This one's for Ellenar- I know you're fixated with Alf
11. The Slayer of Granada
They say Tortuga never sleeps and it's true. It's quieter at daytime though, when the drunks sleep in the gutter and the mood was far less aggressive, no one was fighting, no one fired his pistol. But the dock area looked worse in the bright sunlight and the smell, well, the smell was just incredibly. It smelled of sweat, human excrements and dead fish rotting in the damp heat. Then you see a drunkard lying in his own vomit and you're not surprised at anything, anymore. And the bars and taverns were open around the clock, seven days the week, to produce even more drunks; it was a never-ending circulation. Whenever someone was boozed-up enough and fell off the chair someone else awoke from delirium and filled that place. Also there were so many doxies in Tortuga that no man's desire would ever be unfulfilled; one could assume they worked in shifts as well. Yet there are still men who consider every woman fair game…
One of them, a particularly ugly example of mankind, bumped into Rowan Scarlett when she left her ship, eager to get a drink before she met Santiago, and therefore she wasn't in the best mood.
"'ello darlin'! Fancy a screw?"
Definitely not!
"Don't ye dare to paw me woman!" Jack snorted, eyes narrowed dangerously while his hand reached for his pistol. But Rowan reacted faster than he could interfere, unceremoniously ramming her knee in the bastard's balls. He howled, writhing with pain in the filthy street.
"Now that'll teach ye a lesson." Jack pretentiously brandished his pistol in front of the bloke's nose, behaving as if he'd been the one who'd sent him to the ground.
"Well, thanks for yer support, luv." Rowan said with cool cynicism and very little patience, then she sighed. "Damned, I really need a drink now."
"Ah, and I'm the one who'll buy ye a drink. My woman should never be in need of anything." he boasted in his typical Captain-Jack-Sparrow-manner, wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulders and led her towards the Faithful Bride.
Men! she thought, feeling rather tempted to knock his head with the big Spanish book he'd given her, the one that revealed Santiago's past. Oh, she really hated it when he was so boastful, treating her like his favourite possession; in fact, he seemed to enjoy showing-off with her.
He ignored all the women who greeted him with a certain familiarity- mostly whores, Rowan could that tell by the way they dressed- and he himself was a bit surprised how many there were. It would have also surprised him how quickly gossip spread and that rumours had already rushed ahead them when they finally entered the Faithful Bride.
Allegedly Captain Jack Sparrow has a new favourite, the whores whispered among themselves, jealously guessing who that might be and how she would look like. It was only when Rowan walked in at Jack's side that they fell silent and stared at her.
Apparently she wasn't at all what they had expected her to be, but she couldn't have cared less. She just wanted to get to the bar, have a good gulp of rum, and then leave again. But sometimes things never happen the way you want them to. Instead of passing through the room with the dignity of a pirate captain equal to the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, Rowan stumbled and shook hands with the floor. The whores shrieked with joy and started gibbering once more.
"What a clumsy chick… bah- and she wears man's clothes! No real woman would do that… she's got no style at all. … and she's got small tits… I really wonder what Jack sees in her… maybe she's hexed poor Jack… just look at her hair…"
Rowan shook off Jack's helping hand impatiently; she got on her feet and her storm-clouded eyes roamed through the tavern. She didn't mind some whores' opinion nor making a fool of herself sometimes, but that was too much. Finally her gaze fell on the one who was responsible for it, the one who had tripped her.
"Are ye lookin' for trouble, Anamaria?" she asked coldly.
"No. NO. NO!" Jack sensed trouble, perhaps even a fight, therefore he grabbed Rowan's arm and dragged her to the bar, barking at the barkeeper to bring a bottle of rum. Then he did something incredible stupid. Maybe he wanted to make sure that Captain Jack Sparrow's choice was not to be doubted, maybe he only wanted to prove her his affection- nevertheless, kissing her here and now was definitely not his wisest decision. She knew it since she really felt Anamaria looking daggers at her and besides, she wasn't in the mood. So she tried to struggle away from him but failed; he held her clasped in a vice-like grip. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow so he couldn't be rejected, if he wanted a kiss he would get one. Defiantly she bit his lower lip until she tasted blood on her tongue but even that didn't stop him. If possible, it only encouraged him to ravage her mouth with wild determination and an almost brutal passion, especially when her body finally betrayed her. She couldn't help but to reply that kiss with the same ferocity as if they wanted to rape each other. Yet they managed to keep their composure somehow, because the cheering of some pirates reminded them that they weren't in privacy- though none in Tortuga would have minded a public fuck; that was on every day's agenda anyway. They broke their kiss but not their embrace, staring at each other breathless.
