Norrington lay wearily back against the iron bars that formed the wall of his cell. With a sense of dour amusement, he thought back on all the pirates and miscreants he'd personally incarcerated in these very cells. Wherever they were, whatever afterlife they were in, he was certain they were all sharing a hearty laugh at his expense.
He turned a disinterested gaze to his surroundings. A single sputtering torch lit the scene, the smell of its smoke thick and unpleasant in his nostrils. The cell itself smelled of damp iron and mildewy straw, and another odor strongly suggested someone had relieved himself in the far corner. The disagreeable atmosphere wasn't helped by the presence of his fellow prisoner, either.
Captain Sparrow had been placed in the adjoining cell, directly to the right of his. Jack paced up and down the length of the cell, gesturing and muttering to himself as if trying to work out some complicated equation. After a while, this pantomime began to grate on Norrington's nerves. "That hardly seems to be accomplishing much," he called.
Jack spun in place and stared at him, as if he'd forgotten the other man was there. Then his eyes narrowed. "Oh, pardon me, former Commodore," he sneered. "I'm sure you shall facilitate a jailbreak much more readily by simply lying about on your arse."
"Hmph." Norrington shook his head with bitter amusement. "Oh, but I would never presume to compete with Captain Jack Sparrow in the matter of miraculous escapes."
Then Norrington's eyes narrowed at a recollection. "You were in these cells before, when you last came to Port Royal. You were sentenced to hang."
"Yes, on your order," Jack replied acidly. "Thanks ever so, by the way."
He ignored this, shifting position to sit up straighter. "Well, how did you escape then?"
Jack pulled back as if he'd touched something offensive. "Never mind," he retorted, looking shifty. "Besides," he went on, "you don't think I'd give away my best tricks in front of you, do you? Eh?" He seemed pleased by this logic, and returned to pacing and muttering.
Norrington shook his head and lay back again. "I think you have no idea what you're doing," he said, but neither expected nor received an answer. The pressure of the iron grid was uncomfortable against the back of his head and shoulders, but he couldn't be bothered to sit up.
He turned his gaze to the high, barred window as if some answer might lie there. A faint movement of air touched his skin, but the wind was warm and sticky, and brought no relief from the oppressive heat. No stars shone in the sky; the night had become overcast, the air thick and damp with the promise of a storm. It was hard to gauge what time it was, but he guessed it must be getting on past midnight. Norrington wondered if they'd be executed when dawn came. Then he wondered if he cared one way or the other.
Idly, he searched his pockets to see if the guards had left him anything useful. All he came up with was Calypso's wretched stone, for all the good it would do him. Having nothing else to do, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the stone, cupping it in his palm. The object was as unremarkable-looking as ever, although it felt somewhat colder than before. Norrington tossed it in the air and caught it again. The only way this will help me escape, he told himself sourly, is if I throw it at a guard and knock him unconscious. And even THAT'S not likely to work.
His thoughts were interrupted as he became aware that Sparrow was calling to him. "Oi, you. Back when these were rebuilt, you were still in charge here, were you not?"
Norrington was irritated by yet another reminder of how far he'd fallen from his former station in life. "What are you blathering about now?" he demanded, not bothering to look up.
"Last time, remember?" Jack had grasped the bars that separated their cells, and stuck his face between the bars as though he would squeeze himself through them. "This cell--" he pointed to where Norrington was sitting, "conveniently had its wall blown out by a stray cannon blast. While this cell--" He gestured back towards his own. "Inconveniently did not."
Norrington's patience was wearing thin as the air became thicker and hotter, making it hard to think. He could feel himself sweating beneath his heavy coat, and he clasped his hand around the black stone, grateful for its chilly touch against his skin. "Yes, I remember. What of it?"
"Well..." Jack looked as if his point should be blatantly obvious. "When you rebuilt, didn't you think to put in some sort of secret exit? You know," he went on as Norrington finally turned a narrow-eyed glare to him, "a way for you to get out should you ever find yourself locked in your own cells." He frowned and looked distant for a moment. "I keep forgetting to do that with the Pearl."
"Well, I'm sorry," Norrington replied acidly, hauling himself to his feet. "But I'm afraid I just don't think that way, pirate." A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance; he could feel the vibration through the soles of his boots.
"Clearly not," Jack sneered. "Once again, you display all the forethought of a tub full of cuttlefish, former Commodore."
