Isabelle came slowly back into herself from the wonderful darkness she had been blanketed in. She felt the sun warm on her face and hands and could see it's bright light even through her closed eyelids. She felt and heard a gust of win play across her cheek and she smelled the freshness of the breeze. It took her a moment to realize where she was. She was not in Port Royal and she was not in India. She had to struggle to remember what had happened the past few weeks and how she had managed to find herself in her current place.
Even if she didn't know where that current place might be.
She knew she was not in India because the breeze was not fragrant with the warm aromas of curry, saffron and jasmine. She knew she was not in Port Royal because she could not smell wood smoke or the aroma of roses from the garden that one of the serving girls had taken to cutting and bringing in to scent her room. She also knew she wasn't in Port Royal because she was not in a soft bed.
Slowly she opened her eyes and tried to think about where exactly she might be. She had been on Captain Jack Sparrow's ship the Pearl. That hadn't been a dream either. Above her, a ragged piece of canvas was pulled tight and stood out in stark contrast to the brilliant Caribbean blue sky. A light mist touched her cheek, her other cheek was buried against a pillow of medium quality wool. The contrast of the rough wool and gentle sea spray served to confuse her already befuddled brain. She remembered being aboard the Pearl and using her sight—whether it be gift or curse she wasn't sure—to help rest Elizabeth's mind. Perhaps she had been worse of than she'd thought and the crew had brought her above decks for some fresh air in an effort to revive her. She wanted to rise up but her shoulders, arms, hands and neck all hurt. She closed her eyes as the muscles in her neck and shoulders tightened and she opened her hands against the searing pain that had shot through them when she'd clenched them. She heard movement and then the light that had glowed through her eyelids dimmed.
"Miss?" Isabelle opened her eyes again and saw Mr. Norrington gazing back at her. He had helped her to her cabin she had thought. Perhaps she had been imagining things and he had merely lain her upon the deck. "Miss Beckett?"
"What's going---?" Isabelle's voice was hoarse and cracked on the end of her sentence. She coughed dryly and tried to sit up. Mr. Norrington lifted her into an upright position and tipped a water skin to her lips.
"Drink slowly—" he admonished but he didn't have to. She heard his thoughts buffer against hers as loud as thunder. "We need to conserve it."
"Thank you." Isabelle said as she found her voice. Now that she was sitting up she saw the vast emptiness of ocean that surrounded the small boat she and James Norrington found themselves in.
James Norrington watched as her eyes scanned the empty horizons and saw the confusion furrow her brow.
"Where are we?" She asked turning her warm brown eyes to him. "How on earth did I get here?"
"Don't you know?"
"No…" Isabelle looked around her again. "The last thing I remember was being aboard the Pearl—." She looked back to him. "You and I were—you helped me…"
"You remember nothing after that?"
"No." Isabelle put her hands against the bottom of the boat and tried to push herself against the side but hissed when her hands felt as if they were on fire.
"Let me see your hands." Mr. Norrington grasped her wrist and held her hand so he could look at her palms. They were cracked, red, and bleeding in places. IN a flash she saw herself rowing the boat towards Isle La Cruces. She shook her head and watched as Mr. Norrington tried to cover the open sores on her hands with his handkerchief. "It isn't much, but at least you won't have salt burning—"
"Thank you." Isabelle interrupted him and smiled meekly. She held her hands close to her and watched as Mr. Norrington moved back to the stern of the tiny boat where he lifted one of the oars into the air. He braced the blade against the bottom of the boat and stared at the opposite end where two ropes extended towards the bow where they were attached to the corners of the canvas. The canvas quickly caught the wind and the boat leapt forward. "Brilliant…" Isabelle said as she watched the process. Mr. Norrington grinned as she praised his simple mechanics. "Won't your arms get tired?"
"Less tired than if I were rowing." He answered. He bit his lip and leaned back against the oar, shifting his weight to ensure the rigged sail stayed full of the prevailing winds. "We move faster as well."
Isabelle stayed silent and hugged herself as their little craft skipped across the waves. Soon, the rhythm of the keel skipping across the water and the steady rush of the waves and the wind began to lull her to sleep.
She awoke only when her cheek bounced painfully off the boat's gunnels. She sat up and touched the painful scrape against her cheek. She had dreamt she had been running through the jungle and had been hit in the face by a low hanging palm frond or vine. She regained her senses and looked to where Mr. Norrington sat at the stern staring at her with a small smile playing on his lips.
"You laugh at me, sir. I do not like it."
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh…are you alright?"
"I think so." She shook her head a little and stared at where the sun was beginning to slip into the sea.
"You remember something?" She looked back at the dark haired man at the stern and nodded.
