A Witch's Daughter

Chapter Five: Heroics

"Don't you understand?" The cloaked woman pleaded desperately, her voice hoarse as she yelled over the howling wind and rain beating against the windowpanes of the captain's cabin.

"Madam!" Captain Andrew Foster repeated, his hand running through his grey-flecked auburn hair in exasperation. Rarely, if indeed ever, had he had to deal with women begging to be given passage on his humble merchant ship to the idyllic paradise known as the Caribbean. This, obviously, was one of those rare occasions. "Three months on the open seas is hazardous for any citizen without sailing experience!" And it's ill luck to bring a woman aboard, he silently added. Although he couldn't see her face, the female sitting across from him looked ready to snap at any given moment, judging from the white knuckles on his desk. "And the weather is set to be abysmal," he indicated the storm.

"It's Portsmouth," the woman pointed out logically. "In England. It rains all the time!"

"Several months on a voyage is dangerous for any man without sailing experience, let alone a woman!" As soon as those four words left his lips, Andrew knew it was a mistake.

The robed lady, judging by her grammar and accent, arose, palms slamming into his desk as she leaned forward. Her voice had increased in volume as she hysterically 'reasoned' with the honest captain. "My one child, my only family is there!" She hollered, this time from her overwhelming emotions rather than a need to be heard. "All I have left on this earth! You must take me there!" As suddenly as she had stood, she slumped back down into her chair, her sudden vigour depleted. The hood had fallen back slightly, enough to reveal only an elegant chin and full red lips that quivered with every word she spoke. "This is the only ship sailing to the West Indies," she said softly, so quietly that Andrew had to strain to hear her voice over the howling wind. "The next one leaves in two and a half months. Surely no man can be so callous?"

His heart went out to her; Andrew honestly pitied the distressed mother, but it simply went against his every moral principle to allow her passage. "I apologise, Madam, but I simply cannot grant you passage," he said as gently as possible.

The woman silently pondered his words, her mind fathomless to Andrew. Coming to a conclusion, she reached up and pulled back her hood, and Captain Foster was staring into hypnotic eyes that were the most vivid shade of green he had ever seen. "Perhaps," she said lowly, "we can come to an agreement…"

For an aristocrat, Elizabeth was really…pleasant. When one looked over her tendency to inflict pain whilst trying to escape, that is. Allanah, sitting with her back against the door so as to prevent it from being forced open by someone, watched as Elizabeth told her of some time when she'd fallen off a battlement thanks to the torture device society called a corset with forced interest. All the other times when it had been just her and Elizabeth had passed in awkward silences with murmured comments and, at first, futile escape attempts. Allanah had no idea how an incident involving women's undergarments could possibly interest her, but listening to Miss Swann's 'adventures' was better than the uncomfortable silences they'd usually had.

"…And when I awoke, I found a pirate looking down at me." Yay for her. "It was Jack Sparrow." Allanah perked up. Now that was interesting. Elizabeth grinned at the sudden attentiveness of the pirate girl, looking as gorgeous as ever, even with messy, not-so-perfectly-curled hair and a rumpled golden ball gown. Allanah wondered how she was able to do that; it was just unnatural. And for a witch, that was saying a lot.

"At first I thought he was a good man, vulnerable, even, when Commodore Norrington found him. And a tad insane, judging by his attire and general appearance." That wasn't what she'd been expecting. All the stories of Jack Sparrow, what she'd heard, anyway, gave Allanah the impression of some invincible inhuman criminal. And here was Elizabeth Swann, describing him as 'vulnerable' and 'insane'. Cat was right. How did she always do that?

Catriona wasn't impressed with the tales of Anne Bonny and Mary Read, Black Bart Roberts, or even the infamous Blackbeard himself: why would she be awed by Jack Sparrow? Yes, she did like to hear stories of piratical legends, living or otherwise, but Catriona never actually believed in them. But then again, most of the world's general public thought she was a homicidal sword-wielding murderer that drank the blood of her victims (not to mention ate their flesh) and sacrificed children to the devil, so she had every right to doubt the anecdotes that were, more often than not, spewed from the mouths of drunkards in taverns.

"What was that?" Allanah said, starting. She'd felt some type of…tugging. Spiritual wrenching, to be honest. And she could have sworn she'd heard a scream of pain, distant and far away, but existent.

"What?" Ah yes, of course; Elizabeth was far from supernatural. She'd probably thought that Allanah was hearing things.

"It ain't right," Allanah murmured, forgetting her charge. But it wasn't right. A horrible, twisting, nauseous feeling had taken root in her stomach, and she could trace it to her other half. In other words, Catriona had snakes writhing in her abdomen, curling and twisting with…anger? Trust Catriona to not let her fear show, even through a psychic bond. How typical of legends. Something was very wrong, very bad, very…treacherous?

"Miss…Dove?" Allanah registered, at the back of her mind that, for the first time in her entire existence, she'd been addressed politely. "Is everything well?" A rustle of skirts alerted Allanah that the blonde had stood and was moving towards her.

"We're going up on deck," she informed the puzzled highborn woman. "We 'ave to."

No one ever looks at or seeks out the lookout during a mutiny. So Catriona cautiously descended until she was halfway down the mast, narrowing her eyes so as to get a better view in the flickering light of the various torches. She'd already used her vantage point to spy on what was happening on the other ships and saw, with hatred and loathing, that the 'rebellion', as it were, was already well underway, basically over. They'd also started sailing away, probably to some pre-arranged meeting place. Leaving the Chimera alone.

