"Lo que en el nombre de los dioses fue eso?" Angelica breathes, crossing the deck slow to face Emily in awe.
"Magic." Jo replies darkly. "And not the kind she's meant to be able to use."
Emily ignores them, strolling calmly forward to crouch down in front of Riley. "Let me have a look." She murmurs, pulling his hand away from his shoulder.
"It's nothing."
"It was a rifle." She examines the wound, scowling. "Went straight through, which is good news. Easy fix if you'd let me..." She's not really thinking. Her hand begins glowing because it's what's most natural for her.
He flinches, though. Shoots a hand up to snatch her wrist in an iron grip. "No! No, just... it's nothing, nothing we can't patch up the - the human way."
Human way. What the devil does he mean by that? Emily's scowl deepens.
"I'll get him below and work on him." Jo interjects quickly. "You'd best get the boys sailing us back for Shipwreck; I'm sure Riley's not the only one needin' tending to. What d'you want done with the survivors over there?"
"Leave them. Let 'em sail home with a story to tell, eh? I'll get the message to Papa."
Jo nods, and glances downward, wary. "Erm, Captain, perhaps you'd better..."
Her hand. It's still glowing with an aura of magic. Her fist clenches. She closes her eyes and uses what's built up to calm her own stomach. It'll hold her together for now, at least. Jo calls another crewman over to get Riley to his feet and below to Emily's cabin.
Emily stalks across the deck and up the steps to the helm, half growling out commands as she goes. "Sail us back to the city, now! Start cleaning this mess up! Step to or I'll have all your guts for garters!"
What little is left in her stomach ends up in the waters below her, and still her belly feels as though it's doing summersaults. Her hands are shaking, her knees are weak, and she's too dizzy to get back to her feet. She feels as though she can't breathe.
She'd heard them all talking about what had happened; her Uncle and her Papa and Jo and Ana. Jo had said it, outright. Bad magic. Black magic. The kind the Admiral's pet used. Something Emily shouldn't even be capable of. The spell she'd cast hadn't been a particularly powerful one, and she'd caught herself before it had gone too far, but all that was little consolation. The point was, how could she have done it at all?
The nausea becomes marginally more bareable after a moment or two. Emily situates herself sitting against a barrel and tries to just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In...
Out...
The sun had set on Shipwreck hours ago. So why does she feel it, carressing her skin with it's pleasant warmth? The air feels different, and after a moment she realizes she's sitting in the sand, barefoot - barefoot. Two bare feet.
Her eyes shoot open, and she squints in the bright light. Oh. "Hello, my goddess." She murmurs.
There's a pause. Her goddess doesn't appear. A few more trees do, though, providing more shade. Oh, and then there's the bottle now sitting beside Emily, quite full. Her goddess whispers ye have all de time ye need, blessed one.
Her stomach is no longer churning, her hands are no longer shaking. She's still feeling anxious, but she can breathe again. She scoops up the bottle and sips at that sweet, glorious nectar of the gods that is rum and decides she'll take all the time in the world if she's got it.
A pleasant breeze starts up just as she begins to think it's awful warm. She gets to her feet, sips some more, wanders off down the beach, and tries not to think about the awful something her goddess is clearly preparing to tell her. Apparently, Calypso has decided Emily deserves a measure of mercy - she wanders for long enough that more than half the bottle disappears. Her heads buzzing, her thoughts have stopped racing, and she feels calm now, passive.
When she feels it's about time, she sits herself back beneath the shady canopy of leaves her goddess had provided her earlier and waits, patient. The breeze picks up some, and Calypso appears, legs crossed beneath the skirt of her dress. She looks as she always does, about Emily's age with tattooes marking a pretty face, currently softened with affection and worry.
"I would've enjoyed it. Watchin' the poor sods hack away at each other."
"In dat moment, yeh would have, yes."
"What was that, anyway?"
"A spell of insanity. Dey t'ought dere friends were de enemy."
"So - all's I did was confuse them?"
"Simple spell. But to gain such total control - it cannot be done wit' de magic I grant."
Emily thinks on this a moment, sips her rum, and takes her time finding her way to the next question. "How did I manage it, then?"
Her goddess grimaces. "De power ye possess is not totally mine. When Davy Jones got 'hold of it and bound me to a single form, him made de power his own. As him heart darkened and de curse took him fully, so too did de power. When it became yeh mother's, light was restored, but den she too fell. Now the power is imbalanced, and black magic have a mind of it's own."
