The deck of the ship that Jack Sparrow was standing on, the deck of the Black Pearl, was usually the color of the very trees it was made from, presumably the like which could be found in the midst of the Caribbean. Unlike most ships, if you looked closely at this particular one, you could see each imperfection. These tiny flaws; the plank on the far left going against the grain, or the one near the helm with the knobbly side up, or the section in the bowsprit where the net didn't quite meet up to the bow planking, seemed to tell you all the stories the ship had to tell, if you were willing to listen. It might tell you how when building the Black Pearl, the man whose job it had been to line up the planks in the proper order to be nailed down, had a wife who was delivering their first child, a healthy baby boy, on the day the shipbuilders were piecing together the far left side and was therefore distracted by other matters. It might tell you that when the woodcutters in the Caribbean were chopping the wood for the Pearl, a certain lumberman had been blinded in one eye the day before in a fistfight and could not detect the lumpiness of the wood he was chopping. Or, it just may tell you the distinctly longer and more complex tale of the bowsprit netting, which up until one year before this moment, had been (along with the rest of the ship) in possession of a truly evil and sinister man by the name of Barbossa, and how it had come to be ripped and then poorly matched again in a madcap battle along the Caribbean shoals. The last was what Jack Sparrow was thinking about this quiet morning; that, and that the deck which was usually colored brown was at the moment colored red, reflecting a dangerous sky for sailing. One year ago today his adventure had ended, and though he regained ownership of the Pearl, he was forced to leave two people he would now begrudgingly call his friends.

All day Jack tried to ignore the blood colored sky he had looked out on in the early morning. He had a delightfully disgusting breakfast of rum- soaked biscuits( it killed the maggots inside) and gruel that looked, tasted, and probably was left over from the days before Barbossa's captainship. He then lost eight hands of blind man's poker to Mr. Cotton's parrot before slamming down his cards and taking a stroll on middeck. After yelling out a few orders he was feeling better, but the feeling of discontent at the red sky formed a knot like a bullet in his gut. He tried once more to ignore it. Still, as it never hurt to be prepared, Jack prepared his ship for a storm, securing the rigging, pulling in the guns, dropping the flags (with the air and water as still as they were there was to be little progress that day anyway). Evening was falling as Jack sat down to supper in the galley with Anamaria, with whom he would later stargaze in the birds-nest, making up their own constellations and telling the myths behind them, one of their favorite evening activities. At least that was the plan. What actually happened was, as the crew below was sitting down to supper, Jack was still on deck lowering the flags. As he neatly pulled them down and folded them, a thin shaft of moonlight landed on his arm. His arm which, to Jack's immense surprise, was no longer covered in the muscle, sinew, and tanned skin he had grown so accustomed to, but dry white bone.

"That's not supposed to happen," he muttered aloud.

"Surprised, are we, Jack?" came a menacing drawl from behind him. Jack knew that drawl all too well. He whipped around and deftly drew his sword in defense.

"You're meant to be dead. How ever did you wriggle out of that one?" he cried.

Barbossa shook his head, matted gray hair swinging lifelessly at the sides of his face.

"Jack..." Jack hated when his ex-first mate said his name that way, as if stretching it to see how far it would go without breaking: Jaaaaaaaaaaaaack. "Jack," he repeated. "It was all thanks to Jack, really..."

How could I possibly have messed up killing someone? Jack thought. And why is he speaking to me as if I'm not here?

"The monkey Jack..." Barbossa continued.

Oh. Well.

"He managed to snatch a coin from the chest the day you so kindly ended that curse. And by kindly I mean a mistake for which you shall pay!" he spat.

"...And why haven't I been able to see it until now?" Jack asked, frowning as he wiped spittle from his cheek.

"Trick of the curse. The gods' anger has been growing. Thing is, we now need everyone's blood in that chest from a year before it ended, along with a bit of their soul," Barbossa said cheerily.

"What are you so pleased about?" asked Jack cautiously.

"Because when the curse ends this time, a great reward is given to the Godkeeper, in this case Jack- the monkey Jack. Since he will have no use for it, it'll be passed on to me."

"What's the reward?"

"Eternal life, youth, and riches beyond imagination."

"The gods aren't a creative bunch, are they?" Jack voiced.

"Maybe not," Barbossa leered, "But I'll take it over your fate."

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"I burn your ship," Barbossa sang remorselessly.

"That's the best they could come up with?" Jack mused. "And what if I just kill you now?" Jack brandished his sword lazily in the direction of Barbossa's heart.

"Jack..." Barbossa looked smug now. "Remember when I told you that the gods' anger was growing? Do you know what it's grown into?" he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet like a child with a naughty secret.

"Enlighten me," Jack growled.

"Have you ever heard of...Elementals?"

Jack dropped his sword with a clang he didn't seem to notice and gulped. "I thought they didn't exist," he whispered.

"They do; Earth, Air, Fire..."

"...and Water." Jack finished. "I can't believe it. And...the tasks they set for the Disturbers of Nature?"

"Nigh impossible, just like the stories."

"And the punishments?" Jack asked gravely.

"Yes. Eternal damnation, the loss of your soul, watching everyone you know die in agony. And I'll burn your ship." Barbossa added.

Jack winced. "How do we stop it?"

"Well for a start, we'll need those young ones from a year ago. And a bit of their soul, but we'll worry about that later."

"So that means Port Royal," said Jack slowly. "We'll set the bearings now. Er- care for a drink?"