Adrift

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Thank you to my reviewers from the last chapter, Ero Sennin and OokamiMoma, for your kind comments. I truly appreciate the time you took to let me know that you liked my story.:)...and in your case, Ero Sennin, exactly what you liked. I hope that this chapter continues to entertain.

And thank you to R.F. for once again steering me straight when I needed it...the story is definitely better for your input.

Before you start, my faithful readers, a bit of a warning...I have taken something Disney did and changed it entirely because quite frankly, I feel that it was stupid. According to the POTC Wiki, Tia Dalma resided in a shack on the Pantano River on Pelegosto Island. I have used my poetic (or fanatic) license and changed the location (so please, no need to send me nasty notes about how I messed up on my geography...it never made sense to me that her hut would be on the same island as the cannibals. I mean, really).

If they did fashion it after the shack in the original Disney ride, then CLEARLY it was located close to an American bayou (likely Louisiana)...that being the case, I feel completely justified taking a bit of that same leeway myself and relocating her as I see fit. Just like Calypso, I believe it is my divine imperative as the fic goddess of this particular realm to fashion circumstances to my liking. Apologies to the purists but if we went along with everything as it was set out by the House of Mouse, there’d be no fanfic at all...and then where would we be? Hmmm?

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The stench of smoke hovered around them, clinging to their clothes and hair as a reeking reminder of the hopeless battle they’d fought on Wisteria’s piers. Some who had been closest to the fire were heavily coated with soot, their faces so dark that their eyes and teeth seemed to gleam as they paddled their way through the shadowy marsh.

Barbossa glanced back down the line at the small but determined flotilla that followed him on the muddy estuary. Most of the crew had lost everything; by the time the Corazón Perdido had docked, only a few of the ships could be saved. Rather than setting them on a course of despair, the destruction of their most precious possessions had unified the men in their determination to see Beckett slain...in as agonizing a way as could be devised.

Wisteria was a miniature version of the everglades; tangled wetlands and meandering, piny trails designed to loop back upon themselves in an endless maze of dead ends. Early on, a few fools determined to prove their courage would land from time to time on a far beach and set to exploring...the ones Hector’s crew found were sent back with a severe beating and threats of far worse should they choose to return. The ones that evaded detection had likely ended up a quick meal for the congregations of either alligators or crocs that inhabited the marsh. Since the reptiles seemed close relatives of Beckett, Hector thought it best that they not take for granted a similar end to their nefarious and elusive enemy.

Whether through luck or some remnant of otherworldly magic, no trespasser had yet found a way through the bayou to the ancient, broken down shack towards which they now headed. It was carefully cloaked by both the decay of time and the dark curtains of moss that hung from the branches of the tree in which it sat, and so Barbossa had ordered the men to stow the mirror there the day prior. But Beckett was no ordinary interloper and although there was no cause to believe that he even knew of the shack, it wasn’t a chance that Hector could take. If they got there first, then they could make the necessary preparations to snare Beckett once and for all.

He’d brought only a few of his most trusted men along – and Jack, of course. Although he was in no condition to provide any kind of assistance, Sparrow refused to be left behind at the piers. Knowing that he would likely follow anyway and in doing so, ruin any element of surprise they might yet have on their side, Barbossa had grudgingly allowed him to come along. It was with the old pirate proviso, though, that should Jack’s injury cause him to fall behind, he’d be left behind. Regrettably, that hadn’t happened thus far, and so Jack sat in the canoe that followed Hector’s, wincing and clutching at his dressings each time the craft struck a root or a log.

Elizabeth sat behind Jack, Hector having purposely placed her in the middle of the party so as to protect her both fore and aft. Although it had occurred to him that keeping her aboard the Corazón might have been safer, nothing good had ever come of leaving her on her own and Hector would never again take the chance of being away from her when she needed him.

The air was thick and insects buzzed around them, threatening to make off with every drop of the company’s blood. He was glad he’d insisted that Elizabeth find some clothes as gave her proper cover before they’d departed on their junket. Marilyn’s trawler was one of those spared in the inferno and so he’d taken the girl aboard, watching as she reluctantly went through the dead woman’s belongings to find more suitable attire. He could see that the trousers were a bit loose and the shirt hung a little on Elizabeth’s slight frame, but she’d be less likely to trip or get caught up on something than when she was wearing his things.