"So it can take over if it pleases."
"It can take over if yeh feel powerless enough it t'inks yeh might choose it."
Emily takes a healthier gulp of her rum.
"I should've told yeh before. Now yeh know, yeh can choose not to give in."
"I wish you'd left it to mother, sometimes."
"If I had, yeh would never have gotten yeh mother back." Her goddess points out in return.
Emily sighs.
Calypso places a kiss on her forehead. "I believe yeh are strong enough. If not, I wouldn't have given de power to you."
"Small consolation, that, if I'm honest, but I shall take it."
Her goddess smiles. "I'll tell yeh mother to visit yeh. A talk wit' her about dis might do yeh good."
Emily would never object to the promise of a visit from her mother. "Please."
Calypso cups her cheek with a motherly sort of affection, and the world around Emily fades away slow until she's on the docks beside her ship again. It doesn't appear that much time has past.
"Peg?" The voice a gentle, worried murmur. It's Riley. He's pale, obviously in pain, his one arm held up in a crude sling while the other clutches a lantern.
She blinks up at him. "You should be resting."
"I was more worried about you..."
"Me? M'not the one with a bullet through m'arm, dear."
"No, but...earlier, you were going to heal me up, easy, and I, I pulled away, I..."
"S'fine, Riley. M'not surprised I scared you." Her heads still swimming pleasantly. She's feeling calm and oddly detatched. "Y'know I've got, in my cabin, something that'll help the pain. One of Jo's remedies. Some sort of root you chew on. Tastes awful, but it might help you settle 'nough to rest."
"Come on, then. Hide away with me for the night." She gets to her feet, and sways a bit, leaning on the barrel a moment. Riley eyes her up as they board the ship. "I'm sorry, you know. Mean, you can heal me, if you like. Well, I know, you're probably thinking clearer now, you won't want to, I mean... I just, I know you'd never hurt me, Peg."
She chuckles, soft and breathy. "By my goddess, Riley." They've just entered her cabin, she sits at the window seat. "Stop babblin', jus' com'ere."
He does, brows furrowed as he studies her. "Are you drunk?"
"A bit." She pats the seat next to her. He sits. She murmurs, laying two glowing hands over his shoulder. He flinches, his muscles tensing, but relaxes slow as the magic does it's work. She goes on talking as though there'd been no pause in conversation. "Thank goodness for it, too, else I might not've thought of that."
He glances down at his shoulder. "You didn't heal it. That would've hurt."
"Nah. You've not got the energy to endure that, you'd need rest first, love. I just numbed the pain, is all. Should hold you tonight, at least, you can decide what you want me to do in the mornin'."
He kisses her in response, passionate and hungry.
Her brows furrow. "Not sure I've done anythin' quite deserving of that..but I won't object, either."
He brings his good hand up to cup her cheek. "You misunderstood me earlier. Peg. Emily. I'm worried about you, about... I think you know, what that was you did earlier."
She takes his hand in her own and settles it in her lap. "A'do now, anyway."
He seems to be struggling with something. "I just, I need you to know, to understand. Mean, I know we fight, and sometimes I think I hate you. I really do. But I don't actually. I mean, I want you to...you can tell me, if something's more wrong than the usual. We'll work it out. You know. Together."
She shakes her head. "Hate me, Riley. You'd be better off."
"Probably." He meets her eyes. "Tell me you love me."
She snorts. "I'm not that drunk."
"Ah, I'll get it out of you one day."
"Mmm. Keep dreaming."
He chuckles. "Come on. Let's get some sleep."
She works off her leg brace and tries to help him settle in bed around his arm. "You know you'll probably never hear it even while I'm drunk, much less sober, aye?"
"Without hope, what's a man got?" Comes his instant response.
She curls into him, and sleeps on the thought...
...For perhaps half an hour.
She can feel things on her ship. Changes. Conversations it thinks she may want to know about, if one of her men tries to sneak a strumpet on board. And, certainly, when there's someone coming for her. She wakes before the footsteps even reach her ears. She knows it's been not even an hour mainly because she's still tipsy, and she scowls as she works her leg brace on while trying not to wake Riley. Surely, whoever's coming for her, whatever they're coming for, it could've waited until morning.
