A/N: I would apologize for being late with an update again, but you already know I'm sorry. - I honestly do suggest, however, that you re-read the last two chapters for a little refresher on what has happened so far. This is where things start to get even more tricky than they already are. I used some extensive research of Aztec lore, mythology, and gods and goddesses in this chapter…I sincerely hope you enjoy it!!!!

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye

Tlazolteotl

"Sir, they killed him."

"And what proof do you have of that, Commodore Ratherford? What undeniable proof do you possess that can prove that my son-in-law has murdered Commodore Norrington?" snapped Governor Swann, his eyes wide in fury, his breath shallow and impatient. "If you intend on hanging my daughter's husband, you had best claim you have absolute evidence of his guilt."

"I cannot disclose such information at this time, however – "

"I am the governor of Port Royal, sir. You must disclose such information to me," he growled, trying desperately not to loose his calm temperament.

Swann could tell that Ratherford was not used to being addressed in such a manner, but the governor couldn't care less. The man was responsible for the whipping of his son-in-law and the despair of his daughter. Now, thanks to his ruthlessness and violence, Elizabeth had run away with pirates, now gallivanting about the sea yet again…

"Sir, if I may, I would be…honored…if you would join us in pursuit of Ms. Swann - "

"Mrs. Turner, commodore. Mrs. Turner." Governor Swann didn't know what possessed him to correct the man, but he felt that, due to the circumstances, it was important.

"Yes…Mrs. Turner. We are loading the H.M.S. Intrepid as we speak to pursue Sparrow and his band of malefactors. If you feel my service has been, shall we say, inappropriate, I would appreciate nothing more than for you to join us and correct me in my actions. That way, we are guaranteed that another misunderstanding such as this will ever happen again."

The governor studied Ratherford critically, and quickly decided that he didn't trust the man any farther than he could throw him. His bird-like stare was severe and cold, his stance unapproachable, his jaw clenched and strong. Something about him made Swann shiver despite the hot Caribbean heat. His gut told him not to go with the commodore, to take a different ship, to figure out another way. But he also knew that the fastest way to reach his daughter would be to for him to accompany Ratherford on the Intrepid.

"Yes, commodore, I will join you on the Intrepid. However," Swann continued, his eyes narrowing in worried anticipation, "I would first like to see my son-in-law."

"You saw who?"

Jack studied the young, boyishly handsome man in front of him and frowned. He was almost positive that the man wouldn't lie about being confronted by Anamaria, but how could he have been if she had been unconscious the whole time?

Smithe didn't answer, but just raised his arm and pointed across the room to where Anamaria lay, still unconscious, being tended to by Ingrid.

"You're sure?"

"I is positive," came the shaky response.

"The boy's gone mad, reckon," Dolan commented from a corner of the room. "She's been unconscious this whole time."

"I ain't gone mad!" Smithe suddenly shouted, fixing his angry glare on Dolan. "I know who I seen, and I seen her!" He jabbed his index finger towards Anamaria.

"Mad," Dolan repeated, shaking his head, intentionally disregarding Smithe's outburst. "Completely mad…"

"Ye scurvy brig rat!" Smithe growled as he charged Dolan. The Irishman fixed his gaze on the considerably younger and thinner pirate and turned sideways, his right fist in the air, preparing to strike.

"Don't you dare, boy!" he warned.

"Oh by all the waves of the sea!" Jack Sparrow grabbed onto the younger man by the collar of his shirt; Smithe was still intent on charging Dolan. He was leaning completely away from Jack, violently throwing his fists in the air, growling in anger. The boy has spirit, Jack thought to himself. "Stop it…Smithe! Damn you, boy, stop this nonsense right now!" With another tug on his shirt, Smithe eventually calmed down and lowered his fists, huffing and puffing like a hunting dog who was intent on the attack. Jack let go of the boy's collar and stepped in between the two, his arms on his hips in annoyance. "Now that we're all acting like the civilized pirates that we are, let me make something clear."

Jack paused to make sure everyone was paying attention. Dolan rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "I saw that, Irishman," he commented. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Dolan grin.

"So what are you going to be making clear, Jack?" Gibbs asked. His eyes were dark and serious.

Jack cleared his throat dramatically, enjoying the attention. "I do not believe young Mr. Smithe here is lying to us," Jack said. "Although," he added, narrowing his eyes, "I wish he were."

