Hey guys! IT'S SUMMER! And that means I can update more often, promise! Anyway, I wanted to give you a first look at the pirate, THE pirate. I really hope you like it, because I changed it like four times to make it work for me. A few people's names were made up, and a lot of research went into this part. Please review, let me know what you think.
-Han
The pirate stalked the dense jungle of La Florida with purpose, her steps seeming to echo around her, as if they were against stone instead of soft, wet ground. Her red hair fell into her eyes, strands of it sticking to her sweaty forehead, the heat surrounding her oppressive. Her second in command rushed to keep up with the Captain's quick, determined movements, trying to discern where the woman would step next. The small group kept their distance from her, watching her warily as she inspected the trail in front of her. Her elegant movements seemed to enrapture and frighten the crew, having seen her in action too many times to mistake her for innocent.
Tanned skin caught the spattered sunlight that wormed its way through the blanket of trees overhead, scars overlapping scars decorating her bare arms and neck, days when she almost met the end and managed to pull herself back were fresh in her mind. The woman ran her fingers over a split fern, the cut of a sword clear to her eyes, pointing her ahead. She took tactful steps, imagining her enemy rampaging through the same area only an hour or so before, keeping her distance was important. She'd been far enough behind to lull them into complacency, her icy blue eyes shining amidst heavy rain, darkness, now sunlight, always a step away, never far enough to lose them.
"Calico wouldn' o'liked this," an older pirate muttered lowly, thinking she couldn't hear him. The Captain turned, a quick motion that sent her red hair fanning out behind her like the fires of a Hell too dark to envision. Her sword glinting lowly in the sunlight, the last thing this man might ever see.
"Calico's dead. If he'd fought like a man, he wouldn't have been hanged like a dog," she spat, trying to cover the pain, the irrevocable hurt that laced every breath she took. Her husband had been dead long enough for her to learn to cover the pain. "Unless you want to meet the same end, Charles, I suggest you stop whining like an infant and do as I say." Her teeth were bared, cruel blue eyes boring into the middle-aged pirate. He quivered, nodding dumbly and accepting the rarely afforded mercy his Captain had given him.
"Yes ma'am," Charles said softly, his eyes trained on the ground. His Captain rolled her eyes, running a hand through her fiery hair and sighing lowly.
"Simon, lead these bilge rats onward," she instructed her stoic first mate, the lanky man nodding in understanding before pushing Charles roughly in the right direction, sending him stumbling into the jungle, following the trail Blackbeard had unwittingly left behind.
"And you Captain?" Simon asked, his dark hair falling over his eyes, sticking to his forehead. His delicately carved features made him seem as unobtrusive as herself, though she knew him to be just as vicious. He was ten years younger than her, but understood the woman in a way only her late husband and Mary had. They were both dead, she needed someone she could trust. Simon was as close as she got.
"The Sanitago," she said shortly, gripping her sword tighter. "Blackbeard will not be gaining eternal life today, you can be sure of that," she hissed. Simon grinned, nodding respectfully and turning back to the small group they'd taken with them from the deck of Calico's Revenge. They walked on, heads down to avoid her cold eyes, hating the way her gaze sent violent shivers down their spines.
The woman watched them go, her gaze trained on their thundering steps, willing them to be silent as they moved through the thick vegetation. She rolled her eyes and turned again, her red hair fanning out behind her, the dangerous look in her eyes refusing to die. She needed this, being alone and rushing towards the brink of an adventure she couldn't even describe, ending a feud as long lasting as her career as a pirate, finding the key to living forever, living free for the rest of time. The pirate moved then, running until the world around her was only a blur of green, the beginnings of a growl crawling up the back of her throat and she would end Blackbeard, his daughter too if she got in the way, she would steal the eternal drink and see horizon after horizon until the world itself crumbled and fell away.
She would kill the man who gave away their position all those years ago, the one who whispered to informants and had the Revenge captured. Calico Jack had died that day, screaming for her to save him, his handsome face purpling and vacant by the time the rope finally choked him of air. Mary and she were more fortunate, bartering their way out of hanging with all they had to offer. Themselves. The Captain had cried for days afterwards, being stripped away of her dignity, the spark that made her a pirate to save her own life.
