Accidentally…Cimil? (Accidentally Yours #4.5)(6)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Narmer’s men traded for supplies and set out across the ocean, but eventually, their small vessel sank, the other six men lost at sea. It seemed, however, that the gods had been watching out for the one who survived. When he awoke on the sandy white shores of the strange new land, it was a Mayan woman who found him. He went to their village and discovered they were not great at all, but humble farmers and fishermen.

“As I thought!” Narmer had said to his man.

“But my king, I found something else. When I told the Mayans of the band of travelers I sought, they did not know who they were, but they knew of the black jade. One holy man demanded I tell him everything I knew—how the travelers had used the tablet and gotten it to work, from how far in the future theyd come. When I told him I knew nothing, he conjured a great black cloud and wrapped it around my body. I felt fire charring my flesh, and he made me swear to the gods I had told him everything. Then the cloud disappeared.”

“Most interesting,” said Narmer.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, my king. Which is why I taught them to make our tools and how to build a small ship with a sail. I have brought the holy man here.”

“Here?” Narmer asked.

“Yes, my king. He asks only that we allow him to hear more about his people from the future, what they said, what they wore. Anything. He wants to learn about the magic that brought them here.”

“They were not from the future. The holy man is mad,” Narmer had said. And he was right. When he met the priest, Mitnal, as he called himself, he looked like a creature from the netherworld. He did not bathe or clean his teeth. He covered himself in the blood of animals and humans. He wore fingers on a string around his neck and smoked strange herbs with a hollow wooden stick. The black cloud his soldier had claimed to have seen must have been the stench. Narmer hoped that showing the madman to the masses—who had been calling for Narmer’s dethronement—would dispel all rumors of Narmer not being the favorite son of the gods.

Narmer was about to have the man put on display and then publicly executed when he revealed his magic, producing a bit of rain.

“Where did you learn such powers?” Narmer had asked, but the man simply claimed that his people were born with such gifts, that they were favored by the gods who often came to visit through their portals.

Naturally, Narmer wondered, What more can this priest request of the gods?

Narmer bartered with Mitnal for weeks, granting him anything he wished—small boats, gold, women—in exchange for two things: to publicly declare that the Mayans were but simple people with large imaginations and to deliver Narmer a queen, a divine queen—irrefutable evidence of the gods’ favor toward him.

The first request was easy, but the second was not. Mitnal spent night after night burning strange herbs and talking to the souls of the netherworld. “The souls of the dead,” he’d said, “can tell us the future.” After nearly two moons, Mitnal declared that Narmer’s wish would be granted. A goddess would arrive within days, and Mitnal would provide the powerful magic to capture both her body and her heart.

Obviously, that particular piece of the plan had not worked out. And now Narmer would make sure the bargain was fulfilled.

Mitnal dipped his head and flashed a nearly toothless smile. “What assistance do you require, my king? Is all not well with your goddess?”

“The gods granted my wish, just as you predicted. But this… Cimil, she will not submit to me, and she speaks in odd riddles. I think she might be insane.” He rubbed his chin. Hooker? Bigfoot? What strange words the gods speak. Perhaps these were sacred words, words of power he should inscribe on his tomb. Yes, he would commission a shrine immediately. “In any case, my patience wears thin.”

Mitnal shrugged. “She is a goddess. Patience will be required to tame her and make her yours.”

Narmer slammed his fist against the cold stone wall. “She is my goddess now, and she will receive no more patience from me. Can you assist me or not?”

“I can. But what will you give me in exchange?” Mitnal asked.

More? He wants more! “What do you desire? More gold? Animals?”

Mitnal shook his head. “I have more than I can possibly manage to take back to my lands. I desire something else.”

Narmer felt an odd sensation in his gut, as if giant beetles crawled inside him.

“I will tell you how to make the goddess submit,” Mitnal said, “but when you have made peace with her and gained her trust, you will tell her about me. You will tell her to trust me.”

That sounded simple enough. And truth be told, the goddess did not seem like the sort to trust anyone. He could tell her to trust this smarmy holy man, but she would not.

“Very well. It is a bargain, then. Now tell me how to capture her heart.”

Mitnal displayed a venomous grin. “Yes. Capture her heart, we shall.”

Chapter Four

Thinking leads to bad places. Why can’t I shut it off? I sat on the edge of the bed where I had a clear view of the outside world a few feet away. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but not once in all my years had I taken a breath to truly reflect upon my sixty thousand years of existence and what it all meant.

I had worked and worked and worked, hopping from one task to the next, making sure that the souls of the dead didn’t hang around too long in the human realm, cluttering up the place and creating a bad vibe. I distracted myself by listening to the dead’s stories, to their regrets, to their triumphs and sadness for the people they left behind.

Anyhoo, after ushering tens of millions of souls, the years seemed to blend together into one never-ending story like that thing they call a romance series in the future. But I realized that focusing on my work allowed me to neglect my own woes.

Now I’d taken this forced pause and discovered my life sucked camel balls. I was beyond lonely. I was truly and utterly desolate. I was filled with a gnawing ache deep inside my bones that radiated through every inch of my threadbare soul. If I were to die, there would be no one weeping for the loss. My brethren didn’t weep. They didn’t laugh, either. Come to think of it, they were just as numb to their misery as I was. Which brought me to my second thought: that vision I saw in Narmer’s eyes wasn’t a mere vision; it was sign from the Universe herself. A message.

Why had she chosen him to deliver it? Who the hell knows?

What did it mean? Something bad was coming. No. I didn’t mean a remake of Gigli or the return of the mullet.