Liberty,Equality,Fraternity - by Cunien


Thanks for your reviews, you lovely lovely people you! A thanks section is sitting smack band at the end of this chappy!

Also, please tell me if you think that Megan is too snobby and annoying to be even remotely likeable. I don't mind her, but then, I know things about her that you don't. And she's not meant to be horrible.....or are you all just jealous because Jack's besotted with her???? Come on, own up!

Please forgive obvious typos and mistakes - I'm not the most observant person.

Warnings: As a series - Mild swearing, not so mild racism and slavery. Also violence and torture, mostly aimed at Jack - Don't worry your pretty little head about it - Jack doesn't.

Also, there is some religious stuff in here - just to be clear on the subject before I get the flames of reviews and the flames of hell - the views expressed in this fic are Jack's. Not mine. Please don't take offence, because that is the last thing that I want, really. It's just a bit of fun.

Chapter 9- The Voodoo do do what you don't dare to do.

Sleep is such a wonderful thing, ain't it? Gives your body and your mind a little time to rest, and I need not say that as Jack Sparrow, this is a saving grace.
When you're a person such as myself, you find you need a lot of sleep, but never have the time or the opportunity to do so. Years of being at a ship's helm gives you a sort of alternative, where you can let certain bits of your mind go and still have enough control to actually sail. Mind you, if you've done it as long as I have you can do it in your sleep anyway.

But the sleep I indulged in that day was the deepest, most complete sleep I think I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. There's nothing like a good bit of physical and mental abuse to really tire you out.

When I woke up, Sarah and baby Anne were back. I watched as the tall African woman unwrapped the large sling that held her baby bound to her chest. She put Anne on a blanket on the ground and began unpacking a basket of vegetables.

We have a market tomorrow, on sunday. We barter for meat with the vegetables we grow. she said without looking up.

Oh. That's nice. says I.

Yes it is. You'll be eating the meat tomorrow without having to lift a finger for it. she said, but her eyes twinkled at me, and she smiled. No - we give everything freely.
Sarah stopped and looked solemnly at me. I think you might be the one that will
redeem us.

asks I, a little worried about where this conversation was going.

Or you'll die. she said, going back to work, and this time she seemed completely serious. I swallowed, audibly I think.

I offered, after a while. Jack Sparrow always comes out on top. I said with a smile, but somehow it didn't convince me as much as it did when I was telling it to Megan. S'amazing how you can go to sleep with the world one way and wake with it completely different.

Sarah set to work lighting a fire, and I tried to help, honestly, but she refused my services. Thank God. I don't think I really could have lifted a finger then, even if I'd wanted to.

So I sat listening to the fire crackling and popping, and Sarah quietly filling the large cast iron cooking pot with I don't know what. Smelt nice though.

Now, Gabriel and I must have had one thing in common at least - we weren't so good with the days of the week. He'd said I could go back to work tomorrow, but tomorrow was sunday, and the day of rest. Mind you, I had never really observed this rule before, but I wasn't one to complain when it meant another day to recuperate. Wasn't my fault that Gabriel didn't take enough notice to know that Sunday was the slave's God-given day off.

Seemed a bit strange to me, that. I mean, it certainly wasn't their God that was giving anything.

Anyway, Sarah gets up and takes the pot off the fire, and moves it to the side like, so it simmers gently. I know she wants to wait for her husband to come home before we eat, and I know that won't be long now, but by God I'm hungry!
So I trys out my starving puppy dog eyes and, of course, she can't resist.

With a sigh and a grumble she dished out a bowl of the stuff, whatever it was, and plonked it in my lap, before withdrawing to watch me eat. If that's what you can call it. I don't thick it touched the insides of my mouth on it's way down.

Baby Anne began to whimper, as babies are wont to do, and her mother picked her up and started to rock her in her arm, which quietened her down, thank God.

Nathan and I have been slaves for a very long time. We had a daughter, at home. She died on the way over.