She slips out of her cabin as quiet as she can manage, and meets her brother just as he makes it down the steps.
"Don't give me that look." He says. "Papa's the one who sent me."
"I know very well who sent you." She grumbles.
Joshy sighs and holds up a bottle. "Trade it to you in return for your playing nice."
Her need to keep the calm that comes with the rum outweighs her ever-constant, underlying need to rebel this time around. She snatches the bottle out of his hand. "Deal."
...
He's in his study, the Captain's of several of his other ships surrounding his desk as he talks to them about how best to be on their guard. Emily swaggers in and drapes herself lazily in an armchair near the fire place. Several of the rooms occupants glance in her direction, but they know better than to comment on her presence.
Her papa dismisses them after not too long. Once they are gone, he sits back in his desk chair, puffs at his ever-present cigar, and stares down at the fireplace.
Neither really knows what to say.
Emily sips from her bottle.
The silence is broken by her mother, throwing herself into the room without bothering to knock (a curteousy nonetheless, as she could've simply appeared in the middle of it). "William Turner, I cannot believe you have the audacity to act as though you didn't see this coming." She crosses the room in a whirlwind of frustration, passing her daughter right up. "Did I not tell you? I've been hearing whispers of what's been happening for months and you ignore me!"
Her father, abruptly preoccupied and rightly so, seems to forget for a moment that Emily is in the room. He scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't ignore you, dear, I would never ignore you, but how could I possibly have known he'd have the guts to show up at our front door like that?"
"You should've been busy preparing for any possibility! I told you, didn't I, with all the poor, unquiet souls he's left in his wake, it's James all over again!"
Emily clears her throat. Her mother spins around, expression thunderous, and her father peers around the older woman with a warning look.
Emily just shrugs. "Jus' thought I'd point out that this is, in point in fact, news to me at the least." She sips her rum, more curious than actually bothered.
Hand on her hip, her mother scowls back at Will. "And you didn't even think to warn Emily? You have been ignoring me you selfish, drunken..."
"Mother." Emily interjects, tired. "Warn me about what?"
"The restless dead have a tendency to talk." Will explains, but he's giving his wife a hard stare as he does so. "Most of it the mad ravings of those who died a violent death. You can't expect what they say to be truth. You're mother tends to get a little too close to it all and forget herelf, that's all."
Emily can almost feel it, the fury radiating off of her mother in waves. She drinks, again, and waits for the disfunctional pair to sort it out.
This bottle's disappearing awful fast.
"I would think you'd be just fine with me getting a little close, considering the alternative."
"I would wish for you to find a balance that might have you acting less - less erratic and - and..."
"Female?" Her mother finishes, voice quiet now and ice cold.
Her father's shoulders slump and now he just looks tired. "Oh, why ever do I bother?"
"Mother." Emily interjects again, firmer now and a little louder. "Warn me. About. What?"
Her mother spins around to face her, finally. "These 'mad ravings' have come from men who did die a very violent death. All of them pirates. All of them babbling about how their ship had just been blown to kingdom come. And all of them knowing exactly who to thank for their demise."
"Alright. And who is it they've had to thank?"
"It's the Navy doing what it does best," her father interjects, quick, "nothing more. Elizabeth, please."
"Timothy Andrews." Her mother spits out the name. "And many seem to recall being dragged away for questioning first. Emily, he's trying to hunt you down, and has been for years. He's been left just the one step behind all the time, but only by the grace of our goddess, and he's getting close now. No doubt he's scurrying back to the Admiral on that ship you let loose earlier, going to tell him all about what he's just encountered, and Emily...he's got the means to fight back against your talents, too, now he knows the extent of them."
Emily blinks at her a moment, takes another healthy dose of rum, and staggers to her feet, darting out of the room. She needs to think.
"For heaven's sake, woman, even I could've found a gentler way to break that news to her!" Her father growls in his gruff baritone.
It's the last Emily hears of their conversation.
She should've killed the captain. Years ago. She should've been rid of one less problem while she had the chance and saved everyone who'd been hurt in the earlier battle the trouble. Now, the Admiral will know what Emily's capable of. She's got no surprises left and he can fight back against - against a thing like what she'd done earlier? Of course he can. She'd met the ragged hag that is his little pet.
