"Prologue: You're Supposed to Be Dead"
"Are the candle's necessary?" he asks as he fingers the brim of his gigantic black hat.
"I like da candles."
"Ah. And I'm supposin' that, since you're the immortal, you make any asthetic decisions for us poor mortals?"
"Poor mortals?" she laughs. "Hardly."
It was a strange scene under any circumstances. Two figures stood at the window, watching a longboat come slowly toward the hut they stood in. Gypsies, holding lighted candles, lit the way, and the natural fog made the scene all the stranger.
One figure departed up the stairs as the longboat emptied and its occupants trooped slowly up the stairs, settling about the room
Piercing green eyes watch the scene from their perch in the rafters. A rhythmic thunk echoes through the hut. The room's occupants may not shed tears, but sadness is draped around their shoulders. The being to whom the eyes belong names them each, struggling to make her newfound body remember the ability to speak.
"Pin…tel," sturdily built, scrappy beard, black coat who stands in the corner, cradling his black iron tankard with an expression on his face so solemn one would think the world was ending. "Rag..et…ti," taller, gangly, hair plastered to his head like a sweaty cap, one wooden eye, stares across the room like a lost dog, good eye shining. Two lost souls.
"Mar…ty," short, head devoid of hair, short beard, inquisitive stare and perplexed look, watches the bottom of his tankard like it contains all the world's secrets. "Cot…ton," older, lined face from a life at sea, parrot, he watches the others protectively, like an uncle, sorrow drooping his shoulders. Two souls losing their way.
"Kal…yp…so," one of her crone forms, a dread goddess, with ordered hair that springs from her head like a waterfall, blackened teeth, mysterious air, walks among them, offering solace, but she is not of this world.
"E…liz…a…beth Swa…nn," blond hair hides her from the world as she slumps over, rocks back and forth, guilt-ridden and confused, frightened by the distant man beside her. Of all these varied people, she is the one who has strayed the furthest. "Will Tur…ner," handsome, leather jacket, a dagger with two sides that he throws into the table again and again, brown eyes that stare at the wooden surface, searching for answers it cannot give him. Two more lost souls of a company.
Green ice softens and a shaking voice warms. "Josh…a…mee Gibbs. Gibbs," hair gone gray with age and salt water, patched clothing, a stolen sword that he has made his own, he downs the contents of his jug, hiding a few stray tears as he forces himself to pick everything back up again. He who has lost everything is lost once again.
A crew of seven is all that is left of the proud Black Pearl. They lack a figurehead, a leader. They do not know what to do, nor do they have any idea what purpose they serve here now.
"It doesn't matter now," Will Turner's words come from his mouth, but the truth they ring is the song that sings in each floundering crewmembers' heart. "The Pearl is gone. Along with her captain."
"Aye, and already the world seems a little less bright. He fooled us all, right to the very end," only one who looked closely could see the tears and hear the tremor in Joshamee's voice. "But I guess that…honest streak finally won out. To Jack Sparrow!"
Green eyes close in pain, a reminder of what she lost once again. Jack Sparrow.
"Never another like Captain Jack!" Ragetti lifts his mug, voice shaking, tears running down his face, trying to draw strength from the others.
Pintel lifts his tankard, hints of water in the corners of his eyes. "He was a gentleman of fortune, he was."
Elizabeth's voice is hurried, she can't keep her voice steady as she says softly, "He was a good man." She raises the mug but does not drink. Can't drink. If memory serves, she has already drunk too much in guilt today.
Turner rubs the handle of his dagger and drinks. Green eyes ache with sympathy for him. She knows what it is like to be betrayed. She felt that emotion too often in her too short life. Yet, he holds on. He won't let himself hate Elizabeth.
"If there was anything that could be done to bring him back…," they are harmless words of comfort but the breath of every occupant of the room catches. After all, some of their number have been immortal. Will's next words are almost a moan and meant only for one person. "Elizabeth…," he can't go on.
"Would you do it? Hmm?" the dread goddess addresses them in words that are far from winged and wise. "What would you? Hmm? What would any of you be willing to do? Hmm? Would you sail to the end of the eart', and beyond, to fetch back witty Jack and him precious Pearl?"
