Author's Note: Yep, another long update…how many times have I been sacrificed to Hawaiian gods now? Anyways, I'm just here to say I've decided to halt the process of any unestablished romances because…because I feel like it. Yeah, that's right… That and it's rushed…

A Witch's Daughter

Chapter Eleven: An Old Acquaintance

"So," Jack said, reclining languidly on the little settee and grinning easily up at his old friend, "what's all this talk 'bout treasure then?" Elizabeth had ordered — ordered him — to leave two certain Turners alone in order to dissolve their estrangement (a great deal this tactic will do), and the last time he was here the captain had received word from an old acquaintance — the very same man that had given him the compass pointing to Isla de Meurta, no less.

Erik von Strausviczt was perhaps the only pirate Jack had ever encountered (and he'd met quite a few) to retire from piracy to a life of quiet, middle-class respectability… Complete with a swooning trophy wife, a peg-legged younger brother, his demonic hellion of a son with a simpering gold-digging possible daughter-in-law, and several daughters of his own possessing varying personalities and traits. Indeed, the few times Jack had visited before (and he'd attempted to avoid such visits at all costs) had taught him that the library and study were the only safe havens within this bourgeois household.

Strausviczt himself had been a successful 'privateer' in his time, with the enviable skill of procuring letters of Marque (a trade secret he guarded to this day) from various governments and forging them for his own illegal (and profitable) purposes. When he'd retired as quartermaster of the ship the Silent Cannon, the amassed wealth, his brother's crippling, and this particular skill were the only tokens he'd kept as mementos of his life as a pirate.

As a direct result, there was a significant increase in the number of 'privateers' operating within the Caribbean Sea, causing a rising level of government hostility and operations of espionage in the past thirty years or so.

Amusing was what it was.

But back to the treasure…

"I assure you, Sparrow," Erik was saying, leaning forward with his fingers splayed out upon his desk and pointedly ignoring the correction of his guest's title, "that this particular hoard does not in any way concern Aztecs, gods — of any kind! — curses, blood, skeletons, or moonlight in any shape or form."

"Mm-hmm…" The captain raised his eyebrow. "That's peculiar, seeing how I can recall a strikingly similar conversation a decade ago…" He fixed the Dutchman with his sternest glare. "So what you really want to say is that there is some innocent god a greedy conquistador pissed off, there are some moonlit skeletons to be considered, and there are sacrifices of a kind to be made?"

There was a slight pause in which the ticking of the grandfather clock grew conspicuously audible. Finally, Strausviczt gave his junior a sheepish grin. "Well…that could be closer to the truth of the matter…"

Jack let out an exasperated sigh, fingering the beads painstakingly braided into his beard. "Is that the only sort of treasure ye know of?" he asked in a bored tone that simply radiated vexation. "Whate'er happened to the simple 'buried chest on a desert island' scenario? That's much less problematic; find a map, follow the trail to the 'X', and of course, remember the shovel." He paused, giving his case great consideration whilst Erik merely watched with a hint of a smile upon his lips. "Why do all pirates endorse in curses nowadays?"

"That's not quite — " Erik began, still suppressing a grin.

"I'll never put a curse on my treasure," Jack continued. "Seems unnecessarily harsh and cruel, and with the rates gypsies charge these days…"

"Very well, Captain," Erik interrupted, cutting short the promisingly pointless rant, "I shall simply tell you everything that I know of."

Jack flashed a gold-toothed grin. "Now that's more like it," he approved.

"Jack, this particular hoard was…'endorsed', as you so eloquently phrased it, by the god Loki."

There was a pause in which the clock's ticking was reintroduced. "Who?"

"Loki," Erik continued, sounding pleased that the pirate's knowledge of Norse mythology was significantly less than his. "A Viking god. According to legend, he was in actuality a giant, but a brother to the gods, and so technically a deity." His smile widened as he warmed up to his subject. "He was perhaps the only truly dark idol, as far as Viking Nordic beliefs go; the god of mischief and — "

"Hold up a minute," Jack interrupted, leaning forward in fascination. "What's all this about 'im being the only dark idol?"