"WILL you stop calling me that?" Norrington snapped, as a loud thunderclap sounded from close by, and the growing wind began to whistle through the window, mussing his hair.
"Why?" Jack retorted. "It is accurate, is it not?"
Norrington looked away sharply. Stifled rage was building up inside him, constricting his throat, as if it would choke him from the inside. "Yes, it's bloody accurate," he almost spat. "Thanks to you."
"What d'you mean?" Jack looked offended. "When have I ever forced you to do anything?" He glared at Norrington. "Face it, mate, you've always had it in for me. Ever since I pulled your wretched ex-fiancée out of the water while you stood around like a pillock."
Norrington's hands bunched into fists. "I was about to save her myself!"
"A likely story." Jack lounged against the bars with infuriating casualness. "And besides, what sort of lunatic tries to sail his ship through a bloody hurricane? I mean--"
"Every man on that ship died!"
A clap of thunder that had sounded under Norrington's outburst died away into reverberating echoes. Jack had gone quiet, seeming genuinely appalled. There was a long, tense silence before he finally said, "Oh."
"That's right," Norrington shot back. He strode forward, his fist clenched so tightly around the stone that the tendons showed along the back of his hand. "So I've had enough of you rubbing my face in my own failures, you miserable excuse for a pirate, as if I don't have enough reminders of--" He cut himself off, looking puzzled. "--what?"
Jack's expression had faltered at Norrington's approach, and he backed quickly away as the other advanced. The pirate's mouth opened and closed in succession, as if for once he was utterly at a loss for words.
Norrington glared at him. "What are you staring at?" he demanded, his voice low and deep in his throat.
"Aha," Jack replied uncertainly, leaning back with his hands raised as if faced with something repugnant, or potentially explosive. "Were you not aware your eyes were glowing, then?"
"What?" Norrington shook his head and blinked, feeling light-headed and odd. "What are you talking about?" he asked, confused.
"Nothing, nothing," Jack assured quickly, leaning forward and squinting at him. "Must've been a trick of the light, or some such." He still seemed rather nervous, but attempted an ingratiating smile. "I'm sure everything's perfectly all right, former Commodore."
White-hot rage ignited in Norrington's mind. "I TOLD YOU--!!"
That was when the wall exploded.
Norrington barely threw himself clear as a blast of lightning detonated the wall not four feet away from him. He flung himself down, hitting the floor hard as chunks of stone crashed down all around him. Blinded by the blast, seeing nothing but a white glare even through closed eyelids, he lay gasping and coughing as the afterglow died away. A few smaller chunks of stone struck his back and shoulders, causing him to grunt with pain.
Stunned and shaking, he waited a few moments more, trying to get his breath. The air was filled with choking dust, and he spit the taste of it out of his mouth as he struggled to his feet. However, he got his balance back quickly, and looked all around him, squinting to see through the swirling haze. Beyond a few minor cuts and scrapes, he seemed to be unharmed.
The outer wall of the cell had been reduced to rubble. Norrington could see the dark, cloud-covered sky through the gaping hole, feel the wind blowing hard against him. The blast seemed to have struck directly between the two cells, reducing the grid that separated them to a heap of twisted, steaming metal. Bits of the ceiling continued to drop and crumble all along the periphery of the hole, looking as if the entire roof might cave in at any moment. Norrington waved his hand in front of his face, trying to clear the air as the wind gradually blew the dust away.
He tried to speak, coughed deeply, then tried again. "Sparrow?" he called. "Are you all r-"
Jack was spread out flat on his face, covered in dust, half-buried in rubble. He wasn't moving. He didn't appear to be breathing, either.
Norrington swore under his breath. Without thinking, he clambered over the twisted wreckage of the bars that had separated them, crouching down beside the motionless figure.
"Curse it," he muttered, wrestling away the larger chunks of stone that pinned Jack down. Then he flipped him over onto his back. A bright line of red blood cut across Jack's left cheek. "Why must you always be in the wrong place at the wrong time, you stupid--"
Jack's eyes snapped open, shockingly dark against the pale mask of dust that coated his face. He blinked several times, saw Norrington leaning over him, then let out a yell and scrambled away.
Norrington struggled to his feet, glaring at him. "What on Earth is wrong with you?" he snapped. "I was trying to help you!" He heard another rumble of thunder as he drew himself up. "Not that it earns me any gratitude, evidently!"