And now revenge was the only thought on her mind, retribution for the lives Blackbeard had taken, the dignity he stole, the youth she'd given up while laboring in pregnancy, giving the child back the black-hearted man she'd been used by. Blackbeard would pay.
Nothing could stop her, she wouldn't let it.
Xx
Barbossa led his own band of unkempt soldiers, each man dirtier than the last, the wear of constant movement beginning to show on the once proud members of the King's Navy. His sword guided them through the thick jungle, no light made it through the blanket overhead, giving the illusion of night growing darker with each step they took further into the embrace of the wilderness. The grunts of the men behind him was beginning to grate on Barbossa's nerves as he attempted to follow the directions Gibbs had earlier pointed out with minimal words.
"Be nice to have a map about now," Barbossa hissed, throwing a glare over his shoulder towards the weathered pirate.
"Or a ship," Gibbs responded in turn, a quick insult hurled with no regard for rank or superiority. Gibbs didn't have to operate under the illusion of clean living, of rejecting piracy, the very thing Barbossa thrived on. Times had changed, had reduced the once proud pirate to scrambling at any opportunity to take out Blackbeard, even if it meant becoming what he hated. His eyes caught a shock of color adorning Gibbs' dark blue vest, and everything in him froze.
"Stop!" Barbossa shouted, his eyes wide and his heart beating faster than he thought it could. The small frog latched to Gibbs' vest was bright red, like the blood Barbossa had seen flood through many a man's body and be exposed to air. "Hold still. Ye dare not let it touch your skin," he muttered, willing Gibbs to be still as he pulled on a pair of white gloves. Groves passed him a pair of silver tongs, Barbossa took them with careful fingers and closing them on the poisonous amphibian.
Groves held a jar gingerly, a grim look in his eyes as Barbossa shoved the frog inside and screwed the lid shut. He knew the small unimpressive animal could be more deadly than the Kraken he'd known to exist not long before, when the rule of sea was given to Lord Becket. Things had changed, the Goddess of the sea returned, the rule of it taken back by her capable hands.
Gibbs stared down Barbossa with condescending eyes, watching the nearly delighted look the old pirate adorned as he gazed at the red frog nestled among others. "What? What be wrong with an older man havin' a hobby?" Barbossa asked, feigning surprise as he stood straighter to meet Gibbs' eyes. "What've stopped for, eh?"
"Push on!" Groves ordered, relinquishing control of the jar thankfully and forging his way through the heavy vegetation once again.
"Ye can sleep when you're dead! Push on!" Barbossa shouted, his words carrying the weight of a man who'd commanded for years, who was used to the smell of the sea and the feel of the salt and the slurred insults a pirate could give. The fatigued men moved on, each step taxing on their tired bodies, but Barbossa showed no mercy. He gazed down at the poison encased in glass with a grim smile. "Fortune continues to favor us."
Xx
The beach seemed inviting, bringing Anna back to the island she'd been trapped on with Jack and Elizabeth what felt like so long ago. That was when Jack was the best friend she could ask for and love was never in the cards. Things had changed; she'd grown from the background character in her own story to take a center stage she hadn't even known existed. She was writing it her own way, loving every moment of the wind against her face and the untold story before her. Her body had already begun to dry, after the two pirates had pulled themselves from the cool embrace of fresh water in favor of traipsing across white sand, navigating through fallen trees, stripped of bark and weathered until they seemed to be the bones of ancient creatures. The sun was beginning to set, slipping below the horizon so far out of reach.
"Couldn't have been fun to get up there," Jack commented dully, staring up in fascination at The Santiago, precariously stuck to the side of a cliff, half-buried in the unforgiving stone wall, vines and foliage growing in through the cracks in the deck, holding the vessel to the side. It reminded him of The Flying Dutchman, already becoming part of its surroundings, succumbing the influences of the nature surrounding it, like Jones' vessel was once caked with barnacles and sea weed.
"Ponce de Leon was not very good at steering, apparently," Anna muttered softly, a smirk dancing across her lips. Jack slung an arm around her shoulder, leading her towards the steep Cliffside with uneven steps.
