Legends of the Treasure Child : Demon Spawn

Treasure Hunt:



Weighing anchor in a bay similar to the Pelegosto island, a carefully selected team of sailors from the Black Pearl was elected to enter two small boats. Braving the moderately high waves, Jack Sparrow assumed his typical noble posture as the captain, standing at the bow of the ship while Mr. Gibbs had the honour of rowing them all ashore.



Having no need for a small boat, John simply teleported his way ashore, meeting up with his father there.



“Up there”, John pointed, referring to a point somewhere on the bushy green mountainside. “As with any major settlement, the Taino built their villages about twelve leagues inland, usually at a vantage point. The Spaniards built La Navidad around one of them.”



“I don't like this place” was Jack's place. Kind of reminds me of...the locker.”



“I know the feeling. Evil rests up there. Thousands of restless Taino souls guard the path up to the remnants. They don't like treasure hunters.”



“At least we're not Spanish treasure hunters” Jack replied cheerfully, “tha' ought tha' count fer somethin'!”



“Thieves and beggars, Dad. One people across national boundaries, right?”



“I see yer point. To the Taino it's all the same. We're all trespassers.”



Once the team was assembled, they set out across the beach under the watchful eyes of African and French fishermen. Upon seeing John, it was hard not to look twice. He took no notice, and instead he focused on the task at hand which was to be a guide to his father's party on his most recent past time activity: Finding the golden statue of Columbus. All though father and son hadn't discussed it just yet, John knew the question would arise, and John would find himself under pressure from Jack to relocate the statue onto the Black Pearl. It would have to be un-cursed. Even so, John felt that the statue did in deed belong to the dead. Removing the statue meant removing the prerogative of the dead Taino who'd cursed it in the first place. It was what bound the souls of thousands of Taino men, women and children together. It was their cross which they'd chosen to bear in order to have one another in the afterlife.



Ragetti and Pintel had quickly discovered that unless they went to great lengths of getting the team some mules – they'd become the mules themselves. Shovels and provisions proved a heavy burden, and somehow Pintel and Ragetti seemed suitable for the task, all though no one had asked them. After a quick round of haggling with the locals, the duo set off happily after the others with two squeaking mules, thinking they'd done the bargain of a lifetime.



The canopy of palm trees and green shrubbery offered little else but their shade from the scorching sun. Smothering heat and growing humidity, buzzing flies and other annoying insects soon became their travelling companions, and the whole team was soon seen engaged in a bizarre dance of insect-clapping and funny-dodging about on their way deeper into the jungle. All but John. He went on unchallenged as the flies and insects dropped dead once they'd bitten him. They soon learned to leave that one and just after the rest instead. The road was seemingly well maintained and appeared to be in use relatively often. Their journey along the winding path soon took them upwards into the hillside, past smaller settlements, lone houses and fences. Packs of stray goats fled from their sight, and the jungle was generally a cacophony of animal and bird noises which slowly silenced the further up they went. The mules picked up with the rest of the team on their own accord, unaffected by the change of terrain, and Pintel and Ragetti found themselves falling behind somewhat, panting and huffing for their lives. Mountain hiking was not for a hearty pira – err, sailor, that's for sure, they kept telling themselves. No one said anything about trips up the mountain, and Ragetti was contemplating a demand for a raise of salary if he ever lived to make it back to the Black Pearl. The duo eagerly discussed the likelihood of said raise as they huffed and puffed further on. They stopped dead in their tracks as they watched the mules brave the steep steps carved into solid mountain which suddenly arose before the group, and Pintel and Ragetti scratched their heads as it dawned on them that the mules might be better climbers than themselves. Shutting his eyes tight, Ragetti took a deep breath and pictured a chest worth of gold coins waiting for him at the edge of the tallest step. He then set up at stern face before he ventured up ahead. Pintel watched in amazement as his peer climbed up with hell-bent ferocity, as if there was actually something to gain on this escapade. Going back and wait by the boat was always an option. But heck, it could easily be once in a lifetime opportunity to see a life size gold statue. So Pintel followed.



Jack was standing at the top with John waiting for the rest of the team. It was quite the vantage point, overlooking the horizon. A little to his left he could see the Black Pearl anchored up, looking fine a lady as always. Behind him was a small path which wound its way into a similar canopy of palm trees just like the scenery on the plateau below them now. The thicket of greenery was growing thinner in substance, and wildlife was less, though the noise from the level below echoed loudly enough to be mistaken for belonging up with John and Jack as well.

John could tell that Jack wasn't really there with him. He was distracted, his gaze all over the place as if he searched for something. Jack had suddenly lost interest. His commands were short and muted, leaving most of it to John and Mr. Gibbs. He could tell by looking at Jack's hands. His stiff-fingered ways was all over the place, like Jack would whenever he was nervous.



“Are you thinking about Saieros?” John finally asked.



“Aye. I suppose. A little. Why is it tha' he always have to go and spoil me fun?”