"Aye!" Joshamee is first. Always eager, always ready, but now hardened, hardened with thirteen years of grief and trying to find the rest of who is he, since his identity sank with the Pearl.
"Aye," Pintel follows, harsh glare firmly on his face.
"Aye," Ragetti not far behind, voice breathless with hope.
A squawk echoes, and the parrot speaks, "Aye!" Beside Cotton, Marty nods, eyes lifting from the tankard.
All eyes now turn to the final two as Will Turner's eyes turn only to his beloved. He will do anything for her, including die, including save the man who kissed her not five hours before from the dead.
"Yes," Elizabeth almost whispers it. Green eyes regard her knowingly. There is one man, with his tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature, who drives females mad. Betrothed noble ladies from Port Royal are no exception.
"Aye," Will knows that he will regret answering such, but he does it for her, for Elizabeth. Each of them have their own motivation.
Kalypso grins, a savage grin. "Alright. But if you're goin' to brave de weird and haunted shores at world's end, den…you will need a captain dat knows dose waters." Green eyes speckle with anger. Captain? He is no captain. He failed, both he and Jack. She was the only one left, the only one who went down with the ship, the only one who kept their promise…their oath.
Footsteps clunk down the stairs, heavy. Anger gives way to jealousy as she watches how easily he moves. He wasn't dead as long as she was, he hadn't forgotten how to walk. She is as weak as a newborn kitten, and he strides down the steps like he never died.
"So, tell me," he betrayed her, he broke his oath, and he tried to murder Jack, but he is still Falcon. His familiar face, reddish hair, blue coat, elaborate sheath strap, all of it is familiar to her, all of it calms her. "What has become of my ship?" A huge bite out of a bitter green apple, oozing juice out of his mouth…that's her Falcon, lover of all things dramatic.
Her green eyes turn towards the crew, all recoiled in shock. Joshamee takes several steps backward, skin ashen. Cotton and Marty stare in confused shock, while the parrot shakes his feathers in what appears to be a shiver. Elizabeth stares, mouth slightly open, mug held tight in her hand. Turner stares, eyes wide, weight rocked back on his heels, one hand reaching for his sword, while Ragetti watches in fear from behind Turner. Pintel, in the back, partially shadowed, is the first to speak.
"You're supposed to be dead," he quakes, voice not quite making it to a strong pitch, but rather wavering a bit.
"For one who spent ten years as an immortal skeleton, you have a limited perception of what is possible and impossible," he drawls, purposefully angering them.
"In the last few days, Captain Barbossa, I have seen many things that should never have been. Including, but not limited to, a sea monster that eats ships, a man with tentacles for his face, and someone I…my father. But people do not come back from the dead, and the last time I saw you, you were most certainly dead," Will snapped.
Elizabeth has gone as pale as snow. She keeps her mouth closed tightly, and it is hard to tell of she is angry or guilty.
Barbossa is taken aback at Will's speech, even though he pretends not to be. "Bootstrap? Where did you see him?"
"The Flying Dutchman, if you must know."
She is not altogether interested in this piece of news. She never knew Bootstrap Bill. He had been after her time, one of the replacement crew for the resurrected Black Pearl. Bile fills her mouth at even the thought of the Black Pearl. Even not knowing the truth, how could he have wanted to resurrect that…vile ship?
"A touch of destiny, William Turner, remember dat," Kalypso chimes in softly. "Barbossa, she wants you to behave," She lifts a mug from her nearly empty tray. "Miss Swann, drink dis. Everyone else, my people will show you to your sleeping place."
"What is in that?" Will asks sharply as the crew flees from Falcon, who is looking at me reproachfully out of the corner of his eye.
"Nothing dat will 'urt her, only to relax her. If she will drink it."
"All your talk about the world's end, and immortal, cursed pirates does not change the fact," Elizabeth's voice is shaky and uneven, but gathering strength. "That the last time I saw you, you were all alone in a treasure-filled, cursed cave, as dead as…as dead can get, as the island shrank into the distance. If Jack hadn't killed you, you would have killed me."
