A/N: We're nearing the end, children. Soon I'll be free of dastardly present tense and its cohort, phonetic spelling. A warning to anyone planning a present tense fic, be prepared to commit. And don't be surprised by all the extra editing you have to do to make sure you didn't screw up somewhere, plus all manner of confusion regarding the verb "to be." Anyways, here goes, the final dramatic, explosive, amazing climax of "The Mermaid's Ransom." Enjoy!
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(A/N: Back to Guinn's P.O.V. Shock.)
I try to snap out of this trance or spell that seems to control me several times, but to no avail. I seem to be crouched in a corner of my mind, while my body works tirelessly for the invader. I can barely even feel the breeze swirling around me, or the sounds of Faulkner's crew on the decks. Or even Faulkner himself, who checks in every now and again. His inquiries seem to come from a great distance, and I find myself unable to respond to them. All I see in the darkness is the sparkling point of light on the horizon before me, and I'm torn between the part of me under the spell that wishes so fervently to reach it, and the part crouched in the back of my head, which is utterly terrified of it. This part relives all the events leading to this moment over and over. To it, the end is clear; if I survive, I will go home. For all the Sparrow blood in my veins, a pirate's life holds no attraction anymore. In it I see none of what I now want very badly: peace, joy, home. If I must return to the house of Turner and play the part of a spoiled girl-wig then so be it, but let this misadventure be forgotten. However, I always circle back to the inevitable. If I survive...
I don't know how long I am at the helm of the Pearl, guiding her maleficent captain and crew to the mermaid's ransom. I don't remember being fed or given water or taking a break from following the dancing point of light through the dark. This does not bode well for me. If Faulkner's not bothering to feed or water me, let alone allowing me to rest, then why will he bother keeping me alive once I serve my purpose? Oh, think, Guinevere, THINK! I wonder if Anamaria has freed everyone from the brig yet. I know she can, but I also know she has precious little gift for strategy. She'll have to get Jack. And I doubt Jack will come. He didn't offer when I first mentioned my plans for the mermaid's ransom, why would he take an interest now? Because I'm his daughter? Sure, because he's been such a wonderful father figure so far.
I bite back a surprised yelp when Faulkner snaps the compass shut and pulls it out of my hand. I'm suddenly exposed to reality once more. Blinking in the bright sun, I gradually make out an island. We have weighed anchor near the entrance of a small cove. Sighting directly between the two spits of land that curve into the cove's entrance, two rocks pinning a smaller rock vertically can be seen. The three together resemble a steeple. "Church Cove," Faulkner murmurs as he too gazes at the natural steeple with his fingers curled around the compass. It's revealed as we enter the cove in longboats that the steeple in fact tops a thick arch of rock girding the cove's shoreline. Through the small space beneath the arch I can see lush vegetation on either side of a path leading upwards. Faulkner greedily eyes the path, and I believe he would rub his hands together and giggle merrily were he not holding the compass.
"All ashore that's going ashore!" he calls and his crew laughs dutifully as they clamber onto the cove's shore. Faulkner thrusts the compass into my hands. "Lead on," he says.
His voice has regained that terrifying tight quiet. I'm afraid again, though I'm more afraid of going back into the darkness inside the compass. I try to resist, closing my eyes and turning away when Faulkner flips open the moldy case. I hear him chuckle, as if amused by my meager show of rebellion. I hate how weak I feel at this moment more than anything else. My nannies' meaty hands grip both sides of my head, forcing me to face the compass. Well, boys, I hate to say it but turning my head won't open my eyes. Too bad, so sad. But then another pair of hands grips the top of my head and thumbs pull up my clenched eyelids. I'm in the darkness so fast I barely have time to register Faulkner's grinning face above the prying thumbs.
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Again I lead the band of despicable pirates and their treacherous captain from inside the compass's stifling dark. I am not assisted in any way; if I fall over a root or into a stream I am hauled up by my collar and pushed onward. I wish the point of light would grow as I walk, but it doesn't. Because of that it feels as if I am going nowhere, just being knocked down and picked up continually by things unseen. It's not much of a motivator.
