The sea salt made the black fade from her hair, but the constant, throbbing guilt was yet to leave her body. No matter how many hours she spent tiring herself, her mind did not want to stray from the burning sensation in the pit of her stomach.
At night sleep would slide from in between her fingers. She would have gone up to the deck, but after having to drag a drunk and unconscious captain up a thin flight of stairs, she had had enough of fresh air.
They had left Syracuse a week ago, but she could still feel Proteus's dark eyes boring holes into her skull. She could imagine Safiyah gasp in horror once she found out she had been sharing cups of tea and gossip with a traitor. Dolores's eyes would widen, her pupils dilating unbelieving that one of 'her girls' was able to do such a thing.
Their faces plagued her dreams. One by one they stood in front of her silently, the hate in their eyes saying more than their words ever could. They were joined by those who had already been haunting her for months.
Jonathan had been oblivious to this change in her. He had been too taken with having his friend back to notice. Seeing how he glowed with excitement made her thankful for his unawareness. She felt protective over Jonathan. Her guilt was her burden to carry, as were all her other problems. She would not lay it on his thin shoulders. He was too young for that, his dark eyes too bright, he was too good.
So the sparring lessons continued and she continued to be no better than mediocre. In the meantime he introduced her to a completely new kind of diversion: practical jokes. Gunpowder replaced with flour, oil slick steps and breakfast porridge filled shoes were only a few of the little pranks they pulled on the pirates. Jonathan did not know, but he was making the weight in her chest feel lighter with his ingenuity.
That day the usually sunny sky was cast over with bright, fluffy, white clouds. The Captain stood by the steering wheel as he called for their attention. The contrast between him and the blue expanse above them made it seem as if someone had taken scissors to the sky and cut out his silhouette.
The crew gathered beneath his gaping black hole and listened as they heard him say the words they had both long awaited and feared for years.
Belle had not been raised on the seas yet tales of the unknown had been whispered into her ears as she grew up. The unnameable things that happened to whoever dared to enter the realm beyond the abyss were used as threats, meant to keep children from going astray.
When Hook spoke the words she looked around her, searching for a sympathising pair of eyes, someone else who was as incredulous as she was. But no. She stood alone,mouth agape, in a sea of fistpumps and euphoria.
She felt his ringing words shake through her bones.
"We are going to do what no man has ever done and been able to live to tell the tale! To the very edge of the realms. To the great abyss itself: The End Of The World!"
She wanted to protest, to tell the Captain this was a horrible mistake, that there were reasons people did not return. But she did not. She felt nailed into place as she thought about the last time she had heard those words.
"I would go to The End Of The World itself for you, Isa. You know that right?"
Hook was glad to see that his men had taken well to the news of their destination. He knew they were piece by piece loyal to a fault. Even the dodgier ones such as Clark would walk through flames if Hook was to ask them.
The men had given him centuries of tortured living and comradeship. They had all sworn they would follow him wherever he would lead. Now the time had come for them to prove themselves.
A part of him felt bad for dragging his men down the abyss with him, but they had given themselves to him, to the Jolly Roger decades ago. They had sailed the roughest of oceans and stole from the biggest merchants. He would not describe them as family. They were something else entirely. Something bigger than blood.
Hook thought Clay had duped him with a fake map, for the parchment did not reveal any directions as to how to get to Eris's hiding place. But the morning after leaving Syracuse the map had changed. At first Hook had blamed the throbbing headache the rum had given him for the changes, but as cold water cleared his head the changes remained.
The previously blank piece of parchment now depicted an army of black dots, all non-descriptive except for one which burnt with a sapphire blue glow. Hook recognized the night sky, the Juline burning bright amongst the others.
The Juline was the star that lead any lost creature. It would lead any sailor home and any beggar to his fortune. But the Gods would not be so favorable without a price. Anyone who was to follow the messenger star for too long would soon find themselves stepping from the edge of the world, straight into its gaping maw. It was a clear indication as to where Eris's lair was.