"I wouldn't have killed you, Miss Swann. 't'would have been wasteful." That's a lie, and everyone in the room knows it.
The monkey jumps from Barbossa's shoulder to Elizabeth's. She shrieks and jumps backward, grapping at the surface of the table next to her for something to throw at the beast. Elizabeth's hand finds a pistol. Not any pistol, but one with silver plating. Green eyes widen as she recognized it. It's her father's…her pistol. Elizabeth fires shakily at the monkey, narrowly missing it.
"You pointed a pistol at me and cocked it," she half-shouts. "If Jack hadn't shot you, you would have fired. So, Captain Barbossa, how can I trust you?"
She swings awkwardly down, with very little of her old grace. But she manages to land on her feet, leaning against a post, with her shaggy red-gold hair mostly out of her face.
"The better question, Elizabeth Swann, is can we…trust you?" her words are slow and slurred, but they are words indeed. The pistol turns to face her, but how can Elizabeth fire a gun with it's only shot already gone?
"You're going to hurt yourself. You aren't used to this yet," Barbossa snaps at her.
"Concern is….touching, Fal…con. I'm fine," she replies. Sweat is already covering her face in a fine sheen as she fights with her weakened muscles to remain upright. "Can we…trust you, Eliza…beth? Or can you trust…yourself?"
Elizabeth's eyes widen, and she steps backwards. Barbossa steps forward.
"Don't be a fool. Sit down or lie down before you fall down."
"Shut…up," she chokes out before losing her balance and falling towards the floor. Green eyes close as hard floorboards rush up to meet her, cursing Barbossa for being right as she waits for the painful impact to follow.
But that impact never comes. Strong arms wrap around her, catching her.
"Stubborn girl," Barbossa mutters, but it was not he who caught her and still holds her steady. Her rescuer smells of sea water, leather, and smoke. Barbossa scoops her up from Turner's hold. It's degrading how he can still pick her up like that, but she never grew any taller than her five foot, two inch height and weighs less that a child. "Wren, will you ever learn?"
"I just…lost my balance."
The door to the hut bangs upon, but her view of it is limited by the bulk of Barbossa's body. The voice, when it comes, is easily recognizable.
"Tia Dalma, what did you put in the rum?" Joshamee roars. "There are two dead people in this room. I'm seein' dead people! What cruel trick do you play on me now?"
"I put nothin' in da rum, Mr. Gibbs. You need sleep."
"Gibbs, what do you mean, two dead people? I see only one," Will is confused and suspicious, but no one answers him.
"I do not need sleep, Tia! I saw her die. I know that that sword thrust was fatal. It was thirteen years ago, and the ship was eaten. So, tell me, what cruel trick do you play?"
"Falcon, let…me talk to him…alone," she whispers, green eyes piercing into his yellowed, blue ones. "He'll…believe me. But get…Turner and Sw…ann out."
He nods, once, before turning to Joshamee. "She wants to talk to you, Gibbs, and only you. Turner, Miss Elizabeth, if you please?" Elizabeth stared at him like he was crazy but moved towards the door. Will stayed firmly planted.
"Anything she tells Gibbs, I will hear as well. If it's my fate to be a pirate, I will by a proper one. That means fair share of risk, information, and treasure, Barbossa. I'm not leaving."
"Will…iam Tur…ner, I will talk to Josh…amee alone. You do not want…to hear what…my story is. Please," his hazel eyes study her face for a long moment, taking in her scarred face, ripped clothing, bandaged arm. His eyes linger on her arm, where white bandages cover a black tattoo and a red 'P'-shaped scar. Finally he looks away, towards Gibbs. Elizabeth reaches out and touches his arm, and he jumps, as though shocked. She pulls away, a frightened, guilty expression on her face, and tears budding in her eyes. As she looks down at the floor, Will looks at her, and his gaze noticeably softens.
"At some point in the future, mysterious girl, I would like to have some answers to my questions. But for now, I can wait. Elizabeth?" she doesn't look at him, but rather walks quickly out of the cabin. He follows, slowly.
