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Chapter 15: Forebodings
When there is love then you look for the one...
...and for the promises there is the sky
...and for the heavens are those who can fly...
When there's a journey you follow a star
When there's an ocean you sail from afar
...and for the broken heart there is the sky
...and for tomorrow are those who can fly
If you really want to you can hear me say
Only if you want to you can find a way
Only if you want to you can seize the day
Only if you want to you will fly away...
Only If
Enya
Elizabeth yanked her sword free of a soldier and dodged another blade whistling her way. Her balance was off due to the child resting within her but her fury at being separated so long from Will was making itself manifest, equalizing her agility.
Glancing up, she saw ropes snagging on the Pearl's rigging and shrouds. Planks landed firmly between the two ships, setting down a firm crossing point.
Red uniforms swarmed the decks, intermixed with a heap of dissimilar colors as the soldiers and pirates clashed.
One face stood out from the rest…Hawthorne.
If she thought she was furious before than she was greatly mistaken. For a moment all she could see was crimson. Rushing forward, she plowed past pirate and soldier alike, fixed with rapt attention on the man responsible for her lengthy division from her husband.
Searing lead zipped past her head, screaming from the intense speed, and then snapping as it made contact with whatever unfortunate substance lay in its path.
In minutes, her feet smacked the Waking Power's main deck, unscathed but as fuming as ever. Hawthorne would pay whether by her hand or another.
Justice would be served.
Most of Jack's plans relied heavily upon luck and luck alone. Of course, they had always made fantastic tales of feat and bravery but right now he was feeling a bit like the whelp.
Without a drop of luck to his name.
He grimaced as another soldier made a sloppy attack on his left. These bloody fools weren't any more competent then their fallen predecessors.
Didn't the Royal Navy teach their men to fight?
A deft twist of steel later and the man did indeed join those who had passed on, bequeathing Jack with a free moment to further ponder his poor fortune. The mere idea that Captain Jack Sparrow might be defeated by such a crew...it made him shudder.
The only way he was going down to see ole Davy Jones was...well, not like this. It had to be something memorable. Something to last the ages. Not some droll tale about how a poorly trained Navy crew managed to outnumber the crew of the Black Pearl.
How on earth Jack was given such a shabby hand he didn't know, he did know that it was time for the oldest and noblest of pirate traditions.
To run.
And that he could do with ease even if Mother Providence gave him no aid.
A pounding growl filled the belly of the Waking Power, raising in pitch and becoming a high hum. The planks groaned and quivered in comeback and the entire ship shuddered as a result, one could almost imagine it was a living being.
Kerrigan, as with each previous crash, jumped as though it was the Kraken itself coming to devour him.
Will smiled grimly, this would be the most opportune moment he could get. Throughout the blasts Kerrigan had slowly shifted, unbeknownst to the very young sailor, towards the cell, his coat tails brushing the interlocking metal.
Praying another detonation wouldn't startle the soldier into awareness, Will slid his shackled hands through one square of the iron bars, painfully aware that any wrong move would send the chains clanking merrily.
He dared to breathe as his palms came within inches of the marine's temples. Quick as a wink, he clasped the young man's skull and yanked it back, causing Kerrigan's head to collide with the bars that confined Will.
Will's heart sped up in hope at the sight of Kerrigan slumping to the waterlogged floor, eyes showing only the whites and his spine as firm as jelly.
Checking the man's pulse, he found that he had indeed only knocked the marine unconscious. Fumbling with the promise of freedom he stuffed his bound hands into Kerrigan's coat pockets.
When his rough fingers closed around cold metal he felt the exhilaration of success. He wrenched the key out and easily fit it into his shackles. A sigh of relief tumbled free at the sensation of being released.
Acting as fast as he could he pulled Kerrigan's hands forward and entrapped them in the cuffs. Then, he turned his attention to the door.
The key he used for his chains didn't fit but he was a blacksmith and this door would be manipulated.
His eyes roved the area, searching for any piece of long, thin metal. It only had to be about three inches long…
Hawthorne dispatched another pirate coolly. His raging temper was sated with each crumpling corpse.
It was a rather morbid pleasure, true enough, but he was content. His blade was now crimson with the life fluid of vagabonds and it glittered cruelly as it spun it his palm. A whistle of metal caused him to turn, meeting a specter of golden hair, flashing amber eyes, and cool steel.
"You!"
Hawthorne met her sword with his own and realization dawned upon him. It was Turner's annoying wife!
"Where is my husband?" she raged.
"Why should I know?" he slid their weapons to the side sharply, grinning sadistically when hers drove a lengthy groove along the ship's railing.
Her heavily pregnant but still lithe body yanked it free and swung wildly, bestowing her with more force than normal. "You took him from me! Now, tell me where he is!"
Yet his only answer was a ferocious grin. He was knowledgeable in swordplay and she would learn that the hard way apparently.
However, there was one thing he had not counted on, and that was the weight behind each blow. She was not fighting just for herself. No, there was a cause much deeper than that.
Blasts bombarded the air and wood around them, sending a shockwave with each explosion and hampering everyone's focus.
It was on one of those discharges that Hawthorne let down his guard for an instant.
She attacked ferociously, knocking away his blade and laying her cutlass against the vulnerable flesh of his neck. "Where is Will?" she spoke each word slowly and dangerously. "Tell me and I might ease your passing."