"Sorry." Jack whispered nearly inaudibly in her ear, brushing a wisp of hair off her face.
"Ah, what else to expect from a pirate but mad pirate-love." Rowan took the bottle from the bar to have a good swig of rum and then she winced since the liquor burned like fire on her swollen lips. With a little demonic smile she passed the bottle to Jack. "Have a drink, luv."
A golden grin flashed up on his face as he grabbed the bottle with one hand and her backside with the other, pressing her hips to his erection; she shuddered with lust. Now, that's exactly how he liked women, wantonly, offering him rum. But when he drank he winced even more than Rowan had done and clenched his teeth.
"Guess I've really deserved that, aye?" he gasped.
She didn't answer because there was no reasonable answer. Instead she tried to focus her slightly oversexed mind on the things she'd come for in the first place, such as confronting Santiago with his past. With a heavy heart she let go of Jack and picked up the precious Spanish book again, suddenly feeling rather nervous.
"Best I get it over and done with." she sighed and had another mouthful of rum, ignoring her burning lips; at least it calmed her stomach.
"We get it over and done." Jack stressed and searched for his hat that had gone off on its own during their little struggle. Finally restored in all his mischievous glory he demonstratively offered Rowan his arm, quite pleased with himself.
Damned beloved fool, she thought and rolled her eyes. Now, that would really infuriate Anamaria- therefore she gratefully accepted his offer, passing the jealous bitch with her head held high. In fact, someone who tripped her wasn't worth a second thought let alone being scared of. She had to face more serious problems and one of them was a once trusted Spaniard who'd apparently failed to mention that he was more than two-hundred-and-many-more years old and therefore probably not human. A Spaniard she wanted to confront with the truth she had found out about him, hoping for a reasonable explanation but expecting… the unexpected. Somehow she was glad that Jack accompanied her, although that would perhaps raise even more problems since Santiago didn't seem to be too fond of Jack.
Lost in thoughts she headed to the old town of Cayona, to a maze of cobble-stoned alleys full of corners. Here, away from the docks area, the town actually had a certain charm since most houses were decorated with flowers. But Rowan didn't notice these things now, neither the cool shade in the narrow alleys nor the sweet scent of exotic blossoms. Her heart was beating a bit faster when she finally reached Santiago's house, the gates were wide open revealing the courtyard with its marble fountain. She took a deep breath and entered.
"Rowan, my dear girl!" Somehow Santiago managed to sound surprised to see, although she knew damned well that he had already expected her. He made an inviting gesture. "Please, join us for lunch." Then he saw Jack and the smile left his face. "What are you doing here? Haven't I told you to leave my house? You're not welcome here, ever again."
Will and Elisabeth, who were just having lunch with Santiago, felt rather uncomfortable. Though they would have liked to welcome Jack they didn't dare since Santiago had been such a nice and generous host to them so far; they simply didn't want to annoy him. Rowan had no such intention. Actually she was in the right mood for trouble. Defiantly she looked at Santiago.
"First, I'm not your dear girl, and second," She grabbed Jack's arm, helping him to decide whether to stay or leave. "you stay here."
Santiago raised a brow; apparently he'd already figured her out. "Ah- now, that's interesting. So you've enjoyed being stranded on an island with that rascal. Let me guess how you spent your time there."
"It's not the way you think, Alf, honestly. I can explain it." Jack gave the impression of a little boy caught doing something forbidden; he stared at his boots and nibbled his lips though it hurt.
"I'm really dying for that explanation."
"Oh no, darling, our conscience is clear." Rowan interrupted, addressing Jack who was a bit stunned- did she really just called him darling? Well, there might be no better way to annoy Alf completely. Anyway, Elisabeth had heard it too. Her gaze wandered to and fro between the two of them, while the expression on her face seemed to say: Ha! I knew it! But her romantic thoughts didn't stand up Rowan's direct way to face facts. "We had sex on the beach- so what? Well, some of those present may think that shocking and immoral but I really doubt that some of those present haven't done even more immoral things in their lives. What do you think is worse, Santiago? Having sex on the beach or once being called the Slayer of Granada?"
With these words she tossed the book on the table, opening it where the bookmark was so that Santiago had to face his own picture. Somehow it was spooky seeing him both alive and portrayed true to life as well, always remembering the bloody date. 1492.
"Now, if you're so keen on explanations- can you explain that to me?"