However, while the point of light refuses to grow, every now and again as I walk I feel a presence nearby. It appears before my eyes as the faintest of white lights on one side of my view, like the light of a candle through a cracked doorway as it falls on a white-washed wall. It brings with it a cool breeze in the ever-airless dark. It also seems to strengthen when I fall, only to dim again once my nanny drags me to my feet and pushes me forward. This presence soothes my fear as much as possible, bolsters my will to continue walking in the darkness while going nowhere. The presence relaxes me so much that the second time I am jarred from the inside of the compass it feels like being woken from a deep sleep by a firm shake. I find that's not far off, actually, as I register the body that has tackled me to the ground, knocking the compass out of my hands.
"Rusty, keep her out of sight!" hisses Faulkner to my nanny/tackler. The area where we've stopped has rocks of varying sizes scattered around as it inclines towards the mouth of a cave nearly hidden by tree leaves. Tree leaves also obscure the shore. Noon sunshine filters through the leaves, tinting the clearing green. This is all I can gather before I'm yanked behind and thrown against some of the larger rocks.
"This is getting old," I grumble, blinking to clear my head after having it bounced off of the rock's rough surface.
"Keep quiet!" Rusty snaps, poking a fat finger in my face.
Not even a smelly pirate finger nearly impaling one of my nostrils can impede the joy I feel as I listen to the proceedings outside our little hiding place. Jack's strong, rough voice rings out over the clearing, "Ye' just can't leave well enough alone, can ye', Waylan? Honestly, ye' got me ship an' all the booty therein, ye' blinded me- now you've gone an' pinched Guinevere an' me compass fer a treasure that isn't even yours ta' begin with."
"How did you beat us here?"
"Used the compass, didn't ya'? Just because ya' went inna' straight line doesn't necessarily mean you're gonna get where yer goin' first."
"You can't get somewhere faster than if you go in a straight line!" Faulkner roars.
"Clearly ye' haven't been on the sea fer long," Jack retorts, and not even my nanny can hold back a snort.
Faulkner decides to change the subject rather than get caught in a battle of wits with Captain Jack Sparrow. Not entirely stupid, that man. "You say I have no right to the mermaid's ransom- ha! I have more right to it than any man here."
"Any man to be sure, Waylan. An' where is dear Guinevere, eh?"
I blink, and risk a glance at my nanny in the futile hope for enlightenment. He shrugs. Jack is calling for me, saying I won't be harmed. Faulkner is ordering Rusty to kill me if I try to escape. The fat finger in my face is replaced with a dagger blade, suitably tarnished. I try not to think of the innumerable amount of infections surely to be contracted if I don't keep still.
"I beg to differ on that whole harmed issue, Jack," I dare to call out. I try to press my skull into the rock as the dagger darts forward in a warning jab.
"Guinevere! Are you alright?" I hear Will call out, and I don't know whether to be relieved or dismayed. I do know that this blade is making me miss a great deal of action going on beyond me and Rusty's cozy little hideout.
"Ah, Guinevere, with us after all," Jack remarks as if just spotting me in a crowd. "Well, Waylan, has it gotten through yer thick skull that yer surrounded, an' you've lost, an' we've won, an' it's time you quit all this foolishness an' hand over the girl?" I can see him in my head counting off the pertinent information on his scarred hands.
"I see no one surrounding me or my men; I see only a blind, old fool and his faithful terrier."
"An' now that may be," Jack says obligingly, "Or ye' may not see me crew because they're well hidden. Don't know 'bout you, mate, but I've been here before, studied the land. There's many places ta' hide in, to which I'm sure Rusty and Guinevere can attest. How's about it, Waylan, care ta' place a wager? You an' yer crew's lives say there are no pirates hidden in these here woods; I say they're crawlin' with 'em. Odds're fair even, I'd say, meaning you don't trust me an' I don't trust you."
