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I disclaim everything. I own nothing. It's all the wonderful world of Disney, mate!

This is a departure for me- my first fan fic that is not a one shot! It's not going to be very long mind, but more than one chapter! Well, I'm pretty excited about it.

I dedicate this story as a thank you to my reviewers. Your kind words and suggestions have been helpful beyond measure, and are always most welcome. Here we go then. 3Cats, PeiPei, Gaeriul, Oneiriad, Raphe1, Desirous Dreams of Darkness, BarbossasPearl, Lady Lorax, Virgo79, wellduh..., dshael, williz, Araminta Ditch, Missy Mouse, FalconWing, Alori Kesi Aldercy, gretch, Alteng, The Elusive, heavenxleigh, and rennie1265, thank you all for your time and generous natures. How I've come to respect each of you.

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Black Hearts and Silence -by BlackJackSilver

Prologue-

Coins on Our Eyes and Tongues

Eight hundred and eighty, that is the number of gold Aztec coins spirited away, from all corners of the charts, rising from the ashes of mansions and the depths of wrecks, torn from hidden places and lifeless hands, and dug from the graves of the fortunate smiling dead. Eight hundred and eighty tiny voices had sang to them like sirens, driving them forth, driving them on, driving them mad, with promises of life returned and death restored.

Barbossa always had an uncanny memory. At one time, he had cursed his inability to forget even the smallest fact, the most trivial detail. Sometimes a brain full of accumulated blood and gore, treasure and revelry, made Barbossa feel the best of life had sailed. Now Barbossa replays the myriad of colors and textures of orgasm, the taste and sound of sunshine, the weight and feel of organ music in December, and the synesthesia of his own flesh in moonlight. Now, memory is what he has. What he does not have, are two coins of cursed Aztec gold.

Six months it took, to fritter them away, the curse descending all the while, like a fine mist at sea. Easy enough to ignore, when riding a wave of glory, greed, and lust. Colors became less vivid; sounds more monotone. Tastes seemed off- sweetness, the sweetness of apples for example, was the very first thing to go. Then each man according to his own mind, his heart and whatever was in it, noticed, dreaded, and tried hard to shrug off the feelings, then the numbness, finally the lack of both.

Turner, the one who turns, was the one who wouldn't turn. His loyalty burned in him as cold and steady as the North Star. Turner remembered Sparrow, like Barbossa remembers apples, more fondly even- perhaps. Turner who called the monkey Bandit, frowned when the rest of the crew called the monkey Jack. Turner, the still one of them all, he was the first to know what Barbossa had only started to suspect. Turner, who called on the Teller first, found out how to break the curse, and how to extend it.

Turner, the one who turns all things, flipped a situation like a coin, sent two coins beyond Barbossa's grasp. Turner, so honest even in his deceit, told Barbossa everything, except for what was truly important. How Barbossa had hated him. How he hates him still. How he curses Turner turning in his watery hell, for martyring himself to damn them all. How Barbossa curses himself for being taken in, manipulated with his own rage, by Turner the honest man.

Six months it took to fritter them away; two years more, more or less, to get them all back again- all but the last two, the silent two, Turner's two. Barbossa would win anyway, of course. He'd win just like he won the Pearl. He'd find the last two coins just like he found the first, like he found the Isla de Muerte, and the treasure of Cortez himself. Barbossa would win, because he had already won, because unlike the heartless Sparrow and the gutless Turner, Barbossa remains to win.

(continued in Chapter One)

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