The Spaniard didn't answer. Maybe it was for the first time ever that Rowan saw him really, really shocked. He went deathly pale and his eyes stared at her horrified.
"Where did you get that from?" he whispered nearly inaudible.
"Does it matter? Would it change the bloody fucking fact that you've deceived me ever since I met you? Or have you really simply failed to mention that you're more than two-hundred years old and therefore probably not human?" Rowan asked him very outraged, impatiently running her fingers through her hair. "Damned, you better tell me right now whoyou are and what you are!"
Santiago buried his face in his hands, looking really miserable, tired and old. "I never wanted you to find it out that way. You're absolutely right my dear, I should have told you. But how, and when? When is the opportune moment to confess the horrible truth, that I am in fact 246 years old but haven't aged the last two-hundred years?"
Elisabeth drew a sharp breath, shocked but also somehow fascinated, while Will moved closer to his wife, now seeing their nice and generous host with completely different eyes. Who was the man his hospitality they had enjoyed these past days? What was he?
"Do you see what I mean, Rowan? To be honest, I never wanted to see that look on your face, suspicious, sceptical whether to trust me or not, even detesting. I never wanted you to loathe me."
"Then better tell me the damned truth." She confirmed her matter of concern by thumping on the table with her fist. "Have I been raised by a monster?"
"Well, mayhap I've been a monster once, only I didn't know it then. Still, I'm human- cut me and I'll bleed. Yet I cannot die. I've done dreadful things once and therefore I was punished, therefore I was cursed."
"Cursed? As cursed as Barbossa and his crew of miscreants?" Jack wondered curiously. "But you're not… unfeeling… like they were. Yet you're immortal, like you said, and I saw you eating and drinking; I even know how much you enjoy good food." His thoughts began to roam a little bit too far. "How about the other things? I mean, taking for granted that ye're no eunuch…"
The Turners coughed slightly embarrassed, Rowan just rolled her eyes, and Santiago shot him a scornful gaze.
"Ah, shut up Sparrow. Has none ever taught you at least a little decency?"
"As decent as Morgan?" Rowan snapped with a voice that could freeze the Caribbean. Santiago turned to face her and for a moment everyone present held his breath, not knowing what would transpire next. Jack slightly touched her arm, warning her wordless not to go too far and although he was quite sure that Alf would never harm Rowan, it was always better to be safe than sorry. But it was the Spaniard who looked away first.
"So he told you about Panama, very clever. Appealing to your sympathy so that you would ally yourselves against me, and apparently he'd succeeded." Santiago sighed, seeming more sad than annoyed. Then he looked at her again. "Well, he might have won your heart with his doubtful charm but I'm quite sure that he hasn't told you about his involvement in…"
"That was only due to my own folly." Rowan cut him short, not wanting to hear the same old stories again and again. Her eyes narrowed. "Jack has told me. How odd, he's actually told me more about him by now than you've ever done."
"Has he also told you how he treated Bill when we finally found him with the rum runners, drugged and drunk? He called him a mutineer and…"
"Wait!" Will cried out, looking desperately at Jack. "Does that mean you have seen my father alive after Barbossa had allegedly sent him to Davy Jones' locker? You knew all the time that my father's not dead and you've never told me?"
It seldom happened that the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow didn't know what to say. His hands performed an useless dance in the air, searching for the right words he would never find. After all was said and done he only wished for the ground to open and swallow him.
"Hush, whelp. Jack didn't wanna raise yer hopes for nothing since he knew not if yer father's still alive; after all, ten years is a very long time." Rowan threw in for Jack's defence, and though it was a white lie it sounded so credible that even Jack himself believed it.
"Aye, that's it." A self-satisfied smile flashed across his face. "I didn't wanna raise wrong hopes and..."
Before Jack could start spinning a yarn, Rowan focussed everybody's thoughts on the main topic again and that wasn't Bill Turner's life but Santiago's. She gazed sharply at the Spaniard. "Nice attempt to distract! Instead of finally telling me the truth, all ye do is try to slag off Jack. Damned, ye make me so sick! I really wanted to give ye a chance to explain."
"And you've got every right to hear the truth, my dear." He sighed, knowing that he would lose her forever if he wasn't honest with her now. Yet it was hard, so hard to find the right beginning. It would be much easier if he could tell Rowan the story of his lifetime in private. But Will and Elisabeth had already heard too much to send them away, and Jack- no chance at all. Probably that bloody scallywag had the same right as Rowan to hear the truth. "All right, make yourselves comfortable, whelps."