My eyes roll around the top of my head in an effort to see over the rock, but are met with nothing but sunlit leaves. I'm too shocked to make a sound when I look back down and find not my nanny and his filthy blade, but Pete's smiling face over Rusty's still body. Scanning the undergrowth I can now make out various members of Anamaria's crew. I catch Tom, Tuck, and Stanton grinning in a nearby bush. "Jack's not bluffing?" I stutter in amazement.
"Nope, came ta' rescue you."
I smile hugely, joy welling up inside as I look at Pete. "My hero," I mumble as my cheeks redden. We're both grinning at each other like fools, until I hear my name.
"What does it matter exactly if ye' find the ransom 'r not? Guinevere's the only one can touch it wid'out sinkin' this entire island!" Oh great, I groan in my mind, what else don't I know about my super secret past? I wish Jack would simply quit stringing Faulkner along and finish him. But, as I am now aware that Faulkner is the reason Jack is blind and without his beloved Pearl, I suppose it couldn't hurt to let him have his fun.
"Precisely," Faulkner says, "she carries the gold to my ship, as much as I deem necessary. Once finished, I kill her and begin my life as the wealthy man my ancestor should have been."
Jack is quiet a moment. In my mind he places a hand to his chin and carefully regards Faulkner's plan. "A fine plan. Simple, straightforward, very little to confuse. But you forgot one thing."
"Have I?"
"Guinevere's father is Captain Jack Sparrow. And, blind or no, he doesn't take kindly ta' havin' his child kidnapped an' killed by a man lower than a sea snake, savvy?" Jack gives an unseen signal, and the clearing fills with the sound of battle as Anamaria's crew attacks.
Pete pulls me from behind the rock and into the trees. "Hey," I protest, "Why aren't we fighting?"
"Yer father said ta' get you to safety an' he'd meet us."
Just as Pete's sentence ends I am enveloped in a monstrous hug. I can't hide my surprise or my slight disappointment when I find Will is the hugger, not Jack. But I dutifully hug back for a bit before asking, "Where is Moth- um, Eliza- Mother?"
"Actually, she's fighting," Will says with grinning eyes, "You wouldn't believe how eager she was to get here and- how did she put it?- 'Whip those bloody pirates within an inch of their worthless lives.' She's missed it, to be quite honest. Oh, Guinevere, thank God you're alright!" He embraces me again, and this time I don't hesitate to grip him just as hard. I think of the darkness in the compass, and how while in its clutches I wished to be home with Will and Elizabeth more than anything. It appears I don't have to worry about having a second chance. But I'm not leaving without getting some answers to a few questions.
"Father, why did Jack say only I could touch the ransom?"
Will looks uncomfortable, but begins, "Well, Guinevere-"
"Guinevere, RUN!" Elizabeth's warning comes a moment too late as someone barrels between me and Will. I find my back pressed against this someone, and a blade pressed against my neck.
"Always with the knifepoint!" I cry out before I can stop myself.
"Yes, it appears to be your assailants' weapon of choice quite often, doesn't it?" Faulkner says conversationally, taking a tighter grip on my arms.
"Elizabeth, how could ya' let him escape!?" Jack shouts as he and Anamaria enter as well.
"I'm sorry, Jack. He's a slippery one, I'll give him that."
"He got you again, Guinevere?" Jack asks.
"I'm afraid so," I reply glumly.
"Enough of this!" Faulkner barks, "Guinevere will lead me to the treasure now and you will all stay right here, agreed?"
"That simply, eh? Well, good luck with that wid'out the compass," Jack scoffs, "Tossed it in the sea m'self 'fore you got yer slimy hands back on it. Bloody hell, do things ever work out fer yer family, or is it always like this?"
Faulkner emits an enraged growl before grinding out, "Fine! I'll just kill her now, how about that?"
I close my eyes as the sword bites into my neck, only to have them fly open again as I hear Pete cry out, "NO!" In a flash, he darts over, yanks me from Faulkner's grasp, and throws me to the ground behind him. Half a second later, two shots are fired. All is still as the smoke clears from each of the weapons. One gun is held in Jack's hand, another in Faulkner's. Two men stumble to the ground; one is Faulkner, staring at me in disbelief as the patch of red over his heart grows, and one is Pete.