"A motivating invitation, to be sure, but the influence of said offer is dulled in a new light." He lifted a pistol, hidden beneath his coat and pressed the barrel to her temple within the space of a second.
She tensed but did not back away.
"Let's talk of other things, shall we?"
She regarded him as one would a misbehaving child.
"Perhaps, we should speak of your husband then…" his grin turned wicked. "Such faith you have in him."
"He is my husband." She snapped, fire leaping in her eyes.
"In that case, I believe it is my duty to tell you that when I found your 'husband' after he refused to do his duty and ran like a coward he was lying in a barn with three French wenches."
She remained silent, her sword pressing farther into the soft flesh of his neck. Her knuckles were pure white and her lips formed a thin line.
"Is really so faithful as you believe?" He leaned in, letting his nose rest bare centimeters from hers.
Something in her face changed, he couldn't tell what but suddenly he knew he'd gone too far. "You are a cowardly liar!"
"Am I?"
"You tell me." She snarled back, upper lip curled in disgust.
"Very well, he is on this ship." Hawthorne reveled in the emotions flashing past each other in her eyes. "He is the very one we used to find your precious friends."
She recoiled ever so slightly. "You speak lies, all of them...you only wish to hurt and to cause pain! You care for nothing! You are heartless!"
Hawthorne's temper rose to match in all its incensed glory. "Why you little-" A cannonball shredded its way past their heads, crashing into the mizzenmast.
All of the sudden, he was flying backwards. Then everything went dark as his head made contact with some firm matter and he was flung into the throes of unconsciousness.
Cotton had been a bold man. One would not know it from his actions for his will to take action and argue was stripped away at his inability to speak.
Slowly he became more and more reserved, letting other take the lead and falling back into mindless submission. Rum and nourishment lost all their flavor save for the caustic bite of bitterness.
But when he joined the Pearl's crew things changed…the queer captain would come speak to him, often rambling nonsense but he figured he knew more about that man than most.
However, she was the first to actually care about him. She was the first to smile when she saw him. She was the first to genuinely care about his health and well-being. She was Elizabeth…
A memory of the previous night flickered across his aging mind…
She had been watching the stars above them, hands wrapped around her midsection. She hadn't seen him at first, so absorbed was she in the light of the heavens.
"Oh, Cotton, I'm sorry, I didn't know you…" she paused, "I thought I was alone."
He turned, thinking she wished solitude.
A warm hand, slender and smooth, caught his shoulder gently. "Please…don't leave." She blushed as his gaze met hers. "I-I don't much like being alone."
He regarded her curiously. What could she mean…he offered a noiseless companionship. What solace could be found in that?
"I know it's strange…" she laughed nervously, fiddling with the lining of the leather overcoat. "But ever since Will…" she looked to the sea.
Cotton wavered, unsure of how to continue and the parrot perched on his shoulder was mercifully quiet.
"I suppose I just miss him." She smiled hesitantly. "I'm sorry Cotton. This is rather rude of me. I'm sure you don't want to hear the ramblings of a worried wife." Her hands shifted to stroke her belly.
The parrot bobbed his head and squawked, "Shiver me timbers!"
Tenderly but awkwardly he reached forward, not knowing what else to do, and patted her shoulder.
Almost immediately she turned back to him, a real but still containing a somber edge grin gracing her features. "Thank you," her just above a whisper.
They sat silently for a moment, absorbed by the late night beauty, until Elizabeth shifted. "Oh!" she pressed both of her hands against her stomach and a slight trickle of laughter pressed past her lips. "Cotton! He's moving again." Her eyes lifted and in them he saw such boundless love for her child and husband, such exultation of joy and thrill of the little one's movement.
Clasping his weather worn hand she set it upon the lump. For a minute nothing changed. Then, it repositioned.
Cotton sat if frozen. Slowly, he removed his palm but sat staring at the appendage as thought he hadn't really felt the son or daughter move in her.
He looked back to Elizabeth, their eyes meeting, and in her bright orbs he seemed to read the answer to his unasked question. He had felt the new gift of life within her.
He had felt what a husband and father should feel…and it was magical. That thought alone caused his broken heart to mend even just a little. He had loved years ago but his love had ended before it had really begun. But this vibrant, strong woman had let him into her personal experience with her first child.
And finally, he allowed himself to realize something he had long thought but never really believed, this girl and her offspring were quickly wheedling their way into his heart as the descendants he had never been blessed with.
The images faded and he saw her, honey colored hair sprawled over the deck and sparkling amber eyes hidden from the world.
In a wordless cry, he bolted forward. She had a life to live, a child to raise, and a husband to love.
The cutlass in his hand became a whirl of silver as it cut a path to her side. Bending over, he touched her cheek.
It was warm.
Still worried for her health, he let his hand hover over her mouth, waiting until he felt the calm cadence of her breath to retract it.
Her eyes fluttered and suddenly she was staring up at him, the orbs of color glassy but somehow still bright.
"Cotton?" she queried softly.
He nodded.
She pulled herself into a sitting position and abruptly stiffened. "Cotton! Will! He's here! He's on this ship!"
Cotton tightened his grasp on the sword's hilt. He beckoned for her to stand.
She did so, lifting up her forgotten blade. "I'll search the higher cabins. You take the lower."
He nodded again and watched as she barged into hold. Something deep in his gut told him that this would not go well…
TBC...