Disclaimer: I have no claim to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

The Second Task

One evening, as I watched Tia Dalma finishing her weaving, she glanced at me and remarked, "It almos' complete. Kyan yuh tell what it is?"

I shook my head. "Tell me," she went on, "do yuh know what a spancel is?"

"A spancel?" I drew my brows together, perplexed. "At home, a spancel is a rope to hobble a horse or cow, but it doesn't look like that."

"Spancel kyan have many uses," she smiled. "Dis be a spancel for binding."

"Binding what?" I asked, my interest piqued.

"Binding one t'ing to anodder." She took up the completed end of the spancel and drew it between her fingers. "When yuh tie dis 'round dem, it kyan bind de soul to de body. Also, it kyan keep a person from movin' until yuh release it."

"Can it bind someone to you?" I asked. I tried to sound calm, but hope was lifting my spirits. "I mean, could it bind their heart to you?"

She laughed. "Nah, dis spancel don' bind de heart. And it kyan only bind a man when him tied wit' it. Once yuh unbind him, him not stay wit' yuh." She looked keenly at me. "Spancel won't help yuh wit' James."

I flushed with embarrassment. "I only thought . . . perhaps, since you had woven strands of my hair into it . . ."

Tia Dalma shook her head. "I'm weavin' it so dat yuh will be de only person who kyan use it. Remember – don' let anodder person use de spancel – it is for yuh own use," she emphasized.

"And why are you weaving it for me?" I asked.

"Yuh will have need of it," she replied. "It's time for yuh to fulfil de second t'ing I ask yuh."

"To bring you something you need?"

She nodded. "Barbossa. Yuh still willin'?"

Her answer shocked me, but I was determined to stand by my promise. "Yes," I replied, fighting down a ripple of panic at the sound of his name. "I stand ready to keep my promise." I hesitated, but then added, "But, Tia Dalma, I truly think he may try to take my life."

"Nah, him kyan do nothin' to yuh – him already dead. Shot t'ru de heart by Witty Jack." Having presented me with this astounding news in a very offhand manner, she hastened to explain my task.

I was to travel in a small boat with two shadowy individuals she called "helpers" to a cave where I would find Barbossa's body. There was no reason for me to fear the helpers, but I was also not to speak to them under any circumstances. I was to bind Barbossa's corpse with the spancel in a way that she would show me, and the helpers would transport us back to Tia Dalma's shack. She asked if I had any questions.

"Are you certain Barbossa is dead?" I asked her. The thought of encountering my adversary worried me even more than the prospect of an unknown journey with supernatural companions. "I thought that none of the men could die, because of the cursed gold."

"De curse be broken, dear wan, wit' the help of Witty Jack. And de moment after him break de curse, him shoot Barbossa and tek back de Pearl." She smiled. "Soon I t'ink him will send yuh all de t'ings Barbossa stole from yuh."

I rejoiced inwardly that what had lately seemed to me impossible had now come to pass. But I was more puzzled than ever as to the reason for the second task. "If you please, Tia Dalma, why do you want his corpse? What will you do with it?"

"I 'ave de power to recall him to de world of de livin'. Him needed for important matters, an' de outcome is still uncertain. Barbossa needed by you, me, de Brethren Court, de Keeper of de Code, an' even Witty Jack," she replied.

I didn't like the sound of any plan that would bring Barbossa back to life, and I spent some time trying to raise objections; but in the end, Tia Dalma would not be dissuaded.

"It would seem that Mr Barbossa is indispensible," I sighed, giving up. "I will do as I've promised, and I'm happy if my efforts help you and Jack. But, if you please, who are the others you name?"

"De Brethren Court be de nine Pirate Lords. Yuh know dat Witty Jack be Pirate Lord of de Caribbean; dere be eight more, an' Captain Teague be Keeper of de Code," she smiled, then added, almost shyly, "I hold de fate of all dem pirates in me 'and. An' I must 'ave yuh help, dear wan."

