Legends of the Treasure Child

Jack stood at the helm of the Black Pearl. It was early morning, and the sun was just rising above the horizon. It was dead calm. The Pearl didn’t move, and he could not turn the wheel. The translucent fog which caressed the hulls of the ship lay as a thick cream on the water, and Jack failed to see what was keeping the Pearl from making speed. He looked up at the sails in wonder, and found to his astonishment that the magnificent canvases were torn to shreds. At the top of the mast, on the lookout post, sat the Thyrion, perched like an oversized vulture on a parrot’s stick. Jack turned on his heel, and made for the cabin door. But as he turned, he came face to face with a young man he hadn’t noticed before. His skin was like light bronze, his brown curls tangled, littered with golden ornate items, and his brown eyes stared straight through Jack and into the depths of his soul. The man’s eyes narrowed for a slight second, and Jack felt an intense pain. He looked from the man and downwards on his ancient Hellenistic clothes, following the man’s arm. His right hand was covered in blood, letting go of the knife he’d just pierced Jack’s stomach with. Jack felt sick, immediately thinking of his unborn babies, and the next he knew, his knees buckled and he fell down to sit on the deck. His shaking left hand clutched the bloody shaft of the knife, recognizing the odd feeling it was to be stabbed. He looked upwards to the beautiful stranger in wonder and horror, wishing to inquire why such a fate was bestowed upon him.

“Didn’t you know I’m with child?” he heard himself speak. The stranger didn’t answer, but there was a hint of evil and damnation in those beautiful brown eyes. From behind his back, the man with the ancient clothes produced something. It made Jack go cold, and he felt his feet beginning to go numb as the golden mask landed next to his knees with a loud clonk. Jack quickly turned to see the Thyrion at the lookout post, but the winged demon was gone. Jack was all alone, blood gushing out onto the deck, colouring it red. The golden crosses on each side of the cabin door for Jack’s protection, also gone.

Jack woke with pain coursing through his stomach. He inched his way up until he could sit, and upon remembering his dream, he lifted his shirt to inspect his stomach. He sighed as he saw no sign of a wound, but froze as something round and golden caught his eye over at the desk. He backed away, his voice hitching in halfway screams, fell out of his bed, toppled and cracked his porcelain night pot, and he crawled backwards in terror until he hit the wall. He kept banging his back against the wall until comprehension slowly seeped in and he realized it was the wall. He stopped, his eyes locked at the golden item on the desk in the middle of the room. Was he still dreaming? Had it all been a dream? Was he really seeing what he thought was over there? He inched his way upwards, making it alongside the wall until he reached the door and opened it. He peered outside, finding the helm unattended, hearing Gibbs shouting orders down below. He got outside, feeling his nerves settle somewhat by the sound of the usual routines being carried out. Jack turned to look at the crosses, and it went cold down his spine. He was shocked to find both golden crosses to indeed be missing.
Jack span around, ran to one side of the ship and then to the other, his heart caught in terror. Gibbs came up stairs, caught him and urged him to calm himself.

“Where be the crosses. Mr. Gibbs?!” Jack said distressedly.

“They were gone this mornin’, Sir, when I came on duty. I was goin’ tha’ ask ye the same.” Gibbs replied, cocking an eyebrow. Jack kept trotting back and forth, hands on his head, his shoulders over his ears, his mind racing through the dream he’d just awoken to.

“Can I get the capt’n any breakfast and perhaps an small glass of ru—“ Gibbs asked, not sure what to do with the upset man, but before he could finish, Jack leapt back into the cabin. He came back after a brief minute, wearing pants and boots and hat, carrying a golden mask in his left hand. The captain of the Black Pearl walked resolutely over to the railing and threw the valuable object over board before Gibbs could object. He then walked back inside and shut the door, appearing a minute later with his night pot in pieces.

“Fix this, then breakfast! I can’t live without me pot, savvy?” Bam!! Jack shut the door right at Gibb’s nose, leaving the baffled first mate with a multitude of broken porcelain in his hands, wet with night time pee from a distressed knocked up pirate captain. Gibbs turned and his moods brightened as he found Ragetti and Pintel to be conveniently in place.