Erik shrugged in nonchalance. "Well, it seemed the most fitting way to introduce you to an immortal pyromaniac," he informed. A crooked grin found a way to his lips yet again at Jack's sudden look of discomfort. "I take it you're concerned."

"Now you listen here, Strausviczt," Jack began, "there are only three curses I'll accept; those to do with blood, those to do skeletons, and those to do with monkeys." Leaning back, he gave him a lopsided grin. "Now, does this particular curse have anything to do with any of the aforementioned entities?"

The faded redhead fidgeted with a gold pocket watch in embarrassment, looking more than a little put out as his guest patiently waited for a reply. A lazy smirk found its way onto Jack's face as he revelled in his own victory. And then…

"It mentions blood ties!"

The victorious grin immediately evanesced as Jack stared at his one-time mentor in disbelief. "What?"

"Blood ties!" Erik repeated with a smile that reminded Jack disturbingly of a lovesick schoolgirl. He strolled purposefully towards his writing desk, pulling a long gold chain from his inner pocket, from which dangled a key. Unlocking the top drawer, he rifled through several papers, pulling out several worthless objects of great (he assumed) sentimental value. Some Jack recognised, most he could only guess at; there was a charred, dirty rag which he was certain had been torn from the Cannon's discarded sailcloth. And then there were those that left him completely baffled; a lock of braided hair of the palest yellow, tied with wool, was completely lost upon him, but if Erik was the same man he knew all those years ago, then it was probably some saint's relic used to ward off evil spirits. That, or a cheap token with which to remember his beloved departed mother by.

"Aha!" And with this exclamation of triumph, he fished out an ancient (and completely unremarkable) roll of vellum. "Here you go," he said, tossing the scroll to Jack, who, tilting forwards, deftly caught it.

Warily unfurling the roll of sheepskin, Jack glanced at its contents in feigned interest, immediately spotting a problem. "Ah, Strausviczt…"

"Yes?" the Dutchman responded impatiently.

"This isn't written in English," he confided.

"That's besides the point — "

"Or even remotely European, mate," Jack continued, twisting the encrypted message this way and that. "Unless you count those twisted 'M's, that is… Well, I think they're 'M's, at any rate…" He frowned in loathing. "Unless they be hearts…" He squinted at the unrecognisable characters. "Nay; definitely 'M's," he said in relief.

"Well, I'm glad we've got that clarified," Erik huffed, placing his hands on his hips in a distinctly feminine manner, evidently riled at the captain's impertinent postponement.

"Aye, so am I," Jack concurred happily, apparently completely missing the sarcasm in his comrade's tone.

Erik von Strausviczt settled for giving his supposed inferior a look of unadulterated exasperation, attempting to gather his wits together. (The clock's ticking was introduced once again during this lapse in conversation.) "I…tried to get it translated," he finally began, finally recalling his train of thought.

"Oh, really? How? And by whom?"

Erik was silent for a moment as he carefully placed each superstitious object back to its rightful place. "There's a gypsy woman who lives a bit further inland — come to think of it, she spends most of her time in her son's hut on top of a hill by the sea, but that's beside the point — anyway, she refuses to tell me anything 'til the sky bleeds — "

"I assume this is a metaphor of some kind," Jack intervened. "And let me tell you this; rain and monsoons are very regular occurrences in this part of the world; some may even venture so far as to say common…"

"And until two specific people show up…" Here he paused, gazing intently at Jack's face.

"What?" he pressed, confused at the sudden interest.

"She gave me names," he started hesitantly. "Names written in that scroll…"

"And?" he prodded impetuously. "What poor elite clique must we kidnap so as to fulfil our avaricious ends? And how many are a part of this exclusive society?"

"Just two," he said grimly. "John Raven and Catherine Carpenter."

"Ah." Thoughtfully, Jack leaned back. "So this is why you approached me with this particular venture…"

"Yes," Erik confirmed. "John Raven… Think about it, Jack, think very carefully now…"

"Are you sure this isn't a hoax of some kind?" he said sharply. "What if it's merely a trap set to get us all killed?"