If Tia Dalma, Teague, and Jack all needed Barbossa alive, I was ready to oblige them with even the most distasteful task. But I had more questions. "And why do you say that I, too, 'need' this scoundrel? If he is recalled to life, will he not remember the ransom Hanibal has offered for me?"

"Why don't yuh ask him yuhself?" she said teasingly, but then she grew serious.

"Me know yuh fear him will give yuh over to be killed. But dis be de path yuh must tek if yuh gwan defeat yuh uncle." She paused, then leaned towards me and spoke very seriously. "Someone mus' stop Hanibal. Him destroyin' Pencarren, settin' snares to draw ships to de rocks, an' after him take all dey carry, him take all dere lives."

As she spoke, Tia Dalma seemed to grow much larger in the candlelight. "Him turnin' de waters – my waters – red wit' innocent blood," she added, her mouth tightening into a grim line, and her eyes burning with an ominous dark fire.

"Now him seekin' powers beyond dose of men," she continued, shaking her head slowly, "But not beyond me. I will help yuh end him evil deeds and avenge yuhself an' yuh family. Me heart always been righteous, even in ancient times, when me set free him dat me love."

She fell silent for a moment, and then turned to touch the spancel on her loom. "Do yuh not see dat Barbossa may be useful?" she asked quietly.

I could not see how this prospect would answer to any design. "How? Barbossa despises me and tried to kill me. He would hardly give heed to any word of mine. How can he be useful to me? There are other ways to reach Pencarren, and you said that I myself have the power to defeat Hanibal."

"Power not as simple as yuh t'ink," Tia Dalma replied with a slight chuckle. "Yuh need de means to use it, an' yuh need de right moment, or it nah help yuh."

Then she smiled and patted my hand. "Yuh have de power, but yuh gwan need Barbossa – him have a part to play in dis. Heed de counsel me give yuh. An' don' fret dat him gwan harm yuh. Him always listen to flattery, dear wan," she offered.

Then, turning the conversation to other matters, she left me to puzzle out her meaning.

That night as I lay abed, it came to me that Barbossa would be in quite a low state upon being revived. The cursed gold had been returned to the Chest of Cortes, and Jack had taken the Pearl, leaving him utterly empty-handed. He would be in dire need of replenishing his treasure.

Next, I thought of Hanibal's massive pile of bloody riches, and also the fact that Barbossa hated Hanibal nearly as much as I did. Slowly, the outlines of a plan were beginning to suggest themselves; the double lure of easy riches and an opportunity to exact revenge would be hard for Barbossa to resist.

If Barbossa decided to act upon the information from Bootstrap, his implacable hatred of Hanibal might drive him to use me to acquire my uncle's gold, and then afterwards to kill him. There were many questions remaining, not the least of which was how I could deal with my inconvenient ally afterwards, but here I put my trust in Tia Dalma's assistance – surely more possibilities would present themselves as future events unfolded.

I also considered the distance to Cornwall; if I were brought over as a captive for ransom, I would be treated as cargo of some value. Therefore, I would likely travel under reasonably comfortable conditions, instead of being shackled in the brig or travelling as a stowaway.

Within the week, the spancel was complete, and Tia Dalma sent me on my fearful journey. Despite her reassurance, I was terribly, instinctively, frightened of the two helpers, who moved about in the same fashion as mortal men, but had the appearance of mute, flickering silhouettes.

I kept silent as the small boat took me on a voyage that seemed to last for days, although time passed for me as for one in a waking dream and, try as I might, I could not reckon the passage, or even the direction, of time. The helpers stood motionless like shadowy pillars at each end of the boat, neither rowing nor hoisting sail of any kind; instead, the boat seemed to move upon the water as if held from below by some titanic, supernatural hand that steered it. No physical need oppressed me – neither thirst, nor hunger, nor weariness. I travelled as though I were a ghost myself, freed from all human wants.

