Elizabethfound herself captured, an errant footfall in the rhythms of the wedding party's dance. Heated air thick with a green and ancient scent resonated with the chant and sway of human ritual. Her breath caught when she sighted Jack through the crowd, standing before the bride and groom. Naked to the waist, his illustrated skin and charm-woven hair reflected the darting glances of the fire. The blaze in the center of their circle painted his body in shadow and flame, illuminating him as a phantom stalking the night's terrain, one who had always lived in the forest.

Jean-Luc appeared at her side, face sober with intent. His barely perceptible nod directed her attention to Zahul and the book that he held. Something in the careful way the king's hands cradled it created a chill that stroked her spine.Elizabethsaw reverence and a strong undercurrent of fear in his eyes. The book seemed to radiate an animate power that belied its humble binding of pounded bark and rough cord. Strange inscriptions on itssurface skittered in the shifting light, their spidery patterns refusing a tangible web. Her gaze could not quite holdtheshape or substance of it. Some primitive part of herself whispered thatthis strange form of blindnesswas a blessing.

The ceremony proceeded, Jack and Zahul alternating their recitation of elaborate phrases she could not understand. When their oratory ended, the bride and groom knelt. Jack drew intricate patterns in the space above their heads, his rings flashing color.Elizabethrepressed a grin. She suspected that his elegant gestures and solemn expression had more to do with his own thespian leanings than with any traditional rite.

The crowd murmured and then lent their dance a new frenzy; it was evident the celebration had begun. Zahul then presented the book to Jack with a minor flourish and not a little relief. She saw the groom's mother, Malani, lean gracefully towards Jack and brush his cheek with hers. She appeared to whisper something in his ear. Jack stepped closer to the fire, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth's across its shimmer of heat. With no warning the flames suddenly roared towards the night sky, filled with a strange spectrum of color. When at last they died and her view was clear, Jack was gone.

One hand on her sword and the other grasping Jean-Luc's sleeve,Elizabethran to the place he had been. She searched the shadows and the blur of confused faces but found no sign of Jack. Zahul's own visage was dark with rage; he signaled to several men who had produced long knives from the folds of their wrapped attire. They melted into the shadows as the crowd's speculative hum rose in volume. She felt a hand on her arm and looked down to see Malani signaling them to follow. WhatElizabethhad seen earlier in the woman's eyes led her to a leap of faith; she took Jean-Luc's hand and pulled him forward.

The forest folded them into its dark embrace, her only means of navigation the rustle of disturbed foliage. Their guide seemed to travel by instinct on a path that fell closed behind them, branches twining into a living barrier in their wake. She could hearBeauvais' footfalls and steady breathing behind her, reassuring and human.

At last they reached the riverbank, the water's music and reflection of faint moonlight a relief to her deprived senses. Their companion paused and murmured words in her own language, luminous eyes holdingElizabeth's. Malani pressed a bag woven of some soft material into her hand.Elizabethfelt a hard weight inside, surrounded by something dry and brittle that seemed to fragment at her touch. She looked to Jean-Luc with a question but he offered only an enigmatic smile in return.

WhenElizabethturned to offer protest at leaving the rest of their party behind, the woman was no longer by her side. Irritation at yet another disappearance and fear for her captain welled in her throat. "Jean-Luc, we have to go back, find the others, look for Jack." She started to step into the darkness but he took her arm firmly in one hand and forced her to look at him, the other tilting her chin.

"Elizabeth, Jack knows what he's about; all part of the plan and all going smoothly. Malani will bring the others; we need to make our way downriver to my ship."

She slapped his hands away with a force now fueled by full-blown anger. "Plan? What plan? The one that I'mnota part of? Where is Jack, and how dare the two of you conspire behind my back, you damnable, wrong-minded, smirking, swaggering male buffoons, you…" He cut her off with strong fingers against her mouth, which he removed in haste as she lifted her sword.

"Elizabeth, you have such beauty when angry; truly Jack has chosen well. Une princesse guerriére." His eyes widened as she drew her sword back further with genuine menace in her eyes.

"Chose me? Please, let us talk about choices. You have two – you can tell me what is happening in great and careful detail, or, you canchooseto lose part of your anatomy, said part being my choice, of course, based on what I believe you to hold most dear." She recognized an echo of Jack's voice in this speech that only served to heighten her frustration.