She felt the weight of his scrutiny and raised her eyes to meet his, giving him a slight smile that failed to completely disguise the depth of her fear. He raised a hand to his heart and she did the same, a wordless declaration of their love that brought the smile all the way up to her eyes. Her fingers fluttered around the coiled silver snake that had rested on her chest since the day before. Touching it seemed to give her strength and she nodded silently to him, giving him leave to turn his attention back to the path ahead.

As they followed a bend in the brook, the slowing water told him they were close to their destination. The thought of returning to the hut filled him with dread, to put it mildly; although he’d seen it at a distance from time to time, Hector had previously made it a point to avoid the site of his resurrection. The memory of his return to life was nearly as troubling as that of his death – dark arts had brought him back and a terrible, pain-filled price had needed to be paid before the spell had been complete. Even now he was haunted by what had happened when he was wrenched back into wakefulness by Tia Dalma’s sorcery.

As they passed out of the shadow of the overhanging mosses and vines, the dilapidated shanty loomed into view. All of the other hovels that previously lined the way had disappeared entirely, claimed by the relentless vegetation and stinking water until nothing remained. The witch’s shack remained, though, as though the elements themselves were afraid to touch the place. In residence or not, the power of Calypso still lingered.

As the canoe in which he was a passenger bumped against the jetty, Hector climbed from the boat and grabbed the line thrown to him by Ansill, tying it off on the closest piling. Before he climbed the ladder, he motioned for the other two craft to stay put and untied, all the better to flee should he find unwanted company within. Ansill followed closely behind him, the two of them quietly making their way up to the porch and the slightly open door that awaited them at the top.

Hector found the door stuck in its position and had to shove it ajar with his shoulder, the scraping noise making him grimace – so much for a clandestine entrance. He waited a moment before going in, listening carefully for some sort of scuffling or other response to his rough encroachment, but the house stayed silent as a tomb. The floorboards protested the invasion with creaks and groans as the men strode through the living quarters, and small showers of dust fell from the rafters as the building shifted around them.

Ansill made his way up the stairs to the loft while Hector carefully searched the tiny rooms on the main floor, brandishing his knife so as to be prepared for whatever might unexpectedly appear. He brushed past the jars and bottles of gore that hung suspended by twine and wire from the beams overhead, ingredients still awaiting use in some mystical concoction. He noted with disgust the greyish remnants of gutted candles that had oozed over every flat surface and the animal bones scattered beneath the cracked wooden table. Long lines etched into the grime under his feet marked the passage of the mirror, dragged by his men through the door and towards the small bedchamber where he’d lain all those years earlier, slowly regaining strength enough to fulfill his vow to Calypso.

Barbossa clenched his dagger a bit tighter in his fist before following the trail, stooping so he could step into the room without slamming his head into the doorframe. Once inside, he straightened and warily scanned the grim space. The bed frame and mattress had long since rotted away, leaving nothing more than a few pathetic bits and pieces on the floor. A tattered section of cloth that served as a curtain still hung in the window, moving with the merest breath of breeze that slipped in through a single crack in the pane. The horrible mirror leaned against one wall, a torn and ragged sheet hiding most of the flawless surface from his sight. It was safe, at least for now.

When Hector turned to leave, a memory of another time in that very room swept over him like a rogue wave, a vision clear as day forming in his mind. As though observing through the eyes of another, he saw his own body naked and broken on the mattress, twisting in agony as rough ropes held him firmly in place on the narrow bed. Parts of him were whole and healthy...but in other places, he was still a corpse, the blackened skin putrid and squirming with maggots. He could feel them wriggling within him as they fed…and all the while, the excruciatingly awful sensation of muscles and viscera reforming.

As fast as flesh would grow around his wrists and ankles, he’d wear it away again, blood pouring over each of the bed’s four corners as he attempted to tear himself from his bonds and end the torment. Candles flickered in the dim room and shadows writhed across the walls, and when at last his voice was restored, he shrieked long and loud enough that all the saints above and all the demons below couldn’t help but hear. Tia Dalma crouched over him, babbling in an unintelligible tongue and using her fingers to trace symbols on his body with some kind of thick potion, doubling his burning, gnawing pain with each touch...