“Sparrows”, Gibbs told them with a cheery smile, handing them the shards “can’t live with them, can’t shoot them!” The twosome backed away, smelling the shards. “Fix it” Gibbs told them, pointing a finger sternly. His smile had vanished, being replaced with a grim mask. It was his signal to his crew that he was not about to take anymore crap than needed.

“Water!” Ragetti called.

“Soap!” Pintel added, shouting out to no one on particular, making his way down the stairs to the main deck. They found a tub made of wood, and dropped the shards into it, yakking and complaining as they tried to brush away the smell from the sleeves of their coats. “Bloody unfair this is, God’s punishment for sure! All tha’ gold underneath our feet, and wha’ do we get? Fix the bloody night pot! And it ain’t even clean!”

John didn’t come that day. Nor did he come the next. Or the next one after that. Jack stayed inside mostly, wishing for his son. Wishing for his deliverance, not knowing if there was something wrong with his unborn children. He was glad to be alone, allowing only the dead eyes of the people in the stained glasses of his windows to see his tears. It was all changing, he recognised it now. His feelings for what lay nestled inside grew stronger, unsettling his usually calm nerves. He felt such boundless love. Love for something created by one which treated him so badly. It was utterly confusing. Jack found himself longing for a sign of life, that everything was all right in there. But unlike with John, no voices from the womb spoke to him. Maybe they were dead. Maybe something or someone had killed them with foul magic. Maybe it was his fault. All Jack saw when closing his eyes, were black feathered wings. And he couldn’t make out what it meant.
He got his night pot back. From a distance it looked about right, but he could still see the sharp edges, feel the grain making up the porcelain body. Something was broken, and it was not just the pot.

Jack slept, and upon waking the fourth morning, he sat up in his bed and screamed. At the desk, on the table, in the exact same spot as it had been the first time, rested the golden mask.

Jack got out of bed, ran outside to find the crew scurrying into safety, shouting. His crewmembers were bleeding, the main black sails torn.

“Jack, look out!!” he heard Gibbs shout, pointing up to Jack’s right. Jack stumbled inside, heard something big crash against the cabin door, and Jack moved a cupboard in front of it. He turned, looking for his boots; instead he froze in terror upon seeing the man from his dream. He was holding the mask in his hands, holding it out to Jack, speaking to him in a foreign language, solemn and dignified, like a king, offering him the mask as if it had been a crown. There was another crash against the door, and Jack turned to see his compass crash to the ground, and upon looking ahead, the man was gone. The mask remained. The heavy steps of the Thyrion resounded through the wood of the Black Pearl, and he heard a dark woman’s voice growl, heard female whispers all around, making Jack dizzy. He scrambled over to his pants and managed to get them on, buttoning up with quivering fingers. Oh where was John when Jack needed him the most? He hastily put on his boots, brought the mask, opened the closest window and threw it outside, hearing it splash into the waves. He closed the window just in time as he heard the Thyrion touch down on the roof. A clawed hand shot through the glass, the thick iron welding slowing his breach, and Jack tumbled backwards. He scrambled to hide underneath John’s bed which was farthest away from the window, and waited underneath it with his heart caught in his throat as he saw the massive, skull-pale demon trying to make it inside. But he was too big. He couldn’t fit his wings. His face was distorted in anger, his fangs on display, drool dripping and his claws tearing large marks into the wood of the Pearl. The female voices still whispered, still cursed angrily, and Jack guessed it was the Pearl wanting to protect Jack. Wherever the Thyrion rested his flesh, smoke immediately rose, and his skin singed, scorched into an angry red. The demon admitted defeat, screaming angrily a scream going through marrow and bone, going for the front door again.

Jack held his breath.

*Open the door, little Sparrow* the Thyrion growled. When all else failed, there was obviously talking. *Open the door now, or I feed off your crew one by one, until there is no one left but you.*

Jack dragged himself out from the bed. What was that? His crew?
“Better them than me!” Jack answered.

*Very well* the Thyrion growled.

“Wait!” Jack shouted at the door, running to it, listening for a sign. A heavy thud pushed him backwards, and he took it as a reply. “What do you want from me?! I will not wear your mask! I refuse it! I’m captain Jack Sparrow, I’m nobody’s slave!”