“Would you rather we went back to the Pearl? You don't have to do this. I could go alone and find the statue―”



“ ―no. There's no bloody way I'm lettin' tha' good for nothin' overgrown bird take charge of me life more than necessary. He may dictate the number of children I am to be bearin', but he sure as hell isn't goin' to dictate wha' I do with me own time. I'm Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow. I go as I please!”



And John heartily agreed, but Jack's reply only made the one thing John had on his heart so much worse to tell.



“How― how do you feel about Sakias?” John began carefully. Everyone was nearly up. Even the mules assumed an air of waiting for the last ones to drag their asses up.



“Wha' do ye mean? How do I feel? Wha' am I supposed to feel? He's decidedly a flirt. Hopefully a lot more agreeable than his brother, still ― no offence but ― related to that black-winged self-righteous bastard. Do ye trust him?”



Do ye trust him? John sighed. It was the worst possible thing Jack could have asked him. It hit him straight in the gut. When it came to Jack ― it was a qualified NO. That was exactly it. How was John to convince Jack it was a good thing for the four of them to be together when John couldn't even convince himself of it, let alone trust his two elder brothers?



“Do ye?!” Jack repeated the question.



There was no lying to Jack. John shook his head in silence, knowing the conversation was over even before it had begun. Unless...!



“Sakias thinks he might have a thing or two to teach Saieros about decent conduct. If he's true to his word then maybe....!”



“Maybe wha'?”



“Maybe Sakias would be good for you. In more than one way” John said, cursing himself for not being able to spell it out straight. But Jack had gotten the gist of it, and the icy cold stare he sent John in reply was a stab right to the heart. He then turned his back to John and headed up the narrow path before them, and he was soon obscured by the green canopy. Mr. Gibbs had noticed the sudden change in Jack's behaviour and went over to John's. He was about to inquire when John simply shook his head and said: “It used to be so simple, Gibbs. Back in the old days. Black or white. Good or evil. Back then it was the 'I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last', and that was it! No arguing that.”



Gibbs nodded in agreement, pretending he understood.



The expedition continued ahead, however slowly. The heat was seriously getting oppressive, and water and rum was a constant necessity. Jack was making an effort not to be mad at his son, knowing the golden-eyed spawn only had meant well. But there were so many things John wasn't telling him. And all though John was trying to hide it, Jack easily picked up signals of uncertainty. John didn't trust his brothers. He was alone against his big brothers, and that had to be a hard thing to go through. Much like having one's crew against oneself, Jack reckoned. He was putting John in an extremely awkward situation, but then again it wasn't either of them, it was Saieros who was to blame. Had he just chosen any other pirate, then John wouldn't be in this situation. No one of them would. And Jack wouldn't have been swimming in riches. Neither would he have his enterprise. Jack unconsciously slowed down his pace as he began to realize the extent of what an alternate life would have been like. He would still have been fighting to grab the Pearl from Barbossa's hands whenever possible. The competition would have gone on and on until one of them eventually had enough and disposed of the other. And for Jack and his black heart it would be the locker all over again.



They found a tolerably large plateau which would be suitable as camping ground for the night. Vegetation was now in shortage, and in the morning it would be vital to get to La Navidad before the sun got too strong. The jungle beneath them was a dark blanket spread out across the island, and beyond that, the Caribbean sea sparkling in the starlight. The chirping of birds and the general chatter of the jungle had subsided as twilight fell, and the by then familiar noises was being replaced with others and more threatening ones. The team was ordered to refrain from building a fire, and they ate in silence, watching the jungle while the feeling of something eerie was creeping up on them. They all started, nearly firing their pistols as something big and black came sailing through the night, landing practically in their midst. It was Erastus.



“About time” Jack complained, “I'm going crazy here!” He was referring to his carefully hidden breasts, now full with milk. Too much milk for it to be comfortable. The coal-black winged demon was again naked. Jack always made sure to put some clothes on him, but the very next time he returned to feed, the clothes were gone. He brought Erastus with him to a less opener patch of the plateau. He lay down with Erastus there, and the youth bent down to suckle Jack's left breast. Pain shot through the nipple as Erastus began to suckle, and once the initial flow had begun, the pain subsided into a dull ache. There was so much milk that the youth could basically just embrace the nipple with his mouth and do nothing more but to swallow away. Jack's body was now so finely tuned in to the needs of the current offspring he easily could have fed a small band of demons. John caught himself staring at the partly obscured couple behind some palm trees, remembering his own time as an infant by Jack's breast. Such a short but delightful time. Feeding John as a grown demon had never been talked of, as far as he remembered, and he sincerely missed the scent and the warmth of Jack's body quite often. Turning his back to get his mind off the troubling memories, John wondered if his ways with the priests these days simply was an overcompensation for something? Perhaps he really was in dire need of a healthy relationship? Feeling like a neglected, maltreated child, John was glad to find Mr. Gibbs beckoning for his attention. Some of the men had gathered by the edge of the plateau, and they were whispering excitedly.