"What?"

"Are any of ye familiar with the Aztec gods?" he asked, turning to them each in turn. "Anyone…anyone?" No one spoke. "Well then, my ladies and lads, it is time you become acquainted. Because they are surely acquainted with each and every one of us."

"Captain Sparrow," Kidd chimed up, his face tense but curious. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed dramatically, and adjusted his sheath and belt around his waist as he spoke. "The Aztec gods want their gold back, aye?" Grunts in acknowledgement were heard, as a few heads were nodded. "And they will go to any length to get all of the coins. They are tricksters, those gods. They have a tendency to get involved in the lives of us mere mortals – apparently immortality gets quite uneventful after a while. I believe that a few of the gods are interested in helping Barbossa in exchange for the retrieval of their gold coins."

There was a heavy silence until Bootstrap spoke. "Are you saying that Smithe was approached by one of the gods?"

Jack grinned mischievously, looking up. "Aye."

"It was that lass!" Smithe protested, pouting. "I be willin' to swear it, cap'n," he turned to Kidd pleadingly. "I swear!"

"Of course you saw her, Mr. Smithe," Jack spoke for Kidd, nodding slowly. "One of the goddesses took on her form."

"You're mad too, reckon," Dolan commented with certainty. "Shape-shifting Aztec goddesses? Have you been into our storage of rum, Sparra? 'Cause if you have – "

"Did you ever stop to consider," Jack interrupted, "that perhaps it isn't all of us who are daft, but in fact, it is you?"

Dolan frowned in contemplation, and Jack took advantage of the silence to continue. "This is the only explanation, and, quite frankly, it makes perfect sense. We are being pursued by the gods."

"All of them?" It was Elizabeth who spoke, and Jack turned to study her. He realized with a start that she looked…different. He couldn't tell what it was. She looked –

"No, not all of them," Jack said, interrupting his own thoughts. "Some of them favor us mortals and care for us. But this goddess who is taking on the form of Anamaria…she's worth her weight in gold. Evil, as it were."

"What's her name?" Elizabeth asked again.

"Tlazolteotl."

Dolan snorted loudly. "Now he be making words up, reckon."

"Still don't believe me, eh?" Jack asked.

"No."

Jack grumbled something about 'the superstitious Irish', then spoke. "Anamaria has been unconscious for a good while now, aye, Ingrid?"

"Aye," Ingrid replied, nodding her head.

"And you were unable to figure out a logical cause for it?"

"Aye."

"And you were unable to wake her up?"

"Aye."

Jack nodded, his arms folded behind his back, his head nodding gently in expectation of the answers. He paced back and forth in front of Ingrid, his face fixed on the ground in front of him. Elizabeth smiled to herself as she observed him – if she didn't know better, she would compare Jack to that of an attorney interrogating a lead witness.

"Irishman," Jack said to Dolan. "If I wake her up, you owe me your rum rations for two weeks."

Dolan coughed despite himself. "Two weeks?"

"Aye, two weeks. What say you?"

"Er…"

"Not so sure?" taunted Jack, raising his eyebrows.

Dolan took the bait. "Two weeks it is." And they shook on it.

"Beautiful," Jack whispered, grinning.

"Er…Captain Sparrow? How do you plan on…ah, bringing her back to consciousness?" Kidd asked.

"Watch and learn, my good captain." From the inside of his blouse, Jack extracted a small glass vial. Tinted a deep, emerald green, it was shaped intricately in the shape of a cobra, its considerably large head sticking up from the rest of the coiled body, its teeth sharp and its mouth open, ready to strike at its prey. There was a cork in between the two sets of teeth, and Jack pulled it out easily. He walked over to Anamaria's bed and positioned her so that her head was propped up against his shoulder. The silence in the room was deafening, and Dolan felt himself growing agitated; strangely, he was unable to turn away. His eyes were glued to Jack and Anamaria, his heart pounding, his palms sweaty with anticipation. He watched as Jack carefully tilted the vial forty-five degrees, allowing only two droplets from the vial to slip into her mouth.