Hector stumbled out of the bedroom, his distress so great that it nearly took his legs out from beneath him. He gasped with the renewed memory of anguish and horror, cursing Beckett and Calypso both in the same unsteady breath. Ansill came thundering down the stairs, his eyes wide and his pistol at the ready, looking around in alarm for whatever had caused his captain to react in such a way.

“Sir! Cap’n, be there summat the matter? Is Beckett…”

Holding up a trembling hand to forestall any further inquiry, Hector closed his eyes and shook his head. “Was startled by somethin’, is all. Ain’t no one been here since the portal was brought. Get to the boats; have the men conceal ‘em some distance from here and then make yer way back. Then keep well out of sight and await me call.”

“What of Miss ‘Lizabeth, sir?” Ansill took a step towards the door but looked hesitant to leave his captain. The crewman was obviously shaken, not accustomed to seeing his intrepid leader reduced to such a dread-filled state. “An’ Cap’n Jack?”

“Send ‘em up. There be naught that Sparrow can do to help ye; best he be here and out of the way fer now. ‘Lizabeth will be safe with me...just ye keep yer eyes peeled and make sure that situation don’t change none.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Ansil replied quietly, his expression reluctant but his training ingrained enough that he’d not dare disobey. He slipped back through the door and Hector listened to be sure that the man had descended the ladder. Grabbing a wobbly chair from beside the table, Hector sat down heavily and scrubbed his face with his hands. Showing weakness was always a mistake; now he’d gone and undermined his own authority. The whole business was getting to him when he allowed nothing but a recollection to reduce him to such panic. He only hoped that his man had the good sense to keep his own council and not share what he’d witnessed with anyone else.

As Jack scaled the ladder and his predictable protests at having to do so grew louder, Hector stood and stalked away, determined to shake off the impact of the phantasm before Sparrow could offer up some unwelcome comment. As if knowing she’d need to act as a buffer between them, Elizabeth pushed past Jack and came through the door first, scanning the interior with an astonished expression.

“It’s exactly as I remember it!” she said in disbelief, turning in a circle to better take in her surroundings.

“That ain’t a good thing,” grumbled Jack, stumbling in behind Elizabeth and slumping into the same chair that Hector had just vacated. “Early Jamaican macabre style, if I’m not mistaken…she really should think of updating. Perhaps something a little less ‘eye of newt and toe of frog’ would work.”

“Best watch what yer sayin’, boy,” Hector snapped, Jack’s disrespectful attitude causing his nerves to fray further. “Beard the lion on yer own time and not when we’re around to suffer the consequences with ye.”

Jack raised a surprised eyebrow and Elizabeth turned, Hector’s caustic tone catching her attention as well. She narrowed her eyes at him and ‘though he did his best to appear inscrutable, what she saw clearly disturbed her.

“I wonder, Jack, if it wouldn’t be prudent to have someone keep watch on the veranda,” she said, slowly walking towards Hector. “We wouldn’t want to be caught unaware, especially since our reinforcements are otherwise occupied.”

“A brilliant idea, Lizzie. You be sure to call out if you see anything that concerns you and I’m certain that Hector will be there in a heartbeat.” Jack answered, massaging his chest and looking terribly pained.

Elizabeth stopped in mid-stride and twisted around, grabbing the scruff of Jack’s collar and the back of the chair in one swift movement. “Out. Now,” she hissed into his ear. Lifting up on his shirt, she yanked the chair out from beneath him and Jack had no choice but to stand or fall flat on his arse. Dragging the furniture behind her, she jerked the door open a little further and tossed the chair haphazardly out onto the porch. Jack shuffled dejectedly behind her, his bottom lip protruding slightly and his eyes sadly reproachful. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him in stern disapproval as he edged past her to right the chair and take a seat.

Closing the door with a bump of her hip and then leaning back against it, Elizabeth looked around at the gruesome wares on display overhead. “The last time I was here,” she began with an enigmatic smile, “I believed I had reached the darkest point in my life…that I was truly beneath contempt.”

Hector didn’t respond, uncertain as to the direction she was taking with the conversation. It certainly hadn’t started out the way he’d expected, at least. She pushed away from the door and sauntered towards him, dodging low-hanging bottles and sprigs of desiccated herbs as she came. “Then Tia Dalma…Calypso…she offered me a chance for redemption.”