"No, Pete," I whisper as I crawl to him. I feel a horrible emptiness in my stomach, as if I've been gutted. I take his hand, and pull his head into my lap. The bullet has buried itself in his stomach, leaving a raged hole that is bleeding so much...
"He's done for, sweet Guinevere," Will says softly to me. My eyes are filled with tears when I look up at him.
"But it's not too late to get the ransom," Jack adds.
"I know." I turn back to Pete cradled in my lap. He's still awake. We lock gazes for a breathless moment, and then his eyes close. I clench his stained hand all the tighter in mine. He will not be alone in the darkness as I was- as I feel I am becoming. My decision is made. I speak to the pirate while fighting the tightness in my throat, "Go on, Jack. This could be your last chance, you know."
Anamaria is the one to lead Jack by the arm up the hillside and into the cave, saying something about the crew already finding the ransom. I am left with Pete to wait; Will and Elizabeth have gone with Jack and Anamaria. The island begins to rumble, a warning of certain destruction. I can hear the whoops of joy from inside the cave at the end of the path as my friends collect their due before the ground falls from beneath their feet. I try not to picture the mountains of gold a short run from me. I try to focus on the sunshine filtering through the leaves, on the sound of the water in Chapel Cove, on Pete, on anything except the raging urge to push my injured friend from my lap and dash on to glory and riches. Finally I have to close my eyes and lean over him, pressing my forehead to his chest. As it becomes too much, a moan escapes my mouth and the darkness rolls over me, complete.
Then, white relief casts a soothing light before me. My eyes pop open, and I see a pair of feminine feet standing in front of me. They are bare and a pale olive color and so delicate they remind me of a newborn's. It seems an unspeakable crime for them to walk on the island's dirt- and detritus-covered floor. The toenails are round and milky like ten tiny moons. My eyes trail upward, taking in trim legs covered by a diaphanous dress in some lavender white silver cream color my mind can't process all at once. Hands are held behind the stranger, though I don't doubt they are graceful with nails also resembling tiny moons set in a pale olive sky. Finally I take in a face filled with silent compassion. Her eyes are dark, though not as dark as her jet black hair, which falls in straight locks halfway down her back.
"Guinevere," she says, and her voice washes over me and tears fall down my stained face. Images of cloud-tipped mountains, snow, arctic waters fill my head, soothing away the darkness that grips me. I realize this is the presence I felt as I led Faulkner to the ransom. The woman crouches before me, smiling like the dawn after a storm-filled night. She reaches out and strokes my cheek, leaving my skin tingling.
Pete's eyes have cracked open, and they seem to glow with her presence. He squints at the woman, and murmurs uncertainly, "Guinn?"
I blink in puzzlement at Pete, and then look at the woman. It's then that I notice how similar our faces are. The woman is a paler, slightly older version of me with dark, straight hair. The woman doesn't respond to Pete's incorrect address, but instead turns her gaze to the wound in his belly. The sadness and concern I see in her face almost overwhelms me as one of her hands rests light as a butterfly on the seeping hole. Again I feel she has been violated somehow when his dark red blood stains her fingertips.
"Is there nothing you can do?" I choke out. The pain I felt when Pete was first injured has renewed with a vengeance. I don't even bother wondering why I believe with such conviction this random woman can help at all.
She is still for a moment, and then holds out her hands in the same way Jack did in his hut, palms up, fingertips facing me over Pete's wound. Acting on the same instinct as before, I place my hands palm up in hers. She cups our hands over the wound, her eyes closed, and again I feel cool calm as if a high mountain breeze is blowing through my mind. Without guidance I picture that breeze flowing from our minds into the wound through our arms and hands. I see lavender white light shine between our fingers, and I hear Pete gasp. The light fades, and we remove our hands, revealing not a bleeding gunshot hole, but a fresh pink scar. It's my turn to gasp. The woman smiles happily, as does Pete, the natural red of his cheeks replacing terrifying white. Then the woman briefly searches around her before picking up from the ground something she had been holding behind her back. She hands me the compass, as moldy and mysterious as ever.