Jack was staring at him in outright horror, the wind rippling his hair and dust-covered clothes, a thin trickle of blood running from his cheek to his jawline. "You did this."
Norrington blinked. "What?"
Jack darted his gaze back and forth, gesturing towards the wreckage of the cell. Speaking slowly and incredulously, he repeated, "You. Did. This."
Norrington's pulse quickened. "Don't be absurd. I couldn't..."
His voice trailed off as his mind whispered, But you did, you know...
Jack's expression snapped into a manic grin. "Right! I'll be off, then. Ta!"
With that, he whirled in place and scrambled down the wreckage of the cell wall with breakneck speed, taking the final drop at a tumble and landing on his feet with all the grace of an acrobat. Without a second's hesitation, he took off at a dead run, and was soon lost from sight.
Norrington knew he should follow, that someone might be along to investigate the blast at any moment. But he could only stumble towards the demolished wall like a sleepwalker, swaying slightly as he grasped the crumbling wall for support. Numb with shock, he gazed out over the town of Port Royal, spread out before him, and slowly lifted his face to the sky.
The storm had come.
--
Every door and window in Port Royal was shut, barricaded against the storm. Black clouds blotted out the morning almost before it had come, plunging the town into eerie, dream-like shadow. The wind howled through the deserted streets, flinging leaves and debris before it, pulling flags and banners into rippling horizontal bars.
Norrington walked slowly through the town, moving with unsteady steps. Collapsing against a wall, he struggled to hold himself upright, blinking furiously as he tried to get his eyes to focus. Despite the darkness of the storm, everything he viewed seemed suffused with a white glare, as if lit from within. He felt feverish and half-drunk, his mind running slowly even as his body quivered with pent-up energy.
What is happening to me? He pressed his sweating forehead against the rough stone of the wall, his chest tight and constricted as he struggled to breathe. He was vaguely aware that his right hand still gripped Calypso's stone, so tightly it seemed he could never unclench it again. Feeling desperately thirsty, he stumbled to a nearby trough, not caring how filthy it was. Cupping his hand, he greedily gulped down a mouthful of murky water. He took a deep breath of relief and wiped his sweating face with his damp hand, glancing down at the rippling water.
His distorted reflection stared back at him. Disbelieving, Norrington raised his hand to his face, running his fingers along the skin beneath his eyes. Both his eyes were glowing, featureless white orbs staring out from beneath his own eyelids. "What--?" he began in an appalled whisper.
Then he jerked his head up at the sound of a woman's scream, close by. Slitting his eyes as the wind shifted to blow in the direction of his gaze, he saw a hand reaching out in supplication from a narrow alley towards the end of the street. Then the woman's hand was roughly yanked back with a sound of raucous male laughter. Norrington forced himself to his feet, a surge of anger filling his mind as a sharp thundercrack sounded, seeming to come from directly overhead. He strode towards the alley and turned to look inside it.
A young woman, barely more than a girl, was pinned against the wall by two rough-looking men. "Please," she begged, as they laughed at her distress. "Please, I must get home, my mother..."
"Your mama can spare you some time for us, lovely," one of the men leered, waggling his tongue. "After all, we won't take long."
"Nah," the other agreed, moving a jagged knife along the skin of her throat as she struggled and sobbed. "You be a good girl for us, and we won't take long at all..."
"Leave her alone."
Some distant part of him was shocked by the voice that came from his own throat, but he was too blinded with fury to care. The two cutthroats whirled to face him, and their ugly faces dropped into twin expressions of shock. The one with the knife hesitated, then gave an incoherent snarl and rushed him, blade held high.
Norrington was barely aware of moving as he caught his attacker by the throat. He whirled around as if the man weighed nothing, slamming him against a wall with bone-rattling force. "Leave...her...alone," he ordered again, his voice little better than a growl. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other man roughly shove the girl to the ground, then draw his pistol, and take aim at his head.
It hardly even surprised him when lightning struck, blasting the gun-wielding man where he stood. The woman screamed and flung herself away, burying her face in her hands. The man's scorched body trembled upright for a moment, then fell with a heavy thump.
Slowly, Norrington released the man he'd been holding, and turned to gaze down at the dead man. He was peripherally aware that the thug he'd released was fleeing in stark terror, footsteps pounding away down the street and fading into silence.
