Disclaimer:  If I owned PotC, the Apocalypse would come and giant bunny rabbits would rule the Earth.

AN:  wow!  I am so happy that so many of you like 'Ashes to Ashes'.  It makes me feel so proud that I can entertain so many people.  I hope you continue to review so that I know how I am doing and if I need to change something.

AN2:  I am so sorry about the wait!  But, my computer had pretty much died and we had to re-download everything on our computer, which made us lose everything.  So now we finally have Word back and I can finish the chapters!

Ashes to Ashes

Chapter 2: Tortuga

            Ashleigh woke to a pounding pain in her head.  She opened her eyes slowly, the dim light of the dying fire burning her eyes.  She sat up slowly, her head pounding with the movement, her stomach hurting as she sat up.  She touched her stomach gently, running her fingers up her clothed skin to the ribs that were hidden there.  She flinched as she pressed one of her ribs, pain rushing into her already throbbing mind.

            She pushed herself up, swaying as a sudden bout of dizziness struck her.  She tipped over slightly, a beam catching her before she could fall down.  Ashleigh held onto the beam for support, closing her eyes to try and stop the world from spinning around her.  As soon as she thought it safe she pushed herself off of the beam and walked slowly towards the center of the room.  When something wrinkled under her foot, she looked down.  A piece of paper lay on the floor, one that she had never seen before.

            Ashleigh bent down slowly and picked up the paper, holding it up to her face so she could see it.  Words filtered through her jumbled mind as she scanned the image on the paper.  "He goes by the name of Sparrow," Will had said.  And yet here was this image of a sparrow flying over water.

            She struggled to figure out how these two were connected, but her head throbbed every time she tried to concentrate.  Somehow, Ashleigh managed to collect the two swords that she had held before the attack and stumbled out of the smithy into the chaotic aftereffects of the attack.

            A lone figure walked through the crowded streets of Port Royal.  Guards ran past the figure, hurrying to help people in need.  Some guards carried bodies of people who had been seriously injured during the raid.  The figure ducked its head as a group of people walked past, hiding its face from anyone's view.

            The person wore a white shirt with a brown vest buttoned over it.  If one looked hard enough, they would see a thin white bandage covering the top of its chest.  Thin, brown breeches, that seemed almost too big for the person who wore them, covered the figure's long, slim legs.  Black boots covered its feet.  The figure wore a large brown hat, covering its black hair.

            The figure hurried past the ruined buildings, past the large gated houses and up to the busy dock.  The figure stepped in front of a young man who stood in front of a small boat, one of the only men in the port not running around following someone else's orders.

            "Excuse me, sir.  I'd like to charter this boat," the figure said.

            The man looked up, a confused look on his face.  "Are you daft lad?  Can't you see that. . ." His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the figure's face.  "What the hell are you doin' lass?  You're brother'll 'ave a fit if 'e sees you.
            A hand over his mouth stopped him.  "Hush, Mr. Abrams.  Do you want the whole Port to know?" she replied, removing her hand.

            "But why'r ya dressed like that, Miss O'Shannon?  Men's clothing isn't meant fer a Lady ta wear."

            "I have to leave, Mr. Abrams.  The pirates . . . they took Will and Elizabeth.  I have to go find them."

            "Dressed like a lad?  Where could ye possibly go ta dress up like that?"

            Ashleigh stared him directly in the eye, her fingers pushing aside a stray strand of her black hair that had fallen out of the hat.  "Tortuga."

            Abrams stared at her as if she were crazy.  "Tortuga?  Ain't no place fer a Lady," he said, laughing.

            A dagger pointing at his throat stopped his laughter.  He looked up at her, up into her dark green eyes that blazed in the waning light.  "You can either take me to Tortuga, Mr. Abrams, or I can commandeer your boat and go there by myself."

            Abrams looked down at the weapon, and then back up at Ashleigh.  "If yer brother, or even yer father, finds out about this, they'll kill me."

            "Then do not tell them, Mr. Abrams," she replied, placing her dagger back in its sheath, her other hand resting lightly on the hilt of one of her swords.

            Abrams stared at her again.  "Why not allow Commodore Norrington to find them?"

            Ashleigh sighed again.  "Because I promised Will that I would find someone for him.  And that someone is supposed to be in Tortuga."

            After a few moments of silence, Abrams nodded, and then stepped aside, allowing Ashleigh to walk aboard the ship.

            On the third night of their travel, a hand on her leg woke Ashleigh from a dreamless sleep.  She sat up slowly, a dull throb appearing in her mind.  "What is it, Mr. Abrams?" she asked.

