The Tides of Destruction

Chapter Ten

Extrapolation

King Éralen paced about his throne room, his cerulean fin propelling him through the water as he felt his trepidation continue to grow with each passing minute. It had been days since he had sent his daughter away, his rage overwhelming him in a moment of weakness. He had regretted what he had said the moment it had left his mouth. He had watched Sélene swim away, tears streaming down her face, her spirit crushed by the harshness of his words.

Every instinct in his body had screamed at him to pursue her, to apologize, to bring her home. But his pride . . . His accursed pride would not permit him to do so. He had convinced herself she would come back on her own, that she would see the foolishness of her plans to try to contact the Erthwélethwain, that she would swim into his arms, begging his forgiveness. But as hours turned into days, as his daughter continued to remain outside his waters, his spirit became more and more distressed.

This is your fault, a voice snarled in his mind. You drove her away. You told her never to come back. She probably thinks you hate her . . .

Crying out in frustration, Éralen slammed his fist into the mighty columns of rock that adorned his throne room. His mind made up, the King of the Sea swam off, giving no heed to his responsibilities, to his subjects, his thoughts trained only on finding the one person in the world who meant the most to him.

I am coming for you, Sélene, he thought. Wherever you are, I will find you, and I will bring you home. I swear it . . .

The first thing Sanderson noticed as he opened his eyes was the face of the woman before him. His breath caught in his throat as he found himself lost in the purity of her emerald eyes, her hair of flame wreathed perfectly around her ivory skin. Finally gaining control of his voice, he managed to choke out: "Well . . . I've always wondered if the Maíreth actually existed. Now, I know for certain . . ."

Throwing back her head, the woman laughed, her voice falling upon Sanderson's ears like the ringing of a small, perfectly-tuned bell. "Now that's a new one," she said. "Wasted, unfortunately, as I have already given myself to another, but I appreciate the effort."

Oh, damn. Grinning sheepishly, Sanderson pulled himself to a sitting position atop the bed, his body racked with a sudden rush of discomfort. Looking about, he realized he had no idea where he was. "I . . . I don't suppose you could tell we where I am," he said. "What I'm doing here . . ."

The woman looked at him, her face betraying an expression of disbelief. "You are in the palace infirmary. You're very lucky to be alive. Most of the others in your vicinity . . . They were not as fortunate." Pausing, she focused her emerald eyes upon his face. "You don't remember what happened? You don't remember the attack on the harbor? What happened to your ship?"

My ship . . . My ship! Suddenly remembering, suddenly panicking, Sanderson fought to disentangle himself from the mess of sheets that entrapped him.

"What are you doing?!" Valanda's hands were on Sanderson's chest in an instant as she fought to calm him. "You're going to hurt yourself—"

"I don't care!" Sanderson was out of the bed now, pacing furiously about the room. "Do you have any idea what I had in the cargo hold of my ship? How much money I've lost?! I'm ruined, dammit! Ruined!" Staring at Valanda in distress, he found his worry replaced with anger at the calm upon her face, her lack of concern fueling his outrage more than the loss of countless amounts of currency. "What?! Don't you understand how bad this is for me?!"

"Relax," Valanda said. "Everything's going to be just fine."

Sanderson's eyes nearly extracted themselves from their sockets. "What are you talking about?! Are you mocking me?! Didn't you hear a word I just said?! Who in the hell are you, anyway?! Where the hell am I?!"

Valanda stood, her eyes glistening intensely. "First of all, my name is Valanda. I am the Princess of the brann wielders who now reside within this land."

Sanderson suddenly felt a rush of unease wash over him. "You . . . You're a flame bearer? I've heard of them before . . . I'd even heard rumors that they'd migrated to the lands just outside Arendelle. But I've never actually seen one . . . They've assimilated so well, they say, that I . . ."

Looking around, he began to make sense of the architecture, of the décor. "We're in the palace, aren't we?"