"So you can always find me," she says, locking gazes with me. She stands and turns in one fluid motion, walking down the hill and out to Chapel Cove. Pete and I watch in disbelief as the woman does not even change pace at the cove's shore. She continues walking until the top of her dark head disappears under the water's surface, and then we can see no more.
I look back down at Pete, "Are you alright?"
"I've never felt better," he replies, "What'd you do?"
"I don't know." I regard my palms warily. With little effort I can recall the feeling of a cool breeze inside me. When the darkness creeps back into my attention, that memory dispels it almost instantly. I'm grateful for that, but what little sensibility I have is beginning to ask questions. Who on Earth was that woman? What did we do to Pete? What now? Somehow the island had paused in its death throws just long enough for the woman to come upon us, heal Pete, and submerge mysteriously into the drink. Now the rumblings are as strong as ever. We stand up together and walk towards the clearing where Jack first ambushed Faulkner. The area is littered with the bodies of enemy pirates. We watch several crewmen laden with gold and bejeweled trinkets of various types dash down the hill and back to the Osprey's longboats.
Tom and Tuck, a silk bed sheet filled to the brim with gold slung between them, stop when they see us. "Guinn, Pete! You'd better hurry if yer thinkin' of gettin' some of this grand swag!"
"There's more than enough for everyone!" Stanton calls as he dashes down the hill, his own haul nearly spilling from his arms.
"Too late, we're leaving!" Elizabeth says as she pushes back the crown that's fallen into her eyes. The shoreline appears much closer now; the longboats are knocking gently against tree trunks.
I reach out and halt Elizabeth's progress, "Wait, Mother. We don't need this gold. Why are you taking some?"
"Well, um- I didn't get any the last time I was in a treasure cave; I certainly wasn't leaving without some now!"
I start laughing, but it turns into a shout of surprise when Elizabeth takes hold of my sleeve and yanks me along with her. Pete gets dragged along as well, since our arms are so tightly linked. "Hey, Mrs. Turner," he says, "Look, I'm not dead!"
"That's wonderful, dear," she replies as she negotiates the increasingly soggy terrain while still holding on to all of the gold statues and lengths of pearls in her hands.
"Come on, Elizabeth, shore's getting closer," Will says as he guides his wife and us into a boat. He carries nothing, but his fingers are almost rendered useless by the number of very expensive-looking rings on them. Eventually all crewmembers are present and accounted for, Jack carrying both he and Anamaria's share of the treasure so she could get the two of them safely into our longboat. Other crewmen have loaded up the Pearl's longboats with as much gold as they can carry, and I'm impressed with their speed and efficiency when it comes to looting treasure caves. By the time we are all safely outside Chapel Cove, Chapel Cove is under water.
"Drop me off at the Black Pearl, Anamaria," Jack orders.
"Hate ta' remind you, Captain, but yer still blind, no matter how dead Faulkner is. I've got my own ship ta' take care of, who's gonna guide you?"
"I believe the position of first mate is open, if Guinevere's interested," he turns to me, "How about it? I can tell ya' all about how ya' came to be, an' answer all the questions I'm sure yer dyin' ta' ask about Faulkner an' all the rest."
I'm speechless as emotions run through me. This simple proposition elicits so many different responses I'm baffled. I feel the old call again, the one that used to bring images of clear horizons and adventures to be had. But now I feel the darkness in it, the fear and the danger, and now I realize that people don't choose to be pirates. Other circumstances out of their control make pirates out of people from necessity. No such circumstances apply to me, and as such I am not a pirate. "I can't, Jack. I'm no pirate, no matter much of your blood is in my veins. And I think Will and Elizabeth can fill me in on my origins with little trouble." I smile at the pair, my benefactors, my parents.
"I can't tell it as well as Jack," Will says.
"I think you'll do fine," I reply.
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A/N: Onward, to the Epilogue!