Finally, on a night that would have done credit to the most eerie tale, I arrived at Isla de Muerta. There was not another craft in sight, only the wrecked hulls that were sunk in the shallows surrounding the island. Despite the utter desolation of the place, a heavy haze of smoke still hung over the water and, as we glided towards shore, I could smell gunpowder as though a battle had taken place only hours before.

The boat drew up on the shore and stopped moving. I disembarked and made my way to the watery entrance of the cave. Dim lights flickered from deep within its passages, guiding me to the chamber that held both the cursed treasure and Barbossa's mortal remains – the object of my gruesome expedition.

I followed the winding passage, sometimes walking and sometimes wading, but always alert for any sign of activity within the cavern. Yet listen as I would, only silence and a great stillness surrounded me.

At last I found the huge chamber, where my eyes were greeted by an immense mountain of treasure, crowned at its peak by the infamous Chest of Cortes. Not a living soul remained: the chamber was utterly abandoned. I lowered my gaze to the spot where the pile of gold nearly touched the water. Immediately, with a small shock, I spied my persecutor's corpse, exactly where Tia Dalma had said it would be.

Taking up a flickering lantern that had been left on the cave's sandy floor, I made my way over to where Barbossa lay, half expecting him to spring up and attack. But his body was still and silent as I moved the lantern closer to his face. The features of the merciless brigand who had threatened my life now looked strangely gentled by the grim hand of death. He looked as though he had fallen mere moments before my arrival, though I knew that such a thing was impossible. His body showed no sign of decay, although his skin was unnaturally pale. His blue eyes looked mild and full of wonder as they gazed ahead, unseeing.

Hesitantly, I tugged the collar of his shirt aside to reveal the bloody wound through his heart. Jack was square with him at last; yet somehow, this moment that I had sought so eagerly only filled me with melancholy and a peculiar twinge of regret.

I looked around quickly to see what else he might have brought with him to the cave, and my eye fell upon a bonny green apple floating in the water nearby, evidently fallen from my enemy's dead fingers. I began to piece events together.

Barbossa must have been certain he would leave the cave free of the curse, to sate his appetites with all the pleasures so long denied him. And yet, I thought, it was not fine brandy or rich viands, but this apple, so lately held in his living hand, that was chosen to celebrate the beginning of his new, dearly bought life.

I glanced about at the friendless dead man in the deserted cave, and the mountain of useless gold by which he had sought to ransom the taste of a mere apple. My thoughts were drawn by some resistless power to memories of my father, waylaid at night on Bodmin Moor. How different a man from Barbossa! Yet he, too, had died desolate and alone, like the poor corpse now lying at my feet. Sadness welled up in me and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes as stupidly, uselessly, I began to cry.

Brushing my hand across my face, I composed myself, drew out the spancel, and set to work following Tia Dalma's instructions. I placed the midpoint of the spancel at the crown of his head, and then ran the ends down through the sleeves of his waistcoat, wrapping the fine weave around each hand. I drew the ends further down and tied them around his boots somewhat in the manner of stirrups. Finally, I brought the ends together so the spancel encircled him without a break.

I gathered his hat, the cut plumes from it, his weapons, and even the apple, all of which I piled onto his chest. Hoping that I had forgotten nothing, I pulled him slowly into the water, trying to be as gentle as I could. He seemed to float easily, and by wading through the shallow channel, I managed to pilot my macabre burden out of the cave.

As Tia Dalma had promised, the small boat was drawn up just outside, with a ghostly light shining from its single lantern. The two helpers advanced toward me, and took Barbossa's lifeless figure from the water.

The boat did not seem large enough for all our company, but the helpers seated me on a low pillow towards the stern, my legs extended forward. Then they hoisted Barbossa into the boat so that his head rested in my lap, and my legs supported his shoulders and torso. They quickly pushed the boat out to sea, leaping into the bow and stern as she began to move through the water once more. It struck me that I would have to travel the entire distance back to the Pantano River with Barbossa in this posture, for all the world like sweethearts drifting down the Serpentine.