She drinks from her bottle, another healthy gulp. She's really swimming by now. She slides down the wall just next to her papa's front door, one knee propped up before her as she stares ahead. She hates the thought as it enters her mind, but Adrienne had been right, when last Emily saw her. Emily has too much heart, had always had too much heart. She needs to start acting as a pirate.
Pirate...
"...a pirate's life for me." She sings to herself.
The door opens next to her, and her mother steps out. She comes over and slides down to sit beside Emily against the wall. "I should've told you myself, no matter your father's advice. I'm sorry."
"S'not your fault." Emily replies, matter of fact. "I should've killed him."
Her mother pauses to think on this. "It's a hard thing, choosing. Knowing when to show mercy and when not to. We walk a thin line, being what we are, but darling, it is never so shameful as some would have you think, to suffer the consequences of showing mercy when you maybe shouldn't have. To suffer the consequences of remaining human."
"Even when those consequences fall on others in the form of shots?" Her mother is silent. Emily drinks again. Her visions going a bit blurry. "Do you think...is it ever worth it?"
"Worth it - worth it to be the sort who's quicker not to show mercy?" Her mother seems shocked by the question. "Darling... how could you even begin to wonder?"
"Oh I could. S'a'rather easy thing to wonder, sometimes." Like when the woman who killed you is getting away but your very best mate needs help now so you let the little French murderess go. Or when the love of your life wants to run and you want nothing more than to go with him but you know the two of you will never be right for eachother so you just let him go. Yes. Emily Turner has very often wondered if it would be better to be selfish without mercy, and have that be the end of it. The bottle meets her lips again. "Mean, you spent some time rather far on the opposite side of that line we walk. You'd know."
Silence, for several dangerous moments. Emily starts when her mother snatches the bottle away. "You've clearly had enough."
She has. More than. She's lost control of her tongue. Takes quite a bit for that to happen, actually. "M'sorry, mother." She murmurs, quiet and sincere, laying her head on the older woman's shoulder. She's tired now. She just wants...rest.
Her mother relaxes, softening again. She plants a kiss on Emily's head. "No. At no point is it ever worth it. I suppose Calypso's told you now, about the trouble with your power?"
Emily nods.
"Now you've had a taste, given it an open door, it'll..." Her mother trails off, solemn, shaking her head. "It can be persuasive. So just listen to what I tell you. At no point is it ever worth it. At no point."
"Yes, mother."
"Come on. Let's get you to bed." Her mother stands.
Emily follows suit...far too fast. She staggers back to lean against the wall as the world goes spinning.
Her mother heaves a sigh and opens the door leading back to her father's set of rooms. "Come on, then, he always keeps a bed ready for you."
"Never actually slept in there." Emily scowls.
"Well I'm not in the mood to help you stagger all the way back to your ship. I hope you have an awful headache come morning."
"Mother, I am of the firm beleif that had y'ever had a hangover y'would never be so cruel's to wish one upon your daughter." The words are slurred enough the sentence is a joke in itself.
A smile tugs at her mother's lips. Emily grins at the victory.
It's a beautiful morning, with the sun shining bright in a cloudless sky. Were it not for the insufferable heat that accompanies the peaceful weather, the Admiral could almost bring himself to enjoy it. As it is, the Caribbean sunshine has a tendency to turn the large stone fort into an oven. Even with every window open to allow for a breeze, he's simply baking in it, and it's doing nothing to improve his mood.
"Sir."
The Admiral turns from the balcony where he's been looking out on the ships docked in the harbor.
The young lieutenant who'd been made the messanger goes on. "They've got hold of the Commodore. He's not in good shape."
The Admiral grimaces. "May God have mercy on me to spite what I must now do to him, then, but I'm afraid it is necessary. Send him here to me at once."
The lieutenant gives a nod and solemn 'aye, sir,' before retreating again. The Admiral braces himself for what is to follow, as it will not be pleasant. Footsteps echo down the hallway, a few sets of them this time. The lieutenant from earlier appears, along with another guard, escorting a ragged figure wearing the remains of a once resplendent uniform. One of a mere handful of survivors of a very serious battle.
A very serious battle that was, in fact, as near as anyone could tell, instigated by the weary ragamuffin now standing before the Admiral with head bowed. The man says nothing.
The Admiral takes stock of him and his subdued posture, and heaves a heavy sigh. "I think that'll be all, gentlemen." He says quietly, dismissing the guards. They leave obediently. The Admiral relaxes his stance. "Blast it. I told you how rash your plan was. I rejected it for a reason."