"My name is Miguel Alfonso de Santiago and I was born as second son to a Spanish nobleman back in 1446. At that time, medieval Europe was even more superstitious and irrational religious than it is now. Traditions were very important and strictly to be kept. Therefore, I knew the path my life would take from the moment I was born. The firstborn inherits the estates, the second joins the army and the third becomes a priest- that was the rule, set up generations before me. And because I was taught devoutness and obedience in the first place, I never doubted my part in society. I was a good, obedient son, so I joined the army without questioning it; instead I did my best that my father could be proud of me. A rapid rise lay before me.
Then, in 1478, Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castalia united their kingdoms by marriage to become one realm under one power and one religion, blessed by the Pope in Rome who gave then the glorious title Los Reyes Catholicos. Only the existence of the heathen Moorish kingdoms of Granada and Navarra spoiled their plans of a pure Christian state, and to me, they had every right to free Spain from those unbelievers; their crusade was unquestionable mine as well. It was a long fight though, lasting eleven years. I was already an officer when we took in Malaga in 1487 and sold nearly the whole population into slavery, yet it didn't break their resistance. They still had one last stronghold, and that was Granada, ruled by Abul Hassan Ali Abu Abdallah, called Boabdil. Nevertheless, four years later all but Granada was freed from the Moors and under Christian control again, and we besieged the city during a long cold winter. The Moors ran out of supply; there was just no day without any escape attempt yet my unit caught them all and made the heathens pay for their boldness. This got me the attention of the King Ferdinand himself. His Royal and Most Catholic Majesty granted me an audience and decorated me with the medal of bravery. I was so proud…"
Santiago paused; shaking his head lost in thoughts… a proud, naïve fool knowing nothing. Now I'm old and yet not much wiser, still egoistic. He looked at his audience. The lovely honeymoon couple, Will and Elisabeth Turner, sat on a sofa, his strong arm around her slender shoulders, and the two pirates sprawled on some pillows on the floor, sharing a bottle of rum.
"That must have been a great honour to you." Elisabeth assumed, misunderstanding the pause as a sentimental moment.
"Oh, it definitely was, then. I got decorated because I did whatever I was told, like a puppet-on-strings. I was the good son, the brave soldier and most of all the faithful Catholic, defending the Christian ideology against unbelievers, heathens. They had to convert or die- it was just that simple.
Boabdil- or el rey chicos as we called him- cut a poor figure in negotiating Granada's surrender, tired of fighting he forgot to claim any commitments of safety for his people, be it the right to keep their religion, their property or their culture. As it was an evil culture, contrary to the true faith, archbishop Jimenez immediately confiscated all books; they were the first to burn. There are lists about these successful exorcisms- today they only speak of unbelievable intolerance and led-astray ideology. They destroyed almost a million books, burned knowledge of inestimable value." He sighed, extremely sorry for all these precious knowledge going up in flames so long ago. "Then, I appreciated it, since these were heathen documents, written by unbelievers. After the fall of Granada it was my task to track down any Moor in the town, giving them the chance to convert and be baptized, or to die. That was just right by me. Who was I anyway not to fulfil my King's wish? Of course I was eager to do whatever His Most Catholic Majesty told me. I would have rather died than fallen from His grace. So we searched every house in Granada for hidden heathen rebels, and treacherously heathen rebels we found everywhere, lurking in corners only to kill good Christians. Soon we all got extremely nervous and our weapons were easy at hand. Then it happened, the incident that changed my life. We were in the caves of Sacromonte hill where the Moors preferred to hide recently, trying to escape the divine justice of the Inquisition. Suddenly I felt that someone was behind me so I didn't hesitate to turn around and shoot. I was quite shocked when I saw that I've just shot a little girl, a child- but not as shocked as the child's grandmother was. The old gypsy stared at me with awfully black eyes, blank like a mirror made in hell. Then she spoke these words I should never ever forget.
Cursed shall thou be,
murderer of me beloved.
Shall thou live and ne'er die
dwell forever upon yer unholy deed.
A child's blood shed
shall only be repaid
by unconditional love for another
then thou may be free
I must admit that I only laughed about it when I heard it first. I didn't take it serious, of course not. Instead, I told the soldiers subordinated to my command, that they should arrest that wicked old witch and submit her to the Inquisition. Like many others she burned at the stakes on Campo del Principe, and for a few years I nearly forgot that incident."
