Pirates of the Caribbean: The Black Heart Crusade
Chapter 3: Flying Wings Of A Devil
The picturesque sunset vanished, settling beneath the horizon's glow for a much earned repose. Regaining his much needed composure, he turned sharply, swaying slightly and leaning on his right heel, toward Tia Dalma.
"Tia darlin', I need ye faithful services once again. I do 'owever find meself incapable of findin' a suitable and lifelike creature to pursue interest aside from this...uh here!" he bent down quickly at his hip, and clutching his prize in a fist, continued in an awe-inspiring voice to cause intrigue, "This extremely rare and irreplaceable..." opening his fist, his convincing smile began to drop dramatically as he stared at his offering, "crab...is my bargain for ye help."
She simply stared at him, her black irises piercing deep within his chocolate gaze. He cautiously took her caramel colored hand into his and placed the scuttling crustacean into the palm into her hand, where obediently, it relaxed into her hand and curled into its shel.l
"A crab...what am to be doin' wit dis."
Using her own words against her, he said smartly, "If ye don't want it...give it back."
Chuckling slightly while shaking her head, she answered him with "Oh Jack, ye be a jewel."
"Oh really," he exclaimed, apparently pleased with the compliment, " and which jewel might I be." he added seductively, waggling his eyebrows in comical effect.
"A precious black pearl Jack, surely ye must know dat."
Remorse and pain swept over him faster than any ocean current. It pulled into his soul and fiercely tugged at his very heart strings.
The Black Pearl.
Flashes of the Kraken gnarling its tentacles around the ebony wood of the main mast, twirling itself like a vicious adornment, almost seeming serene. But then in a flash, a mere flicker of an eyelid, splinters splattered like rain down onto the majestic deck, as the mast and sails were torn and ripped, cracked at the middle and crashing down onto the screams of his mates below.
Bodies scrambled, frantically searching for a means of protection against this unforgiving behemoth, while victims swung through the air, immediately crushed by the colossal grip of its furious tentacles, before plunging unseeing into the vicious abyss of rotting corpses and crushed dreams.
He remembered that smell...the scent of death on the breath of that beast as he plunged deep into depths that no sailor had ever wished, nor would even think of embarking on. He had tried escaping it, tried rowing away from that lingering stench that determined the many disposal of lost souls, but in the end, that's not what he wanted.
He didn't want to be remembered for running away. He didn't want to be a coward. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. He was known throughout the entire Caribbean as the most courageous buccaneer. His stories were always told with such admiration for his slick character and endless breath taking, near death experiences.
But most of all, he thought that he just couldn't let her down.
"You'll have the chance to do something courageous. And then you'll discover something...that you're a good man."
It was what he wanted most...to be...
"Jack..."
Slipping out of his reverie of mixed emotions, he found startling relief in the coolness of Tia Dalma's hand entwined with his.
Slowly she lifted his right palm to show the black spot, its crudely presence more pronounced than ever.
"What is it dat ye be wantin' from me Jack?"
He stared crisply into her eyes for a moment, and unwavering he whispered.
"Davy Jones."
Aboard the Flying Dutchman
"Jack Sparrow is still alive sir, he's not in the locker."
Davy Jones smoked his curled pipe furiously, the smoke clouding his tentacles and resurfacing through each pore.
Jack Sparrow he thought with a sneer. Oh how he hated and despised him.
He had escaped him three times, all times with the scrape of his teeth. That last time, when he was waving that jar of dirt like a lunatic moron he hoped, no, he had known that there would be no escape for him that time. For the Kraken never took any survivors.
But, amazed, he watched from the sidelines as the Kraken was forced to retreat a number of times before finally, it had gotten so riled up that it needed to sink back into the watery depths to contemplate its final attack.
And with his telescope he watched as Jack Sparrow defiantly stood against the Kraken and plunge deep into the caverns, to be seen no more.
The feeling of victory was short lived, however, when upon receiving his chest back from his motley crew, he was once again placed in anguish.
It was gone...just as he had said.
"Lose something fish face?"
He knew Jack had had the heart, whether for a spilt second or the entire time, he hadn't known.
But opening that chest had revealed once again all his previous anxieties and nerves. Jack had taken it, but to where?
It was obvious know that he didn't have it when he went into the Kraken, because, if that had been so Davy Jones would be no more.
For without his heart, he was no longer in control of the sea. As long as it still beat, no one could impeach him.
But then again, the person, or persons, who had it, could use it against him, and that was a most unsettling notion indeed.
"Sir did ye hear?"
"Of course I heard yah!" he snapped suddenly.
Jack Sparrow was still alive...which meant only one thing...
He knows where the heart is.
"Find him."
Beach
Placing Jack's right hand, black spot face down, in the clear crystal blue of the sea, Tia Dalma said, "Jack, repeat after me."
"I, de cursed one,"
"I, the cursed one,"
"Wish for dat which is most dreaded in all da sea."
"Wish for that which is most dreaded in all the sea."
"A Ship wit de flyin' wings of de devil."
"A Ship with the flyin' wings of the devil."
"Te cume,"
"To come,"
"'nd fly..."
"And fly..."
"Away wit me."
"Away with me."Jack finished in a whisper, whether it was appropriate or not.
Pulling his hand from the water, he turned behind him to where Tia was standing, to find that she had somehow taken off without him knowing.
Placing a ragged hand over his tired face, he began slowly making his retreat back towards the beach, he legs sloshing morosely over the surf.
Then suddenly, he felt a rumbling beneath his feet, an unsettling vibration that caused him to move without him voluntary participating motion.The suddenly he was being uplifted by a wave, his feet floating over a simple stream of air and foam. He flailed his arms about, as if scrambling to maintain balance, but his feet seemed to have acquired a mind of their own and seemed to be cemented firmly over the jet.
And in slight fascination and horror, he watched as the Flying Dutchman, on the wings of the devil, flied out of the sea and sailed right over to him.
"Oh," he chuckled, "it worked."