Dolan almost screamed in shock when Anamaria immediately began to sputter and cough, fracturing the heavy silence. She opened her eyes but continued to cough heavily. She sounded ill, as if she were suffering from consumption, but almost at once her skin turned back to its original color, the pallid white gone from her exotic face. Her eyes were bloodshot, but other than that, Dolan was impressed with how healthy she actually seemed.

Jack patted Anamaria's back as she coughed, and Dolan was the first to notice the relief that flooded Jack's eyes when he looked at the conscious, coughing Anamaria. There were sighs of relief soon afterwards that filled the room, and Dolan turned to see Elizabeth smiling wide, her eyes sparkling, her gaze fixed on Jack and Anamaria. Her happiness was contagious – he felt his own lips curl upwards with relief as well.

Her coughing eventually died down and Jack helped her to sit up. He noticed that she was shaking slightly, and Jack presumed it was from the many days she had spent without using her muscles. She began to breathe more easily in deep, somewhat raspy inhalations. Her eyes searched frantically around the room, as if trying to remember what had taken place. Jack stood up from the bed as he struggled to hold back a huge smile that was threatening to form on his lips.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything, the old woman began to flail her arms about wildly, gesturing them leave. "Alright, ye pirates, out…out!" cried Ingrid, shooing them all away. "The poor lass needs 'er rest!"

All the rest filed out of the room, relief flooding their faces. They whispered excitedly to one another, and Jack saw Elizabeth look backwards towards him, offering him a congratulatory smile. Jack nodded to her in recognition.

"Take care of her, Ingrid," Jack commented, and Ingrid nodded.

"Promise, Sparra. I'll take good care of the tough girl."

"If you need anything, I'll be on deck."

"Aye, I know."

"Any time…day, night, and the like. If you need me, get me."

"Aye."

"If you have any questions, come to me first, savvy."

"Uh-huh."

"And if – "

"Bloody hell, would ye leave?" Ingrid asked as she approached him. He felt himself being pushed out of the door by the plump woman's hands, and he allowed her to get him halfway towards the door. He looked back at Ingrid, and the woman just grinned at him and nodded, gesturing for him to go.

Jack turned to leave, feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest. Anamaria would be better, and his theory was correct – the Aztec gods were after them. At least he had what he needed in the cobra vial – it was enough to last them for a good three months. That, of course, depended on how badly Tlazolteotl wanted to punish them –

As he was about to step out of the doorway, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look down directly into Anamaria's upturned face. Ingrid held her other hand, and Jack guessed it was because she was still too weak to walk on her own. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jack shushed her. "Don't – don't. I know. You're welcome." He grinned.

She offered him a genuine smile, and Jack momentarily found himself lost in her coffee-colored eyes as they twinkled up at him. He cleared his throat and broke their gaze, genuinely uncomfortable, and offered her an awkward pat on the head as if she were a rabid dog. "There, there. Consider that payment for your ship that I borrowed without permission."

Anamaria raised a critical eyebrow, and Jack was preparing to dodge an unexpected slap from her. But, before he knew what was happening to him, he realized Anamaria had wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him.

He looked like a deer caught in the hunter's rifle range, he knew that much. As she hugged him, Jack looked up to Ingrid for direction. She smiled and merely mouthed, Hug her back, ye bloody scoundrel.

He carefully placed his arms around her waist and awkwardly squeezed. Anamaria didn't let go.

I wasn't this bloody awkward around Scarlet, that's for bloody sure, Jack thought to himself. He looked up behind Anamaria's shoulder to see Ingrid peering at him curiously.

Help, he mouthed to Ingrid, his eyes pleadingly beseeching her for rescue from Anamaria's embrace. But Ingrid just smiled knowingly and walked out of the room. He watched her leave, and promised himself he would get her back for leaving him in such an…uneasy…situation.

But as he continued to just hold Anamaria, he knew he didn't want any help. He was perfectly fine.

He was more than fine.

He was happy.

Will stared out of his cell window. Window, he thought bitterly to himself. It is hardly a window. A small one-by-two barred hole in the wall, is more like.

It was a gorgeous day in Port Royal. The sun was shining and reflecting its warmth off of the sparkling water. The sea was calm and relaxing, the surf's soft singing almost bringing peace to his over-exerted mind. He had grown up overlooking that beach, wondering where his father might be sailing to, wondering what he would be doing in ten, fifteen, twenty years from then. He had dreamed of great adventures as a member of the Port Royal Guard, fighting pirates and keeping the Jamaican port safe from any invaders…

If he knew what his life was actually going to be like, Will would have laughed.

