Sacrifice
by Luvvycat

Author's Note: Please mind the rating -- this story is rated "M" for a very good reason (particularly in the next two chapters). Those of a more sensitive, easily-offended nature may want to steer clear of the perilous waters ahead. Be ye warned: Smut will ensue!

May it be written in the stars and the annals of fanfic history that the all-powerful Mouse owns all things POTC, and it is not my intent to infringe on any rights held by such entity. This little tale is intended only as a little harmless fun, for the reading pleasure of fellow fans. The premise is also a thinly-veiled excuse to write some Jack-smut!

'Ta, luvs ... and enjoy!

-- Cat

Chapter 1
The Sweetly-Baited Trap

The girl stood in the doorway, the dying rays of the setting sun at her back limning her in a halo of rose-gold light. Eyes downcast, she looked uncertain as to what to do next. Without raising her head, her dark, glittering eyes darted about the interior of the hut, like the eyes of a frightened bird, taking in every detail they could: the ring of stones in the centre of the room containing a small fire which provided a wan illumination that softened the shadows; the raised nest of dried island grasses against the wall opposite the door that served as a crude sleeping pallet; and, most of all, the strange and mysterious figure sitting in the midst of that bed ... her people's Chief and god.

He sat in an attitude of meditation, eyes closed, legs crossed tailor-style, slightly cupped hands resting palms-up upon his knees. The flickering light of the fire set shadows dancing over the planes and angles of his swarthy face, infusing the painted eyes on his cheeks and eyelids with the illusion of life and awareness. The long, ropy strands of his thick braids, laced with their many beads and baubles, appeared to writhe like restless serpents in the shifting half-light.

She let the curtain, fashioned from long strands of small, strung human bones, fall back into place behind her, and waited for the god to acknowledge her.

What with the multitude of false eyes staring at her from his painted face, it took her a few moments to realise that his true eyes had opened, and were now regarding her speculatively ...

Jack Sparrow, barefoot and dressed for sleep in naught but shirt, sash and breeches, looked up as his senses registered the girl's presence. His tall boots and neatly-folded waistcoat lay on the floor next to his bed, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, the loosened neckline of the billowy garment gapping open to expose a wide "v" of suntanned chest. His own dark, glittering eyes moved over her, sharp and wary, taking in the details of her form.

As with all the Pelegosto women, she was not tall -- just under five feet, by his estimation, with a compact, muscular but still slim build and nut-brown skin that glowed with a golden patina in the firelight. Her face was painted in the ritualistic fashion typical of her people, slashes of bright colour streaking her dusky visage like multi-hued comets blazing against a night sky, and she wore nothing but a leather bandeau around her chest and a short skirt comprised of skins and native grass that left most of her lithe legs and lean midriff exposed to his sight. Her dusty-dark hair, not yet cropped short as was the custom for married women of the tribe, was plaited and wound around her head, wreathed with a fragrant coronet of freshly-cut native flowers, matching the floral garland draped around her neck.

It had been nearly two weeks since the Black Pearl had been run aground on the island of the Pelegostos -- a result of Jack's frantic and ill-advised attempt to elude Davy Jones' pet leviathan, the Kraken -- and during that time Jack had been forced to watch as his crewmembers were picked off one by one, to be roasted on the community spit and their carcases reduced to naked bones by the peculiar appetite of the cannibalistic natives.

By a stroke of good luck, Jack had been able, thus far, to escape a similar fate. For some reason, years ago, upon Jack's first visit to this very island, he had been made Chief of the Pelegosto tribe, a status which had now been restored to him. Further, the tribe shaman had now declared Jack to be the embodiment of the Pelegostos' god -- apparently due to some daft ancient prophecy about said god coming trapped in the body of a strange creature with teeth of burnished gold and jewelled snakes for hair -- and Jack, ever the survivor and opportunist, had been quick to play into their beliefs to save his own skin.