Whether they would topple from the earth or not were worries for later though. For now they would stop at a much safer destination. Izariah was a small island a week away from Syracuse. It was home to many sailors and was therefore the perfect place to restock the Jolly Roger before sailing north.
Even though Izariah was a popular crossing for seamen of all trades, they were not entirely used to pirates breaching their shores. Wide eyed everyone stared at them as they went down the streets. The merchants cowered as they helped them hoist crates full of supplies onto the deck.
Usually a day of sailing and loading would have tired his men out. But not this time. This time they were buzzing with excitement. Kale came to him sweating profusely but grinning ear to ear. He basked and seemed to glow golden in the bright, tropical sunlight. Hook, on the other hand, felt as if he was being cooked alive in his black, leather clothing.
"I must tell you,Captain." He said as he clasped Hook's shoulder. "I have never desired to see the world's edge, but in all honesty I can't think of a man I'd rather would see it with than you."
Kale strengthened the grip on Hook's shoulder. "But this happiness is only justified if this new course means you have stopped your quest." He said frowning.
Hook could have corrected him, told him he would not stop searching for a way to kill the man he hated most. But he did not have to. Kale straightened himself with a disappointed look in his eyes. He knew the determination in Hook's eyes and did not approve of it. He nodded in comprehension and walked away and brushed his big hand through Jonathan's short curls.
The caring gesture was a reminder for his Captain. To make him remember everything he was dragging along with him on his sick quest for revenge. Everyone.
Jonathan had always been a struggle for Hook, Kale knew this and he knew it caused him pain to that he always was dragging a fourteen year old into danger. But Jonathan was not a child anymore. He had been aboard the Jolly Roger as long as most of the pirates. If he had wanted to desert them, he could have done that a long time ago.
As he studied the child he felt someone looking at him. A thicker, more pensive stare rested upon him. He followed the sensation and saw Lacey standing beside Jonathan.
She had probably been watching his interaction with Kale. The way her thin brows were arched and the disapproving slant of her full lips told him told him she was more than ready for a heated discussion.
After talking to Kale he was more than willing to argue with her. But something in her eyes unsettled him. She had changed after Syracuse. Lacey had always had something sorrowfully heavy about her, but from the moment they had gotten back onto the ship she had shifted into something else. Something deeper and sadder. It made the Captain wonder whether she was actually as strong as she made herself out to be. It was a thought he was unable to shake as he walked away from her piercing gaze and Jonathan's doe eyes.
But she was not willing to let him go with nothing more than a stern look. "Hook!" she called as she stalked up to him, her long copper curls flowing behind her. Even though he felt for her, for the pain in her fearless demeanour he could not help but roll his eyes as he turned to face her. She was quite the troublesome handful "Yes, love?"
"What do you think you are doing?" She asked venomously. She'd crossed her arms over her narrow chest and was resting her weight on her hip. With her head cocked and hair spilling around her face she looked more like a lioness than a fugitive. "Minding my business as I make my way down the peer. You should consider doing the same." He said as he turned on his heel. He could feel her following him determinedly.
"I'm sorry, sir. But you have just announced you are planning to sail us off into certain death." She said as she fell into step beside him. "So yes, this is my business. You are responsible for us. Throwing us from the earth isn't exactly the way to... " Hook turned sharply.
"Look, princess." Being called 'princess' made the storm waging in her eyes more turmoiled. "You decided to be on this ship. You payed to be part of my crew. Now let us make something clear. You can stay here in Izariah, Hell you could have stayed in Avonlea, for all I care!"
His raised voice turned a few heads. "But I won't let you get in my way" He said as he stood over her jabbing her shoulder with a his ringed index finger. He could feel Lacey's pulse under his fingertip and the warmth of her breath as he spat the words in her face. "Understood?"
