Seventh Chapter – Gypsy Magic and Recurring Illness

Sorry about my little tantrum last chapter. I feel like such an idiot now. This story is now over 20,000 words long! That's an awful lot of words. And 30 reviews! That's an awful lot of reviews. (Well, for me anyway, I never expected to get any reviews for this story!) I feel like we've come to a very special place, don't you? Dyed my hair purple, but since my hair's so dark brown it turned out kind of auburn. My mother actually doesn't mind, which was a bit disappointing!

Many thanks to these people for reviewing last chapter:

golfgoddess93

jennie

NazgulQueen

quilhan

BadLilBirdies

Princess Amberly

&

williz

You people make me HAPPY. I LOVE YOU ALL!

(And jennie, I have taken your advice to heart. Don't worry, I'm not all ripped to shreds. You'll have to try harder than that!)

Wow, I seem to have acquired a tradition of long author's notes. Does anyone even read these anyway? I sure don't. Okay, Okay, I know what you're thinking: Shut up, Jay, and get on with the chapter…

x

The gypsy girl was older this time. No longer a girl, no longer a happy, immature, crazy laughing girl. She stood awkwardly at the door of the hut, a pale yellow snake sliding over her shoulder and onto the floor.

"Why should I help him?" The choked and trembling tones looked strange coming from the proud and beautiful face. Because she was still beautiful, the faint lines around her eyes and mouth barely visible in the candlelight. "He tried to kill me and almost succeeded."

" He didn't try to kill you. He tried to hurt you because you lied and betrayed him. You hurt him." The pretty native woman brushed imaginary dust off her dress and started pacing around the small hut. "Besides, you still love him." She stopped and turned to face the gypsy, her head cocked to one side, her eyes piercing and bright.

"I don't know – ." The proud woman choked on her tears and hid her face in her hands. "I do, maybe. I don't know why – Oh…" She began to cry in earnest, her shoulders shaking, and her face in her hands.

"Aye, he probly doesn't deserve it." The native woman laughed faintly and guided the distraught gypsy to a chair. For a while the only sound was the sobs from the woman at the table, the crickets chirping outside and the rustle of the dark woman's skirts as she paced around the hut. Then the sobbing woman slammed her fists down on the table and took a deep breath.

"He's dead, what does it matter anyway?" Her voice was tight, her fists clenched and her eyes staring sightlessly at the wooden table.

"Death is not always an end." The strange woman stood facing the window, her back to the woman in the chair.

"You can bring him back?!"

The woman smiled and curled a lock of her hair around her finger.

"I can bring him back."

x

Elizabeth stirred, ignoring the fierce ache throughout her body. Any movement sent lances of agony shooting through her head. The world was dark and fuzzy. Not pleasantly fuzzy, the kind of fuzzy that left a bad taste in your mouth and muscles with the consistency of cotton-wool. Green eyes peered at her. Anxious green eyes. They looked slightly familiar, but the words spoken were too far away and sounded gibberish to Elizabeth's ears. A thought skittered across her aching mind and she tried to catch it. Something about a dream, a woman, a man that died. And under that thought was another thought, a fear. Someone, someone important in trouble. Struggling she attempted to remember, but it was as if her brain was too fuzzy to concentrate… Then she was floating, floating away on a sea of darkness, filled with dreams and memories and … fears.

x

The bed was comfortable, warm and pleasantly away from the wild storm that lashed the tossing ship outside. Elizabeth woke and stretched lazily, cuddling up to the warm presence beside her … the warm presence beside her … in the same bed. She jumped, her heart beginning that familiar fearful thunder. Someone's hand was flung across her bare stomach, a nice hand, tanned and callused. Two rings, bright and gaudy, sparkled innocently in the light of a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Something sparked within her, recognition. It couldn't be… She followed the arm to the bare back of the man sprawled in bed beside her. Ignoring the twinge of something that could have been desire in another circumstance, she wondered… What had she done? She couldn't have, she wouldn't have… He was naked, she was naked, and they were both in the same bed. The unspeakable lingered in her mind as she sat up, tugging the rough cotton sheet up to cover her body.

Familiar hair, tied back with the red bandana, surely no one else had that hair. But he was dead. She'd killed him, hadn't she? Black rimmed eyes, tight shut in sleep… It was him …

"Jack?"