Unfortunately, though Jack had tried, he had not also been able to save all of his men, a fact which troubled him, but not as much as the thought of losing his own life. His efforts to portray his crew as valuable servants of the god -- a sort of coterie of hirsute, rough-talking, rum-soaked handmaidens -- failed to fly with the Pelegostos, who were no doubt reluctant to forgo the bounteous banquet which providence had so kindly delivered to them.

At present, Jack's cooperation with his devoted followers-cum-captors had earned him not only a venerated place as the tribe's Chief, but also exclusive use of the largest and most comfortable hut in the village, as well as his choice of the best comestibles (though Jack scrupulously restricted his diet to the indigenous fruits and vegetables of the island; the thought of eating his own crew was something he, quite literally, could not stomach).

But he knew his reprieve, as well as his tenure as resident Chief and man-god, to be only temporary, for the Pelegostos had decided the flesh-imprisoned spirit of their god needed to be released. And that meant that there was soon to be a huge feast in celebration of their god -- with Jack slated to be both guest of honour, and main course.

He had been attempting, on an almost daily basis, to make his escape, but he found that the Pelegostos were quite a bit smarter than their deceptively unsophisticated appearance would lead one to believe. They had managed to thwart him at every turn, and now kept an almost constant watch on him. He had been sitting on his cot, formulating yet another plan for escape -- this one involving setting fire to his hut -- when he heard the swish of the bony curtain, looked up and noticed the girl standing there ...

"Hello?" he asked her, then as her eyes met his with a blank expression, he repeated the greeting in Umshoko, the Pelegostos' native tongue. Jack, who had a quite facile mind when it wasn't muddled with copious quantities of rum, had been quick to pick up the rudiments of the language upon his initial visit to the island, and his strange admixture of Umshoko peppered with English phrases, pig Latin, and Jack's own unique brand of flamboyant body language had proved effective in communicating with the locals.

The girl remained silent, and cast her eyes down again, shyly. "Can I be of some assistance to you, young miss?" Jack pressed, a little testily. If her presence had no specific purpose, and she wasn't here to help him escape, then he really had very little use for her ...

Her head jerked up, and she fixed him with a look part determination, part fear. "I am ... for you," she said, her soft voice barely more than a whisper.

Jack was naturally confused, and wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. "Come again?" he said in English, before remembering to rephrase it in her native language.

She seemed to gather her courage, squared her shoulders and repeated, with a shade more confidence, "I am for you, Most Revered One."

Jack cocked his head to one side as he regarded her with narrowed eyes, trying to puzzle out exactly what the girl meant. While he cogitated, the girl stepped forward tentatively, reached behind her and started untying the lacing of her bandeau.

At last realisation dawned, and Jack's kohl-smudged eyes went wide in his pigment-decorated face, crowning the rows of painted eyes already adorning each of his cheeks. "Oh ... you're for me!" he said, finally comprehending. He uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter on his pallet-bed. As she continued to work at her lacings, Jack flung up one hand in what he hoped was the universal gesture for stop. "Now, there's no need for that, missy ... though I do heartily appreciate the kind and most generous offer. But I really must say, I'm not in the mood ..."

His action and words had the desired effect. She froze, and her fingers ceased pulling at the ties of her top. But then a decidedly undesired effect quickly followed, as her face crumpled into a stricken expression, and her eyes filled with tears.

Jack grew immediately distressed at her distress, not sure what he had done to cause it. Surely, his polite refusal of her unwanted advances could not have had such a traumatic effect on her?

He rose from his modest bed and approached the girl, making placating gestures, his ring-encrusted hands fluttering like jewelled moths in the firelight. "Aw, now, don't cry, dearie! I'm flattered, really I am, but I do have to say you're just not my type ..." I'd say, at least five years too young, and many years of experience too short! he thought, but didn't say out loud. "Now, if you'd just be on your way ..." He tried to shepherd her toward the door.

But the girl's anguish only increased. "I have displeased you ..."

"No, no ... you haven't displeased me ... it's just that you don't need to please me ... at least, not in that way ..."

"I have failed to please the god. I have disgraced my family, and dishonoured my people ..." she sobbed.

Jack rolled his eyes in vexation. What was she nattering on about? Why didn't she just take the hint, and go away?