"It served its purpose. They nearly obliterated our strongest warship and the trick she pulled..."
"Yes, yes, I've heard the reports. It was an awe-inspiring display, I'm sure, and now we know what we're up against, but justifying the ship they did obliterate, all the men lost on your ship...and you directly defied my orders." He brushes past the man, his dearest friend really, to pace the room.
"As I said, sir. It served it's purpose."
"That it did. It could be months before I can sort this out. You'll have to disappear, at least for a while."
"I know, sir."
The Admiral glances back at his old friend. "I hope you're proud of yourself." There's some real anger there. Get enough good men blown to kingdom come and you'll give even the Admiral pause.
There's a moment of silence. "No, sir." The words so quiet as to be almost inaudible. "I never said that."
The Admiral closes his eyes and brings a hand up to rub at them. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"I have no choice now. You said so yourself."
"I can send you away pending an investigation, I can..."
The man stands straight, coming to his full height, which is considerable. "Are you implying this single mistake was enough to deem me unfit for command, Geoffery." He's raised his voice. The guards will hear, as will anyone just below the balcony with it's wide open doors.
Very well, then. The Admiral stalks across the room to meet him and raises his own voice as well. "Single mistake? This is hardly the first time your obsession has lead to such impulsive decisions!"
"But I have not steered you so wrong before this particular mishap..."
"Catastrophe! How dare you try to play it down as anything less when you lost an entire ship full of men! Too long I've played this dangerous game with you, I cannot afford to do so any longer!" The Admiral steps in closer, lowering his voice. "I can give you a day. No more than that."
His old friend nods in understanding and replies in kind. "Do what you must."
The Admiral steps back and raises his voice again. "You're a shadow of the man I once called friend, Timothy Andrews! Get out of my sight or I'll have you arrested this very instant!"
She sees her uncle's ship come up alongside their opponents. The Navy men are relentless. The Black Pearl is scrambling to fire back fast enough.
A bullet whistles just over Emily's shoulder...and she hears a cry of pain from somewhere just behind her. She knows that voice. It's Riley.
A cannon just misses the Pearl's mast. Emily can feel the magic crackling in the air around her, buidling inside her. It's all too much.
One ship sinking, why won't the other give up? Her blood boils. It's a test. They just wanted to see what they're up against.
She'll show them, won't she?
A blinding flash, tinted darker than is normal. It engulfs the entire scene, all three ships.
All those uniforms. Half of them are younger than even her. And she...she watches as they begin to tear eachother apart. A smile graces her lips...she's enjoying the show.
Emily gasps awake, shooting up to a sitting position, the sheets and her clothes drenched with the cold sweat she is dripping with. A single tear mixes with the perspiration on her cheek as she brings her hands up to bury her face in them, trying to regain her composure. Her heart is beating faster than that of a racehorse and the cold silence of her cabin isn't helping matters, but she's been so beside herself that she's barely even spoken to Riley for days.
It's been weeks now, and the nightmares seem to be growing worse.
A shaky hand reaches blindly down for the bottle that should be next to her bed, and she already relaxes some as her hand grips onto cool glass. She'd known when going to bed that she hadn't drunk enough, wouldn't sleep deep enough to keep the nightmares away. But Riley and Jo had both expressed some worry...and that had somehow got back to her uncle, and then of course Ana. And then her Papa, and since conversations regarding actual feelings had become awkward ground for them, she'd thought that serious enough to take, well, more serious.
Just at the moment, however, she's far beyond caring. She drinks.
"You know..." A voice murmurs, soft and benign, but Emily starts all the same as the lantern on her wall is abruptly lit. Her mother goes on, gentle. "...terrifying as I'm sure these dreams are, I think you just need to remember what really happened here. You didn't actually let them all kill eachother and, though I wouldn't personally condone the idea, there are many who wouldn't have blamed you if you had let them. Fine a line as it is, you wouldn't have been crossing it by that far."
Emily's closed her eyes and is leaning back against the wall, trying to stop her heart from racing so. "You've spoken to Papa again."
"I speak to him much more often then you probably realize. It's just, up until recently, he thought you just needed time." She older woman drapes herself in the window seat. "Now he's getting worried, though, and his being worried is my indication to start." A pause. "I've some advice, quite personal. Would you allow me to give it?"