He turned back, and saw the young woman he'd saved cowering away from him, scrabbling back against the alley wall as if she would claw her way through it to escape. Norrington's eyes stung against the wind as his expression grew stricken.
"I--I'm sorry," he stammered. His voice sounded normal in his ears, but how long would that last? "I only wanted to help..."
He turned away sharply, shutting his eyes again, pressing his palm against his face. One man lay dead before him, and for all he knew, this innocent girl might well be next.
He raised his gaze to her and whispered, "Run." She didn't move; fear held her paralyzed.
"RUN!" he snarled, the sound underscored by a loud thundercrack. Finally, she took to her heels, her long skirts whipping in the gale, dark hair streaming behind her like a banner.
Norrington raised his face to the heavens, feeling the wind against his face, his clothes and hair rippling all around him. His pulse thudded loud and heavy in his ears, heart pounding with the rhythm of the storm.
He closed his eyes again. What have I become? he begged silently, not knowing who he asked.
"What have I become?" he whispered aloud, opening his eyes and staring up at the black, roiling sky. The clouds swirled and surged overhead, turning in a slow, ponderous circle, with the point where he stood as the very center.
The eye of the hurricane.
He remembered the wind, the rain, the lightning. He remembered the madness that had filled him then, the heedless passion, the selfish need to triumph at all costs. He knew that if these feelings consumed him, there would be blood on his hands yet again.
Some part of him screamed and raged against his own downfall. Another part of him welcomed it.
He turned his gaze to the streets around him, and his eyes glowed with an inhuman power and will. If it was his purpose to bring death into the world, if he was no more than an instrument of the powers of destruction, then at least this time he would choose who would live and who would die.
His smile was terrifying.
He knew where he had to go.
--
The door of the tavern opened, and four shabbily-dressed figures stumbled out of the door and into the storm, as if they'd been forcibly shoved out. Which was, in fact, exactly what had happened.
They all turned to gaze back at the door as it was slammed in their collective faces, followed by a sound like a bolt sliding into place. Pintel bellowed at it, "AND your beer tasted like horse piss, too!"
Ragetti plopped his wooden eye back into its socket, then swiveled it back and forth to get it straight. He was sporting a large, darkening bruise on the side of his face, making it fairly evident how the eye had gotten out in the first place. "That wasn't polite at all," he whined to no one in particular. "Honestly, what's the world coming to when folks can't even enjoy a simple game of cards?"
Adjusting his hat and tucking his unruly hair back beneath it, Mullroy gingerly touched his jaw and winced at the swelling he found there. "You know," he observed to his companion, "there are times when I wonder if turning pirate was really the best decision we ever made."
Murtogg nodded. "Right. I mean, aye, matey." He raised his head and squinted up at the black, seething heavens. He shuddered. "This storm's unnatural, comin' on so sudden-like." He glanced nervously at his companions. "It's an evil omen, mark my words!"
A low, level voice from behind them replied, "Consider them marked."
The four of them whirled in place, fumbling for their weapons. Then they froze, gawking, at the sight that met their eyes.
Norrington stood in the center of the wide, open courtyard, surrounded by the stone walls of the fortress. His ragged clothes guttered around him in the wind, his unbound dark hair whipping across his face. Eyes glowing with power, he held up his clenched right fist, crackling and seething with energy.
He was smiling.
They stared at him in silence for what seemed a very long time.
Then Murtogg raised a hand gingerly. "Um...parlay?"
Norrington didn't move a muscle as a lightning strike detonated a barrel not ten feet away from where the pirates cowered. It exploded into flames, sending them yelling and ducking for cover.
Murtogg scrambled behind an overturned wheelbarrow, shouting, "Told you that was the Commodore!"
Pintel turned back from pounding on the locked doors of the tavern just long enough to bellow, "Well, what did you do to put him in such a foul mood?!"
"Silence," Norrington commanded. "All of you." He could practically smell their fear; it was intoxicating, maddening. He felt as if some vile poison was coursing through his veins, eating away at his soul. Part of him fought against it. Another part never wanted it to end.
"Scum like you make me sick," he sneered at the cringing Pintel and Ragetti. "Your mothers ought to have drowned you at birth."
Ragetti looked offended and protested, "Here, you leave me mum out of this!" but was silenced as Pintel punched him hard in the shoulder.