"Yes," Valanda said. "We are. And like I said, you should be dead right now. But fortunately, for you . . . for us, you are still with us."

A suspicious look crossed Sanderson's face. "What do you mean, 'for us'? What exactly is it that you want with me?"
"To begin with," Valanda said. "You don't need to worry about your cargo. We have someone with expertise in underwater exploration bringing it to the surface as we speak."

Sanderson felt his heart skip a beat. "You . . . You're joking, right? It's at the bottom of the harbor. There's no way any of it can be recovered. It's too deep . . . The waters too treacherous for ordinary Men—"

"Trust me," Valanda said, a small smile crossing her countenance. "You will have your precious cargo. You are not, as you so eloquently put it a moment ago, 'ruined' after all."

Without thinking, Sanderson threw his arms around the Princess, nearly planting his lips upon her own before a glare from her irises of jade caused him to think better of it. "Sorry about that. I just got a little carried away . . ." Pausing, his brow furrowed. "Wait a minute. What's the catch? Why would you be going through so much trouble to help me out unless—"

Valanda reached for an envelope of parchment resting upon the table next to Sanderson's bed. "Since you brought it up, we do have some matters to discuss . . ."

Here it comes. Now the other shoe finally drops. Sighing, Sanderson looked at Valanda in resignation. "What matters, specifically?"

Valanda opened the envelope, running her eyes over the parchment within. "You have led a very . . . interesting life, it would seem, Master Sanderson. Your official record, for example, states that you are a citizen of Arendelle, and yet we have no record of you ever paying the taxes or tariffs on your income or business expenses for the past twenty years."

Oh, shit. Oh, shit! Clearing his throat, Sanderson found himself stammering, his confidence slowly evaporating. "There must be some mistake," he said. "I . . . I have always turned in my paperwork and payments. If anything's missing, I'm sure it's just an honest error in—"

Valanda said nothing. Rather, she removed the parchment from the envelope before turning it over. Wave after wave of small, loose papers fell from the envelope, forming a small pile on the floor. "Do you recognize these?"

"Um . . ." Sanderson felt himself starting to perspire. "No?"

Picking a handful of papers, Valanda began to read from them. "Ten years ago: An 'IOU' for two thousand gilden. Fifteen years ago: An 'IOU' for three thousand gilden. Eight years ago: Fifteen hundred. Five years ago: Twenty-five hundred." She looked at Sanderson in dismay. "You've been sending in IOUs for the past twenty years, and you didn't think anyone would notice?"

"I've . . . I've been busy!" Sanderson protested. "Things come up . . . I mean to turn them in, but I just don't have enough currency at the moment . . ." Looking at Valanda, his voice became hesitant. "Just how much is the total, anyway?"

"Three hundred and twenty-five thousand, give or take," Valanda said.

Shit! Shit, shit shit! "I . . . I didn't mean for it to get that bad . . . I swear!" He suddenly became indignant. "And, anyway, what business is it of yours? You're a foreigner! You have no authority here! I don't have to listen to—"

"Oh, I am afraid you do." Valanda's emerald eyes were now aflame with confidence. "Her Majesty, Queen Elsa, and I . . . We are family."

What? Oh, shit! "I . . . I didn't know Her Majesty was related to the—"

"And," Valanda continued. "Although Elsa is sympathetic to the plight of those who honestly cannot pay what they owe, when someone like you openly flaunts the law—when you clearly have enough money to spend on frivolous matters like liquor and women—she feels as though you are slapping her in the face. After everything she has done for this kingdom, you would think her subjects would show her more respect—"

"All right! You've made your point!" Sanderson stared at the pile of papers, defeated. "So . . . I suppose I'm going to be spending a long, long time in the dungeon for tax evasion?"

A sly grin formed on Valanda's lips. "Fortunately for you, Master Sanderson, Elsa has another idea." With a wave of her hand, the pile of papers ignited, quickly disintegrating into ash. "Your entire debt will be forgiven, provided you do two things."