"You're asking my permission?" Emily snorts. "Papa never does."
"I am not your Papa."
"If you've anything to tell me that you think might help, please, share."
"Well - aside from putting the bottle down," she says it gentle still, not judging, "finding some - that is, someone to keep you warm at night goes a long way in keeping demons at bay." A pause. Emily doesn't answer. Her mother plows on. "Someone who could somehow see past the demons, who cares anyway, only wants what's best for..."
"I won't pull Riley further into the madness that is my life." Emily snaps, unable to hold it back. "Not again. I've got enough on my bloody conscious, obviously. Besides, it's not fair for anyone involved, he's been exchanging letters with his Sarah again."
And allowing him to even try and be for Emily what her mother is suggesting... that's getting awful close to certain stirrings becoming a thing. And that leads to - to needing and she doesn't like that, needing.
Silence. Emily drinks again as her mother studies her.
"You're afraid if you do it'll end up like your father and I have." Her mother says with quiet understanding. "I..I am so sorry for that, Emily. I've never told you before I don't think, but I am so sorry, and you're father is too."
"I know you are." Emily looks over at her, feeling tired and melancholy. "If only 'sorry' fixed anything."
Her mother just sighs. "Talk to Riley. We've all seen the way he looks at you. I'll try to come 'round more often to check on you. Calypso is lenient with the frequency of my visits provided they don't last long."
"Our goddess would find a way to grant you the power to move mountains if she thought it would make you happy, I think."
A warm, stormy breeze sweeps through the room to spite the fact the window is closed, a bit of a warning. There is just a hint of amusement in there too, though. Emily holds back a bit of laughter.
"Cheeky." Her mother scolds, a smile tugging at her lips as well, and then she is gone.
She does as her mother suggests with Riley. Well, she sort of does. They don't talk about it. She takes him to bed for the first time in many nights, and he doesn't question. He wakes her when her dreams turn to the nightmare and is quiet, just there, an arm around her as she calms herself enough to try sleeping again. And it does help, just to have someone there. It had been the same when she had lost her memories, too, but this feels different. The memory problem hadn't left her feeling so broken, so afraid of her own shadow. Having him there for this feels more intimate.
Feeling restless of a sudden when she wakes the next morning, she cooks him breakfast - a real, full breakfast, with eggs and sausage and toasted bread and jam. It's the closest he'll get to any kind of 'thank you', and he excepts it with his usual, rather remarkable amount of grace.
He spends the next several days actively ensuring the rum is never quite within reach. Sleep gets even more difficult, and she doesn't eat much because she just can't stand to. She takes ill, shaky and so fevered as to be delirious at times. She can't actually pinpoint whether her upset belly came before the fever, so whether this is due to her sobering up so abruptly or to the bout of some sort of sickness that engulfs half the town for at least a week or so...well, no one bothers to try and distinguish. The symptoms presented seem to honestly suggest it's the latter, though. Whatever it is, she grows irritable and even more withdrawn, and for a while Riley himself is the only one who'll deal with her at all.
"Why do you keep bothering with me, Riley?" She asks at one point, starting to get her bearings again after her fever decids to break for a while.
He hushes her, holding a cup of water to her lips so she'll drink. "Stop asking. You know why, Peg."
"But I can't understand it."
He huffs as he sets the cup aside. "No one understands it when they feel it. It just - makes you do things. Put up with and worry about things that no one else would because, for whatever the bloody reason, you can see what no one else does. You can see those few things about a person that make them worth it and that somehow makes you love nothing more than to be the cause of their happiness, no matter what the consequences might be for you. That's what love is. Intoxicating and addicting and utterly senseless, not unlike your precious rum." He gets to his feet, seeming almost angry, though she's not quite sure what she did that was worthy of such a reaction. "Answer enough for you?" He half growls down at her, and proceeds to storm out.
"Riley! Wait!" She's too weak to get out of bed, and can do little more than call after him, her stomach twisting itself in a knot. The door slams shut anyway. "I...I love you, too." She murmurs anyway, and settles herself back in bed as she tries to think.
She has two options here anymore, really. She can show Riley what it is to be loved in return - properly - or she can have mercy on him and find a way to really make him hate her.
He'll leave eventually, either way. She knows because of the letters he's been exchanging with his Sarah again, the smile he gets on his face whenever he reads hers.