"Aye. I remember running through the woods. I rowed this boat to shore, though I don't know how I got into it and I ran and ran trying to find something…" She drifted off as Mr. Norrington nodded.
"You seemed disoriented when I came across you, but you led me straight to this dinghy. I was quite relieved actually. Is that all you remember?"
She saw it clearer now. She remembered seeing Mr. Norrington running wildly through the woods looking over his shoulder. When he looked back to the front he seemed shocked to see her.
"What are you doing here? Are there others?" She had shaken her head and held her hand out. He grasped it tightly in his and, as she grasped the hem of her skirts in her other hand and together they had sprinted through the jungle as fast as her legs could carry her. But she didn't remember anything after meeting up with him. Frustrated, she nodded her head.
"Yes…for now. But my memories will come back eventually."
"This happens often?" Isabelle shook her head. "I don't mean to pry…"
"No, it's alright. I'm just tired and confused…."
"You look a little pale; perhaps you should lie down…."
"Yes…maybe I'll…." But Isabelle didn't have a chance to lie down or rest. A terrible vision flashed before her and practically threw her against the bench. She screamed, but was unable to withdraw from the vision, so complete was its hold on her.
James Norrington quickly rushed to her side and tried to calm her as she screamed.
"Oh God! Oh God! He's dead!" She screamed. The sky had turned pale and she sobbed and sobbed into James Norrington's shoulder. A great pain tore at her chest where her heart beat rapidly she cried out as the pain threatened to drive the breath from her. It felt as if someone had stabbed her.
"What is it? What's wrong?" But she couldn't tell him. She couldn't make him understand. Jack Sparrow was dead. She had seen it as plain as she saw James Norrington now. She gasped and held fast to James' sleeves as he continued to try to calm her. She saw Jack turn to look up into the great maw of a gigantic sea creature. A huge tentacle wrapped around the Pearl and Jack stared up as the great creature growled and spit at him. She heard him utter the words "Hello Beastie" and draw his sword. Jack had been brave in the end and had died fighting aboard the decks of his precious ship. The Pearl was completely covered and destroyed by the Kraken's mighty appendages and Jack and the Black Pearl disappeared forever. She and he were connected. She had always known where Jack was, and now he was gone. It was as if a part of her had been torn out. "He's dead and gone…!!!"
"Who's dead?" But Isabelle couldn't answer him as she continued to sob. James Norrington passed her the water skin but she refused it. She pulled away from him and held fast to the gunnels and sobbed her heartache out. Eventually her sobs ceased and she lay with her head against the worn wood. She stared forlornly out at the sea as the small boat rose and fell on the sea. The sky turned from bright blue to a soft pink and then lavender, but still she did not move. She hurt all over, she hurt too greatly, and she did not know what to do.
James had watched her from his spot at the stern of the small boat. He had given up with the sail when she had begun her keening and hadn't the heart or energy to take it up again lest she have another episode. There was something about this girl that she wasn't telling him. He kept his eye on her as he reached beneath his feet and felt the leather pouch. The bag swelled and subsided with the slow deliberate beat of Davy Jones' heart. James withdrew his hand from the strange object and kept his eye on the girl. He didn't want her finding this strange artifact and growing more disturbed. He feared for her sanity already, she didn't need to see the still beating heart of a mysterious and mythical (if only too real) pirate captain.
"Are you cold?"
"No." Her voice was hoarse from screaming, but she didn't move from her spot.
"Are you thirsty?"
"No." She whispered. She was, but she just wanted to be left alone. She didn't dare go to sleep for fear of seeing Jack's death replay itself again and again. Tears slid down her cheeks again and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She slowly sat up as she took a deep breath and moved to the bow of the ship where she could sit wither back against the ribs of the small boat. Something buffered against her consciousness and she tried to shake it off. There was a great heartache that she was picking up on and she sniffled again and tried to ward it off. She chanced a glance at Mr. Norrington but looked away again as his eye caught hers.
"Would you like to talk about it?" She shook her head. "Sleep some. It will do you good. You've had a trying day."
"I can't sleep. I daren't sleep." James reached into a small calico bag that was tucked beneath the bench before him and withdrew a piece of salt pork.
"Then you should eat something. It's not the fare you're probably used to, but it's better than an empty belly."
"Thank you…" She took the piece of meat and chewed on it. He was right, it was disgusting tasting, but it felt at least a little better to fill the empty void with in her. It stopped her stomach from growling but it didn't fill the void that hurt her the most. Nothing ever would.
Isabelle stayed awake the whole night and watched as the sun rose into a dusty pink dawn. James Norrington woke when the sun had inched just above the horizon.
"Did you sleep at all?"