His lids fluttered and the hand that had been flung across her lap moved up her arm. Stunned in to stillness and silence, Elizabeth let it happen, let his hand gently tug her back down towards him. Her lips parted and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. He opened his eyes slowly and just watched her, a slight smile spreading across his face. She let herself be pulled down, caught and captivated by his gaze. Then a terrifyingly loud boom of thunder rang out and broke the spell.

She jerked back as if he'd hit her. Then she remembered her fiancé and it was like another slap to the face.

"Will…" She whispered, her face full of anguish. I wouldn't have kissed him again, surely. I wouldn't have betrayed you a second time. The words lay unspoken in her mind.

"What?" The man under her inquired.

"Get off me!" She snapped suddenly, sitting up and shoving him off the bed. He fell with a yelp and hit the ground with a loud thud. Fury pulsed through her veins like a drug, tainting her perceptions. It felt addictive, though. It felt like power…

"Cerys, what in hell's name is going on?" Came his voice from the floor.

"What?" Elizabeth asked, her fury briefly forgotten as she gazed down at the man on the floor in puzzlement. "What did you just call me?"

"I called you by your bloody name." Jack said, not attempting to get up off the floor and sounding a little peeved. She shook her head.

"I need to get out of here." Wrapping the sheet around her, shivering with cold, she wrenched the door open. The gust of wind and rain that followed chilled her to her bones. And what she saw in the puddle of water pooling on the floor chilled her even further. The face reflected back at her though beautiful, was not her own.

The dark brown eyes in the puddle widened as Elizabeth recoiled in shock. She put her hands to her face in horror, feeling the cheekbones that were too sharp and the eyes that were too black and the glossy, dark hair that was too brown and too long to be her own.

"I'm not Cerys." She said to herself, swallowing hard and trying to convince herself. "We're totally different. I don't love him! I don't care for him, I wouldn't betray Will like that" She stepped out into the storm, ignoring the wind whipping around her. "I'M NOT CERYS!" The wind swallowed up her words and flung them out into the night so that the shouts echoed across the water.

"Will!"

x

She was still cold and now there was a face for the eyes. Lovely green eyes.

"James, you're dead. Like him. It must be dream. Take me back home please, James." The man before her stopped moving at her words and his face seemed to tighten.

"Go back to sleep, Miss Sw – Elizabeth."

"I am asleep, I need to wake up. It's just a dream, James. Don't you see?"

"It's just the fever bringing delusions, Elizabeth, go back to sleep." His words were curt, but she could read the fear in his eyes.

"Where's Will? I need to see him." She tried to rise, ignoring the pain and his firm hand on her shoulder. "James, where is he? Please, he's not hurt is he?" It pained him to hear her voice, weak with sickness and calling after another man.

"Mr. Turner is not here, Elizabeth. Now go back to sleep."

"Where am I, James?" Her eyes were wandering again. Around the room, moving restlessly over the bare walls. She appeared to have forgotten him again. Good. Scrubbing a hand over his tired eyes James Norrington sat on the end of the bed and listened. Raised voices echoed around the corridor.

"…she's my daughter! I have a right, man, now move out of the way. Move, I say!"

"What's all this commotion?" Ever pleasant and never nice, even in the middle of the night, Cutler Beckett's smooth tones joined the din in the corridor. "Governor Weatherby Swann, I'm afraid there's nothing here for you to see. Take him away."

"Wait!" Weatherby sounded hoarse, yet he had been yelling all night. "She's not – not …" He struggled with the words "not – dead, is she?" The words were hopeless and full of heartbreak, as if the governor was steeling himself for the worst.

"Not yet. Take him away." The door opened and Cutler Beckett strode in. "Mr. Norrington, how is our little prisoner?"

"I can't do anything for her, surely the physician –."

"Died in the attack by the Dutchman."

"Oh…well I suppose there is nothing left to do except wait."

Two pairs of eyes, one green, and one brown fixed upon the girl on the bed. Now we wait.

Elizabeth dreamed…

x

A long, fresh scar ran up the gypsy's arm. It had stopped gushing blood, now it simply oozed.

"Remind me why I'm doing this?" The gypsy complained, looking nearly as pale and faint as she sounded. The woman stoppered the bottle full of crimson liquid, sighed and picked up the woman's other arm. The gypsy tried to focus on the 'P' of the pirate brand on her scarred arm, but everything was beginning to waver around dizzily.

"You owe me." The mysterious woman smiled. "I healed you then, I'll heal you now. Drink this, it'll make you feel better."