Mercy it is, then, Emily decides. Because in the end, that'll be what's easiest on everyone.
...
She's staying in the room her papa keeps for her. When she doesn't see or hear anything of him for some time, she pins Riley down long enough to ask what's going on.
There seems to be no rhyme or reason as to who the fever decides to knock down. Her brother isn't well, though he isn't so sick as to be bedridden. Will, however, is faring no better than Emily herself is. She thinks to ask who else is ill, but Riley only hushes her, and says she needs 'rest, not more worries'.
...
Temporarily left without a babysitter one morning, she does manage to shuffle out of bed and make a careful trek through the halls of her father's rooms. His own bedroom is situated not far from hers. It's quite a grand set up he has, with a four-post bed and shelves full of books and other decorative odds and ends.
She pulls an armchair across the room to his bedside and curls up in it. He's been sleeping, but wakes just as she settles herself. "Emily!" He seems genuinely pleased to see her, working his way into a sitting position. "You - you're feeling better, then?"
He's sickly pale, his cheeks flushed and a little too thin, and before her thoughts have time to catch up with her she's shooting out a hand to rest over his. "Aye. Fever seems to have gone, anyway."
"Good, good." He hesitates, taking his hand back only to scoop hers up and squeeze it. "You were one of the first to fall ill. It's had your mother worried sick." A pause, long and awkward, though his next words are delivered with feeling. "I've been worried sick."
Their relationship is often so strained and unusual, she never knows what to do on the occasion he decides to sound like a father. This occasion is no exception. She clears her throat, taking her hand back. "Worried sick. Took that a touch too literally, didn't you now, old man?"
He laughs softly. "Aye. It appears I did. Now you're up and about, suppose I can get to feeling better."
She nods. "That would be - good. I, uhm, I would hope for you to do just that."
She gets him a book down off the shelves, as he says he's finished the one Marie had left him with, and settles herself back in the armchair. Even this little bit of being 'up and about' is enough to tucker her out, however, to a frustrating degree - she falls asleep in the chair.
When she wakes, she is back in her own room, with a fire crackling in the fireplace. There is no one there with her, but she knows who must've settled her back in. Only Riley could've managed to scoop her up and carry her without even waking her.
...
"Uncle!" Emily near sprints up the gangplank, much to the dismay of Riley, who's been following close behind for the entire stroll down to the docks.
It's been almost two weeks since her fever finally cleared up. Riley and Jo had been insisting she needed to take it easy still, so she'd not been allowed to wander too far from the confines of her father's rooms. But today is the perfect day; the suns shining bright but there's a pleasant breeze keeping things cool, and Emily's feeling more bouncy and full of energy than she has in what feels like ages.
"Easy, easy -" her Uncle groans and then breaks into laughter as she throws herself into his arms, "easy on the old man, dearie! M'glad your feelin' so much better, though."
She presses a kiss to his cheek - which is a little thin. And that's added to the tired circles beneath his eyes. He looks old, in a way that disturbs her. But then, he's had a lot on his mind, she supposes, and the thought brings her to why she's here. "Not near as glad as I am. But forget about me, I'm here to see Ana."
Her uncle nods and she takes his arm as he leads her below decks to his cabin. "Her fever's not come back again in a few days, and she got 'erself out o' bed this mornin' to come find me. It'll be a while 'fore she's well enough to take charge of the tavern again or anythin' like that, but I think she's goin' to be fine."
"It's Ana. Of course she will be." Emily replies, offering her uncle a smile. They make it down to his cabin, and Emily leaves him at the door to shoot over to Ana's side.
Ana's sitting up in bed, reading a book. She looks tired, and old as Jack does, but her eyes are bright and a smile spreads her lips as Emily enters the room. "Oh! Jack didn't tell me it was you coming to see me!"
"Thought you'd appreciate the surprise." He explains from the doorway. "I'll leave ye two to talk."
Emily throws her arms about the older woman. "You've no idea how worried I was when Riley told me you'd been sick too."
"Well, you've had everyone else worried the longest, so I think that's fair." Ana replies, playful, and plants a kiss on Emily's forehead.
Emily chuckles. "Mother told me something similar."
There's an odd pause; Ana's smile has faded a little. She reaches out to scoop up Emily's hand in her own, and there could almost be a touch of sadness behind her eyes.