Stunned, Sanderson found himself momentarily speechless. "What . . . What—"

"Elsa is leaving tonight on a voyage to the Southern Isles in the hopes of forming an alliance against whoever it was that attacked our harbor this morning. We have hired the finest captain available, but we need additional funds to compensate him. You will pay him a share of your precious cargo—"

"What?!" Sanderson's face was beet red, smoke nearly visibly rolling out of his ears. "Do you have any idea how hard I worked to find all of that?! And you expect me to just share it with—"

"Would you rather spend the next thirty years in the dungeon?" Valanda raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"No," Sanderson muttered. Gritting his teeth, he let out a painful sigh. "All right. I'll pay him . . ."

"Excellent." Valanda smiled, her youthful exuberance momentarily seeping through her firm exterior. "And, in order to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain, you will come along and serve as this captain's first mate on our expedition."

"Oh, no!" Sanderson was indignant. "I don't play second fiddle to anyone, Princess. I'm captain, or the deal is—"

Valanda merely glanced toward the corridor. "The dungeon master can be here in a matter of minutes . . ."

Groaning, Sanderson ran his hand over his eyes, shaking his head. "You're really not giving me a choice, you know that?" Exhaling, he looked around the infirmary, suddenly realizing just how many men had been injured in the attack. "All . . . All of them are . . . They . . ." Looking Valanda in the eye, his face became deathly serious. "What about Weldendram?" he asked. "Did he . . . Did he . . ."

Valanda's face fell, her eyes looking to the floor. "I'm sorry about your friend, Master Sanderson. I truly am . . ."

Sanderson's jaw clenched, his fists tightening. "Princess, you don't have to worry about me. I'll do what needs to be done. Whatever it takes. I just want the bastards who did this to hang for this . . . this slaughter . . ."

Nodding, Valanda reached into a bag on the floor. Tossing a bundle toward Sanderson, she turned to leave. "Go ahead and get dressed. Elsa is meeting with the captain now. After she's finished, I want you and the captain to get to know each other."

Reaching for his trousers, Sanderson suddenly paused. "You never said who this captain is, Princess. If he's so great, I'm sure I would have heard of him. What's his name?"

At the door, Valanda turned back, looking down the corridor at Sanderson. "Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow."

As the Princess departed, Sanderson sank to the bed, his white infirmary garments soaked with perspiration at the mention of that name. Sparrow's the Captain? Oh, shit! Oh, shit . . .

"Now, that's a pretty little thingie."

Captain Jack Sparrow walked through the throne room, marveling at the clarity of the structure, the unity of its purpose, how rock and stone was perfectly chiseled and formed to create beautiful-yet-functional arches that to the naked eye appeared fragile and delicate, yet were strong enough to carry twenty times their weight. Standing before a statue of some ancient monarch, he stretched out his hand toward the carved sword in the figure's hand, whistling as he was overwhelmed by the raw, visceral power behind the visage before him.

For despite the impression his behavior gave, Jack Sparrow was no fool. Rather, he was all-too-familiar with the finer things in life, having spent a lifetime growing to appreciate them over the course of his many encounters. Playing the fool was his defense mechanism; it permitted him to watch and learn as those around him—friends, allies, and especially enemies—dropped their guard, allowing him to study them, to find their weaknesses and catalog them, storing them in his ever-scheming mind, ready to call upon them when opportunity arose.

And what is life, anyway, but simply waiting for the right opportunity? Jack laughed to himself as he turned toward the throne. So many men fail to take advantage of Opportunity when she comes upon them, while I . . . I likes to think I allow her to take me in her embrace. He brought the bottle in his hand to his lips, downing a long swig of the amber liquid within. Although one thing this place definitely could use improvement upon is the whiskey. It's like drinking piss—

"Are you quite ready yet, Jack?"