"Thank you."

"Now, to explain: There are three components to a man and they must be sacrificed to the Lords of the Dead if we ever wish to get your lover back; blood, body and soul. You give the blood, we find the soul–"

"And the body…?" The gypsy asked, beginning to feel her heart sink.

"There is this girl, she is dying…"

"Oh no…" The gypsy moaned. "I knew this was complicated. Why are you doing this anyway? It's not like you will benefit."

The mysterious woman turned away, fiddling with one of her dreadlocks.

"He will be needed." Then she sighed, "The coming of him will bring back your life and also bring about your death."

"Oh," The gypsy pondered this for a moment "One question, Tia. Who killed him?"

"Your old friend, witty Jack."

x

"…rope her hands tightly, she's a little spitfire, than 'un." Cerys who had a black eye and claw marks running down her cheek, hissed at the two men. Ignoring that, they bound her hands tightly, as ordered. Despite the raw pain that niggled at her every time she moved, Cerys hadn't felt as alive in years. She could feel the magic throbbing in the centre of her chest, fiery-warm, waiting eagerly to be released. She didn't look around, but she could feel Hector's presence at her elbow. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that though his hands were bound, he still held his bloodied sword, raised with defiance.

The water was mid-calf by now and the gentle waves were almost breaking over the rail. Ten of them had survived, Cerys, Barbossa and Jack the monkey, Tia Dalma, Gibbs, Pintel and Ragetti, Marty, Cotton and his parrot.

The magic was moving down her arms now and she was sure that she was visibly shaking. It pushed at her fingertips, begging, pleading to be unchained. Should she let it out? She'd sent men mad with fear before, did this crew deserve it?

Too late … she lost control, it exploded outwards. No one else noticed, though she was sure that Tia and Hector, who were standing next to her, should be able to feel her humming with power. Then the wind howled, the thunder cracked and a fog descended like a blanket, making it impossible to see a foot from your face. Things moved in the fog and a cacophony of sounds rose. Many of them not created by her, but the sound of men screaming with fear at the things moving in the dense fog.

She was vastly enjoying herself, until the noise stopped. Screams petered out. The fog thinned. She pushed at the magic, but it was going, like water being sucked down a whirlpool. Something pushed at her consciousness, an older, more powerful magic. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped to her knees as the consciousness probed her.

'Thud' Something was moving and as it moved the fog thinned.

'Thud.' The Dutchman's crewmen stopped cowering at her creations and started cowering for the new arrival.

'Thud' "On your knees for the Capt'n." One of the crewmen snarled and Cerys felt the deck vibrate as the others all fell around her. She didn't open her eyes, She couldn't … It had all gone bad, Elizabeth taken and the boy too. She felt empty now, cold …

'Thud' He stopped in front of her, the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. Immortal in legend, legend that portrayed him to be of the most ruthless men ever known.

Steeling herself for the worst, she gathered her courage and opened her eyes. Blue eyes watched her, unwavering, as powerful and as cold as the sea. She shut her eyes and to her shame felt a tear slip under her eyelashes and her cheek.

"Just a gypsy…" He moved away, and she knew her chance to plead for their lives was gone. This was the end, well, she'd known she was going to die. Tia told her once, but unsurprisingly that didn't make it any easier. "Clap her in irons…" Hands grabbed her, but she didn't open her eyes. She knew what was coming. The iron was cold, so cold to her skin that it could have almost been white-hot, she couldn't tell the difference. Her senses dulled and she opened her eyes only to find her vision receding… Someone screamed faintly and it took a moment for her to realise that the horrible pain-filled wail was coming from her own mouth. She couldn't feel her hands and she was sinking into the water, the blackness swallowing her up.

x

Barbossa didn't look at Cerys, because he knew that if he did he just might just lose his temper. Nevertheless his whole body was trembling with fury. The Dutchman was watching knowingly, as if he knew every pain-filled thought that was passing through the Captain's mind.

"What do you want?" He asked, in a voice so calm that he surprised even himself.

"Do you have the heart?" With their eyes fixed on each other, the two Captains could have been the only people on the ship.

"No." Neither gaze wavered, but Barbossa was sure the Dutchman's eyes flickered a little at his answer. Barbossa stood and nobody dared to hinder him.

"You have three days to get it and return it."

"What's in it for me?" Barbossa fought the urge to run over to Cerys and make sure her head was above water. But it wasn't just about him and her anymore, he had the whole crew to think about.