I choked on the last mouthful of....whatever it was, unsure of where this conversation had come from, and worse, what part I was expected to play.

How old was she? I asked, rather lamely. I don't do serious conversations like this often.

Sarah said. In Africa, my husband was proud and brave. But one of his friends betrayed us. They gave him gold and the promise of freedom if he betrayed the Olinka. So he did. She sighed. Nathan was very angry, for a long time. At the Gods. At a friend who sold us all to the Devil.

What happened? I asked, genuinely now, because Nathan didn't seem like an angry man at all. And I'd know, cause I've seen my fair share. Seem to follow me around actually.

Chenai died, and he stopped being angry. Sarah answered, The people looked to him to lead, so he said, Accept your Christian names. Leave behind your old life. Work hard, learn english, do as our Masters say'.

Her hands were trembling so she lay her baby down gently on the ground.

He has forgotten what it is to be Olinka.

Sarah looked at me and her eyes sparked with pride and anger. My baby is not called Anne. Her name is Sadif. Her grandmother's name. She is Olinka. She will not forget.

I said, quietly. I had started to see something in Sarah that I had not seen in a person for quite some time. Something I knew like the back of my hand, because I had it by the barrel-full: stubbornness. Indomitable, unconquerable, bloody-minded and pigheaded.

For so long on this island, all I'd seen was Gabriel and his bastard in arms' confidence and the slaves rolling over without a fight. It wasn't just because the odds were against them. No, it was more than that. It was like they'd left themselves somewhere between the Spanish Main and Africa, somewhere in the stinking, fetid holds of the slave ships. They were nothing but empty shells of people.

But Sarah - Sarah was alive. And more than that, she was angry. I thoroughly approved.

And something hatched out inside me, something living, like Sarah's fury. It was
a shinier and newer version of a thing that been dying this past while, but had been in me since I was a little'un: hope. Clear and shining it was, singing in me. I had no clue what I was going to do with it, but it was there, waiting for the opportune moment to spring forth and crush Gabriel like an ant.

I could've kissed Sarah, but my legs declined to involve themselves in madness like getting up and walking the distance between us. I grinned crookedly instead.

My name's Jack Sparrow. I said, chuckling to myself. But you can call me The Saviour'.

Sarah looked at me as if I had gone quite mad, but was too insignificant to worry too much about.

Later that night Nathan came home, but I barely noticed him through my half closed eyes. I slept like the dead. Again.

And then, all too soon, morning had come. The sun, cruel strumpet that she is, had risen far too early for my liking.

I screwed up my eyes, and Nathan's voice floated to me from somewhere above, like the voice of God.

I mumbled. My mouth felt like it had been packed with sand.

It's market today. You don't have to come. a blurry Nathan hovering above me said.

says I, trying to get up. I scrubbed furiously at my eyes, trying to forcefully evict the sleep hiding there. I knew if I didn't get up now I wouldn't ever again. Nathan nodded, and offered a hand to help me up, quietly, as though he knew that my pride was already considerably tarnished by recent events. I accepted it gratefully.

But first it's Church. he said, as we walked through the village.
Bloody hell! I yelped, stopping in my tracks, If you'd told me that I wouldn't have bothered getting out of bed!

Nathan kept walking, but I could see his face lift and crinkle as he smiled.
That's why I didn't tell you.

Now, I have nothing but respect for the old man upstairs, honest. Especially since he sends such lovely angels my way. But the thing is, I'd really rather leave all that stuff to the good people - know what I mean?

After all, a ship is my church. Behind the wheel I'm in my pulpit - the crew are my congregation and the wind in the sails is God's very breath.

It's here I feel it. The closeness to...something. What that something is I've not quite determined yet, but don't worry - I intend to.

Unlike the other buildings in the village, the church was a properly built wooden thing, with a bell tower and real glass windows. It looked rather out of place here.
It was big, but not big enough to accommodate the entire population of slaves on the plantation. I asked Nathan, and he explained that there were many slave villages on the plantation. Each would have a given time to attend church on a sunday, and a given time at the market. It all seemed so well organised that it made me feel a bit queasy. Like these people were cattle to be herded from one place to the next.