For quite a while already Rowan could hardly restrain herself, only curiosity and rum had kept her quiet yet- and Jack's talent to pass the bottle always at the opportune moment. Nevertheless, she was the powder keg and Santiago was the one who constantly gave off sparks, and it was just a matter of time until she would explode. There were only a few things she loathed more than narrow-minded, religious fanatics, and hearing with her own ears that Santiago had been one, that he had voluntarily participated in that horrifying Inquisition was really a shock to her.
"Ah, now that's were ye got the doubtful title Slayer of Granada from, aye? How many innocents have ye sent to the stake?" she snorted contemptuously. "My sympathies for the old gypsy woman, she had every right to curse ye. I only wish she'd chosen something else but immortality of all things."
"So you think immortality isn't suitable as a punishment? You're wrong with that. Actually, immortality itself is a curse. Just think about it- you're bound to live forever, you don't even age yet all others do, your friends, lovers, children. People start to wonder, start to say things behind your back, that there's something odd about you. At that time being called odd was extremely dangerous since the Inquisition ruled the land with an iron hand; arrests were on the agenda as well as denunciation, and intolerance gave birth to wrong accusations.
But I, I didn't notice anything when I came home, highly decorated for defending the Christian ideology against the heathens. For a few years I enjoyed my life as a very respected member of society; I had a decent marriage, two well-bred children and of course I went to mass with my family every Sunday. My reputation was taintless, the curse of the gypsy woman from Granada was long forgotten if ever been taken serious at all… It took me years to realize that my hair didn't turn any greyer nor fell out and that the wrinkles on my face just remained the way they were- to cut it short, I didn't seem to age yet my wife did and so did my children. Then I heard people talk behind my back, whispering that there's something odd about me. Rumours went around and suddenly even close friends avoided my gaze but secretly made the sign against evil eye when I walked by. Superstition took over control, the fear of the unknown, the inexplicable. Soon they forgot that I had been their hero once, that I had spent many years of my life fighting the unbelievers to establish a kingdom under one power and one religion. I became an outsider more and more, and my good reputation dissolved completely when some agents of the Inquisition arrived in the village I lived.
Ah, I knew the auto-da-fes in which the Inquisition judged too well, I had witnessed it too many times. Though my conscience was clear, I suddenly realized that I had no faith in the divine justice of the Inquisition if my own life is concerned. I had to disappear before they could start to ask unpleasant questions I had no answer for. Now, isn't it ironic? The heroic Slayer of Granada who had hunted down so many heathens was to become a victim himself. And then, while I ran through the night, the pursuers hard on my heels, there was that voice in my head again, pulsing in my blood. Shall thou live and ne'er die, dwell forever upon yer unholy deed. It struck me like thunder- the curse. But no, I still refused to believe it because these were unholy thoughts, blasphemy. Yet it was true. In the dark, black hours of that night I had to realize that it was true. I was cursed. I should have prayed for my soul now but I couldn't, I couldn't find the words. I had lost it all, my home, my family, my friends, and in these same dark, black hours of said night I also lost my faith."
"Well mate, it seems to me that granny had a rather sick sense of humour, aye?" Jack interjected with a certain thrill in his voice, he loved good stories and that was definitely one; yet he also had sympathy with Santiago- or Alf, as he called him.
"So it seems indeed," the Spaniard replied gloomily. "The curse made my life a misery and I was very embittered first, not willing to accept my fate. For a few years I hid in the woods and pitied myself, even tried to kill myself- which, of course, didn't work. I crept back to my home town a couple of times, saw my wife dying, my children falling ill with pestilence… they were buried but I still lived on. Then I became cynical and thought, well, if I have to life forever, I should better do it with more style. Gold became my new God, and I hoarded lots of it in dubious trades close to the edge of legality, when I heard of immense wealth that can be found in the Spanish colonies. Now, having already bought a new name and identity I decided to try my luck there, so I sailed to the West Indies. Maybe that journey finally opened my eyes. I saw beautiful islands but also as much tragedy. The Spaniards had 'christianised' the New World with the same methods they'd conquered Granada, with sword and oppression, slaying the Tainos that lived there like they'd slain the Moors. Actually it had even been the wealth of Granada that got them to the West Indies since King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had granted Columbus an audience shortly after they had taken in the town; they received him in the Alhambra and graciously agreed to pay his voyage to India. So, blood money was used for more bloodshed, and all the gold ever to be gained there would also be tainted with blood. Maybe for the first time ever my conscience stirred, my real conscience and not the one I was taught. Instead of exploiting the natives I lived with them for a while. The Tainos were gentle people, peaceful and friendly- and contrary to official statements no animals. From them I learned a lot about the nature and for the time I lived with them I was nearly at peace with myself; nevertheless I couldn't delay the decline of their culture. They were decimated, sold into slavery, and I, I left the West Indies with the same unrest that drove me there. Like a passenger of time I travelled the world for some decades, and I learned. Knowledge became my newest drug. I studied at the most famous universities of this time, learned to speak many different tongues, but all the knowledge I achieved couldn't free me of my curse. Then I discovered forbidden arts, the art of magic. Impatient, eager to learn and still rather cynical I almost made my biggest mistake- I nearly chose the dark side. Fortunately, someone prevented me from going that path; it was a blind Siamese woman with the gift to look deep into the soul of a man. She knew immediately who I was and what I was- a doomed man of 151 years who still hasn't found his own way. So she took me by the hand and guided me, a blind woman made me see."