I closed his eyes with a light touch of my fingers. Then I followed Tia Dalma's final instruction: I slipped my own hand between the spancel and Barbossa, to bind him to the only bit of the Living World aboard that phantom craft.

We passed through each day like a shimmering mirage on the bright water, but as night fell, the small sickly lantern would glow once more, and our appearance would transform to that of a ghost boat. As before, I had no awareness of physical need or discomfort; I felt a dreamlike, meditative patience settle over me, and I sat contentedly as the boat ferried me back to the Pantano.

As we drifted on our way, I made a study of Barbossa's ravaged face, which prompted my feelings towards greater sympathy. His aging skin was covered with a multitude of fine wrinkles, deeper creases, and areas of brown mottled discolouration, from years under the harsh sun and strong winds of the open ocean. I supposed that he must have looked quite a fine man in his youth, with the high bridge of his nose and the proud way I recalled him always lifting his chin. But now that nose looked as though it had been broken more than once, and its appearance was further marred by the damage to his skin. His full cheeks were pockmarked and freckled, and one side bore a prominent white scar that reached from just below his eye to his moustache. Its shape and size reminded me of some scars borne by soldiers who had survived a glancing thrust from a bayonet. His beard and moustache were ragged and uneven, but I could see that Barbossa kept them trimmed in a way that he must have felt flattered him, particularly the long, dramatic curves at the ends of his moustache that drooped over the corners of his generous mouth and emphasized the fullness of his lower lip.

I wondered if he took pains over the appearance of his sparse beard partly to draw attention away from his scarred face. I decided that, all in all, he had an attractive mouth, wide and with a bowed upper lip, and recalled that he used to smile (although rarely) in a way that I liked, despite my aversion to him. More often, I had watched the corners of his mouth turn down as he scowled, which pulled his mouth slightly to one side.

With fear now absent, I found myself more than once idly smoothing the furrows in his forehead and between his heavy eyebrows. Then I would draw my finger along each eyebrow, and brush any stray hairs off his face, though I knew he could not feel them. At other times, I would rest my palm against the side of his jaw, or let my hands drape over his shoulders. I grew accustomed to the heavy weight of his body upon my legs, and throughout the entire phantasmal journey, this burden produced no fatigue or pain in me. I wondered what Tia Dalma intended to do after she revived Barbossa, but arrived at no answers.

On about the tenth evening, as near as I can reckon it, we reached the shack, and the two shadowy forms lifted Barbossa out of the boat. I did not see them climb the ladder or enter the shack ahead of me, but I found them in the small room off the parlour, with Tia Dalma directing them.

The two helpers laid the body upon the bed, and departed without a word. Tia Dalma arranged Barbossa's hands, palms upward, at his sides, and checked that the spancel was wound about him to her satisfaction. I stood in the doorway, my eyes fixed on his bloody shirt.

Glancing at my face, she chuckled, "Don' look so sad, dear! Him only be taking a little rest. It will all be needed when Tia Dalma put 'im to work."

"I'm not sad," I insisted, yet my anticipated joy at Barbossa's demise had been replaced by confusion and conflicting impulses: Tia Dalma's words were truer than my own.

"Leave me wit' him. I will call yuh when I need yuh." She waved me out of the door.

I retreated from the room, as she began a sort of continual whisper, moving here and there around the pirate's corpse.

After some time had passed, and the evening sky darkened into night, she summoned me back and, signing for me to be silent, motioned me to sit on a chair near the bed. Nothing seemed changed, save for a heavy compress that had been placed over the dead man's eyes. Once again I gazed upon the bloody shirt, but as I stared, the bloodstain seemed slowly to shrink, and then to grow paler, finally shrivelling to a point, and then disappearing. The small room was quiet except for the sound of cicadas outside the house, and the occasional snapping sound of the candle flames.