Most of the Africans were inside when we walked through the church doors into the cool interior. It was already bleeding hot outside, and I, of course, didn't have my hat.

For a few blissful hours, I had forgotten about Dawit. Nathan had treated me no differently, and so I was taken aback by the sudden silence that descended on the congregation as I walked inside. It stopped me in my tracks.

Eyes turned to look at me - eyes that were filled with something I couldn't place. It wasn't the hate and anger that I'd expected, but a cold sort of distance. Some looked at Nathan, walking beside me, and tutted.

Sarah brushed past us and marched, baby in arms and head held high, to a bench right in the middle of the throng of hushed slaves. If I'd felt a bit more cheerful I would have smiled at the way she made everyone in the row get up to let her pass, having chosen an empty spot in the middle of a packed pew.

Once we were all settled in, and conversation had crept back among the people, I noticed two things: one, the pews at the front of the church were bare of people; and two, the slaves were not speaking english.

Sarah struck up a lively conversation with the woman sitting next to her, the strange African language slipping casually through her lips. It sounded...right, somehow. Nathan glared at her, but she either didn't notice or care. When the woman talking to Sarah asked him something, he replied in english, which, this time, made his wife glare.

Before long the big wooden doors creaked mournfully, and a small man hurried through.

He was the sort of thin, transparent man that is often invisible, with sallow skin that looked as though he'd never seen the Great Outdoors in his life, and greasy tufts of hair that had been combed back thinly.

His watery eyes darted around nervously as he scurried down the aisle, in between the ranks of African's who carried on speaking, louder than before. Nathan was the only one who seemed to pay any attention to the small pale man. He straightened up, stopped speaking and looked intently forwards. I felt a flush of anger towards him.

At first, I thought the Priest had a strange sort of lolloping gait - see, every few steps he stumbles and skips a little. But then, I raise myself up a little, to see over the heads of the congregation, and see the many casual legs stuck out into the aisle, tripping the little man as he tries desperately to get to the other side. I chuckled, even though I know it was cruel, and Sarah grinned at me.

And that's when I really felt it - the sort of rebelliousness that I hadn't sensed in the slaves before. In the fields they dutifully did their work, ever threatened by the whips of the Overseers. But they'd made a mistake: they'd given them this day, a day to be something other than a slave, and the Africans weren't taking it for granted.

The heckling started as the Priest reached the pulpit, the congregation turning on mass as though they had only just noticed this little fly amongst them.

I see your black robes Preacher - you want to be one of us?? shouted a voice from my left somewhere. Sarah joined the loud laughing, but Nathan remained quiet.

Oh, God has made all men equal - don't you know?! called another, casual voice as if in reply.

That's what I tried to tell one of the Overseers, but his whip did not agree!

What does your bible say Preacher? Talk to us with the voice of God! laughed someone.

Yes, tell it to my child. said Sarah, standing and lifting her baby above the crowd.

She smiled evilly at the Preacher. Nathan tried desperately to pull her back down.

muttered the Priest, his voice lost amidst the sound of the Africans. I think we shall turn to the Old Testament today, chapter.. he tried bravely, hands shaking as he turned the pages of his bible.

Tell my baby what God has set for her! Tell her of his mercy and compassion!
She cried.

Nathan stood up and glared at Sarah. Sit down! he said, his voice shaking with rage.

she said blankly, noting his anger, So everything in you has not died after all. Her voice was pitched so only he and I could hear.

Don't worry husband! God's love has filled me! she shouted. She handed her baby to Nathan, and began to jiggle about as though she were possessed, laughing hysterically. The jiggle turned into a dance, a clearly African dance, which spread like wildfire amongst the congregation. They whooped and wheezed with laughter as the crowd transformed into a sea of dancing, until only Nathan and I stood still. Baby Anne wiggled as though joining in.