Clearly an alternate course of action was required. Perhaps if he took a slightly different tack ... heard her out, let her say her piece ... she'd then leave.

Sighing in annoyed resignation, he drew next to her and draped one consoling arm around her shaking, paint-daubed shoulders, and since there was nowhere else in the hut to sit, he led her to the bed and sat her down. "There, there ..." he said, trying to sound soothing, sitting beside her and patting her hand in a calming manner. "There's no need for tears. It's nothing personal, you understand ... it's only that I have more pressing things on me mind right now."

His glance took in her skimpy costume, and the floral decorations bedecking her person. She had certainly taken care to tart herself up for him, and had clearly put a bit of forethought and effort into the preparations. But what was her game? What was she playing at, a girl her age, coming here in this manner, offering herself to him?

He eyed her warily. "By the way, do your parents know where you are?" He was in deep enough trouble as it was. The last thing he needed right now, on top of everything else he had to deal with, was having to face the wrath of some enraged cannibal father defending his wayward daughter's virtue. After all, it wasn't his fault she was here, throwing herself at his head. He hadn't invited her ... she had come to his hut all on her onesies.

She took a shaky breath. "The entire village knows where I am. I come for their sake."

Her words gave Jack pause. This was most strange indeed, and hinted at some sort of tribal conspiracy. Cheeky of them to go ahead and make plans, and not inform their own Chief ...

But silence would not gain him any answers. Best to start with a simple question. "What is your name, my child?" he asked, in what he hoped was his Most Beneficent God-ly tone of voice.

"I am Maleeka," she sniffled.

Jack's eyes widened at the sound of her name. For the Pelegostos, as with many native tribes around the world, names had distinct meanings. And Jack knew that Maleeka, in Umshoko, translated literally into Black Pearl ...

Jack pondered the strange coincidence ... or was it actually the capricious hand of that bitch-goddess Fate, reaching down yet again to stir up trouble and make an even bigger muss of his life?

His arm squeezed the girl's shoulders encouragingly. "Now, stop your crying, little Maleeka, and tell Uncle Jacky all about it ..."

Between her tears, she explained, "A long time ago, I was chosen, of all the girls of the tribe, to be the consort of the god."

His eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his headwrap. "Ah ... consort." He knew what that meant, and didn't like the sound of it at all. Though not possessed of the gift of prophecy himself, Jack nevertheless had a disquieting premonition of where this tale was going ...

"And when the god came, as prophesied, the Chosen One would go to him, and lie with him ..."

Bugger! I was afraid of that! Jack carefully removed his arm from around Maleeka's shoulders and scooted over, deliberately putting a little more distance between himself and the girl. "I see ..." he said, uneasily.

"And, according to the prophecy, if the Chosen One were to spend one night with the god, from sunset to sunrise, lie with him, and conceive and bear a child by him, my people would be ensured health and prosperity for a thousand full moons. The Chosen One would be honoured among all women, her family esteemed above all others, and her son or daughter become Chief of the tribe, to be worshipped for all time ..."

"Until they're cooked and eaten, that is!" Jack interjected, with a curl of his lip, the firelight sparking off his gold teeth.

She turned to him, and he was faintly relieved to see that her tears had stopped. "Oh, no, Revered One ... it is bad luck to partake of the flesh of a child born of the union of a god and the Chosen One! In fact, it is forbidden!"

Jack sulked a bit at this strange, and most unfair, double-standard. Death is good enough for the god incarnate, but not for his by-blow? What kind of rum deal is that?

Nevertheless, the wheels of his mind were turning. "And what would happen to the Chosen One if she refused to lie with the god, or if he refused her?" asked Jack, curious, seeking some sort of loophole to the prophecy that could work to his advantage.

"Then it is decreed that the Chosen One's spirit will be released at the dark of the moon, and her body consumed by her people ..."

Jack made a face of dismay and disgust. Definitely not an option, then. Another thought occurred to him. "What if the Chosen One laid with the god, but didn't conceive?"

"Then it would be presumed the sacrifice was deemed unworthy, the Chosen One would go back to her family, though disgraced, and another girl would be selected to receive the seed of the god."

