Disclaimer: I still say that these guys play in my head more than in their creators so I should own them, but the lawyers don't seem to agree with my perspective . . .
AN: People understood! Yea! My bad guys are actually doing good! *Stares hard at previous sentence* That made sense. We'll try to keep sentences like that out of the main story. Thanks for reviews, and my grandma is doing slightly better again. She's now able to take the oxygen off when she's sitting up, and she comes out to the table for a little bit each day. Depending on what the specialist docs that they sent sample slides to say, she might have to go to a Wisconsin hospital for intensive treatment for the liver cancer, but at least she seems to be doing a little better now. I also found a way to make my brothers behave—buy them Icees and threaten to tell my grandfather, an ex-navy man who isn't taking my grandma's illness very well, if they misbehave.
AN2: Someone said my pirates are too well educated . . .If you mean Jack, I thought he seemed to be fairly well-educated for a pirate during the movie . . .If you mean the raiders, I don't know what kind of an education soldiers received, and I hadn't thought to research it . . .(slaps wrist for not thinking clearly and doing research) . . .Which ones are too well educated so that I can fix this when I get around to reposting with all the mistakes corrected?
AN3: Mom/mommy and dad/daddy fall into the bad author didn't even think about it to research it category as well. I'll try to fix it in later chapters, and eventually I'll repost the beginning chapters with the fixes. All right, finally on to the story.
Trust Me Still
Part 7
Will kicked, punched and even bit at any target that they gave him, dug his feet in anywhere that the opportunity presented itself, and basically made a nuisance of himself as Marcus, Daniel, and some others that hadn't had the decency to introduce themselves half-led and half-dragged him from his cell and through the winding corridors of the raider's home.
He had decided originally, as he removed his shirt, that he wasn't going to fight them unless he thought that he actually had a chance, that he was going to meet his fate with dignity and honor, not like a kicking, screaming child.
That idea had disappeared as soon as Marcus grabbed his arm and said that it was time for him to take his place in the brotherhood.
He consoled himself with the fact that he wasn't screaming . . .at least not yet.
"Lad, stop it. We don't want to hurt you." Marcus grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his side.
Will laughed, an almost hysterical note in his voice. "No, you just want to steal my soul! Just kill me! Please!"
"It's not thievery! We're helping ourselves and giving you a gift! Now stop acting like a child and accept it."
In response Will threw his head back, ramming it into Marcus's nose. Will felt a warm liquid drip onto the back of his neck.
Marcus released him. "Bloody hell, lad, I told you it still hurts!"
Another raider grabbed his arm before Will could move, twisting it up behind his back painfully. Will heard the bones in his wrist grind together.
"If I could survive, so can you, boy. Now move, or I will slit your throat and then I'll have your daughter before I slit hers."
Will felt the prick of a dagger on the side of his neck.
"Daniel, back down. We don't want to hurt him now, not when we're so close. Besides, the lad can't help being frightened."
The dagger was removed from his neck but Will's arm remaining pinned at a painful angle to his back.
"I was frightened when you took me, but at least I met my fate like a man."
"You were a pirate, brother. We were soldiers. He's a young craftsman with an extraordinary gift in swordsmanship. It's harder for him."
Will heard Daniel mutter something, but the words were unintelligible. He fought the urge to both laugh and cry as the small procession continued on its way, no longer hampered by his escape attempts.
"What are you going to do Ana now that you have me?"
"Your daughter? Nothing, lad. You'll do it yourself." Marcus clapped one rough hand on Will's shoulder.
Will heard the buzz of hushed voices coming from a lighted chamber up ahead and attempted once again to wrench himself free, but Daniel merely pulled upward on his arm, causing agony to shoot up and down Will's right side as well as through his arm.
"Daniel . . ." The pressure eased at Marcus's unspoken warning. "Now, lad, try to stand tall. Don't let your last minutes as a mortal human be filled with shame."
Will remained silent as he was led into the well-lit room. All of the raiders were there, and Will noted that all of them had drawn their swords, save for Marcus and Daniel, the only two remaining in his guard as he was led through the now-silent room. As he neared the front he attempted in one final, desperate move to wrench himself free, but Daniel again held him back.
Two wooden poles had somehow been set into the floor, and ropes with leather bonds attached to the end hung from them, set roughly a foot above Will's head.
Before he could think to move again, Marcus had grabbed his left arm and Daniel had untwisted his right. Both men quickly fastened the bonds to his wrists and Daniel stepped back into the crowd. Will tugged at the bonds hopefully, but they held firm.
Staring across the sea of two dozen faces, forced to stand straight or place his weight on his arms, Will had a sudden and total empathy for how Jack must have felt while Almorte tortured him.