He turned again. This time she did not follow him, but it would be to unlike her to leave it at that. "I can't possibly understand what could drive you to want to do such a thing." He stopped in his tracks. He glanced at her over his shoulder. Somehow her small body seem to fill the peer with her unwillingness to move or to settle for his answer. It was strangely intimidating to see her standing there, eyes ablaze and cheeks burning bright red with the sun's heath and her anger.
"You're right," Hook said bitterly "you can't."
That night they celebrated. The crew formed a well organised group of drunks as they scouted Izariah for an inviting tavern. They crammed themselves into the orange lit room and gladly downed their ale. Bets were made and anecdotes were told and retold.
But Hook did not partake in their festivities. He sat by himself and downed his ale and rum as if he was on a mission. The borders of his vision were blurring and he could feel the dissociated feeling he wanted to feel sink in. He wanted to numb himself.
He was too angry tonight and he felt too guilty. Lacey had been right. He was responsible for his men, for the men he was leading into certain death. And for what? When his head filled up with images of her he remembered his reasons. He had cursed them with his thirst for vengeance and they would not rest until he got his revenge.
He let himself sink comfortably into the embrace of his drunkenness and could feel her pale black shadow filter into his brain. His heart was beating faster as she leaned in, carressing his face, a hand placed on his broad chest. It was a relief he dreamed to feel. Her eyes and words, telling him everything would be all right.
But then her hands started pressuring his chest, driving the air out of his lungs. He was suffocating whilst breathing. He felt as if he was being held under water. Air!
He stumbled out the door, hearing a distant bell ringing above him. He had to get home, back to his ship. For if he stayed for just a minute longer the ground would swallow him whole.
Everything sounded too high pitched and distorted: the laughter from the pubs, the cricket's shrieks and the far-away lapping of the waves. Izariah's tropical heath wound its way down his neck and made him feel as if he was choking on oxygen. He let his chest be filled with the salty air and hoped the pain would subside.
He was calming down when a sound, not far from that of a kettle boiling over, filled his ears. Someone screamed, agonizingly loud and clear through the purple clouded sky. His feet came into motion before his sloppy brain got the time to process his actions. With his hand on the hilt of his sword as he ran to the place the sound had come from.
The alley was dimly lit by the crescent moon. There were three figures at the end of the alley. One of them being pulled from one dark mas to the other. He was still in a haze, but he could tell that whatever was going on was not good. He let his body do the thinking for him and did not process faces nor voices.
Hook charged, sword in hand. One of the three shadows had broken away and was coming towards him, his blade also figure said something, but Hook could not understand it. Hook felt as if his soul had left his body. He blocked, received and dealt blows, until he hit the man in the back of the head with the hilt of his sword.
The other two figures had continued their struggle. A large man, which looked like nothing more than a grey spot in Hook's blurred vision, was dragging away the smaller figure, which was kicking, clawing and screaming that high pitched scream. He felt blood drip into his vision, his opponent had managed to cut his brow.
Through his red vision Hook walked up to them, hitting the larger man with the flat of his blade. The man threw the still screeching and panting person aside as if they were nothing more than a rag doll. The person collided with one of the alley walls.
This man was quicker, especially for Hook's fuzzy brain. He could only stop the blows split seconds before they came down. But he kept going, letting his body move purely on reflexes.
Until it was not enough. His sword was sent flying through the night and a hard punch against his jaw made him stumble face down onto the damp pavement. The man spat besides the captain's face before walking towards the hunched figure by the wall.
Hook's arm shot out and grabbed the man's ankle, making stumble onto his knees. The man cursed as he struck Hook again, making blood spray out of his mouth.
With a sharp kick against his shoulder, Hook was rolled onto his back. Pathetic way to end, he thought as he felt the weight of the burly man on his chest. He could only hope the other person had had the mind to run.
As he felt big hands close around his neck everything blurred until everything was nothing more than a single puddle of color.