"The breath of gods is not easy to navigate, darling," he answered quietly. Anna rolled her eyes and turned to face him, his arm falling from her shoulder until she could grab it, taking the lead towards the assured long climb.
"You did," she reminded that space in-between their first and second adventures still swimming with mystery. But she knew this for sure, it being asserted while they searched for willing souls to trade for Will and Jack's lives, Norrington practically spitting it through grime and rum in The Captain's Daughter after leaving his position. The hurricane had ruined the honorable man, but Jack had made it through.
She missed James sometimes, when the water was high and she was reminded of his awkward, tight smile and the way he loved a woman that would never love him back. She shook off the memory in favor of the future, stealing the silver chalices and making their way back to the Fountain, where they would end this.
"Aye," Jack answered softly, memories swimming behind his dark eyes as they made their way forward. "That was before I had a princess to take care of," he joked, allowing her to pull him.
"King," she corrected, flashing a grin in his direction. He nodded, as if he'd overlooked the title he'd help give her, the one that she carried with pride when contacting the Court. The one she was reluctant to take but didn't let go of, a mark of her freedom that couldn't be taken from her.
"Well, I'd thought you'd forgotten, with the way you've been acting. Letting Blackbeard intimidate you and all." Anna couldn't tell if he was joking, the spark in his eyes was burning, seeping into her skin and heating her blood.
"Jack, you would know by now, if anything frightened me," she said quietly, her eyes finding a quickly darkening sky. "Nothing Blackbeard could do to me, absolutely nothing makes fear roll down my spine."
She didn't add anything to it, didn't mention how it wasn't herself she was concerned for. Jack could tell, could see it in the set of her shoulders and the soft way she sighed when she met his eyes a moment later. He didn't say anything on the matter.
"Your majesty," he beckoned with a broad sweep of his arm, allowing her to climb up first. She looked warily at the vertical climb, rubbing her callused hands together and preparing for a long way up. "I'll catch you," Jack promised from behind her, sensing her trepidation.
"Thanks birdie," she murmured, gripping the first hold she could find once calculating a safe route up. The stone dug into her palms, but years of work alongside Will in the smithy had made her strong. She lifted herself up, upper body straining, muscles already tired from miles of swimming. She refused to slip. Jack watched from below her, arms already outstretched to catch her if she lost her grip, a small smile on his lips.
"Anything for the King."
Xx
The glass coffin tumbled to the ground, shattering in a thousand pieces of sparkling crystal across the wet ground. The mermaid curled in on herself, her harsh breathing ringing in the ears of the missionary as her tail dissolved, scales flattening into skin, splitting into legs. Her pale skin was like porcelain, blue eyes shifting around her in terror, her arms wrapping around her knees to try and conceal her nakedness.
Phillip stripped off his shirt, stumbling towards her before any other man could move, wrapping the thing fabric around her slight frame with gentle fingers. She met his eyes, huge, innocent, fearful, like a caged animal. She leaned into him almost imperceptibly.
"You will walk," Blackbeard ordered, pausing in his steps to glare back at her, his dark eyes narrowing on the protective way Phillip's tan arms encircled the creature.
She tried to stand, her pal legs shaking with the effort it took to haul her body up into the air. Phillip braced her, his arms pulling her up towards a sky she'd never been closer to, feeling air in places she was unaccustomed to, the skin of her legs tingled with its touch. She toppled back towards the ground, the dead leaves and dark soil rushing up towards her face too fast for her to understand. The man grabbed her, kept her from the pain that was sure to come.
"I cannot," she whispered, her eyes cast down in shame. She heard the cocking of a gun and look up to meet Blackbeard's cold, unfeeling stare.
"You will walk, or you will die," he promised, his chilling voice sending her nerves on edge and making her remember why her sisters hated men so much. Why they feared them.
She was speechless, trying to form the words to keep her breathing while the Captain stared down at her. Angelica glanced hesitantly at her father, wondering if he knew what he was doing, what he was risking as the fragile mermaid stuttered for breath. Phillip was there again in another moment, his arms reaching for her cautiously.