"What is it?" Emily prompts her, growing worried.
The older woman shakes her head. "No. Forgive me. I shouldn't, not now. You're not even fully recovered."
"I'm recovered enough, and don't you dare treat me as if I'm a child." She takes her hand back, abruptly annoyed. "What is it, Ana?"
"I've had a vision. It's been at least a year since I've received anything of the sort from my goddess, but I had one just the other day. Peg. It was about you."
"About me?" Emily's brows furrow. "But - why would she not just give me the vision, then?"
"I fear if she had you would've been less prone to listen to reason, being too blinded by anger."
Emily's getting really worried now. She takes Ana's hand again. "Alright, then. What will you tell me of it?"
Ana sits herself up further in bed, growing earnest. "All is not as it seems, Peg. The Admiral wanted you to think this is more about - about the power you possess than it is about you, but that is a lie. It's a game. I don't believe he's the one pulling the strings, but it is a game of Chess, and he is the King. He has some control, and he needs you. It's not just the power you possess, it's you being what you are."
"What I am?" Emily's growing very unsettled. "Ana, what the devil are you talking about?"
"You've spoken with him. He told you about what you are but I don't think you fully understood."
"What didn't I understand?" Emily almost barks, demanding.
"What your mother is!" Ana barks back. "What Calypso makes the ferrymen into, what they have to be to do that job. It bends the rules, so the gods themselves don't like it talked about, but it is an intricate part of how it has always worked."
"Ana!" Emily half growls. "Just come out with it!"
"A goddess, Emily! Calypso chooses the ferryman, and if the gods agree that the victim is worthy, that victim is made into a minor god." Emily's hand slips from Ana's, and she collapses back into her chair. Ana goes on, a little gentler now. "Which is why our goddess has been allowed such a - a closeness to you. The ferrymen are - they're a special case. When they tire of doing the job, they plead their case before Calypso, and she chooses the next ferryman. But in only a handful of cases has a child been thrown into the mix, born after the mortal was made a god. In most cases, these children were made awful targets for all the worst sorts of creatures and didn't survive long. And then comes you."
"Because my mother was blessed by Calypso." Emily pieces together. "She already had magic. Add onto it the power granted from the new position as ferryman, and she was suddenly..."
"Suddenly powerful enough to match the higher gods. And then Calypso gave all of that, to you."
"And..." Emily goes on haltingly, thinking it through. "And because I'm special, because I was born after it all, I'm..."
"A demi-goddess. The only other being down here on Earth that could hold all that power, if with a shaky control over it. That's why Calypso can allow for the punishment of you being hurt, but she can't allow you to die. That would break the rules, and leave all that power without a vessel to contain it properly."
Emily breathes a moment, soaking in this new information. She nods at length. "Alright. So we're getting somewhere now. This is good." A pause. "So our goddess decided to make all this known to you, but that doesn't explain what you saw in your vision."
"I saw..." Ana hesitates. "I can't say. There's a reason our goddess didn't give the vision to you, but... look at me, Emily." Emily looks the older woman in the eye. Ana goes on. "I love you and have cared for you at times like the daughter I never thought I wanted. So I'm asking you, out of respect for one who had a hand in raising you, listen to what I say and remember it. You're going to be given a choice very soon, to show mercy when a black as coal little part of you wants nothing more than to do the opposite and believe me when I say as a pirate I will not blame you. But as a faithful servant of our goddess, I must tell you - choose mercy. What will ensue if you don't could lead to disaster."
"Ana...I feel as though you're asking me to make a promise when I don't even really know what I'm promising. You know how I am about promises. That's a hard thing to ask of me."
"You'll know when the time comes." Ana reaches out to cup Emily's cheek in earnest. "Promise me not to listen to that dark little part of you. Promise me you'll be better than the real villains here, because you and I and Jo and your father and my Jack, we are not them."
Emily covers Ana's hand with her own, nodding slowly. "Alright, Ana. Because you've loved me as you would've your own blood. I promise."
Spanish:
Lo que en el nombre de los dioses fue eso? - What in the name of the gods was that?
I have no actual schedule for updates any longer. Life keeps getting in the way. But as always, I'm still writing, and I'm pleased with this chapter, so I hope you are too. Thanks for reading. :)
AngryMothNoises: Your review really made me smile. Thank you. :)