Suddenly he was able to focus and saw more than he had been able to see for centuries. He could see the stars, beckoning him in the voice he only heard in his dreams.
The grip around his neck seemed to loosen, but he did not want it to. The voice was hushed when something warm started trickling down Hook's face. The stars returned to the background, as he focused on his assailants brutal face, which was now missing its left side.
Hook felt completely petrified. With woodlike push he got the man off of him and pushed himself up onto his elbows, wiping the sticky blood from his eyes. He was now looking up into shocked blue eyes.
Lacey's pale face was freckled with blood and her breathing was heavy. The bloodstained metal bar spilt from between her reddened fingers. She was looking straight at him, almost as if unable to blink. But her gaze was not focused on him, but on who had been in her line of vision moments before.
Shooting out of her daze she fell onto her knees and started retching up the contents of her stomach. Hook shot up, mind suddenly clear. "Keep on breathing, love." he said softly as he held her hair away from the vomit. His hand rubbing comforting circles on her back.
Hook searched for the person who had crashed into the wall. There was not a sign of them. Then it dawned upon him as he saw the scratches and blooming bruises across Lacey's ivory skin. She was shaking heavily, but would not let her gaze break away from the puddle. He shushed her softly. "Everything is going to be fine, love." he whispered.
She did not respond. "Lacey. We need to leave now." She kept on rocking back and forth softly. He called for her over and over. Until he felt his lips forming a diferent name. "Isabelle, please." She halted her rocking.
He managed to get her to stand up on her legs, slung her arm over his shoulder and grabbed hold of her waist. Despite the tropical heat he could feel her shivering against his side. "Come on."
Slowly they made their way to the ship. After half-dragging Isabelle up the stairs to his cabin, he left her leaning against his desk. He then moved a corner of the rug which hid the entrance to his room and treasury.
After getting her to sit on the edge of his bed, he pulled up a crutch with his leg. Seated in front of her and examined her intently.
It was not the stream of blood flowing down her neck or the bruises forming on the right side of her face, but the lack of life behind her eyes that worried him. The bright blue orbs that usually told him whether she was happy, pensive or about to outsmart him, were opaque and fixed on an invisible point in front of her.
Hook ran his hands through his dark hair. His ribs and throat hurt as he took a deep, calming breath. His head still ached from the alcohol, the fights and the near-death experience. "Okay." he whispered to himself. He removed his long, leather coat as he went to get water from the washing table across the room.
Bowl, shirt and rag in hand, he sat in front of her again. "Allright, Isabelle. This might be a bit cold. But I need the dirt off your face so it won't get into the scratches, all right, love?" Hook was no doctor but he was pretty sure that alley dirt, vomit, sweat and open gashes did not mix well. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and pressed the wetted rag against her skin. Isabelle did not even wince when he brushed over the cut tracing the width of her thin neck.
As he examined her vacant expression he was reminded of something that happened such a long time ago that it seemed part of a distant dream. But suddenly everything came back clearly to him, giving him the feeling that this was a story he was meant to tell her. "When I was a boy my brother, Liam, and I used to play by the stream close to our home."
"There were always little animals around the area. Especially frogs." Not even curiosity passed through Isabelle's eyes. "There was this one frog in particular I got quite a shine on." He wrung out the dirt stained cloth. The water dripping into the basin was the only sound to be heard apart from the slow lapping of the waves against the ship.
"We named him Freddy. Freddy the frog." He chuckled as he rubbed the dust from her pale cheeks. "Quite original if you asked me."
"Anyway. One day I went down to the stream to go play with Freddy, but I couldn't find him." He frowned as he re-examined Isabelle's neck. "So I decided to go look for him in the grass. I searched and searched and I had almost given up when I felt something slippery between my toes." He looked down at her blood and vomit stained blouse.
"I'm sorry, love, I'm going to remove your shirt if you don't mind." He interrupted himself. Hook had to admit he blushed slightly. Isabelle on the other hand did not seem moved in the slightest. "Where was I?" he asked, scraping his throat. "Oh, yes. Wet and slippery."