Jean-Luc drew himself up to his full height, his eyes flashing both amusement and authority. "May I remind you that the ship downriver is mine? As her captain and in Jack's absence I have sole leadership here. We need to go now; Jack and the others will meet us in good time. I will allow Jack to explain his – choice, if that is what it was, that leaves you in ignorance." He turned his back to her and strode off across the smooth stones of the riverbank.

She was left to follow in silent fury, hands clenched in fists that longed for contact with the French pirate's smirk and the matching grin she planned to wipe from Jack's face. Instead, they found purchase only in their mysterious ally's as yet unknown gift. The bag swinging against her thigh seemed to hold an enchantment all its own, a soothing warmth that slowly distracted her from vengeance.

Too much of a distraction; she felt a blade against her throat a second after belatedly sensing a presence at her back. Without thought, she brought a booted foot down hard on a bare instep. The sharp edge biting at her skin slipped and she whirled, sword drawn. Her attacker was armed with only a knife but was twice her size. She, however, had the advantage of a longer weapon and natural agility. She eluded his feints once, twice, and then ran her own blade home.

She could hear Jean-Luc engaged in a battle of his own a few yards ahead, had no time to narrow the distance before a second man loomed from the darkness. He was more agile than his predecessor but also no match for a sword powered by her anger and fear. Turning, she made for the French captain; the warning he shouted came too late. She felt a burning pain glide into her shoulder, felt her knees buckle. Jean-Luc ignored the man he had felled who was now rising behind him, knife held high. Suddenly he was beside her, his own sword wet with blood that shone black in the moonlight. The third of Zahul's guard to fall did so with a resounding crash behind her. The fourth, who had given chase to Jean-Luc, staggered to a halt when the pirate swung to face him. He wavered a moment, then slipped away into the forest's shadows.

Jean-Luc's hands gently explored her shoulder, lifted her to her feet. "It isn't far,Elizabeth, can you walk?" She leaned against him and attempted a few steps but her legs would not obey, wobbled like a colt's. He swept an arm behind her knees and lifted her easily, ignoring her protest. "Such a fighter you are, for one so slight; you weigh nothing, légère comme une plume, une plume d'or, Jack's trésor, son bijou, his pirate queen; il a trouvé son horizon."

His words against her hair were soothing, meant to be she thought, from the great distance that seemed to separate her from coherence. He continued to murmur in French cadenced by hard-earned breath as he loped across the dimly lit stones. She did not know if minutes or seconds had elapsed when they reached the schooner waiting in the river's bend. Kalé was supporting her then as well, assisting Jean-Luc in a climb to the railing that her own muscles refused to aid. Her feet finally touched the deck with the French captain's arms firmly supporting her. She heard Jack's voice then, strong and distinctive above the others. Her mind cleared as warm relief flooded her and she allowed her head to drop to Jean-Luc's broad chest.

Jack's step approached on the boards, unmistakable; judging by the muted sound he had not replaced his boots. She heard something like a hiss, then words flattened by a warning. "Wasting no time in my absence, I see – mon ami. Lovely evening for moonlit romance."

Jean-Luc shifted towards him, turning her back into the lantern's light. Then, Jack was there, running his hands over her body, pulling her against his bare chest, his words raw. "Lizzie, no, you're all right, get you seen to, love, you'll be all right…"

His familiar scent and the feel of his arms around her brought a return of strength and perversely, a resurgence of anger. She struggled against him and tried without success to push him away. "Damn you, Jack, how am I supposed to watch your bloody back if I don't know where the bloody hell it is?" As quickly as it had filled her, she felt the passion born of fear and fury slip away. To her intense disgust her eyes welled with tears, sliding down her face in a hot flood. They washed the small knife wound on her throat with their salt sting; fell like stars into his hair. He drew back and she saw the confusion in his eyes give way to comprehension.

"Didn't know what to expect, did I? Came prepared for contingencies, including a small pouch of gunpowder concealed in my…on my person. Threw it on the fire and slipped away. Malani whispered to me that Zahul had decided to retain the book; wanted to add to my power as liaison with the dead by returning me to that state - dead, that is - thus better able to ensure effective communication, good fortune for his kingdom, and retention of said book and all its magicks. Now shut up, Lizzie, and remember, on deck I am your captain. The rest we'll settle elsewhere, and later." Glancing at Jean-Luc, he gestured with his chin towards the great cabin. "My friend here is an excellent and tender nurse as well as a proficient swordsman, if memory serves."