Jack rolled his eyes as he finished his drink. "I was born ready, Master Underthen." He moved toward the man, his eyes never losing their focus on the man who had brought him here. "I'm here. I'm ready to meet with our lovely Queen lass. However, it would appear that, given the fact that we've been standing here for twenty bloody minutes without so much as a 'how-do-you-do,' that Her Majesticness is the one who should be explaining just where she has been—"

"So."

A feminine voice rang through the room, catching Jack off guard, causing him to jump slightly at the sound. Whirling about, he staggered as he regained his balance, his breath stopping momentarily at the sight before him.

A woman had appeared from the shadows, her long platinum hair confined in a tight braid that flowed down her back. Her skin was white as snow, flawless in every way, betraying not a trace of blemish. Her pale blue dress shimmered and sparkled in the candlelit room, as if made of diamonds. But it was her eyes that entranced Jack, holding his attention like no pair of eyes before. It did not seem possible that they could belong to a mortal woman, for the icy blue of her irises was accentuated by the ring of silver running around them, light reflecting from her eyes as if they were some ethereal portal to the heavens.

The woman's eyes narrowed as she moved toward him. "So. You are the captain I've heard so much about?"

Recovering his poise, Jack took off his hat, bowing exaggeratedly before her. "The one and the same, Your Majesticfulness." Rising again, he reached for her hand. "And, might I say, it is truly a privilege to gaze upon one such as yourself. I mean, I've seen me share of beautiful women in my life, love, but you . . .You might just have moved to the top of me list."

Elsa grimaced slightly as Jack planted a kiss on her wrist, his yellowing teeth grinning before her. Glaring at Underthen, she shook her head. "How much has he had to drink already?"

Underthen shrugged, embarrassed. "This is pretty typical, Elsa. But I'm telling you: He's the best there is—"

"That's right," Jack interjected. "And if anyone else tries to argue otherwise, don't believe a word they say. Half of everything you may have heard about me is a lie, while the other half is the truth, unless of course you've considered the possibility that the truth might also be a lie, in which case that would make it . . ." He counted on his fingers, pausing after several awkward moments of silence. "All of it a lie. Or all of it the truth. Savvy?"

Elsa pulled her hand away from Jack. "Thank you, Captain Sparrow. I trust Underthen here has explained to you just what we need from you."

"Oh, yes. My good mate Underthen here has let me in on all the sordid details." Jack rubbed his hands together. "Unfortunately, Your Majesticnessness, I'm not going to be able to accept this charter unless I have some assurance that—"

"You'll get your money," Elsa said. "You don't have to worry a thing about that. I am, however, interested in one thing."

Jack looked at her innocently. "And what might that be, love?"

Elsa cringed slightly at the last word in Jack's question. Someone else you knew used to call you that. Someone you couldn't save from dying . . . Brushing the thought aside, Elsa picked up a stack of parchment from her throne. "Where exactly you come from. There is absolutely no record of you being born in Arendelle, nor is there any record of anything else about you—no tax forms, no identification, no official transactions of any kind. In fact, no one on this Continent seems to remember you being here at all until about three years ago. It's like you just appeared out of thin air . . ."

Jack moved toward the throne, sitting himself in the majestic chair, propping his legs up on the chair next to it. "Well, I've never been one for official documentation, love—"

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "Really? I don't think that's it at all." Lowering herself to eye level with the pirate, she smiled slightly. "I don't think you're from this world at all. I think you ended up here by accident. Am I right?"

How does she know that? Jack looked at Elsa, nonplussed, a wide grin on his roguish face. Laughing, he stood. "Your Majesticfulness, that's about the silliest notion I've ever heard—"

"Your clothes. They don't match any fashion of any nation surrounding this Continent. Your manner of speech is completely foreign. The tattoos on your arm. No one in this world makes markings like that." Elsa looked at Jack, a look of triumph in her eyes. "Want to try again, Captain?"

Sighing, Jack shrugged his shoulders. "You know how they say that if you sail too far toward the edge of the world you'll fall right off, love? Well, I think that's what happened to me."