"You fell in love with her?" Elisabeth asked, so innocent in her romantic ideals that Santiago's face cheered up for a second. None else but her would have dared to ask this question and nevertheless he didn't answer at once, instead he sighed sadly.
"I should have known better but I had no chance. My marriage with Elena had been arranged and though I had grown quite fond of her over the years, I had never been in love before I met Aunchun. She was as gentle as she was wise, always at peace with herself and the rest of the world. I owe her so much. The years we had are still my most precious ones and when she died it nearly broke my heart, although I knew from the start that this would happen one day."
"My dearest sympathies, Don Miguel. This is quite tragic." Elisabeth shuddered at the very thought that she might lose her beloved Will one day, and even Rowan started to feel sorry with the Spaniard especially since he wasn't just fishing for sympathy.
"Tragic? Well, maybe it is, but on the other hand that's just the way I've deserved it. To love and to lose, like the gypsy woman had lost her beloved granddaughter. Yet Aunchun died of age and wasn't snatched from this life by force." Santiago paused, lost in thoughts for a moment. He'd rather avoided talking about Aunchun since it still hurts too much, even after all these years. Yet he had to go through that pain again, speaking out her name aloud for the first time in many decades if he ever wanted to tell the whole truth. She had been the turning point in his so far miserable life; she turned his path from darkness to light, she encouraged him to chose the harder way when it came down to magical studies and she also encouraged him to face that curse, to search the gypsies which had invented it…
"So I returned to Granada, to the place where all had started- the Sacromonte hill with its cave dwellings. Of course the old woman herself was long dead, burned at the stakes of the Inquisition, but some of her tribe were still living there. I told them my matter of concern and they politely heard me out. An old man smiled at me. Señor, ye know all ye need to know, he said with a toothless grin, ye're a magician, si? Use yer own talents, don't bother us. Our knowledge of magic had died with Akshaya, the indestructible.
Do you mean only she could undo the curse? I gasped, feeling trapped in a dead end street once again. The old man giggled. The answer is in yerself, Señor.
I wasn't wiser than before but he had given me a clue. I had to continue my studies of magic to get more powerful as a magician because then I might be able lift the curse on my own. Therefore I had to deal with the history and origin of that gypsy tribe. Well, the Spanish word for gypsy, gitano, means 'Egyptian' so I travelled to Egypt. There I've found out that they came from even farther away and were actually of Hindu origin, from India."
"Ah, that's why we've been to India that often." Rowan interrupted frowning. "Now I understand yer fascination for old Sanskrit documents- ye were looking for a way to get rid of that curse. Well, ye should've told me."
"I've made a lot of mistakes in my life and that surely is one of them. But when should I have told you? Straight when we met for the first time and you threatened to chop off my fingers and eat them? Would you've felt better knowing that I'm a cursed man and a mighty magician?"
"She threatened to chop off yer fingers 'n eat 'em?" Jack gasped surprised, hugging Rowan tightly. "Now that's what I call a hellcat! I only kicked him on the shin."
Santiago rolled his eyes in pretended desperation. Though he still had some problems to accept that his dear girl had fallen in love with a scallywag like Jack Sparrow, somewhere deep down in his heart he secretly had to admit that they were a pretty couple- if you would ever call two typical pirates a pretty couple. But, after all is said and done you always get what you deserve.
"So, what else did ye do with yer life before ye decided to interfere in ours?" Rowan asked cheerfully snuggled in Jack's arms. Then, suddenly, a thought popped up in her head and that was a rather disturbing one; her eyes narrowed. "Hey, why did ye came to the West Indies anyway when ye're supposed to be busy in India? And don't tell me ye've mistaken it like Columbus."