"John Raven, Sparrow?" Erik repeated. "It's not a well-known name — "

"But it ain't a rare one either," Jack insisted. "John's a well-known English name. If a boy's not named Edward, William, James or George, chances are he'll be christened John. Raven's a well-known bird; I'm sure there's quite a few families that's decided to adopt that as a surname." His gaze returned to the scroll. "An' it's a little too much of a coincidence, don't ye agree?"

"Then let's leave John," Erik pacified. "How 'bout Catherine Carpenter?"

"Catherine; the same goes for 'er. There's Mary, Elizabeth, Anne and Catherine. All common English girls' names. And there's probably more Carpenters than there are Ravens. Although, if we were to take that literally, the complete opposite would probably be true…" He paused. "Besides, do we really know anyone called Catherine Carpenter?" he enquired. "No." He smirked, as though this would be enough to dissuade his friend.

But Erik would not be so easily deterred. "But John Raven, Jack," he persisted, throwing his hands in the air at the man's obstinacy. Strolling across the room, he seated himself besides his hypothetical subordinate. "It can't be a hoax; I'm an antiques' collector; I know a genuine sixteenth-century scroll when I see one, even if the contents are completely illegible."

"Of course you do," Jack patronized.

"It's more likely a prophecy: one that is unfolding at this very moment in time. Don't you dare roll your eyes at me!" he rebuked at his visitor's exasperation. "Why are you always so damned cynical, Sparrow?"

"There's still the conundrum of Carpenter's identity," Jack maintained, refusing to be won over.

"Forget about Carpenter for a moment!" Strausviczt snapped. "Think of John Raven, damn it!"

"Fine," Jack acknowledged. "Let's assume that this John Raven is the same John you and I speak of. There's always the slight problem of his being dead."

"That may be," Erik argued, "but he most certainly left something — or rather, someone — to remember him by." His pale grey eyes levelled with Jack's deep brown. "Didn't he, Jack?"

x!x-

She was running as fast as her ball-gown-hindered legs and sore, high-heeled-covered feet would permit her, running faster than she'd ever ran in her life. Her breathing was ragged, her lungs screaming for oxygen, but she refused to allow herself the luxury of pausing for breath or rest for her aching muscles. She had to keep running, she had to — she mustn't break her stride until she'd escaped from it all — the town, the crowds…it

That thing; that terrifying, twisted, nefarious thing.

; that terrifying, twisted, nefarious .

"Swann!" Catriona cried out, striving to keep up. (And failing. Miserably. And degradingly — she was meant to be the sailor of the two!) "What are you — why — oh, fuck this!" And with a burst of speed, her outstretched hand finally clamped tightly on the aristocrat's wrist, attempting to snap the slender joint in half.

It wasn't enough — Elizabeth refused point-blank to decelerate her horror-induced sprint, and the blonde only succeeded in causing the elder girl to stumble, causing herself to collapse in the process, and they both staggered, Elizabeth attempting and inevitably freeing her wrist of her captor before lurching forwards, her outstretched hands breaking her fall.

Silently thanking whatever deities saw fit to bestow upon her this precious pause of her pursuit, Catriona skidded to a halt and almost overbalanced. Leaning forward with her hands on her knees, she glared up through her curtain of loose locks, panting for breath as her pulse sluggishly returned to its natural pace. When it no longer pained her chest to speak, she finally rasped out, "And what — the hell — was that — all…about?" Unadulterated rage and irritation pulsated throughout every fibre of her being. Exactly why was she assigned to babysitting the flighty governor's daughter, anyway? Ah, yes, it all started out once upon a shopping trip…

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she focused her blue eyes on the gentlewoman's angelic face — and was stunned at the look of utter fear and apprehension she saw there. "Elizabeth?" she asked. "What is it?" But she knew there was really only one way to find out.