"Then, no dire, deleterious, or otherwise deadly consequences would befall the Chosen One should she fail to find herself in the ... er, family way?"

"No, but --"

Jack grasped at this straw eagerly. "Well ... then what say we just pretend that the requisite consorting took place, and you can just run along back to your family?" He made little shooing gestures toward the door.

She looked at him in shock. "Oh, no, I cannot do that!"

Damn his bad luck ... the girl was honest. "And what would a little white lie hurt, honestly?" he pressed his case. "I won't tell!" He leaned in and whispered, conspiratorially, patting her hand, "It'll be just between you and me! Our little secret, eh?" He tried to rise and pull her after him, but she stood -- or rather, sat -- her ground, and wouldn't budge.

"The Holy Man is wise in the ways of the gods! He will cast the sacred bones, and read the truth in them! He will know that the joining did not take place!" She grew agitated as she tried to explain, and Jack, who was at least conversant if not fluent in Umshoko, found himself having trouble keeping up, her rapid string of words tumbling from her lips with ever-increasing speed like grain from a punctured sack, her voice rising to a pitch approaching hysteria.

"If I do not lie with you, then I fail to fulfil the prophecy, and my people will fall into ruin for a thousand full moons!" Her tears flowed freely now, the ritual paint running down her dusky cheeks in multi-coloured rivulets like melting candle wax. "Not only will I be disgraced, but my family will be banished from the village, and my people will partake of my flesh at the dark of the moon!" When she turned to him, her eyes reflected stark terror. "You cannot reject me! I cannot fail ... !"

Jack winced. He felt for the girl -- really he did! But he was beginning to feel a bit like a hapless insect who had, unawares, wandered into the clutches of a Venus flytrap -- though the trap was sweetly-baited, and very temptingly attractive, it couldn't help but end up badly for the poor fly ...

"I see your unfortunate predicament," he said, trying to calm her, "But, darlin', I've got me own problems right now ..."

She turned and flung herself into Jack's arms, desperation lending her uncommon strength for a girl of her diminutive stature. "I beg you, Revered One. Take me to your bed! Let me fulfil the prophecy, and I will do my best to please you! You will find me a most willing and able lover!"

"Yes, I can see that!" Jack croaked as, with difficulty, he was at last able to extricate himself from her grasp. He held her at arm's length, his eyes taking in her face and form, trying to estimate her age. "Just out of curiosity, child ... How old are you?"

The girl seemed nonplussed by the change of direction in their conversation, and hesitated, with another sniffle, before answering, "Two-hundred and ten full moons have risen since I entered this world."

Jack struggled to make the calculation in his head. One full moon a month, twelve months in a year ... Sweet Jesus, but she's young! Not yet eighteen -- but, then again, hardly a child ...

"That seems awfully young to be a consort ..." Jack went on, sceptically.

"Oh, but most girls of the tribe are taken in marriage by the time they reach two-hundred moons, so, compared to them, I am quite old. A girl is considered a woman, and ready for a husband, upon her first bleeding. My own sister was taken in marriage when she was but one-hundred and twenty-five moons!" Her face fell and her lower lip trembled, and he saw the shine of fresh tears silver her eyes just before she dropped her gaze to the floor. "She was wed not quite ten moons, and heavy with her first child, when the gods took her ..."

Jack nodded grimly, personally appalled, but unsurprised. In his travels, he had seen many other cultures with similar practices toward their women, many much worse than marrying young, immature girls off as child-brides. He knew of one island tribe that threw young maidens into a volcano, others that forced or sold their daughters into prostitution, and yet others that performed ritual mutilations or other torturous procedures upon their young women. Barbaric by "civilized" European standards, certainly, but Jack had learned long ago the folly of condemning the peculiar customs of strange cultures.

He spoke to her, gently. "Tell me, Maleeka -- have you ever been with a man," at her blank expression at his euphemism, he clarified, "That is, have you ever lain with a man before?"