"And you." Norrington turned his attention to Murtogg and Mullroy, who cowered away as if his very gaze would set them aflame. "Deserted your commissions. Turned pirate. Betrayed everything you once stood for." His lip curled in a sneer. "I'd kill you if you didn't remind me of myself."
Murtogg slowly raised a trembling hand. "If I may, sir," he began meekly. "There were some extenuating circumstances involved..."
"Enough!" A blast of lightning tore across the sky, casting the scene in stark, blinding highlights. Slowly, he raised the stone high over his head. "Gentlemen, this is a day you will always remember..."
Some instinct made him move sharply to the left as a gunshot whizzed past his right ear, burying itself in the tavern wall. Ragetti squawked and dropped to the ground as the shot missed him by inches. Norrington whirled in place, and saw Barbossa and Anamaria behind him, moving slowly in opposite directions to flank him. Each of them held two pistols, one in each outstretched hand. One of Barbossa's was smoking.
Barbossa was the first to speak, his tone level and businesslike as the brim of his hat flapped wildly in the gale. "There be another where that came from, Mister Norrington." Barbossa's monkey clung desperately to his shoulder, gripping with its tiny hands and shivering in fear.
"Aye!" Anamaria snapped, her eyes flashing with anger as her long black hair streamed out behind her. "And whatever you be, I doubt you'll ignore a shot to the head!"
Norrington gave a cold smile. "Are you certain of that, miss?"
"Enough." Barbossa raised his pistols higher. "Now begone from this place, or--"
Without warning, the hurricane wind flung Barbossa and Anamaria off their feet, sending them flying backwards. They both hit the walls hard enough to knock their weapons from their grasp. The monkey shrieked and jumped up and down in a frenzy as its master slumped down bonelessly against the wall. Dazed, Anamaria shook her head as if to rouse herself, then swore out loud and scrambled for her weapons.
"Don't," Norrington growled, raising his clenched right fist in Barbossa's direction. "Or I'll kill him."
Glaring daggers at him, she slowly stood up and backed away from the guns. On the other side of the courtyard, Barbossa groaned and rubbed the back of his head, painfully rising to his feet.
Apparently drawn by the noise, the tavern door opened a crack and someone from within peered out. Whoever was inside clearly got a good look at the situation, as the door was immediately slammed shut, the bolt locked again, and there was a scraping noise from within, as of someone moving something very large and heavy against the inside of the door.
"You all right, Captain?" Ragetti called with concern, darting a fearful gaze towards Norrington as if wondering whether he should've asked permission to speak.
"Aye," Barbossa replied, dusting himself off with a dark look towards Norrington. "But if these circumstances be Jack's doing, remind me to kill him myself."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, old friend," a voice came from behind.
All heads turned as Jack Sparrow strolled into view, each step of his boots clearly audible even over the howling gale. The wind was making it hard going for him, but he still managed to walk with a casual saunter, as if he was out for a pleasant evening's stroll.
Norrington's eyes slitted. "You."
"Me," Jack acknowledged, stopping some distance away. He rose to the tips of his toes and spread his arms, leaning into the wind, letting it support his weight. "Ah!" he declared in apparent delight, as his dreadlocked hair rippled behind him. "Just like flying, eh?"
Hatred throbbed inside Norrington's skull. "I should kill you right now."
Jack settled his heels back on the ground, then raised his hands palms out in a gesture of non-aggression. "Unarmed, mate."
Norrington's face twisted in an ugly grin. "Then that was your last mistake."
Jack shrugged. "Well, figured weapons wouldn't do much good anyway, after watching Hector here make a botch job of things." A casual wave of his hand indicated Barbossa, whose silent fuming indicated that Jack would pay dearly for that remark, assuming they both survived the night.
"Besides," Jack went on, looking directly into his opponent's eyes, "you won't kill a defenseless man in cold blood, will you." It was a statement, not a question.
Norrington's face reflected the war in his mind. Kill him, said the pounding waves of rage battering his soul. Kill him, blast him to ashes, make him pay for what he's done. But another part of himself was screaming to be heard over the mad din in his head: You are not a murderer! No matter what you are, what you've become, you are not a murderer!
His left fist clenched and unclenched spasmodically as he fought to get hold of himself. His head jerked sharply to one side, like a nervous twitch. "Sparrow," he ground out through clenched teeth, "you are the absolute bane of my existence."