Friends with one of the most infamous pirates in the Caribbean, a pirate himself, and now arrested for the murder of Commodore James Norrington, he is hardly the respectable gentleman that he had longed to be so many years ago.

The soft tittering of the seagulls on the beach brought a small smile to Will's lips. Everything was so soothing, so familiar, that he was almost happy. The hot sun, the cool sea, the salty breeze…it all made his heart ache for Elizabeth.

Oh, Elizabeth…

That beach made him think of her. He remembered strolling along that beach with her at night…they would talk about the weather, books, sailing, friends…everything. She was his main confidant, the only person whom he felt entirely at ease with. He sensed that she was the only one who could understand him, the only one who would ever understand him.

"I don't understand you."

Will looked at her and frowned. "Huh?"

"I don't understand you, William Turner."

"What did I say?" he asked.

It was in the middle of the night, and they were strolling on the beach, letting the surf come up to tickle their ankles, looking up at the twinkling stars and the full, beautiful moon.

"You didn't say anything. I just…ugh, I don't know," she said in frustration, pursing her lips. "You just confuse me."

He looked at her quizzically and she met his gaze. He looked into her beautiful eyes as they reflected in the light of the moon, her soft, smooth skin illuminated in the moon's beams. Her hair blew in the gentle wind as she began to smile, and Will felt himself smiling, realizing she was so beautiful…

But then he remembered he was just a blacksmith's apprentice with no future, no hope to spend his life with someone as well-to-do as the governor's daughter. He suddenly felt self-conscious and uneasy, and he quickly averted his gaze out towards the sea.

"See?" she cried with indignation.

"What did I do?" he asked defensively, turning to face her but avoiding her eyes.

"You always do that! You always look at me like…like…like that and then you turn away." Her voice was filled with unhappiness, and he thought he could detect pain in her cry as well.

Speechless, all Will could do was gape at her. She was perceptive, he would give her that. "I…what do you want me to do?" he asked her once he found his voice. It came out raspy and uneasy.

"I want you to look at me like you looked at me when we were watching the sunset," she said quietly.

"Miss Swann, that was –that was four years ago!"

He saw her shake her head, and Will felt a panic rise up in his gut. He hated seeing her upset. "I know, Will. But…but I loved it when you looked at me like that."

The moon was suddenly plunged behind a dark cloud, and Will was thrown into complete darkness. He couldn't see anything…he couldn't even see Elizabeth who was right next to him. All he could sense was the soft rustling of the palm trees in the Caribbean breeze and the soft surf lapping at the sand.

When the moon emerged from behind the cloud, Will could suddenly see Elizabeth again. In those few moments of darkness, he had forgotten how beautiful she had looked moments before when the moon had cradled her face, outlining her high cheeks, her kind eyes, her fair skin…

"Like that," she whispered.

"What?" Will could hardly speak, and his voice was softer than Elizabeth's.

"The way you're looking at me. Don't stop."

He wanted to kiss her…he wanted to cradle her face in his hands, run his fingers through her hair, hold tightly to her for the rest of his years. As if she read his mind, she raised her hand to his cheek. It was incredibly soft, like a newborn babe's skin, and Will realized that his own hands were calloused and rough from the smithy. He watched with wide eyes as she walked towards him, her hand still on his cheek. She turned her head upwards and closed her eyes, inching closer and closer…

"No," he heard himself say. He removed her hand from his cheek and looked down at the sandy shore. "Miss Swan…we can't."

He dared himself to look up, and when he did, his heart plunged. Her eyes became watery, her gaze hurt. She looked as if someone had just stabbed her in the heart, had taken away all of her hope and happiness…

He opened his mouth to explain himself, to remind her he was just a poor orphan who had no hope for the future, a boy who could never make her happy as a proper gentleman…

"Thank you, Mr. Turner. I think it's time I get back up to bed." She turned on her heels and began to climb towards the city.

"I didn't - I didn't mean - I didn't mean it!" he stammered, fighting the urge to chase after her.

She turned around to face him again, and he was shocked at the severity of her gaze, the coldness in her eyes. "That's good, Mr. Turner, because neither did I."