“T’weren’t fer ye that she did so,” he growled. “The goddess serves only herself.”

Elizabeth nodded but regarded him with a shy grin nonetheless. “When you came down the stairs, there wasn’t one of us who knew exactly what to say. I think you quite enjoyed that little scene.”

He couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Aye, t’was worth it if only fer the expressions on yer faces. She knew ye’d come lookin’ fer a way to undo what had been done…saw it in them shells and bones she threw. Just had me wait upstairs an’ listen fer the lot of ye to commit yerselves to the quest. Had a grand sense of drama, she did...still does, if ye take into account all we’ve been through these weeks past.”

At last she stood before him, smoothing her hand comfortingly over his chest. He was captured by the seriousness of her gaze, deep brown eyes filled with tender concern. “Despite that moment, though – something about being here troubles you. What happened that weighs so heavily on you, even after all this time?”

Barbossa closed his eyes and sighed. Pointless it was to pretend that he’d not been affected by what he’d faced in the house – Elizabeth could see through to his soul when she so chose. But why make the horror hers in the retelling? “Don’t know that I can bear to share it with ye, girl.”

She cradled his face in her palm and shook her head. “There’s no room for secrets between us now. You promised, remember?”

There was nothing for it...he had to let it spill, for she’d not leave well enough alone. He took a quick glance behind her to make sure that the door remained closed before he grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the small side room. Pausing for the length of a heartbeat and a deep breath, he led her in and stopped just inside the threshold.

Hector waited, half afraid that the vision would return and he’d be reduced to a cowardly wreck in front of the one person who truly mattered. Nothing happened, though – it remained just a room, dirty and bleak.

“Months after Sparrow shot me dead in the cavern on Isla de Muerta an’ the island disappeared beneath the waves, Tia Dalma cast an enchantment so as to retrieve me remains from the depths,” he started. “Had the idea, she did, that eventually she would have need of a servant as could free her from the prison of her earthly self. Weren’t enough to resurrect me as a zombie, ‘though she certainly knew how to do such. Nay, a mindless drone could not be counted upon to complete such a task...it had to be done by someone as had his wits about him.”

“And by someone the other pirate lords would know...and trust,” she interjected, squeezing his fingers to encourage him to continue on with the tale.

“Trust...mighty strong word, that, but ye’ve the idea,” he agreed wearily. “She figured that I might just have enough sway to get ‘em to agree to undo the spell that kept her bound to her bones. Or if not convince, then at least have the cunning to get the job done regardless.”

He let go of her hand, walking a few steps away from her to kick at some fragments of wood and feather upon the floor. “And so it weren’t enough to have me carcass...she needed to bring back me soul. What seemed to me to be an eternity had already passed when she called out across the grey abyss and offered to strike a bargain. After so long...” he said, swallowing hard as he stared out the small, dirty window across the room, “after so much...nothin’, there was little I’d have refused fer another chance at life.”

Elizabeth slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back. “You agreed to set her free and she agreed to bring you back,” she murmured, tightening her hold.

Hector gave a single, bitter laugh. “Sounds simple enough, don’t it? What she failed to mention was that me resurrection would take two days...oh, only minutes to pull me from the void and bring me back to me body, aye, but two days more to restore me in a physical sense.” He turned around in her arms so he could face her as he talked...the least he could do was look her in the eye when he shared the blackest mark on his soul. “Do ye remember the feel of the cold, lass, when we crossed the ocean to find the edge of the world? How bit by bit, each finger and toe would freeze... how your face would ache as the wind whipped o’er it? And how it seemed even worse when ye finally found yerself a spot of warmth, and yer flesh would throb and crack as it thawed?”

“Yes,” she whispered, staring up at him with frightened trepidation, “I remember.”

“When I laboured beneath the curse of Cortes, I felt nothin’. Despite the fact that we looked to be dead, there was no pain. But while me soul was intact when Tia Dalma pulled me back, me body...”

His voice had become nothing more than a rasp, the reality of it closing in on him again. “‘Lizabeth, me body had rotted ‘til almost nothin’ was left. And it was into that decayed shell that I awoke. Only this time, I could feel everythin’. Every nerve, every inch of skin, each muscle...every part of me felt as though it had been frozen and then plunged into a scaldin’ bath, then frozen again. And though I was alive and the tissue was attemptin’ to grow again, I felt as though I was bein’ consumed from within...from without...maybe both.”

