Adrift

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Hector Barbossa and two members of his crew rode through the storm towards the docks, fighting the rain and the wind to keep on a straight course. The call to the goddess’s service was always a violent thing, almost as though the world went through the pains of childbirth whenever she saw fit to summon him. Tied to her he was, and Hector had little choice but to submit to Calypso’s will.

T'was his own foolish fault, truth be told. Pretty words had he uttered at the Brethren Court centuries earlier about men relying only upon themselves, but when it looked as though the Pearl and all aboard would be lost upon their quest for the Fountain of Youth, he had in a moment of weakness again begged her favour. He’d been dead once and a return to the eternal grey sleep was nothing to hurry.

Grant the blessings she had, and those aboard the Black Pearl had found the healing waters of Ponce de Leon’s legendary wellspring. It had been as magical as the tales had promised – each man who drank from the fountain had the clock on his life turned back ten years, renewed fire in his heart and loins, and keen sharpness of mind. Like all of the goddess’s gifts, though, there was a price to pay.

A new curse of sorts, ‘twas, ‘though nothing compared to that of Cortes. So long as they served Calypso, they lived on as they’d been the day they’d consumed the water. Not immortal, exactly – they could die if the injury was dire enough, and some of the crew had gone that way whether through battle or despair. But no disease, no affliction of age could touch them, even as decades and then centuries passed. May not have been his choice, exactly, but he’d had far worse visited upon him. At least this time he could smell, feel, taste…

A flash of lightning shook him from his reverie, and he watched as the entire wharf flared briefly into view. They slowed as they approached and Barbossa shook his head at the chaos that the storm had wrought. The flimsy ships – the ones not sitting upon the deck in pieces, that is – bobbed around like children’s toys on strings, hopelessly tethered to the one place that would do the most damage. Not that cutting ties and facing the storm head-on in open water would work for any of these piss-poor sailors, even if their boats had the size and heft to take it. Any fool with enough coin could call himself captain, but it was an empty title for most what sailed nowadays.

The wind-driven rain whipped against Hector’s cheeks, numbing his skin as it howled its disapproval at his mission. Ducking their heads against the onslaught, he and his men bore down and made their way across the debris-strewn waterfront towards the Morgan LeFay and her precious cargo.

“There she is, Cap’n!” Pintel shouted over the din. Rain streamed over the crewman’s bald pate but could not dampen his grinning enthusiasm over locating the ship first; he was nearly jumping with the excitement of discovery. Hector impatiently signaled him forward and the trio carefully made their way over scraps of sailcloth and bits of mast over towards the cabin cruiser.

As they approached the Morgan LeFay’s berth, a dark form dropped from the side of the craft and quickly disappeared amongst the shadows on the docks. Hector’s heart sank like a stone in his chest; if they were too late…

“Move!” he shouted at his men and they ran towards what remained of the pier around the craft. Ragetti arrived steps before the other two, scrambling up the ladder like the monkey that had once ridden Hector’s shoulder. Hector was about to follow when a glimpse of something pale and white in the water by the bow caught his eye. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t just another piece of wreckage but instead a slender and lifeless arm.

He threw off his heavy jacket and plunged into the water, heedless of the way in which the ship above him was lurching in its berth. As he surfaced, the waves pummeled at his head, making it impossible to see and harder again to keep from being beaten against either the boat or the dock. Hector frantically twisted in circles, stretching his long arms through the water until something bumped against his hand.

An instant later he had her, curling her slight, limp form against his body with one arm as he reached out towards what he hoped was the direction of dock. Strong hands seized hold of his wrist and pulled him forward through the spray. Hector’s shoulder jarred against an old slimy tire that had been nailed to the piling to act as a bumper, and he growled as he yanked his hand away from his would-be rescuers. Clinging instead to the tire, he hollered, “Grab the girl, ye daft curs!”

Ragetti and Pintel dropped to their knees, each grabbing a listless arm and relieving Hector of his burden long enough that he could pull himself from the water. No sooner was he on the pier but he took the woman from the crewmen, carrying her from the ruined part of the dock and cradling her in his arms as he went down on bended knee on a more solid bit of pier. Carefully he smoothed her hair away so he could see her face.

Her skin shone like alabaster in the flashing light, her wet eyelashes kissing her cold cheeks. Bubbles of foam trickled from the corner of her mouth; but for that, she could have been carved from marble for all the colour in her skin. Elizabeth Swann, beautiful as he remembered. Lovely but remote, unattainable as always.

“Cap’n, there’s nothin’ fer it…she’s gone on…” Ragetti softly lamented, reaching out to touch her face.

“Quiet!” Hector slapped the skinny lad’s hand out of the way and silenced him with a hard look. He laid a hand on her chest – not a breath passed her blue-tinged lips but could he feel the quiver of a heartbeat? He pressed his ear to her breast…yes! Barely there but there nonetheless. Still hope then, thanks be!