She was aghast. "Oh, no! The Chosen One is for the god, and the god alone! No other man is permitted to lie with the Chosen One! Or, as punishment, both their spirits would be released to the gods ...!"

This just keeps getting better and better! Jack thought with sardonic irony.

He could count the number of times he'd been with a virgin on the fingers of one hand -- providing four fingers had been cut off first! Jack generally steered clear of virgins, preferring more mature, and infinitely more experienced, women -- wharf doxies, lusty serving wenches, or bored and lonely married ladies looking for a bit of fun on the side. Women who knew what they were doing, pursued their pleasures with skill and enthusiasm, and didn't need to be coaxed, coddled, or treated with kid gloves like some fragile family heirloom.

Virgins were just too troublesome -- they placed an extremely high value on their "favours", had much higher expectations of a man, and invariably insisted on some sort of commitment before, and after, the deed was done. And commitment was anathema to a man who cherished his freedom as passionately as Jack did.

He simply didn't dabble in virgins, even back in the days when he was one himself. Why, even his own first time -- when he had been even younger than Maleeka -- had been with an attractive young widow of his acquaintance, more than ten years his senior ...

A wicked little smile quirked Jack's mouth at the recollection of his own awakening, and the delightful hours he had spent in Julianna's bed, learning how to give and receive pleasure. She had been such a good teacher, and he a most willing and enthusiastic pupil ...

With an effort, he abandoned the happy memory, coming back to the present, and his current, complicated state of affairs.

At his frown, Maleeka went on quickly, "Are you concerned that I will not know how to please you? Though I am as yet untouched, I have been well-schooled in the manner of pleasing a man, and serving a god ..." Before Jack could react, she leaned forward and planted her mouth upon his, wrapping one sinewy arm around his neck, the other hand trying to worm its way down the front of his breeches ...

Jack's eyes flew wide open at the unexpected attack. He tried to prise the girl off of him -- Ye gods! This lass is like a barnacle! -- and eventually, with a pop like a champagne cork, he was able to free her from his lips. "Mind the goods, luv!" he said in strained English as he removed her hand from a very sensitive place, then crossed his legs to prevent further groping of said goods.

"Again, I have displeased you!" she said abjectly, and looked as though she would burst into tears once more.

Jack's mind was in a whirl as he tried to figure out what to do. He'd never been faced with such a quandary before ... take a young, inexperienced native girl to bed, against his admittedly loose but nevertheless existent scruples, or refuse her and let her die a horrible death-by-roasting-and-eating at the hands -- and teeth -- of her people?

Being a pirate, Jack was hardly a slave to morality, and certainly no prude when it came to his own sexual behaviour. In fact, he was quite adventurous in that area. However, there were certain lines that his personal code of ethics, albeit dicey, just would not allow him to cross.

For example, though rape was not an uncommon practice amongst the more unsavoury factions of his pirate brethren, Jack held a deep personal abhorrence of it, and forbade any member of his crew from engaging in it, upon the severest of penalties. He gave no quarter on that count, and had only to enforce that rule once for the crew to get the message, loud and clear, that such behaviour would not be countenanced. And, regardless of the circumstances, Jack would never, ever consider sleeping with a child -- a girl as young as, say, Maleeka's now-dearly-departed eleven-year-old sister -- though he knew of many a man who had no such qualms about sating their sexual appetites in such a manner ...

On the other hand, it was common knowledge that girls matured much faster in tropical climes, and, at nearly eighteen years of age, though young by Jack's personal standards, Maleeka could no longer truly be considered a child ...

He sighed inwardly. Moral dilemmas were just not his cup of tea, and that's why he tried to avoid them at all costs.

Talk about the lesser of two evils!

Sex, or death ...

Sex ...

Death ...

Hmmmm ...

When weighed, one against the other, the answer became suddenly clear. He just couldn't see any other way around it.

He couldn't very well let her die, now, could he? Not over such a trifling thing ... after all, a little consensual slap-and-tickle never hurt anyone, and certainly wasn't fatal ...

Besides, Jack rationalized, it's exceedingly bad form to refuse a gift ...

So there really was no other viable option.

Sex, it was ...