Mr. Turner…

"Mr. Turner!"

Shaken from his reverie, Will turned around at the sound of his name to find Ratherford glaring at him through the bars. Even now, that hawkish gaze chilled Will to the bone –

"Governor Swann is here to pay you a visit."

Will looked to Ratherford's left and saw Swann standing there, looking at him with wide eyes. At first he was perplexed at the governor's shock…what was he so surprised about? But then Will realized how he must look…bruises and scrapes from Ratherford's beatings, a gash over his forehead from when Will wouldn't admit to his guilt in Norrington's death, a bruised right eye where the commodore had punched him repeatedly, trying to get him to break, to scream in agony…

"My God," he heard Swann mutter. "What happened to you?"

"Maybe you should ask Commodore Ratherford that," Will said, his raging gaze focusing on the hawkish man.

"You had better a good explanation for this, commodore," the governor warned. Will was subconsciously surprised at Swann's anger – he had never seen him quite so furious.

"For what, Governor Swann?" Ratherford asked. Will clenched his jaw: Ratherford was playing games with Swann.

"For these injuries on my son-in-law!"

Ratherford cleared his throat, and Will could tell he was looking for an explanation. "Sir, he has tried on one or more occasions to escape, and we have had to subdue the man. He has quite a temper – "

"Liar!" Will shouted as he charged at the bars.

"Shut up you worthless piece of vermin!" Ratherford growled. "Or I'll have you hung come next sunrise."

"Commodore Ratherford, that is enough."

Swann was staring vehemently at Ratherford, his arms stiffly at his sides, his chin held high. "You will release my son from this deplorable cell immediately. He is to accompany us on our search for my daughter and Sparrow."

My son…he said my son…

"But sir, he is –"

"He is innocent until proven guilty, lest I remind a Commodore of the Royal Fleet! Release him at this moment."

Will never had the urge to kiss another man before, but thanks to Governor Swann, he now did. The man had saved him – probably saved his life – and had recognized Ratherford for what he actually was: a violent, ruthless man who valued nothing and no one.

The rusty key turned in the lock, and Will felt a sense of hope. He caught the Governor's eye, and was surprised to detect a small twinkle in them. Will continued to look at him until he barked, "Come come, William, we don't have all day now, do we? We must go and rescue your wife...again."

Tlazolteotl shrieked in pain as she melted into the earth. Her form as that pirate girl Anamaria would no longer house her spirit – someone had found the potion, someone had administered it to her…

She screamed in agony again. Her whole body felt as if it were on fire, her skin boiling and her hair erupting in hot flames. She had been without a body for so long that she had thoroughly enjoyed the dark-skinned girl's persona. Being in the confines of skin and bone had brought back the feeling of invincibility, of beauty that she once had at the beginning of all time. But now she was restless, unhappy…she was vehemently jealous of the mortals for being so carefree, not realizing how lucky they were to not only have a spirit, but a body to house it…

Without warning, her spirit was spewed from Anamaria's body and into the atmosphere. She growled in anger, and swore to wreak vengeance on the man who had done this to her, who had made her lose everything she had wanted for so long. He was responsible for her misery, for her pain…

Without the girl's body, she could not take the coin. She could not prove her worth to her fellow gods and goddesses, and she could not use the coin to bargain with them, to coax them into letting her back into the High World she had been exiled from so many years before. That coin was the only way she would ever earn her way back into the happiness that she had lost. She needed that coin…she needed it.

And now it wasn't with her anymore. It would magically reappear in the pocket of that young, boyishly attractive blonde boy – was Smithe his name? – and she would lose all hope of reentering the High World.

Tlazolteotl let the wind carry her spirit out to sea, where she drifted for hours, wondering where to go to find a body. She looked at the ocean beneath her, the soft waves lapping against each other as if playing cheerfully. Where could she go to get another body? Where could she regain her dignity and her goal? Nobody wanted a goddess, especially one who was exiled from the High World for transgressions that were unspeakable…

She would have to go to a place where evil was inherent, where the voodoo was wicked and devilish, where people had no respect for themselves or each other. She could feed off of the evil, grow strong enough to eventually inhabit another body.

She suddenly smiled to herself. Where else to find evil, wickedness, and crime other than the port of Tana?

Please review. :)