Chapter 1

Nightmares of a one-legged man

The moon shines brightly in the sky. A white torch blazing in the black expanse of space. It is a beautiful sphere in the dark abyss, lighting up the deck of the ship, but the figure turns away from it in disgust. It leaps behind the mast to shield itself but the moon's light is penetrating, its shine resting on the figure's skin. However, it was flesh no longer, just the awful sight of rotting bones accompanied by the feeling of intense hunger and an unquenchable thirst.

The scene changes and the figure relaxes as it realises its skin has returned. It is standing at the helm of a ship. It is broad daylight and the wind is steady but strong. It seems to be the making of a perfect day but the figure can sense an air of trouble ahead. Sure enough, a ship is seen in the distance and the figure can just about make out its name – Queen Anne's Revenge. Almost immediately the sky darkens and turns a crimson red. The figure tries to shout orders to the crew but no words come out. Soon enough the ropes of the rigging begin to slither like serpents. One rope fixes itself onto the figure, yanking it downwards. The figure looks down at it and sneers—the rope has now turned into a gnawing biting snake. It unsheathes its sword but it turns to blood in its hands. It feels itself being dragged away from the helm, off the deck and into the crushing oblivion of the sea…

Captain Hector Barbossa woke with a start, and before he could help himself, a grunt of terror escaped his lungs. He gave a quick look at his peg leg and shook his head; just a dream. Swinging out of his hammock, he wiped the line of sweat from his brow and retrieved his huge black hat that was resting on the desk, surrounded with maps, charts and a generous flagon of rum. The sound of quick footsteps heading towards his cabin matched the pounding tempo of his heart. A thin boy in a dirty white tricorne and tattered clothes burst through the cabin door. The boy was panting by the effort of his run but the concern in his voice was clear.

"Is everything alright, captain?"

"Aye, and why wouldn't it be?" Barbossa turned towards the cabin boy feigning shock.

"I heard… well I heard a shout, sir," the cabin boy said, confused.

"I don't think you heard anythin' of the sort," Barbossa growled, charging towards his walking crutch and gripping it angrily. "Talk like that could get you into trouble, Master Polster."

The cabin boy stood perplexed and just stared at the captain. He had heard something, he was sure of it—not only that, he was sure it had come from the captain's quarters. Barbossa's fierce eyes made the cabin boy look at the captain's hat instead. It was quite a brilliant hat, tattered and holey but huge and black with a quaint feather resting above its brim. The cabin boy noticed the sweat pouring from underneath the hat too. The captain had had a nightmare perhaps. He had often had nightmares himself of his parents' death. He swallowed and tried a sympathetic tone.

"Was it night terrors, sir? I've had them myself… they're… they're not pleasant. I've heard things… from the other crew members I mean. They says you used to be dead once… and that you sawed off your own leg with a sword—"

The cabin boy gasped as the air escaped his throat. He looked down at Barbossa's calloused hands with their sharp yellow nails that cut into his neck. He stared into the captain's eyes pleadingly but only coldness met his own.

"Aye that's all good and well," Barbossa whispered with quiet menace. "But ye didn't hear a scream from the cabin."

"N…n… no, sir, I didn't." The cabin boy agreed, hoarsely.

He sighed in relief when the captain's grip on his throat loosened and ran out the door without a second word. Barbossa stared after him solemnly. It was a shame he had to treat the lad so roughly but he wouldn't have the crew thinking he was fragile; he had a reputation to maintain and he was willing to break every bone in that boy's body to protect it.

He thudded towards the desk and plonked himself down on the wooden stool. He picked up the bottle of rum that stood on the desk and gulped its contents down greedily to still his nerves. Not since the curse had his dreams been so full of terror. What with rescuing Jack Sparrow, battling Davy Jones and hunting down Blackbeard life had been so full; but now, at the height of his power, when he had achieved most of what he had dreamed of, it seemed to lack purpose. He cast an eye towards a cutlass resting against the table leg. To the uninformed it looked like a normal sword—a beautiful one, but ordinary. However, pirates, buccaneers and men of the sea knew it to be the sword of Triton. Its hilt was embedded with a beautiful sapphire jewel that gleamed and glittered like the Caribbean Sea and with its beauty came the power to bring inanimate objects to life.

Barbossa smiled at the sword and stroked the hilt with one rough finger. Suddenly the nightmares didn't seem so bad. He eyed the nautical charts, wondering where the Queen Anne's Revenge was bound to go next. Preying on the East India Trading Company vessels and merchant ships was child's play with the sword of Triton. Life was too easy and fortune too kind. He almost missed the troubles of Davy Jones, the Company and the predicaments that Sparrow would bring. He had not seen or heard of the swaying fool since the fountain of youth, one and a half years before.

"Sparrow…" Barbossa found himself muttering the name in disgust but he couldn't help being curious about what had happened to the man.


[Author's note: Thanks go to ye Dream Descends for beta readin' me story]