He stood suddenly, twirling her in his arms so that her back was to him. Making a fist with one hand and grabbing it with the other, he pulled back as hard as he could and thrust up beneath her ribs. Water spewed from her mouth, the sea swill leaching down between the slats at their feet. She remained limp in his arms and Hector squeezed again, the water coming again in a steady stream.

When he released the pressure in preparation for yet another attempt, he felt her body spasm against his and she vomited a vile mixture of brine and stomach contents over the feet of both Ragetti and Pintel.

“Ugh! I just bought these boots!” Pintel exclaimed, jumping back too late to avoid the worst of it. Ragetti made a shocked sound and Pintel, his eyes popping as he realized what he’d said, stuttered in horror as he looked to his captain. “Uh…I’m sorry…just so long as the lass is okay…I mean, boots are nothin’…”

Hector ignored the outburst. Keeping an arm about her waist, he gently lifted her head with his hand and settled it against his shoulder. “Aye, girl…let’s have a breath now,” he whispered against her neck, his lips skimming her cool, smooth skin.

As if responding to his persuasions, Elizabeth took a single shuddering gasp and then broke into wet, wracking coughs so fierce that he nearly lost his hold. Hector pulled her back against his chest, murmuring soothing sounds as she gradually choked the last of the water from her lungs.

The storm around them was abating somewhat; the rain still fell in sheets, but the wind had quieted a bit and the clouds had spent their fury. In his arms his charge was stirring awake, shakily trying to find her feet like a newborn filly. Barbossa relaxed his grip a bit and Elizabeth grabbed a hold of his arms to keep her balance. She turned her head to see who held her.

“Wha…what…happened?” she muttered, looking more dazed than worried when she looked into his face. She slowly closed and opened her eyes again, a delicate hand going to her head as she swayed against him. Hector slipped a hand beneath her elbow to steady her.

“Ye ran afoul of a storm, missy…” he began.

“’Ello, poppet!” cried out Pintel, suddenly and loudly enough that he jolted the girl into shocked wakefulness. He took a step towards her, his eyes and smile so wide that they seemed aglow. Elizabeth’s own eyes widened in panic and she pushed herself away from Hector, stumbling as she backed quickly away from the three men before her.

“Leave me alone!” she cried, looking around for what Barbossa could only assume was a weapon. Her eyes lit upon a splintered plank and she grabbed it, moving it in an arc from side to side, trying to look fierce. Had to admire her fire, standing there in naught but her undergarments, a soakin’ wet slip of a thing. Her passion, at least, had not changed. T’was only bluster, ‘though – her fear came off her in waves.

“Ye’ll come to no harm by us,” Hector said quietly, shooting Pintel a look that warned of swift and painful retribution at a later time. Barbossa backed off a step and motioned for his men to do the same in an attempt to calm the agitated girl.

“Cap’n…” Ragetti said, his attention on his boss rather than the lady.

“Keep yer wits,” Barbossa muttered between clenched teeth, waving him off while keeping his eye on Elizabeth.

“Yer shirt, Cap’n!” A scrawny finger was pointing right at him, alarm on the crewman’s face.

“Fer the love of St. Elmo, boy!” he roared, but then saw Elizabeth staring at his chest as well. He finally glanced down and watched as a deep scarlet stain spread across his white shirt, the rain running red down his body.

A flash back to a cavern and a single shot – he could almost hear it as he tugged the shirt open. His heart pounded; if it didn’t hurt, then surely it could not be grievous. Carefully and with fingers that trembled slightly, Barbossa probed the spot…no pain, no gash. His skin was unbroken. The blood wasn’t his, but there was so much. Too much.

His gaze found Elizabeth’s again at the same moment they both realized who had left the crimson mark. The jagged bit of lumber dropped from her grasp, forgotten as her hand touched and then came away from the back of her head, blood dripping from her long thin fingers. Looking at the gore, her mouth dropped open in a perfect “o” of surprise.

Elizabeth gave Hector a look of wounded disbelief that squeezed at his heart. He shook his head, silently forswearing both his part in her injury and the fact that she could be hurt so badly. It was then that her legs buckled beneath her and she dropped to her knees, her eyes rolling back in her head as she fell sideways.

Had he hesitated for even a moment, she’d have likely gone and made the damage worse still as her head hit wood. As it was, Hector grabbed her up and laid her as gently as he could over his shoulder. As he grasped the boat’s ladder and began to ascend, he shouted at his men in a way that invited no argument and had them clambering over one another to comply.

“Pintel, Ragetti – cast off lines ‘n go aboard! Make ready to sail. We go to Wisteria!”