"You have three days to get it or the boy dies." Davy Jones spat. Barbossa flinched, he hadn't meant too, but it was too late. The Dutchman smiled.

"What makes you think I care for the boy?" Barbossa tried valiantly to save the situation.

"You care." Davy Jones smiled, a truly terrible sight. "Back to the Dutchman!" He shouted to the crew without taking his eyes from Barbossa's face. "Three days." And then he was gone, leaving an empty kind of horror in everyone's face.

"A pity about the boy. But, those who fall behind, stay behind." Gibbs said, recovering and unravelling the ropes around his wrists. "All hands to the boats! We have to get off this junk before it sucks us down."

"Yes, a pity." Barbossa hardened his heart and fixed his gaze upon the land on the distant horizon. "We're about two days out of Tortuga. The Dutchman cannot trouble us upon land. A poorly thought out plan from him."

Tia was standing at the rail, watching Flying Dutchman sail away.

"It's a pity," Barbossa consoled, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"The boy's part is not over yet." Tia Dalma replied icily and she helped him drag the unconscious gypsy onto the long boats.

x

Will opened his eyes and the memories assaulted him. Then he wished that he was still unconscious. Images flashed across his mind; Black water bubbling up through the timber of the Lady Dragonfly, Beckett smiling as he offered to 'put them out of their misery', The Flying Dutchman exploding out of the water, Elizabeth screaming at him over the sinking deck, blood running down her face and matting in her flying, golden hair… And a barnacled face grinning as the wood came down hard, putting Elizabeth out of his reach forev – no, he would never let it be forever … Elizabeth…

She was in Beckett's hands now and for once he wasn't around to rescue her…

"She's gone…" He whispered involuntarily, still staring up at the black ceiling of his cell on the Dutchman.

"Who's gone?" A voice called from the darkness. Will glanced across and realised that there was a lantern hanging in the corridor outside his cell. It didn't illuminate the other cell, but Will didn't need the light to identify his father.

"You're still here!" He exclaimed incredulously and quite foolishly, since it wasn't likely that Bootstrap would have been anywhere else. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, Will didn't feel quite so bad anymore.

"Did you think I'd be going somewhere?" Bootstrap chuckled dryly and moved closer to the bars. The faint light was barely enough to pierce the inky blackness, but Will could almost see his father's face, complete with the familiar starfish. "So who's the maiden you're missing?"

So Will told him all about Elizabeth, how she spotted him in the water when they first met, how he'd been in love with her ever since she first smiled at him. He told his father about their adventures, about Barbossa and the catastrophe with Beckett and Davy Jones. By that time he was feeling so open that he almost spilled everything about Jack and the kiss and how everything had been bad ever since. But then he caught himself, knowing he wouldn't have been able to talk about that without sounding petty and jealous. So, he explained the latest adventure and how this one had gone all pear-shaped. Bootstrap was particularly interested in the gypsy they'd picked up in Tortuga.

"I forgot! The ruby! Do you have it?" Will exclaimed suddenly, leaning forward and feeling his familiar drive and purpose return. If he could just take that, escape with his father, find Beckett, rescue Elizabeth and set off to find Jack again, then it would all come good. In his mind the plan didn't really sound that foolish, but he didn't risk letting it out into the air.

"I have it." Bootstrap replied, patting his coat pocket, a queer look coming over his face. "I'd be glad to be rid of it too."

"It's bad luck." Will said anxiously. "Tia Dalma explained it all."

"That'd be right." His father muttered, withdrawing into the darkness again. "You should get some rest, Will, the crew will come to call soon enough." Will tried valiantly to find a comfortable place to put his head, but that venture was rather useless. Eventually he gave up and curled up in a ball, hoping he wouldn't drown in his sleep because his head was lying in a puddle. Sleep didn't come quickly, but Elizabeth did. He could see her in his imagination, standing out on the deck of the Lady Dragonfly, her beautiful hair tossing in the wind. He wished he could be with her, even just for a single moment. It felt awful not knowing her fate upon Beckett's ship; the Enterprise. Needless to say, sleep did not come for quite a while…

x

I apologise for the slight Jack + Liz stuff. Don't worry, I'm still firmly WE forever! Review everyone and I might hit 35 reviews! That's phenomenal numbers… for me anyway. Have I updated quickly again? Sorry…this chapter just wrote itself really.