She turned slowly, nigh reluctantly, to look behind, images of monsters, demons and other unnatural creatures flashing through her mind, each worse than the last, only to see —

The moon. The pale yellow, circular entity suspended in the deep blue of the early twilight sky. The bawdy town of Tortuga, with its illuminated windows and buildings, uninhibited livestock, the settlement glittering as a beacon of…something positive, she was certain. Its glow, which caused the settlement to be exceedingly silhouetted against the jagged mountains that fashioned the majority of the isle's landscape, paled considerably with the luminous, consistent radiance of the disc threaded amongst the distant stars.

…Selene had always placed particular emphasis upon the distant discus…

x!-x!x-

"It symbolises the Goddess," she'd said as she combed through her infant daughter's drenched golden tresses. "In one cycle you can see all the stages of a woman's life; birth, childhood and maidenhood, motherhood, old age and death."

"And the sun?" the toddler piped up, thinking of the bright, warming counterpart of the day. "What does tha' mean?"

"That," she emphasised, quick to pick up on any lapses in speech her only child made, "symbolises the God, the male; can't you guess, kitten? It wakes up and then it goes to bed; the two most basic functions of living."

The young Catriona pouted. "Don't care," she'd proudly declared. "I like the sun more, it's always there!"

Selene had given her sweet mellifluous laugh. "You're still young," she'd allowed. "Soon you'll appreciate the night." She gave the fair head a quick kiss. "Now you run along to bed; Mary will be here shortly."

Thatalways

x!x!-

…Yes, the moon had always held a place in their hearts… And she realized with a jolt that she, a girl nearing adulthood, and a pirate legend nonetheless, still longed for mummy…

"What the hell — "

Because the moon — the wonderful, symbolic moon that was attached to so many fond memories of childhood… The moon was turning red: a deep, lustrous crimson was trickling across the surface, staining the unsoiled yellow. As both Catriona and Elizabeth watched in morbid fascination, scarlet lightning flashed across the heavens, turning the deepening blue into an intense canvas of blood before the sky reverted to its customary hue.

But neither of the pair noticed it — they barely took note of one another, seeing how each had apparently gone into a catatonic state. Their eyes, one pair deepest blue and the other sweetest brown, were transfixed on the bleeding moon, watching in macabre enthralment as the ruby dye gradually painted the yellow-white. Words had failed them both; they could only watch in horror as the light of the night steadily metamorphosed into a badge of blood…of death. For one, it was an ill sign, an omen of the gravest of fates, an emblem of supernatural happenings with dangerous consequences. For the other, it was the tainting of memories, the destruction of faith, the shattering of reality as she knew it.

Elizabeth was the first to recover from her shock. "It's going to rain," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. No sooner had she finished voicing her notion did the first drop of liquid fall upon the cheek of a governor's only child.

Warm water…burgundy fluid…blood

Her hand flew up to gently touch the droplet as another, and then another, dripped slowly from the wounded sky. I'm going to be sick…

Catriona could barely gather her wits to form a coherent thought, much less speak… She stood, frozen to her place, her deceptively black eyes transfixed upon the bloodied entity. She dropped to her knees as the blood continued to fall in its sluggish manner, trickling across her face and down her neck, soaking her faded clothes, staining her blonde hair…

Mist was rising, slowly intensifying, rising from the ground as the humid temperature suddenly plummeted to that of a frigid winter. Swirling grey mist that she'd witnessed only during rainy winters in England… She was drowning in the haze…

As she continued to stare straight ahead, her blue eyes were able to make out a distant figure approaching… A dark, solid silhouette in this world of grey fog… As it drew closer, she was able to make out several features; a dark cloak, a nose, lips, eyes… She recognised the person immediately: in spite of everything that had happened so far, it was this that disturbed her the most, shaking her to the very core of her being.

"Catriona?" The voice of Elizabeth was distant, unreachable, irrelevant, unimportant as her eyes remained riveted to the woman approaching her.

I thought she was dead…

x!x-

AN: Ooh, cliffhanger! Did this make up for the wait? I sure hope it did… Jess I know you're reading, so please review!