"I looked down and there he was. Freddy the frog had been smushed between my little toes. I couldn't take my eyes off of him." Her shirt slid down her arms. The chemise underneath was slightly bloodstained, but he decided that was better for her to change. The way she looked three times tinier in his shirt would have made him laugh had it not been for the situation they were in.
He examined the bruises on her face as he started buttoning the front of the shirt. "My brother found me hours later, still in that position, looking down at my toes. He took me home and I was very upset for days on end."
"Years later I killed a man." He said blank faced as he bent down to unlace her boots. "And when I did it I did not think about him. All I could think about was about the way I had felt more for that frog than for the man at the end of my blade." He placed the boots by the side of the bed.
"It took me many years to understand what made that man so different from that insignificant frog. Freddy was innocent, the man wasn't." He looked down at his hands as he nervously twisted the rings on his fingers. One of them belonged to that man. He had taken it as a reminder to himself. No one deserves death..."He would have burned my ship and my men down to the bottom of the sea and I couldn't let that happen." ...But sometimes there are exceptions.
He looked up at her catatonic state. "What you did tonight, Isabelle, wasn't wrong. It will take you a while to process, but it wasn't. You had to choose between me or a man who was trying to take you Gods know where." He clenched his fists at the thought of the kicking and wrestling figure. Of her kicking and wrestling figure.
"You need to sleep now." He said as he got up. Hook gently pushed Isabelle down into the red sheets of his bed. She did not protest as he covered her with the warm blanket. "Now close your eyes for me, love." And she closed her eyes. Hook felt as if a building amount of pressure on his shoulders was being lifted for in her dreams she would be safe from harm.
Hook walked over to the washing table once more. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and for once he was not happy with what he saw. Time is catching up with you old man.
The brush of the first man's blade had left a long horizontal lash over his right brow, his shirt was also soiled with blood and alley dirt and there were dark hand shaped bruises around his muscular neck.
What displeased him most was the look on his face. His usually sharp and handsome features were marred with exhaustion. He winced as he shrugged off his black shirt. There were bruises on his shoulder and his toned side had also suffered a few blows.
He cleaned Isabelle's bloodied rag and water and took to nursing his own wounds. He filled up his mouth with water and spat it out, colouring the basin pink with his blood. He found a rum filled flask and took a couple of swigs before steadying himself as he took needle and thread to his brow.
He recalled all the times he had had to patch himself up like this. Those times he had had a feeling of victory coursing through his veins, but tonight Hook felt defeated, but he refused to linger in the feeling. Instead he rewarded himself with another swig as he sat into an armchair facing the bed.
Isabelle. He had known from the very beginning there was more to Lacey than met the eye and even though he had known who she really was, he was terrified at the thought he had been been harbouring a runaway.
Isabelle inhaled softly. A curl fell slightly in front of her face and, before he could catch himself, he had brushed it away tenderly. The girl sleeping in his bed seemed miles away from the woman he had met months ago.
Lacey had always come across as brave and fearless. She had faced him and every other problem head on every single time. The Isabelle curled up in his bed on the other hand looked like a child, with her mouth slightly parted and her hands folded under her head.
It was strange to see her painfully beautiful features so relaxed. So free of worry. She did not look anything like the woman who had seemed more than willing to throw punches at him that morning or the woman who had infiltrated into a castle unnoticed. He was not sure which version of her he preferred: the one blissfully asleep in front of him, or the one who was about to rip his throat out.
He downed the rest of the rum as he shifted his weight in the leather armchair. He felt sleep grab hold of him. At the back of his eyelids he could see them: The stars were calling him again, the juline burning brightly in the middle.
Hello, hello !
Yes, this chapter is late… as per usual. Seriously though, I'm sorry.
Anyway: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT!
You are all absolutely wonderful…