She'd watched as several unbelievably filthy pirates came up from the galley with several rum barrels. They were going to celebrate now? She could see that basically all of the remaining original crew had been tied up at the mast. Whatever these men may be, original was not a word she would apply to them. Her right hand went to the pistol in her sash so she was hanging with just her left hand and feet.

She shouldn't fire; she had limited shots, and she was greatly outnumbered. If she'd done anything at all to draw attention to herself, she might as well have slit her own throat. But acting on instinct, she couldn't help but aim the gun. But Cat wasn't going to fire; she was smarter than that. She was going to assess the situation, think things through, come up with a well-calculated plan to —

Bang.

Maybe she wasn't as smart as she gave herself credit for.

The sudden gunshot shattered through the air, effectively silencing the boisterous jeers and taunts hurled at Avarice and the men remaining loyal to him. Elizabeth started as though she had been shot, but remained silent as she and the dark girl whose first name she hadn't asked out of pure fear watched from the stairs. Watched as the blond-dreadlocked man that had been slowly, methodically slicing Captain Avarice's left cheek open froze, stiffening. The dagger clattered onto the wooden deck, closely followed by its owner.

Slowly, like sheep, each and every pirate looked up, including two of the three females on the vessel. In the silence, a Frenchman uttered two simple words that Elizabeth had known ever since the age of eight in a paternal tone of anxiety and apprehension:

"Mon fille…"

My girl… Elizabeth translated, stunned and — dare she say it? — moved. And, well, slightly sickened. Good Lord, that is just so

And then chaos reigned.

To the casual observer, Catriona must have looked like an ice statue, regarding the swarm whose attention was now focussed on her unemotionally. She hadn't even blinked, so full of courage and restraint was she…

But truthfully, she was paralysed with fear, her numb mind still trying to comprehend exactly what implausibly irrational thing she had just done. But seeing how her brain worked the way it did, in order to process the moment of weakness Catriona had to discover why she shot Short, Blond and Repulsive. She'd just answered her own question.

The moment of silence hung in the warm Caribbean night air, complete stillness prevailing. It couldn't last. Catriona wasn't sure what happened exactly, except there was a sudden raging inferno that had just abruptly intensified; the girl in the rigging was no longer the centre of attention.

The slave girl on deck was, looming over a barrel with a torch in her hand, looking more detached and malevolent than Catriona thought was possible for the warm-hearted girl. And the noblewoman was slipping through the mob unnoticed, by some miracle, towards the mast, presumably to free the remaining faithful pirates.

And then there was the clash of cutlasses and cries of rage and pain deafening her ears, clouding her mind. She'd been forgotten, overlooked. Catriona Woodcraft didn't matter. Well as if that wasn't the most insulting thing… she thought, enraged.

And in a mere thirty or so seconds the fair-coloured girl was deep in the midst of the warring pirates.

Rum, Elizabeth mused whilst hitting a scoundrel across the face with the fiery end of one of a torch, is a very useful, diverse and improvisational weapon. Makes fully-grown men run away in fear when accompanied by flames. She decided then and there that as soon as she returned to Port Royal, she was going to advise everyone she knew to keep a rum stash and a flame of some kind in their room at all times. Father would have a fit. This last she thought whilst smashing a bottle into another criminal's face and threatening to bring the flame ever closer to his less-than-attractive features. Oh, she was going to be grating on Catriona's nerves for however long until she was returned…they'd been having a dispute over Barbossa's men (mainly the idiocy of releasing them and Catriona stating stubbornly that Avarice was a smart man) for however long she'd been on the ship, and Elizabeth had proof that she was in the right.

But God, she was petrified. When she'd been kidnapped by Barbossa, she'd had the safe knowledge that he'd obviously needed her alive or he would have slit her throat on the deck. Here, she had the feeling no cursed Aztec gold would be enough to spare her life this time.

And a sound she absolutely dreaded to hear ever since that sea battle against Barbossa before she was marooned with Jack rang through her ears.

Cannon fire.

Oh God, they were going to die. It was so obvious now. Might as well put on a show. For a moment, Catriona wondered if Tortuga was close enough to swim to. Then she brought her dagger down whilst simultaneously giving the barrel she'd managed to navigate her way towards and was currently looming over a decent kick, slicing it half open, and dropped the torch. The wood and liquid instantly lit up, and she kicked it towards those bastards thick enough to try and mutiny. The barrel left a spectacular, albeit thin trail of fire as it went, gaining speed, as it pretty much flew towards the mutineers slowly, almost leisurely approaching her and were suddenly trying to move back, bravado forgotten as each fought to survive.

And then it made contact, colliding with a man's calf with so much force that she could actually hear the bone break as it pushed past, deeper into the crowd. A second later and his boot caught fire. The bloke's scream became more and more horrific as he tried to put it out; his 'allies' backed away in panic, watching in morbid fascination as he flailed on the ground, eventually pulling another pirate down with him. To the left, another man was trying to stamp out the fire on his foot. Yes, stamp out. While all this occurred, the battle continued all around them, most comfortably unaware of the men Cat had set on fire.

Yet still more came towards her, and Catriona instinctively backed away until she felt the wood of the railing against the small of her back. Suddenly several key facts hit her with terrifying clarity: she was outnumbered. She was trapped. She had limited shots. She was one girl, and they were scores of men.

She was going to die.

And then she heard the cannon fire.

AN: Cliffie! OK, maybe not that much of one, seeing how you can just guess what's going to happen. Do I really have to say it? Review! (Yes, I have no shame.)

Redmond: Another reviewer! Twice! I feel so loved…yeah, the reason Avarice had those other pirates was because he kinda got all big-headed and wanted to be a commodore, and to do that he'll need more ships, and more ships means more men to man them, so he just got the first guys he saw.