The throbbing pain in her shoulder forcing down further protest, she allowed him to guide her inside. Jean-Luc produced water, bandages and brandy while Jack seated her on the bed and unceremoniously stripped off her bloodstained shirt. She caught the French captain's appreciative smirk as she hastily clutched the ruined linen to her breasts. He proffered the brandy with a flourish and she took a deep, burning swig. The thought crossed her mind once again that he really was infuriatingly similar to Jack. Peas in a pod. Twin pirates. Castor and Pollux. Maddening. Another grand draught of brandy, and the light in the room began to shift into haze. She swayed slightly and felt Jack lower her to the bed and turn her to lie on her stomach, his thigh pressed against her side.

The haze spread through her body; she was aware of gentle hands lifting her hair aside and bathing her wound. Then her shoulder was ablaze with an application of the liquor that was decidedly not as pleasant as its heat in her belly. She reached again for the bottle but Jack batted her hand away. "No more for you, love, lightheaded enough already, you've lost blood. Damn it, Lizzie, this wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to come after me. Had Kalé and the others at my back, should have been an easy waltz."

She could hear the growl of anger in his voice, but for some reason could not repress the bubble of laughter that welled up inside. A product of the brandy, no doubt. "Jack, you know your own stories, mine now, I get to wear them, too. Think I'll get a tattoo, as well; didn't you say you knew a man in one of our next ports of call who was adept with a needle? Artemis, I think; she was a huntress. Seems fitting."

She heard Jean-Luc snort, hovering somewhere above her. "Best to let her have the brandy, Jack. She's right; she will wear the mark of this adventure. She needs stitches and I for one do not wish to face the wrath of the huntress if she is sober for that."

Jack swore but lifted her slightly, placed the bottle to her lips. Another blissful rush of fire; she turned her head to look up at him beside her. "Or maybe a bird, a swan, Cygnus, just beneath the scar." He still wore nothing but the black cloth wrapped low on his hips, his own scars glowing soft in the cabin's light against skin she remembered as a satin abstraction against her own. The mist of her intoxication spun his beauty into something otherworldly and fierce. She thought of him in the wedding ceremony's firelight, a wild shaman. He attempted a glare, but his eyes held amusement beneath the anger. The brandy's fire spread lower still. She thought then that she might understand his affinity for the marriage of pleasure and pain.

"Hush, love. Need to hold you down, this is going to hurt." She couldn't tell if the tremor in his voice was laughter or sorrow; thought it might be both. Then, she couldn't think at all. Jean-Luc's needle plunged into her skin a dozen times. She spat epithets at them both acquired from months at sea with a pirate crew. Jack slung one leg over hers and pressed her upper body to the bed, kept her still. At last the torment ended, the pain subsiding to a dull throb.

She felt a pad of bandages being applied, secured with linen wound around her shoulder. Clawing at Jack's hands, she demanded to be rolled to her back; the wound was cushioned enough to bear her weight. He laid her back against the pillows and pulled the bed's damask cover over her breasts. She met Jean-Luc's eyes, part of her mind able to consider the absurd eroticism of their tableau. The French captain was beautiful in his own right. His hair borrowed gold from the lantern; his devil's grin, so like Jack's, held genuine warmth. "You came back, Jean-Luc; risked a knife in your back. Thank you."

He studied them both, seemed to come to a decision. "Of course. Jack was my friend, as you are now. I was uncertain if my bond with him still held. He abandoned friendship to a dance with the devil, spent a decade lost in that. And you, Lizzie…I have heard more than the story of your sorcery, of the woman who stole Captain Jack Sparrow back from death. There is a darker tale that says you led him to it, betrayed him. I needed to know what was real, and now I do. Malani was right. Sleep, now. We travel south." He made an elegant gesture, half salute, half bow, and left the cabin.

Jack gently shifted her weight to the pillows and rose to extinguish the lantern. He returned to the bed and stretched beside her, a warm shadow in the dim light. She felt his rough fingers tracing her collarbone, heard him sigh. "You need to understand how it is, Bess. That blade found you because you were focused on me instead of saving your own sweet skin. Can't be that way, love; have to promise me, you'll worry for your own salvation and let me attend to mine. If you don't, this life you've chosen, with me…it will not forgive your mistakes. Neither will I, and you'd best remember that. And you will not be marked with a tattoo. I'll kill every needleman between here and Jamaica if need be."

"Jack, hush, the room is spinning. Tomorrow I'll tell you something, something new I found tonight. She gave me a gift, in the forest. I'm still angry with you. And I willhave a tattoo, if and when it suits me. Artemis, I think." She fell into oblivion as the words ran down, a murmur of comfort for him, for her. She dreamed, of strange new talismans against the dark.