Written for the 'Witching Hour' Challenge on Live Journal: One canon character's POV, the worst nightmare ever, 500 wd. min. Due Oct. 31st. Many thanks to Hereswith for editing.
o-o-o Promises o-o-o
"Sao Feng! Sao Feng!"
A hand, rough of skin, gentle of touch, gripped his arm, waking him, raising him from dreadful depths, releasing him from the nightmare. He looked up, into the eyes of...William Turner!
And yet not the same man Sao Feng had twice betrayed. The ripple of additional fear faded.
William Turner nodded. "It's all right, you see. Come! We need to get aboard." The Flying Dutchman rose skyward, close at hand, a harbinger of doom. But even as the thought occurred, Turner shook his head. "She's mine, now, I'm the new master."
"Davy Jones--"
"Is no more. I'm here to take you to the Farthest Gate -- though by a different route than that on your map."
o-o-o
The captain's cabin of the Flying Dutchman was a strange place. Madness had dwelt there once, obsession, evil. Yet, like the rest of the ship, it was set upon a new course, and there were somewhat incongruous touches of homeliness here and there. Sao Feng sat at one end of an elaborately carved yet serviceable table, cup in hand and a steaming pot of tea before him, and William Turner, having seen the ship underway once more, came in and disposed himself in the chair opposite, and smiled.
"Do you like the tea?"
"It is the best I've ever had," admitted Sao Feng. "I did not think to ever enjoy such a thing again."
"You don't need to. But it always seems to soothe my passengers."
"The Ferryman of the Dead. A high price to pay for your father's rescue."
Turner seemed to agree, though he looked strangely content. But then he said, "It seems that's we have in common," and Sao Feng stilled.
After a moment, he spoke. "How do you know of this?"
"Your dream."
"Nothing is hidden from you, then?"
"Not much," Turner admitted. "Is that why you became a pirate?"
Sao Feng was taken back in time. Back to his youth, when he was a thin, half-grown lad, caring for an aged father who took ill and faded in slow, wasting agony before his eyes. They had been prosperous, the two of them. His father was the best fisherman in the village, until the most relentless of misfortunes claimed him. Their money, all that they had saved, dwindled as his father's flesh, for doctors, then for medicines to cure, then more expensive ones to merely keep pain at bay. Sao Feng had worked hard, fishing, odd jobs, then very odd jobs indeed, which had brought him in contact with ruthless men of wealth and resources and little regard for the law. In the end, he had been unable to work. He had been needed, and what son would abandon a beloved father in such straits? He had stayed, and the days were as years until the terrible end of that story. When it was over at last he had made promises to himself. When the pirate lord had taken him, a few months later, he had gone willingly.
To William Turner he said only, "Yes. Even now I cannot regret my choice." Yet despair threatened, and his eyes drifted from those of the Captain of theFlying Dutchman.
But Turner spoke. "It may be that he waits for you, Sao Feng."
Sao Feng raised his eyes once more. "How can this be so? My final act... Calypso..."
"She is not Calypso."
"No? But one senses…. The hand of the goddess is upon her, Captain Turner."
"Perhaps," Turner conceded. "But your fate was not what she wished for you, in spite of your actions."
Sao Feng absorbed this. "You believe he waits?"
Turner smiled once more. "You will soon know, my friend."
o-o-o-o-o