"Put your arms around me," he requested, his aqua eyes flicking up to Blackbeard's dark gaze. Her fearsome look turned biting, a strict glare burning through his skin and into his soul.
"I do not ask for help!" she hissed, her jaw clenched. For a moment, Phillip could see the fearsome creature she was, the one capable of killing him, of ending his life at any moment. But he owed her a debt, owed her for saving his life.
"But you need it," he whispered, staring at her as if enraptured. She was beautiful, undeniably. Her porcelain skin was so different from the women he had seen at sea, hardened and crass, she was delicate. Her blue eyes were innocent, swept clean of pain and despair and every harsh reality known to others. She was different.
Her arms slipped around his neck, and he stood carefully, supporting her at the knees and back, allowing her scantily clad body to press against his naked chest. She could feel his heartbeats, he could feel her breathing.
"We are in a hurry, yes?" Phillip asked sarcastically, glaring at the stone-cold man before him. Blackbeard was not salvageable, he couldn't be saved from the fiery depths of a hell he was promised. The Captain was evil and no god could change that.
"Do not fall behind," he warned, turning his back on the young missionary and his speechless daughter. They moved slowly, on automatic. Angelica had hardly spoken since Jack followed Anna over the side of a cliff, not bothering to hesitate at the edge, the good Captain had dove straight down, a scream echoing around them. The Spanish woman was left alone, wondering why she felt anything towards the charming man at all, wondering why she was so taken with his tan skin and devilish smile. He was untamed, though with a woman at his side, Angelica would think he'd been changed. She'd hoped to lure him out with promises of freedom, to keep him from Anna's innocently depthless blue eyes with hushed words of the wind beneath him and the horizon before him. But he already had that.
And she couldn't stop wanting him.
"Hold here 'til I say," she shouted at the crew some time later, her dark eyes flicking back to the tiring missionary sadly. He needed a break; she needed a moment to eradicate a Sparrow from her mind.
Phillip lowered the mermaid slowly onto a log, watching her struggle to keep herself steady. "Such beauty. Surely you are one of God's own creations and not a descendant of those dark creatures who found no refuge on the Ark. Such beauty," he whispered, standing again as if to walk away, his bare chest glistening with a thin layer of sweat.
"You are different," she said softly, a nearly French accent coloring her words as she sat huddled on her root, drawing his shirt tighter around her thin body. He turned back, confusion riddled in his eyes. "You protect."
"Because I was taught to, by the woman you saw earlier, the princess," he said quietly, a smile on his lips. "Anyone can be 'different' if they find the light in their own hearts." She didn't respond, her mind casting back to the small, lightly tanned woman who stared moved around a pirate in a way she didn't understand. The mermaid wondered if she could move around Phillip like that. If she wanted to.
"You see the Fountain?" Angelica asked her father quietly, casting her eyes back to the young missionary with eyes for a mermaid. Love was the last thing she wanted to witness right now.
"No, but we are close," Blackbeard answered quietly, following his daughter's line of sight until it fell on the quivering mermaid. "Bring the creature, cover its head!" he shouted the command, waiting for some crew member to follow it. They were too scared not to.
"She has a name!"
That was the missionary, it's always the missionary. He rolled his eyes, willing himself to be calm when he wanted so so much to reach for the pistol at his side. "Pray tell," he requested, his arms spread wide. He didn't have time for this, he was too busy running from the grip of Death he had evaded for so many years. A one legged man was set to take his life tonight, and he was going to stop it, stop that vile Pirate Lady from his past watch him take his final breath. It wouldn't happen this way. He wouldn't let it.
Phillip glanced back at the small woman, the mythical creature of his dreams, the one that saved his life. She stared back at him, ever the unknowing enchanter, pulling him deeper into realms of dreams and mystery, where his god stood among a thousand others, willing to let their Divine hands touch the waves lapping at the shores and spread magic between land and sea and the sky. She was a siren, beautiful, pulling him into deeper waters, where he would drown a happy man, touched by magic. When he spoke it was with the same conviction with which he spoke of God, laced with devotion, laced with strength.
"She is Syrena."