She tried to free herself from Jack's embrace while he tried to prevent her from whatever she was about to do. After all, Alf has just said that he was a mighty magician. Now, that was fascinating, impressive and scaring at the same time- not that Captain Jack Sparrow was easily scared, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. "Hush luv, don't do anything stupid, aye?"
Infuriated she elbowed his ribs before she stared at Santiago, a bitter sound in her voice. "A child's blood shed shall only be repaid by unconditional love for another- is it that? Bloody bastard, 'n I've almost felt sorry for ye! Ye never gave a fuckin' damn 'bout me or Jack, 't was never sympathy for any of us street urchins but mere egoism. Shame on ye! Ye gathered orphans like us just because of yer curse, because ye need the love of a child to be redeemed."
"Dear, you got it all wrong. It was never my intention to hurt your feelings." Santiago turned almost grey with shock and he buried his face in his hands. Somehow she was right- he had started his engagement with orphan kids just because of his curse, but soon he really cared for these kids; they cheered up his gloomy soul as only Aunchun had done, especially Rowan... and Jack. However, it was amazing how quick she'd figured out that the key to the curse lay in the words itself since it had taken him years to comprehend.
"But ye did!" She snapped. "Ye made me believe that ye cared for me, instead ye only cared for yerself. Ha, but I won't be the one who grants ye redemption!"
"Sht, calm down. Ye don't have to love him, savvy? Actually the curse says by unconditional love for another child, so if I got it right it's enough that he loves you. If he doesn't…" Jack shrugged carelessly. "… well, his problem. But I guess we could all need a drink now, aye?"
The Spaniard agreed to that and got on his feet a bit too eagerly, apparently he was keen to leave the room for a while. Thoughts were whirling through his head, thoroughly shaken up by telling the story of his life for the first time, and he needed to sort them out before he could look Rowan in the eyes again. But would it ever be the same? He doubted it. Ah, it would be so easy if he could put all the blame on Jack, pretending that it was only Sparrow's doing which influenced her- yet it wasn't that easy and it wasn't Jack to blame just for once. No, it was all his own fault.
An uncomfortable silence followed Santiago's departure. Elisabeth tried to start some small talk but failed because her husband preferred to spoil it. While she wanted to hear more about island-romance, he just stared wordlessly and rather unfriendly at Jack until the pirate sighed.
"Look, whelp, Rowan was right- at least somehow. I really didn't know yer father is still alive before she said so, which means I didn't knew it when I met ye, savvy? And… um, when I saw him after the mutiny I was not- well, let's say, I didn't have all me wits about me. I was a bit indisposed then and tended to forget things…"
"I guess Jack wants to say that he was too pissed to remember." Rowan interjected helpfully.
"Thanks luv, ye're too kind." Jack pulled a face, theatrically rolling his eyes. "Don't listen to her, whelp, she's exaggerating. Imagine it rather like…" Now his hands were in the air, performing a weird and somehow hypnotising dance. "… like a door. Aye, like a door that slammed shut 'n I've just misplaced the keys."
Rowan couldn't help but laugh about Jack's way of saying sorry. However, Will wasn't that amused.
"A door. Slammed shut. Misplaced the keys. Damned, we're talking about my father, Jack! There are so many things I wanna know about him except that he was a good pirate- for instance, why did he never came to warn me, to reassure himself that I'm alive and well after he had sent that bloody medallion to me?"
Abruptly Rowan stopped laughing and got serious. "Well, now I'm the one to blame. Because I was injured at that time our voyage to England was delayed, and when we finally arrived there we had to find out that yer mother had died. First, there was no trace of yer whereabouts so we spent months searching the whole damned cold country for ye until we found yer name on a passenger's list of a ship that had long ago left for the Caribbean but never arrived there- ye know what happened. Bill thought ye're dead. Then we went to Asia and he chose to chase the dragon." "Dragon?" Will frowned. "You're not gonna tell me that my father tried to hunt dragons, are you?"
Rowan and Jack exchanged glances before they burst out into laughter, picturing Bill Turner on the hunt in their mind's eye. Will didn't understand what was going on at all; he just thought that they were both mad and that there's nothing worse than two mad pirates in love.
Everyone stiffened a bit when Santiago returned and the laughter died. The Turners suddenly felt a bit ill-a-ease in his presence, because it was one thing to fight against undead pirates and another one to drink a glass of wine with a 246 years old cursed magician. They didn't know which was weirder. Also, they would have liked to change the subject to brighter sides of life but it only got more gloomy- and once again it started with a book.