Will lifted his eyes above the crowd, hoping to calm his racing pulse, and nearly vomited at the sight that greeted him.
Set on platform above the door that they had just entered was the head of the raider that Will had killed. Matthew—the man that had gotten him into this by attacking Elizabeth.
Will cursed him silently as Marcus held up one hand in an unnecessary gesture to quiet the already-silent raiders.
"As you are all aware, our brother Matthew met with defeat and true death at the hands of this lad, Will Turner. In repayment for his action, the lad will be given to Nerla, so that the brotherhood might be made whole again and the pain we are suffering end. Any who disagree with this decision, speak now."
The raiders all stared at Will, none of them moving a muscle. Will stared right back, breathing rapidly and still trying to find a way out.
"Paul . . ." A raider that Will didn't recognize stepped forward, bearing a drawn sword in one hand and a second in a scabbard in the other.
Marcus drew the second sword reverently before turning to Will again.
"Nerla, we offer you William Turner to take the place of Matthew, our brother that was lost. Grant him acceptance of his place, peace in his life, and power over his mortality."
Marcus stepped forward until he stood directly in front of Will.
"Are you ready, lad?"
"Please . . .please . . ." Will pulled as far away as he could from Marcus and the sword, his breath coming in ragged gulps.
"I'm sorry, lad. Accept it quickly . . .it makes it much easier."
Before Will's mind could even form a response, Marcus stepped forward and in one fluid motion drove the blade through Will's chest and out the back.
Will's back arched and his mouth opened in a silent scream as blood coursed down his chest and back.
He had expected the blade to be cold as it pierced his flesh, but instead it was warm, no, not just warm, searing, burning his flesh from the inside out, and some portion of Will assured him that he must catch fire soon, that it must end soon . . .
Through the heat and the pain, Will detected a faint throbbing, a pulsing sensation that grew stronger and stronger until it beat in his ears, a counterpoint to his heartbeat . . .
Heartbeat? Hearts didn't beat when they had a blade thrust through them.
The pulsing continued, crescendoing until his body shuddered with each beat.
Will Turner . . .
The words formed themselves from the pulse as it aligned itself more closely with his heartbeat.
Will Turner . . .
Will struggled to scream, to form words, to deny what was happening, even to beg for mercy and relief, but his body would not obey him.
Will Turner . . .by the grace of Kali and Shiva, you are mine, Will Turner . . .
No! Will screamed the word silently, repeatedly, even as the pulsing moved closer and closer into alignment with his heart.
I am Nerla, and you are mine, and I will protect you, Will Turner, I will protect you, and you will belong to me . . .
No! No no no no no no no . . .
I will give you brothers, brothers who will die to protect you, brothers that will kill to save you, brothers that you will love with all your being and be tied to as strongly as if you were one . . .
No! No . . .I have a family, a good family, I have Ana and Jack and Elizabeth, I belong to them, I belong to me, leave me alone . . .
You belong to me, William Turner, to me and to those I choose . . .
No! I have my family and I have friends . . .Jack and Ana-Maria and Gibbs. . .
Pirates and murderers. All your other friends are dead, dead by the brotherhood. Let the pain stop, Will Turner. Give yourself freely to me!
The pulsing of his heart and the sword grew closer, closer, closer . . .
No!
And finally overlapped.
Will was abruptly aware of dangling from his wrists as the sword was drawn from his chest. Two pairs of strong arms lifted him up and undid the bonds before gently clasping his hand around the hilt of the sword and bringing the hand in to his chest.
"Accept it, lad." Marcus's voice whispered faintly in his ear.
"No . . .never . . ." Will struggled to open eyes that he didn't remember closing and gazed into the older man's eyes.
Shivering violently from pain, exhaustion, anger and fear, he purposefully unclenched his fist and allowed the sword to drop from his hand to the floor.
Pain immediately shot through his chest and head, echoed by various other parts of his body.
"Nerla . . ."
He hadn't meant to call for the sword, let alone in the plaintive tone that he had used, and he had no intention of accepting it back despite the pain he was in, but his hand seemed to have developed a mind of its own as it reached out, fingers shaking, to snatch the blade as Marcus retrieved it. His hand settled the hilt above his heart, his arm shielding the blade, and he could almost fancy that he could hear it pulsing still.
"Thank you . . ." Again he hadn't meant to speak.
"You're welcome, brother." Marcus stared kindly at him. "You've already started to accept it, brother. Finish the job and end the pain."
Will opened his mouth, closed it without speaking, opened it again, and whispered the word, so softly that even he could barely hear it.
"No."
Pain flared again through his head and chest as darkness rose to greet him, blessedly free of voices, actions and desires not his own.