Elsa frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I was chasing after the Pearl and all, trying to get me ship back. I was right on her, closing in, when—"

"Hold on." Elsa frowned. "You mean, the Black Pearl . . . the ship that attacked us . . . that was your ship?"

Jack smiled. "Impressed, Your Majesticfulness? She's a right beauty, isn't she?"

Noticing Elsa's lack of reaction, Jack continued. "Anyway, love, I was right on her heels. I was so close to finally catching up with Barbossa—so close to getting me ship back—when all of a sudden, the sky turned the most amazing shade of orange I've ever seen in me life. It was so bright, I couldn't see a damn thing in front of me. And then, just like that, it was gone. And when I opened me eyes, the Pearl was gone, and I was . . . I was here, run aground on the shores of this . . . this rather interesting bit of land you call home."

Jack took another swig from the bottle in his hand. "Being the resourceful sort of man I am, I set about starting a new life for meself, learning the lay of the land and sea as quickly as I could, taking various jobs as necessary to pay for me few expenditures. But always, I kept me eye out for the Pearl . . . for Barbossa, always wondering what happened to them." He glanced at Underthen. "And now, thanks to me old friend over here, I know: Barbossa's been here the whole time. He's been using my ship to continue his old habits here. And now, he's working for someone . . . someone who's paid him to turn all the pretty ships in your harbor to unfortunate little splinters of wood."

"I see." Elsa leaned toward Jack, staring at him intently. "I'll have Underthen take you to the ship we'll be using—"

"Hold on, Your Majesticfulness," Jack said. "I never actually said I'd be captain on this little adventure you have in mind."

Elsa frowned. "I told you: We'll gladly pay you—"

"It's not about the money, love," Jack said. "It's about management. I want to make one thing clear: If I take you, I'm not coming back on that ship. I'm getting my ship back from Barbossa. And that means I'm not taking orders from you or anyone else. Savvy?"

Elsa grimaced momentarily, surreptitiously shoving her hand behind her back. Jack noticed immediately. "Problems, love?"

"What if . . ." Elsa gritted her teeth as she struggled to contain the pain coursing through her temples. "What if I told you I could get you home?"

Jack laughed. "I'd say you've had a little too much of this terrible whiskey to drink. Does no one on this Continent know how to properly make rum?" He shook his head. "Why is it, wherever I go, the rum's always gone—"

Fighting through the agony, Elsa closed her eyes, holding out her hand. Concentrating, she unleashed a wave of silver energy from her fingers. The light coalesced, swirling about, growing brighter and brighter until an orange gateway suddenly appeared, its energy rustling the air in the room.

Jack looked at the light in amazement. "That . . . That's just like—"

Unable to control the pain anymore, Elsa dropped to her knees. The orange gateway vanished, leaving no trace it had ever existed.

Jack looked at Elsa, his face now completely serious. "Let's make sure we understand each other, Your Majeticfulness. I take you and your little band of do-gooders on this little venture. You help me take back the Pearl. And then . . . Then, you open this orange light-thingie and send me home?"

"Yes." Elsa pulled herself to her feet, slowly. "And with enough raw materials for you to sell in your own world for a high price."

Jack looked at Elsa, his face turning to one of moderate concern. "You all right, love? You look rather uncomfortable . . ."

Elsa looked at Jack, smiling despite the pain. "I thought pirates didn't care about how other people feel."

"There's more to us than just money, love," Jack said. "The freedom of the sea . . . The brotherhood . . . The drinkin' and whorin'—"

Elsa rolled her eyes. "Underthen, why don't you show Captain Sparrow his new ship?"

Underthen smiled. "Come with me, Jack. I think you'll be impressed with this one."

"I'll be the judge of that, mate," Jack said as they moved to the door. "I'll be the judge of that . . ."

As the two men left the throne room, Elsa bit her lip as the trembling returned to her fingertips. This needs to stop. I don't have time for this. Looking toward the ceiling, she closed her eyes. Oh, Father. If you can hear me, I could certainly use your guidance right now . . .

AN: More to come!