thoughts, Barbossa wasn't aware of the sound of roaring water until they were very close to it. Breaking out his ponderings, he came to find the crab had stopped. He halted next to it and then noticed the roaring, brow furrowed. Then he looked up. Unbidden, Barbossa's jaw dropped. They stood at the bottom of a positively colossal waterfall. The sheer size of the thing was almost incomprehensible. It stretched endlessly to the left, right, and upwards. "Looks big, don't it?"

"Merely callin' it 'big' be the greatest understatement I've ever clapped ears on," Barbossa replied, hardly registering that it was Tia Dalma who had spoken. He managed to tear his gaze from the overwhelming spectacle and watch the crab make an about-face and head back in the direction they came. The pirate allowed himself to throw a sharp salute in the direction of the crab before turning back to the waterfall. "Well…?"

"Well what?"

"Ye know bloody well what." He heard the mystic laugh.

"Ah right. Seems I'm of a forgetful sort. Keep yah goin' straight."

"Into the waterfall?"

"Yes." Barbossa took one more look at the waterfall before striding purposefully forward. The water was unpleasantly chilled and pounded over him for maybe ten seconds before he came out on the other side. The wall of water was now behind him and with it the light of the Locker's sun. He stood in a dim little cavern of hard grey stone. Ahead of him lay a darker corridor through which an icy breeze came. "Dhere be yah path, Hector Barbossa. Do not tarry; souls dhat pass t'rough here do not last long."

Barbossa took a moment to reply, brow furrowed expressionlessly as he brushed water from his shoulders. "I'm assumin' ye mean I've crossed back over," he said levelly.

"I do."

"Makes sense, then, that bare souls don't last long in life."

"S'why dhey pass on. Ghosts be only superstition."

"I knew it." Barbossa began walking forward, not quite certain he enjoyed being able to feel just yet. The icy breeze was starting to freeze the water that still clung to him. He wasn't sure how this was possible, as he was still technically dead. That, the whole trekking through the Locker, had been far too easy in his opinion. Had it…? A wry smirk crossed his visage and a laugh rolled up from his boots. He had thought this very same thing years ago when he left London and Jacky and the orphans. Had the hardest part been to just get up and walk away?

"Ye'll be takin' a swim again. De corridor opens up into a cavern wit de sea runnin' t'rough it. Ye'll know what t' do."

"Indeed I will."

"Dhen we'll speak again in person. Until dhen, Hector Barbossa." Tia Dalma's voice starting fading away even before she finished speaking. Barbossa found himself utterly alone now, the only sound being the wind blowing down the corridor. Holding his hand out before him as he walked, he found he could already detect a bit of intangibility fringing his fingers. The dark of the corridor surrounded him for a good five minutes until a grayish light lit the end of the tunnel. Snow now crunched under his boots, the wind blowing in flakes of powder from the outside. This was somewhere incredibly cold, somewhere like the farthest southern tip of the world.

Barbossa emerged onto a small shelf just under the opening of the corridor. He found himself in a tall, thin ice cavern that was more the space between icebergs than an actual cavern. But he wouldn't know it. Blue ice made up the walls and the white snow was reflected in the inky black water that ran sluggishly beneath the shelf he stood on. Wan light from the sun poked in through the jagged gaps in the top of the cavern. Barbossa could now see vaguely through his hand as he meandered over to the edge of the shelf. It was now or never. Taking and releasing a breath, he took one last look at the dark water before stepping off.

This time, when he hit the water, everything went black.

--

AN: I believe I had to rewrite this one three times before I settled with a version I liked. Here's hoping I've kept Tia Dalma in character. Ten days isn't so bad between chapters, me thinks. I had planned on it being longer but the oh-so lovely cliffie right there made for the just the greatest place to stop and leave you hanging. –evil laugh- See you guys next chapter which will, alas, be my last chapter planned for this fic!