The pirate spread his hands with a modest smile. "You see, James--may I call you James?" Jack didn't wait for an answer, but continued: "I've been giving things a good bit of thought. And I have concluded--" He raised a forefinger, then pointed at the stone in Norrington's hand. "--that I did not, in fact, steal that rather problematic piece of rock from Tia Dalma."
Norrington's confusion must have shown on his face, as Jack clarified, "That'd be Calypso, to you."
"You're lying," Norrington growled, his voice barely recognizable even to himself. "You had it on the Pearl. I saw you give it to her." He indicated Anamaria with a jerk of his head.
"Yes, but no." Jack raised his right hand as if taking an oath. "Sworn truth, that stone was not on my ship until after you came aboard."
Norrington stared at him. "That's impossible."
"I believe perhaps you've been looking at this wrong since the very beginning," Jack went on, indicating the stone with a gesture. "I don't think that thing's a piece of Calypso." He paused, and fixed Norrington with a calm, direct stare.
"I think it's a piece of you."
Barbossa shouted from the far wall, "What madness be this, Jack?" He was barely managing to hold his hat on in the gale. "This man ne'er showed such powers before!"
"That's right, he didn't!" Murtogg piped up, with Mullroy vigorously nodding his assent. "Honestly, we'd have noticed!"
Jack shrugged. "Well, granted, maybe Calypso made things a bit more interesting. Added a little spice to the stew, as it were. But still..."
Norrington interrupted, with a thunderclap that sent Barbossa's monkey fleeing behind his back, "That's insane. Why would she do that to me?"
"Who knows?" Jack spread his hands in an expansive gesture. "Cruelty? Whim? An overdeveloped sense of fun? But the point is--"
Norrington cut him off. "Enough." The walls of the fortress shook. His eyes narrowed to dangerous, white-hot slits. "If you have any last words, Sparrow, you'd better say them now."
"Oh, all right." Jack acted like his imminent obliteration was merely a minor inconvenience. "Hate for my last words to be about you, but..." He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels, then said, "You see, I think I've got you figured, James."
Norrington glowered at him. "Indeed."
"Aye." Jack began to pace in a wide circle around Norrington, who turned slowly in place to follow his motion. "I think when you tell yourself you're the finest champion of His Majesty's Navy, then that's what you are."
He spun on his heels and marched in the other direction. "When you tell yourself you're a raggedy-arsed rum-sodden deck rat, then that's what you are."
Jack spun about again, and actually began to pace right up to Norrington, straight into the eye of the storm. "And when you tell yourself you're this evil, inhuman, destructive thing what brings devastation to all around you..."
Jack stopped and leaned in, looking Norrington straight in the eye. "...that, I think, is what you are becoming."
There was silence for a long time, broken only by the roar of the wind. No one moved, no one spoke. Norrington stood like a statue, staring at nothing as the towering black clouds turned in a slow, ponderous circle high above his head. Finally, his impassive visage broke, and he trembled as he lowered his white-eyed gaze to the ground.
"I..." Norrington faltered. "You don't...you don't understand. I killed them." He turned his gaze to Jack again, his face twisted with rage and self-loathing. "The crew of the Dauntless. Everyone who died under Beckett's rule. It was my fault."
Norrington shook his head violently, as if trying to throw something off. "All those people. All those deaths." He clenched his fist even tighter, power crackling around it. "It was my fault!"
Jack didn't so much as flinch. "You didn't create that hurricane, James," he observed calmly. "Didn't force anyone to sail with you, didn't tell Beckett to do what he did." He tilted his head slightly, and said with a daring trace of mockery, "Methinks you give yourself too much credit."
"I..." Norrington turned his gaze to the stone he still gripped in his hand. "I can't..."
Jack took another step closer, then another. Almost nonchalantly, he went on, "Someone once told me that one good deed wasn't enough to redeem a lifetime of wickedness." He paused, and raised his eyebrows slightly. "But maybe a few bad decisions aren't enough to condemn him, either."
Jack's face became serious again. His voice almost a whisper, he leaned in and said, "Let it go, mate."
They locked stares for a moment, dark eyes meeting glowing white. Norrington was the first to look away, and stared down at the stone in his hand.
All the world seemed to hold its breath. A few drops of rain began to fall, the pattering sound loud in the sudden silence.