            Abrams pointed through the darkness to a large island that stood in front of them.  The only light that filtered through the darkness was small fires that dotted the land throughout the island.  Ashleigh could see the outline of several ships docked in the darkened port.  "Tortuga?" she asked.

            "Tortuga," he replied.

            Ashleigh had wandered for nearly two hours through the dark, noisy streets of Tortuga before she had encountered one of the many drunken men that roamed in the thick blackness of the island.  At her request, and against his own wishes, she had sent Abrams back to Port Royal after she had left his boat.  But now, facing the largest drunken man she had ever seen, she almost wished that she had made him stay.

            The drunken man's sword wobbled in front of her face.  "C'mon lad, draw yer sword," he slurred, his breath reeking of, what she could only assume was gallons, of rum that he and imbibed.

            "I meant no harm, sir," she replied, lowering her voice slightly, doing her best to mimic a boy's voice.  "It was merely an accident."

            "Don' play wit' me, lad.  Draw yer sword or I'll kill ye where ya stand an' take yer fancy weapons off yer dead corpse."

            Ashleigh shook her head slightly, pulling the hat further down over her face.  Without warning, the man swung at her.  On reflex, her left hand grabbed one of the swords that hung at her left hip.  A loud crash echoed through the streets as the two swords hit.  She stepped back slightly, disengaging the two weapons and flipping her sword in her hand, placing the sword's hilt the right way in her palm.

            The man stumbled as her weight disappeared from against him.  He righted himself slowly and fixed his glazed gaze on her.  Ashleigh looked him in the eyes, watching as his eyes flicked behind her.  She separated her feet slightly, her right hand reaching for the knife that sat in its sheath in her belt.

            She held her left hand up, placing her sword in a defensive position in front of her.  She readied herself to protect her back when the sound of metal hitting metal reached her ears.  Ashleigh turned around slightly, glancing at the two figures that had appeared behind her.

            One man stood directly behind her, his sword aiming at her back.  The second man, a man who looked very weird to her, with beads and a piece of bone hiding in his unruly hair and on his beard, stood just to the right of her, his sword intersecting the other.  He was the first to speak.  "'At's not nice, mate.  Attackin' someone from behind like that."

            "I can take care of myself, sir," Ashleigh said, lowering her head slightly.  "These two drunkards are nothing to me."

            "Aye, mate," the first drunk said sarcastically.  "This's between me an' the lad."

            The man to her right blinked his dark eyes.  "Lad?" he said, confusion entering his voice.  Ashleigh felt his gaze shift over her body, looking her up and down.

            The second drunk growled and pulled his sword away from the braided man's weapon, swinging it once again at Ashleigh's back.  Quicker than she could follow, the man intercepted the sword again and then pushed up with his feet, swinging his fist at the drunk's face.  His fist connected with the drunk's cheek, forcing the man to reel back and fall flat on his back in the mud, consciousness slipping away from him.

            The first drunk blinked slowly and then lunged at Ashleigh again.  She side-stepped quickly, just as Will had done only three days before, and brought her sword hilt down upon the man's head.  He fell face first in the mud and, as she watched, showed no signs of getting back up any time soon.

            "That should sober him up," she said, lowering her voice once again.

            "Don't count on it . . . lad," he said, pausing slightly.

            "I thank you for your assistance, sir," she said.  "But it was not needed."

            The man placed his sword back in its sheath and shook his head.  "Whatever ya say.  S'not fair ta go two on one, I say."

            "Not for them."

            The man smiled, revealing golden teeth.  "Aye, per'aps not," he said, pushing his sleeves up slowly.  Ashleigh's eyes widened as she caught sight of the small P that had been burned into his skin.

            "You're a pirate!" she said.

            His eyebrows rose slightly.  "Yes.  So are most of the other men on this island."

            She continued to watch as he pushed his sleeves up further.  Her eyes narrowed as a small marking of a bird flying over water caught her eye.  Instantly, her sword was at his throat.

            His eyes narrowed as well.  "You think that wise, lad?" he said.

            "Who are you?"

            "I should be askin' you the same thing."

            "I will not ask you again," she replied through gritted teeth.

            Suddenly, the man raised his arm slightly, pushing the sword out of her hand.  He pushed against her, slamming her back into a wall, his right hand wrapped around her right wrist, and his left arm pinning her across the chest.  "I am Captain Jack Sparrow," he said softly.  "And you," he said, his gaze drifting down to the small body pressed between his body and the wall.  "Are not a lad."

AN:  Ta da!  Finally a chapter 2!  Up next, Chapter 3: The Black Pearl.

Plz r/r!!!!!!