"No, I didn't." Isabelle said. "I'm not tired. What exactly is your plan?"
"Plan?"
"Mr. Norrington, in case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of the Caribbean in a small boat with a limited supply of fresh water and food." James Norrington rubbed at his face and smiled.
"You're very astute."
"A blind man could see that this isn't the best of situations to be in." Isabelle shuddered as James' plan unfolded un-bidden before her. His plan involved sailing towards the shipping lanes and hoping to be picked up by a merchant. He voiced his thoughts and Isabelle nodded politely. She needed to sleep, but was afraid of what would happen if she did.
She dozed through the day, waking up every time some other consciousness touched on hers. The heartache was deeper than ever, but she was too weak to fight it off. As the sun set on the second day of being at sea James struck up a conversation with her.
"How did you come to be aboard the Pearl?" He asked as he tucked the oar into the boat and began folding the canvas.
"It's a long story."
"We have the time." Isabelle looked up at him as he continued to fold the canvas. There was something about this man that she felt as if she could trust.
"I wouldn't know where to start…"
"The beginning is always a good place." Isabelle pushed the hair from her face and tried not to smile. "You should smile more. You are a very serious young lady."
"I'm not all that young." She smiled more. "I'm not that much younger than you."
"Well, you're still young; too young to have such a gloomy outlook on life."
"I suppose." Isabelle stared at him as he sat on the opposite side of the boat from her and reached into the small food bag to take out the last of the salt pork. He broke it in half and handed her the larger of the two chunks. "If I tell you my beginnings, will you keep it a secret?"
"Madame, I am…was…a member of his majesty's royal navy. I would never divulge a lady's secret if she requested it be kept. I'd die before revealing anything." She shuddered as she felt his disappointment in not being in the navy. He had been proud of his service and of being a relatively young commodore. Now he was a rum soaked and displaced man of hardly any means at all.
"Well, I wouldn't expect you to die, but I wouldn't want my humble beginnings on the lips of the ladies of Port Royal."
"My lips are sealed." He said raising his right hand. And so Isabelle told him her story. She told him of being one of the unfortunates held in Bedlam Asylum and of being adopted by Lord Beckett. She did not tell him why she was in the asylum, or why she was adopted. That was too dark a secret to share. She spoke of India and of watching Cutler gain control of the company. It felt wonderful to her to finally reveal some of her shadowed past to another person.
"And now he sends me out as if I too am an employee and not his sister." Isabelle looked up at Mr. Norrington who was staring intently back at her. "I'm sorry, you didn't really need to hear all of that…."
"I wouldn't have asked you to share your story with me if I hadn't wanted to know."
"And what of your story?" Isabelle asked. "How does a former navy man find himself in a small boat in the middle of the Caribbean?"
"I ran into some trouble." He said shortly. "I know it is unfair after you shared your story with me. But there are chapters I'd sooner gloss over and forget than voice aloud. Just as you've glossed over some of yours."
Isabelle stared at Norrington. How had he known? She nodded graciously though and eventually, somehow, managed to nod off.
Dreams woke her. She had dreamt of the hurricane again and had seen the young lieutenant bashed against the mast. She wished she were anywhere but trapped in a small boat in the middle of a wide and open sea.
The day passed slowly. Their water was out, and so was their food. More and more, Isabelle was fighting heartache and demons. She had dreamt of a dark skinned woman whose eyes sparkled wildly. She had a certain fire in her, perhaps it was an allure that drew a blue eyed captain to her. Isabelle admired the spark just as she had admired the spark in Elizabeth Swann. Why could she not capture that fire for herself? Why did she always feel so cold? As if to affirm her thoughts, she shivered in the bright sunlight. Mr. Norrington was asleep. He had not raised the sail at all, he had been too tired. They bobbed in the currents as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky. Isabelle moved in and out of consciousness. They were going to die. She was certain of that now. Their sun baked bodies would be found drifting in this horrible little craft days or weeks from now. Cutler would not mourn her; he'd feel as if he had been released from a heavy burden. She had to keep control of her imagination. It was too horrible to think about.
The sound of a bell tolled across the waves. Isabelle thought it might be the sound of a bell signaling her death. That's crazy talk.
There it was…distant and faint, the ringing of a bell. Isabelle blinked her eyes against the afternoon sun and strained her ears to listen again. Yes, a bell…she was certain of it now. She pulled herself up and looked around. Each time the boat bobbed to the top of a wave she looked to the distant horizon.
Up—Nothing to the South—and down.
Up—Nothing to East—and down
Up—Nothing to the North—and down.
She had to roll over to look over her shoulder.
Up—there it was! There was a ship!—and down.
Had she been mistaken?