A solitary tear trickled down over her cheek. “Oh, Hector...”

“Fer hour upon hour I lay on a bed in this very room...and every second brought new agonies, new heights of pain that I’d ne’er have imagined in me most vivid nightmares.” He pushed on, knowing that if he stopped talking he’d never again get the story out. “At first, I could neither move nor speak...trapped, I was, paralyzed and helpless. I could only endure as the priestess worked her Obeah magic o’er me. Had I been able, I’d have taken me own life and welcomed back the nothin’ness...and well she knew it. Knew that I’d slit me own throat to escape the torment as soon as the ability to do so returned, and so she tied me down and kept at her task until I was once again whole in body and soul.”

Elizabeth covered her mouth with a hand, staring up at him with eyes filled with grief as she struggled for something to say. Hector sadly shook his head and pulled her close against his chest. “Ye know now why I’d have kept it to meself,” he muttered against the crown of her head.

“And what if you hadn’t been able to gather the pieces of eight and perform the rite?” she finally mumbled, her voice low in sorrow for his long past misery.

“Failure weren’t somethin’ she was willin’ to accept,” he said softly. “Calypso let it be known in no uncertain terms that the return to death would make the rebirth seem a pleasure. Threatened to keep me soul tied to me body as the flesh fell away and bit by bit turned to dirt, howe’er long that took. Ye can see, then, why fulfillin’ me own agenda upon that little journey of ours was top o’ mind.”

“I hate her for hurting you,” Elizabeth spat, bunching the back of his shirt in her fists and holding tight. “For all that she inflicted upon you to meet her own ends.”

The wry smile that formed on his lips was more for him than her. “But I don’t.”

Startled, she jerked back and tilted her face up towards his. “What? Why not?”

“Because, Elizabet’ Swann,” came a softly lilting voice from beside the mirror, “him know dat ye would not have loved him wit’out all dat him suffered.”

Elizabeth’s jaw fell open and she gawked wide-eyed at him, as though waiting for him to tell her that she’d imagined the words. Hector sighed and shrugged his shoulders before he removed himself from her embrace and turned towards the beautiful black woman standing in front of the portal. He bowed reverently and pulled on Elizabeth’s arm until she did the same.

“Was wonderin’ when ye’d see fit to grace us with yer presence, Goddess,” he said, daring a glance back up at her. She smiled at him, straightening her shoulders proudly to show off her iridescent silver gown and dark, braided locks.

“Fergot I did, Hectah, what dose watahs did to ye,” Calypso replied, sauntering towards him and reaching out to stroke his beard. “Ye be a fine lookin’ mon. Might be havin’ to test yer viga wit’ dis mortal body, enjoy da fruits of my labours.”

He rose and inclined his head. “An’ tempted I’d be to take ye up on yer offer, had I not already given me love to another. Surely ye’d not ask me to break faith with ‘Lizabeth.” No sense to be angering the goddess, not after having stoked her memory with a litany of his previous torments

“No, she most certainly won’t,” snarled Elizabeth, stepping between them. “He is mine now. Goddess or not, you won’t be touching him again without having to come through me.”

There was a spike of fear that wedged itself in Hector’s heart at the girl’s words; Calypso wasn’t one to take a challenge lightly. It was with surprise, then, that he heard her laugh gaily at Elizabeth’s possessive threat.

“Don cha worry,” Calypso said, delight shining in her flashing black eyes as she sashayed away from them. “Jus’ had to see fer myself dat ye’d taken da vow ye made to heart.”

“Vow..?” Elizabeth’s forehead creased as she tried to figure out what the goddess was trying to say.

Before Calypso could respond, the front door burst open and Jack came bumbling through, finally falling against the door jam of the bed chamber and gasping in pain.

“Witty Jack!” the deity exclaimed with delight. She smoothed her hands down over her gown, preening as she turned her eye to Barbossa’s rival.

Jack held up his hand, his eyes squeezing closed as he caught his breath and fought against the agony of his injury. “Now that...the gang’s all here, I thought it might be the opportune time to let you know... we’ve got company.”