The poor Priest looked as though he were going to be sick.

But as sudden as it had started, the dancing stopped, and all eyes turned towards the front of the church, and the crucifix, with a great wooden Jesus carved into an eternal suffering by a pious hand.

They weren't looking at the cross, but something behind it. A person was standing there, watching. A jolt passed through me as I realised the head, it's eyes staring unblinkingly at the Priest, was a skull. A skeleton, deathly pale, stood, almost glowing in the gloom of the back of the church.

The Africans fell silent, but did not sit, while the quaking Priest followed their gaze and let out a terrified scream. He yanked open the pulpit door and fairly tumbled down the steps, but with the African's blocking the way, there was nowhere to run.

Get behind me, oh Satan..! he gabbled hysterically, fumbling for the gold crucifix around his neck. The skeleton laughed - a deep, booming sound - and stepped out from behind the altar. I realised then, that it was a man, naked to the waist, white bones painted on his dark skin and his mouth cracked wide in grinning imitation of a skull. He wore a rough loincloth and many beaded necklaces, his hair scraped back with chalky paste. In his left hand was a skull, and his right a wicked looking blade.

The Africans looked at him intently, as though this sort of thing was completely normal. I'll be honest - I'd been pretty scared when he was a skeleton, but now it was a man I was still a bit on edge. I felt a flush of pity for the gibbering Priest, who thought he was face to face with Lucifer.

But who ever heard of walking skeletons, eh?

The Skeleton Man began to chant in a strange language, his eyes wide and staring at the Priest. He took a lurching step forward, and then another, spitting out the words and gesticulating wildly with the knife and the skull. His beads rattled menacingly around his neck, wrists and ankles.

The congregation began to chant too, the same spitting inflection on certain words, and hushed menace on others. Nathan was holding Anne and staring stock still, powerless. Sarah's eyes were fixed on the Skeleton Man.

The chanting grew louder.
The Priest fell to the floor with a sob.
The door's banged open, and, as if on cue, the church fell silent.

Gabriel's thugs stood in the door, scanning the crowd. Looking for me, I knew.
I whipped round, but the Skeleton Man had disappeared into thin air, melted into the gloomy shadows like so much smoke.

TBC......

Apologies for the delay in this chapter - I was wooed by an old flame, Band of Brothers', and so have dreamt of nothing but lovely brave little soldier boys for quite some time, with not a thought to spare for poor old Cap'n Jack. But here I am, back on track, hopefully.

Thanks to:

FalconWing - Lucky you, being a Kiwi! We went pretty much everywhere, in general, other than the east coast of the North Island and the north east coast of South Island. Here's most of the places we visited: Auckland, Paihia, Cape Reinga, Whitianga, Coromandel peninsula, Hamilton, Matamata, Rotorua, Waitomo, Taupo, Palmerston North, Wellington -THEN - Nelson, Greymouth, Mahinapua, Franz Josef, Wanaka, Queenstown, Glenorhy, Dunedin, Riverton, Te Anau, Milford Sound, Christchurch!, and it took us over 10 weeks, and it was bleedin' mindblowing! Where abouts are you from?

Cal- thanks for the ever faithful review! I'm so glad you're still willing to invest some time on this little fic! About Megan - I hope everyone doesn't end up hating her, as I have grand designs for her see, and for them to be believable she has to be nice! I know she's a bit snobby at the moment - she's a bit Anamaria in the sense that she can see straight through Jack, but unlike Ana, Megan is quite wealthy and of quite high standing in society, so for her to even speak to Jack is quite an achievement! Don't worry, she' ll get over her snobbery soon!

BlackJackSilver - Haha! Viva la revolucion! That's the spirit!

Jaina Kenobi - Cool! Where in Europe are you?

Otherhawk - Glad you think Megan's okay - she'll feature a bit more in this fic soon....oh, I have great things in store for her, great things.

Amber and Wellduh - thanks for the encourgement! Yay!