Up—she wasn't! There, silhouetted against the bright horizon, right below the pale yellow disc of the sun was a large ship!—and down.
She looked at James Norrington where he slept across from her. She crawled towards him and looked down at the man she'd been stuck with for the better part of three days. He was sunburned, she knew she was burned as well, her skin hurt and chafed when her gown rubbed against the exposed skin. He had given her his jacket to use as a pillow when the waves the night before had gotten too strong and her head had been lolling across the ribs of the small craft.
"Mr. Norrington…" She croaked as she tried to rouse him. "James?" He did not move. She heard the bell clang again and looked to where it was starting to disappear. She closed her eyes and focused on the craft. She reached out with her mind and barely managed to see the stern of the ship. It was familiar, and it flew East India colors from its stern.
The one man she had been brave enough to run from was now the one man she must call to for aid. Mr. Mercer was aboard that ship.
"James?" Isabelle tried to shake him again, but she got no response. She was too weak to call out on her own to the ship. She opened her palm and placed it over James' chest, near where his heart was. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she extended her other hand towards the ship. She had to channel her energy towards the ship, she couldn't let it disperse when the boat went—
Up—as the boat capped the next wave she cast out her thoughts and focused on the stern where she knew Mr. Mercer had a fondness to stand and stare at the men working amidships. Like a thunderbolt she impressed upon him the image of the small boat and its relationship to his ship.
Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.
She was thrown back from Mr. Mercer and spiraled into darkness once again.
James Norrington stirred slowly and felt the pressure upon his chest and shoulder. He reached up and grasped at a hand that rested on his chest. It was cold, and small and weak. He turned his head to the side and saw Isabelle's golden head lying against his shoulder. Even in sleep she seemed troubled, as if there was darkness everywhere she turned, even in her dreams. He sat up slowly, grasping the girl's slim waist in his hand as he pulled her back towards him. He gently cradled her head as he laid her flat in the bottom of the boat. Her right sleeve was soaked where it had been dangling into the water outside the small craft.
"Ahoy!" James looked up and saw a large merchant ship sailing towards them. He smiled. Isabelle must have seen it and had tried to wake him, but had fallen asleep herself. In spite of the sun that colored them both, she looked ashen and pale. He touched her cheek and felt that it too was as cold as her hand had been. She was as cold as….
"Isabelle?!" He grasped her shoulder and shook her gently. Her eyes fluttered and she groaned, but she would not wake. "Isabelle, we are to be rescued…" He stood on shaky legs and waved his arm above his head. "Ahoy! Help!!" IT took little time for the ship to come close to the small craft and James caught the line the sailors on deck tossed towards him. They pulled his craft in close and two sailors shimmied down rope ladders to help secure the craft for winches.
"Oy, there's a girl here…" one of them said as they began to tie knots into the davits at the bow and stern of the little boat. "Were you wrecked mate?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes." James NOrrington said as he helped secure another rope to steady the boat. "She's ill, she needs medical care."
"We'll have the surgeon look to her."
"You have a surgeon aboard?"
"Aye, a traveler. Bartered passage with our captain."
"Thank heaven." James sat beside Isabelle and waited as the small boat was brought to the deck. He leapt to the deck and then gently lifted Isabelle's body from the boat.
"Where can I take her?" James turned his gaze at the other men on deck and followed a man below decks to place Isabelle in a hard sided cradle bunk that hung from the ceiling. Two other men had followed him in and one went right to Isabelle's side, the other, garbed in black stared at James.
"Who are you sir, and how did you find yourself with Miss Beckett?" The man's voice had the distinct lilt of the Scottish highlands.
"My name is James Norrington, formerly of his majesty the King's navy and I came to be in the company of Miss Beckett by chance."
"Really? Did you know that her brother holds a warrant for your arrest?" The man's dark eyes glittered like pieces of coal.
"I did. But I hold a pardon, and have information for his Lordship."
"We should put into Port Royal on the morrow. Pray she survives, or no pardon the king may write will save you."
"She will survive." The surgeon said with a sigh. "No need for dramatics, gentleman. She is merely weak and dehydrated. My prescription is rest and fresh water." James looked down at Isabelle's pale form where she rocked in the narrow bunk. She would survive. He was glad of that.
"You must be tired as well." The surgeon said. "I'm sure you're as dehydrated as she. Come, sit and drink."
"I'll return within the hour to bring you to your quarters, Mr. Norrington."
"Your name sir?" James demanded.
"Mr. Mercer. I'm an emissary for his Lordship." And with a shallow bow, Mr. Mercer backed from the room. James drank deeply from a cup and watched as the surgeon bathed Isabelle's face and lips with cool water, trying to bring her temperature down. She would survive, and so would he.
He was sure of that.