That book looked and even smelled really ancient, moreover it had an almost dangerously mysterious aura. The Spaniard placed it on the table and asked Rowan to have a look at it.
"Ah, Sanskrit?" She shrugged with feigned disinterest. "Ye know I can't read it."
"The balance of the transcendental powers of the universe is in total chaos, so please forget your animosity towards me for a moment. This is a serious matter. I need to know if that is the chalice you saw in Port Royal." He pointed at a picture and though Rowan got only half of what he had said she throw a glance at it- and froze. Then she nodded scarcely visible. The Spaniard beckoned the others over to him. "Has anyone of you seen this before?"
"That's a golden wine-mug." Jack assumed, nuzzling Rowan's hair. "I never cared much about wine before I met ye, luv."
Santiago shot him a look that could kill and the pirate decided it was wiser to step back a bit, letting go of her hair. "Sparrow, keep your dirty fingers away from her and your dirty thoughts to yourself. I would also appreciate it very much if you just stay silent unless you have something significant to say. Got it?"
Oh no it starts again, Rowan thought and felt really pissed off. But before she could say something offending, Will Turner surprised them all.
"Well, that looks somehow familiar to me…" he mumbled, chewing at his lower lip in concentration. Then he turned around to gaze at Jack. "Do you remember the day we left the Isla de Muerta?"
"Mate, how could I forget that? That was the day the Redcoats almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow."
"You took some treasures along from that cave."
"Aye. I had a nice crown- I wonder if Norrington wears it sometimes..."
"What?" Rowan yelled. Treasures. Isla de Muerta. Norrington. Adding one and one, and the result was a perfect mess.
"I wonder if Norrington wears it sometimes. You know, he seemed so keen to snatch the crown away from me as soon as we were aboard the Dauntless ..."
"Sparrow! I don't blame you for being obsessed with treasures, after all you're a pirate. But please, tell me what else you've taken along from the Isla de Muerta. Did you take a golden wine-mug as well?" Santiago seemed rather agitated; he grabbed Jack's shoulders and gave him a good shaking. "Remember, lad. This really is of significant importance."
It wasn't easy to remember something when you've just been called lad, especially when you're an infamous pirate captain who always liked to remind people of his title, and he attached significant importance to be called Captain. Nevertheless he didn't dare to correct Alf since Alf was a 246 year old magician.
It was Will who answered instead. "In fact there was a vessel, name it wine-mug or chalice, and it was golden. I wondered why Jack had chosen that of all things because it was rather plain, nothing spectacular; there were more precious things in the caves of Isla de Muerta."
"Dunno either. I already carried as much as I could but… well, somehow it begged me to be taken along and I just couldn't reject. But actually I didn't even like it." Jack confessed, now remembering clearly. He smirked because of the memory. "Yet the Commodore did. He seemed quite fascinated 'bout that plain thing- ah, I always knew he has a plain taste. Nothing against you dear Elisabeth… Alf, ye're okay?"
The Spaniard had turned deadly pale again; he nodded and shook his head all at the same time. "Aye. I mean no. I've already feared- expected- that the chalice is from Isla de Muerta and yet I hoped that it wouldn't prove to be true."
"Don't talk in riddles, Santiago. What is that chalice?" Rowan impatiently pressed for an answer. Since she had seen it for the first time she wanted to know, needed to know.
"It's the Chalice of Doom."
All fell silent. These words had already been enough to cause an eerie atmosphere and send shivers down the spine; everyone felt intimidated- everyone but Captain Jack Sparrow.
"Ah, the Chalice of Doom, well well. What is it good for?" he asked matter-of-factly.
"There's nothing good about it at all. That chalice is an old and very evil vessel. A skilled black magician can use it to enslave souls, and apparently he has already done so with Commodore Norrington. But the chalice can hold much more than one soul, in fact it can hold many thousands, doomed to be sacrificed to an evil Goddess, the personification of utter darkness, and destruction. Nevertheless, you need a statue of that Goddess to sacrifice these captured souls to her and set her free, free to terrorize the world with a cacophony of calamity, deceit, decay, disease, death and perversion."
No. Please no. Not her again! Rowan gasped for breath. The blood rushed to her head, throbbed heavily in her temples like a drum and all other sounds faded to oblivion. She felt numb, like she had been wrapped in layers of cotton wool. From a very far distance she heard someone asking the name of that goddess- it could have been Jack's voice- but she already knew the answer long before Santiago spoke it out aloud.
"Nirrti."
Nirrti. Nirrti. Nirrti, it echoed in her head.
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