All at once, with a suddenness that made me jump, Barbossa took a single, great, rattling breath. A pause of several minutes ensued as he lay motionless with his lips parted, and I watched, my nerves raw with tension. Once more I flinched as he drew another violent breath, followed again by a long pause. This was repeated three more times, and then he began to breathe peacefully, as if in slumber.

I was relieved to hear no more desperate, jolting rasps, and turned to find Tia Dalma smiling at my astonishment.

"Tia Dalma has de power to do dese t'ings when de person is only dead, but not when him have left de world of de livin' for de place of judgment. Dis is not somet'ing I kyan teach yuh, though yuh been a good student. It is me power alone. Now keep watch, while I fix a little nourishin' food." Reaching for the compress she added, "Don' worry, an' don' speak; he don' see yuh." She left the room, her feet gliding silently.

I sat quietly in the chair, the room flickering in the light of the candles. Sometimes I wasn't sure if Barbossa had moved or if it was a trick of the light. With a pang of longing, I wished that Tia Dalma had been at hand to bring my father back. But that was long ago, and the hurt, although deep, had been dulled by the passage of so many years.

I began to wonder if Barbossa's heart truly beat in his breast, or whether he was now in a new and terrible state that some voodoo priests are known to invoke.

Gingerly, I reached for the collar of his shirt, and adjusted it so that I could see where the shot had found its mark. The skin was unbroken by even the hint of a wound. I touched his cold chest, trying to feel a heartbeat, but the pulse in my own fingers masked any sign from him. I looked around to see if Tia Dalma was returning, but the shack was silent. Pulling my hair to one side, I slowly lowered my head, so that my ear rested against his ribs. As I heard the faint sound of his heart, I felt an unwonted relief, which I attributed to my joy at the prospect of Hanibal's defeat. Keep in health, sir, I thought, hardening my resolve, if that helps me to my ends. And then I'll square accounts with you.

Just then, he made a slight convulsive movement and groaned. I jerked my head back. His hands moved weakly, and he seemed to gesture anxiously towards his eyes. Despite my ill intentions, I was yet moved to pity by his evident distress. I knew the spancel would bind him from moving, or even truly waking, until the moment Tia Dalma would release him. Impulsively taking hold of his icy hands, I tried to cover them with my palms for warmth.

"Am I livin' or dead?" he muttered plaintively. But Tia Dalma had forbidden me to speak, so I said nothing.

"Tell me!" he insisted in a hoarse whisper, "Where be this place? Who are ye? Is the curse still bindin' me?" His anguish wrung my heart; in my own life, fear was a familiar companion, and I heard it now in Barbossa's voice. Trying to soothe him, I released his hands, and leaned forward to touch his shoulder. He clutched at me, and made a faltering effort to pull me back down to his chest. Although being grasped at like this caused my old terror to return, pity for his helplessness prevented me from resisting.

After all, I thought, this brigand's body has been resting against my own for almost a fortnight, and no harm has come to me. Surely I can show charity to a fellow creature in such sore straits. And so I simply remained there, tense and motionless, half seated in my chair and half held close by the forceless grip of his hands. He lay quite still, but his fingertips strayed across my hair. At last, he moved his hand very feebly to his waistcoat, and slowly, clumsily, withdrew a small, sharp object. I gently disengaged myself and took the object from his hand.

It was the pin from my hair that I had used to pick the lock on my cabin door. He spoke so faintly I could barely hear the words. "I know ye, little bird," he murmured, "ye opened your cage and flew away."

I waited, but he said no more, and seemed to sleep. I was so affected by this strange encounter that I hardly dared look at him. Though I was free of his grasp, strange and unaccustomed promptings threatened to lay hold of my emotions. I lingered a moment longer at his side for no reason that I could discern, before making my way out of the room.

Remember, I cautioned myself. Remember what he did to Bootstrap, and be warned.

Next: Chapter 11 - "Jack Need Yuh Help" - In which a journey for the sake of friendship leads to an unexpected meeting.