Then, with an inhuman scream of rage, Norrington whirled in place and blasted away the wall behind him.
Chunks of stone flew everywhere, sending the onlookers running for cover with shouts and curses. Norrington barely heard them, was hardly aware of anything as he began to run.
He ran as if his heart would burst, breath heaving in his chest, cold raindrops stinging his face. His boots beat a rhythm against the ground, footsteps splashing in the growing puddles as the rain became a downpour. Finally, the hard ground beneath his feet gave way to sand, then to mud. Without realizing it, but knowing somehow that it had been his destination all along, he had reached the sea.
Norrington collapsed to his knees. The tide rushed away from him, as if repelled by his presence. His chest heaving with every breath, he raised his stricken face to the ocean.
A huge wave was headed right for him. Then, before it could crash over the beach, it drew back and reared up before him, towering over his head. The figure of a woman formed within it, her shape translucent and rippling, made of water turned solid. Norrington couldn't tell if her smile was one of pity, or contempt.
"Calypso," he rasped through his parched throat. He raised his rain-streaked face to her, glaring in rage and accusation. "Why?" he demanded, his words underscored by thunder. "Why did you do this to me?"
The figure shrugged, and spoke in the rushing, crashing voice of a thousand waves. "It is my nature."
Shaking violently, rain streaming down his face, soaking through his tattered clothes, Norrington looked straight up at the sky. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all. Then he looked back towards Calypso, raising the fist that still held the terrible stone. "What is this?" he demanded, voice shaking with fury. "Did you create it just to torture me? To turn me into this monster?"
The watery figure put her head slightly to one side. "I only give the t'ing a shape, Jemms Norrington," she replied, sounding haughtily amused. "YOU create it."
His shoulders rose and fell with every rasping breath. He glared at his clenched fist, willing his hand to open. He couldn't do it; his fingers wouldn't separate so much as an inch. "Then how do I get rid of it?" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the storm of his own making. "How do I...?"
He trailed off. For a moment, he knelt in silence, the truth slowly dawning in his mind. His voice became a whisper. "...let it go?"
Calypso made no answer. Norrington stared in hollow despair at the seething, crackling thing in his fist. Finally, he understood what the black stone was. It was his pride, his arrogance, his willful certainty that only he knew what was right. It was the irrational hatred and prejudice that had transformed his hunger for justice into a lust for vengeance. It was the heedless ambition and need to prove himself that had blinded him to the consequences of his own choices.
It was his own darkness, given shape and form...and more power than he could ever hope to control.
Norrington squeezed his eyes shut as the pain and grief he'd held back for so long came crashing down on him. He remembered the hurricane that had destroyed his ship, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. He remembered the guilt and self-loathing that had driven him as low as a man could sink, remembered how his desperate gambit to redeem himself had only resulted in more deaths.
He remembered his own words: I prefer to see it as the promise of redemption.
He opened his eyes. "I..." he began, and his voice cracked with grief as a bone-deep weariness washed over him. He slumped down in the damp sand, shoulders sagging, arms hanging limply at his sides. He felt drained, empty. And when he spoke again, his voice was a low, aching whisper.
"I'm sorry," he said, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. His head fell forward, hanging low against his chest. "I'm sorry."
His fist opened, and the black stone tumbled from his grasp. It rolled a few inches across the wet sand, then cracked open like an egg. A wisp of black smoke escaped it with a faint hiss, then the stone crumbled into ashes, and was washed away by the tide.
The white glare that had suffused his vision faded away, and he knew he was looking through human eyes once more. The fire in his veins ebbed and faded, and he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one he'd never known he carried until it had been taken away.
Norrington opened his tear-filled eyes and stared up into the eyes of the goddess, rain and sea spray washing his face clean. For a moment, her face was an impassive mask.
Then she smiled.
"At last," she said.
The woman's figure disappeared into the wave as it surged up, towering over him. The top crested into roiling white foam as it dropped, covering Norrington in its shadow, rushing down towards him. He made no move to flee, but watched it coming, accepting whatever fate awaited him with neither fear nor regret.
The wave crashed down on him, lifting him up, spinning him round in its featureless depths. He could no longer tell up from down as the roar of the water filled his ears. As his consciousness faded, Norrington could have sworn he felt a woman's strong arms around him, felt her kissing him, deep and hard.
Then darkness took him, and he knew nothing more.