"Fal…con, scat," she whispered. Shooting her an exasperated glance, he left the room. Wincing, she gripped the table top and pulled herself into a setting position on top of it. The room remained eerily silent. "So…hello."
"You can't be Wren Robinson," Joshamee said flatly. Blue eyes that used to sparkle with so much hope look dead and worn out. He has aged, no longer the eager young man she knew, but a suspicious, superstitious, salty pirate.
"I had hoped that pro…longed exposure to Jack Spar…row would change you're mind a…bout what is poss…ible and imposs…ible," she replied, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, her fingertips brushing the diagonal scar that runs across from her right temple to her left cheek. "You see this scar?"
Joshamee nods. "Distinctive, but easily faked."
"How did I get it? Did I ever tell you that sto…ry, Joshamee?" He shakes his head. "Jack's fault. We were in a fight…early on. He was trying to fight like Fal…con can. But he lost his grip on his sw…ord. Hit me. Not his finer mo…ment.
"You still don't be…lieve me. How many survived the sink…ing of the Pearl? Only you. And you…'ve never told a soul a…bout what happened that night. Avery's sword thrust could…n't have been stopped by the fin…est swordsmen in the Carib…bean. When a man has hate in his heart, he has a wea…pon greater than any other can ob…tain.
"It's a nice scar," she fiddled with the bandages wrapped around her waist, silently cursing numbed fingers and dead senses. "Here. Right there."
White bandage fell away to reveal a thick scar, right underneath her ribcage. Joshamee's eyes widened. "Avery's sword, my pistol…quite a collect…ion. Do you remember what I made you promise? I said, 'Promise me, you will look after them, after Jack…he needs it," his voice joined hers. "Crazy's got nothing to do with it. He just needs someone to be his common sense. And don't tell him. It would destroy him."
"I wasn't very good at it, Wren," his voice crackled like a bonfire.
She shakes her head, slowly, "No. But you kept him alive. Mostly."
He reaches up and holds onto a rope that hangs from the ceiling as though he needs help to stand on his own. "Mary, mother of God…it was awful Wren," he whispered. "It was awful to sail away, knowing he was being eaten alive, awful to watch the Pearl go down," he pauses to collect himself, finding it difficult to continue. "Why are you back, Wren? And why is he back?" his voice sneers as he says 'he'. "He'll bring nothing but trouble."
She laughs, a rough sound. "Fal…con's never brought any…thing but trouble. And he owes me. Both of them. I in…tend to col…lect in the time that's been giv…en to me."
"Davy Jones, Cutler Beckett…the East India Trading Company against one ship?"
"As well as one James Nor…rington," she adds. Her face going paler as she loses energy.
"The Commodore? Heaven help us," he stops for a moment, studying the contents of the jar. When he speaks again, his voice is deeper. "Can it be done? And with Barbossa along as well?"
She curses her internal struggle as her weak lungs fight to bring oxygen into her body fast enough. Muscles ache with pain, but she refuses to show weakness for another few seconds. "We're fac…ing a lot of de…vils this time 'round, and that makes it har…der. And not even Jack Spar…row can best the de…vil," she replies, her voice weaker than she would have liked. Joshamee flinches and looks down at the floorboards. Slowly, she lifts a shaking hand and forces him to look into her eyes, green orbs that have gone steely with the fiery determination she was famous for. "Least…ways, not alone."
AN: This will be the longest author's note in the story, I promise. I know they can be irritating.
The idea for this story predates the release of AWE, and as such will not follow canon. However, there are parts of AWE that I will use, a line or two or maybe a scene. I also use the Lattimore translation of "The Odyssey" for the spelling of Kalypso, because I think it works better with the K - more coarse, more...earthy, if that can be an adjective used with a sea goddess. Most other gods mentioned in this story will come from Greek mythology, though a few will come from my imagination.
This story will mostly follow Wren, but there will be chapters from Jack's and Will's POV, and possibly one or two from Norrington's.
Thanks for reading and please drop me a review! Constructive critism helps more than you can possibly know.