The Thyrion laughed. It was not good to hear that the demon had a sense of humour. Jack swallowed in terror, listening at the door.

*Oh but you are already a slave, little bird. You surrender so beautifully to my firstborn. You depend on him, for he is your superior in all. He was made to conquer. Made to dominate. Made to be a warlord.*

“What do you want?” Jack said, changing the subject, not wanting to hear any more doom and gloom foretelling.

*Someone is out to get my children. I would but smell you to find my children to be safe.*

“And—and if they’re not?” Jack replied, his voice loud for the Thyrion to hear from behind the door.

*Then I make sure another seed grows in your stomach. Then I kill whoever committed the crime of robbing me of my warlords to be.*

“Oh I see, well, they’re quite safe so you don’t have to bother, you motherless piece of demonic droppings. Now, be off before I get John over here—“Another heavy thud shook through the door. The wood shrieked. Anther thud, and the wood complained with a woman’s deep moan, another blow hit the door and tore it to splinters. Jack ducked, leapt for cover underneath John’s bed, and nearly made it as the Thyrion blasted through, throwing aside the cupboard, leaping for Jack and catching him by his right ankle. Bugger. Smoke of burnt flesh filled the cabin, and the Thyrion screeched as bullets were fired upon him from behind, hitting his wings and in the back. Gibbs and the men had obviously mustered courage to fight the demon, sensing Jack was in serious trouble. The demon dragged Jack out from his hiding place, and hoisted him up, leaping up with Jack in his arms, settling onto John’s bed, out of harm’s way from the blessed floorboards.

“Hold your fire!” Jack screamed, “hold your fire!”

The roar of pistols ended. He saw their heads bobbing up from behind the railing on the helm, trying to get a view of the demon and Jack. The demon was hurt, but didn’t seem to mind. He bent down to smell Jack’s stomach. Jack held his breath, expecting the demon to tear his clothes off and start raping him.

*Terrified yet unharmed* was the Thyrion’s reply, *You’ll have to do better than this, Sparrow. My children are horrified, scared into silence. Unprotected. Open for assault. Who ever did this shall pay.*

“You got what you wanted, now get lost!” Jack’s voice shook with anger and fright, wanting to kick the demon’s balls. He tried not to act on that impulse, expecting the demon to stay true to his word. The demon buried his face in Jack’s dreadlocks, smelling Jack, nuzzling against his neck, touching the flesh there lightly with his fangs, feeling Jack’s veins pulse against his tongue. Jack writhed in disgust, not wanting to acknowledge the caress. The demon rested between his legs, pinning his arms down into the mattress. Soon, the Thyrion caught smell of something else, and smelled John’s pillow, the sheets and the bedspread.

*My offspring’s nest* the Thyrion spoke, leaning over again to smell Jack. His lips grazed Jack’s chest, drawing in the smell of his skin as he moved across the bronzed flesh inch by inch. To Jack it was torture, expecting the demon to tear him to pieces any moment. He tried to stop the tears, tried to calm his racing heart. The Thyrion’s weight on his upper arms hurt, and Jack gritted his teeth. The demon suddenly let go, allowing Jack to breathe more freely again, but it was a short-lived relief as the demon began to tear asunder his pants, dragging them down Jack’s hips.

“No!” Jack wailed, not daring to push him aside, “you promised! Hold your word! You said you wouldn’t!!”

The demon paid him no heed, and continued his onslaught, stripping Jack of his trousers, tearing them asunder until they hung around his boots in shreds. He then went on to rip open Jack’s shirt, revealing the taut belly, smelling it again and sighing relieved. He hoisted Jack’s legs up and forced them apart while Jack tried to wriggle out of his grip, but the grasping hands around the lower parts of his thighs held him in place, the nails digging into his skin whenever he moved. The grip effectively stopped him from doing anything, and he gritted his teeth to endure the pain as the Thyrion surveyed his abdomen.

When the Demon seemed pleased, he scurried out, and the terrified crew of the Black Pearl leapt aside, diving for cover as the massive demon took flight, disappearing into the heavens. They all hurried up the stairs to find Jack clutching the bedspread, his naked body shivering, as he cried his misery into John’s pillow. Comprehension dawned on their faces. No words were needed, and those who had questions, wisely kept their tongues.