“We seem to be gettin' some company” Gibbs whispered. His eyes were ready to pop out of his sockets, wide with fear. His voice was shaking, and he gestured downwards the slope they'd gone up just hours before. John gazed downwards, before he replied: “Well, it's not much to be done about it, I'm afraid. It's the ghosts of the island's slaughtered Taino population. He turned his head to look at Mr. Gibbs' reaction. Mr. Gibbs was only nodding in reply, and John got the feeling he could have told him anything about now and the first mate would have believed it.



It was in truth a disturbing sight. Hundreds of dark, human figures with glowing eyes were standing at the base of the slope, staring up at the campers. They were silent, radiating a crystalline unwelcoming feeling towards the team. They were not wanted. They were hated. They were loathed.



“You will stay together” John spoke to the jittery crew-members. He had been overhearing their talk for some time, as they planned how best to deal with the disturbing sight below. “You must not throw torches at them. They are ghosts and only I can hurt them. You'll only set fire to the jungle and that will be the death of everyone on this island.” His authoritative voice silenced them, and he could see it had a calming effect as he brought them back to reason. “Do not forget that the Taino put a curse on this place, on every foreigner following in Columbus' footsteps. They want you to slip and fall. They want you to get bitten by snakes and fall to illnesses you cannot recover from. They'll raise madnesses from the deepest recesses in your minds and whisper in your ears until you decide to sever off your own heads to stop the voices from talking. Be cautious from now on, and stay together and remember that if your partner is getting on your nerves, it's not him it's the curse.”



The truth had an unsettling effect on them, but John thought it would be better for them to know. He turned to look down at the hundreds of gloomy bystanders looking up at them. They recognized him now. El Diablo had returned. He had been on their side when the fortress had burned. He had been on their side. Their sentiments showered upon John, like a greeting, a hope of redemption. It was expected of him to unleash mayhem on this party of foreigners as well. Men, women and children stood gathered before him down there. Two hundred years and three incarnations later, he once again stood face to face with this proud people, and John instantly knew there was no way his conscience would allow him to let Jack remove the golden statue. Neither could he prevent Jack from finding it. He started as Jack came up by his side and gazed down into the canopy, seeing their silhouettes as well.



“Do they want to harm us?”



“Aye.”



“Can they harm us?”



“Aye.”



“Wha' ye said to the men, it's goin' to be the Bermuda Triangle all over again, ey?”



“Possibly.” John replied, hearing his father sigh in reply. “There's always somethin', savvy? Nothin' straight forward...!”



“You've been a pirate long enough to know it is so, Dad. It wouldn't be a real adventure without some obstacles.”



“Aye, it's not tha'. But good men are hard to find, and I'd rather not lose any one right now, or there won't be enough hands to carry the statue back, savvy?” To this statement, John turned to Jack and said: “Perhaps you should think of this trip more as a, well, sight-seeing, than actual treasure hunt.”



Jack gave him a piercing look of disbelief.



“How can I put this as delicately as possible?” John went on, “they won't let you take it, and they'll put you through some serious harm before they let you take it. And I won't let them do that, and neither will I allow you to take what's rightfully theirs.”



“Rightfully theirs? They're dead! How could they possibly make use of a golden statue? Can't you force them to go to Hell or somethin'?”



“Absolutely not! The very idea is abominable.”



“Demons!” Jack muttered before he turned away in anger. Something made him change his mind, and he abruptly turned on his heel and shouted down-hill: “And ye can piss off! The lot of ye!”



*



There wasn't much sleep to be had for either of them. Every time they shut their eyes, the burning sockets of the dead stared at them inside their minds. Jack dreamt of them as well. But in his dream, Saieros kept diving down from the nocturnal sky, his talons reaching for Jack, ready to pierce him and carry him off into the night. Jack would wake with a shudder, and upon fading back into sleep, the same dream would occur over and over again.

Seeing the sun rise was a relief to John. He'd passed the night awake, listening to Jack's uneasy sleep, the wails and mutterings escaping from his father's lips. Erastus touched down a little while before Jack awoke, and together uncle and nephew listened to Jack's troubled stirrings.



“Not even in his sleep can he avoid that bastard” John spoke lowly. He gazed over at Erastus who was watching him intently. “No offence but, your father is a real piece of work. I'm going to incarcerate him one day. You mark my word.”



“Tell me: When did the grand plan go a stray?” Erastus asked instead. He seemed perfectly calm about his father. Almost cold.



“It went astray with the Demon King.”



“But he devised it.”



“It was his destiny to fail from the start. He just never saw the end coming before it was right in front of his nose.”



“You were the beginning of his end” Erastus said thoughtfully.



“No. He brought it upon himself. He failed to see the tricks Lucifer was playing on his mind. For that, he is a greater criminal than Lucifer. He – the Demon King himself – failed to see something so basic as a spell cast by a Lesser Demon. I can never forgive him for that. And as for your father―” John said, turning to Erastus, “―I will always loathe him for trying to be something he is not.”



“What do you mean?”



“He may be his father's son, but he is certainly nothing more than that. I cannot abide people who are trying to be something they're not.”



“He's trying to fulfil your father's dream of one united Hell.”



“Been talking to him, have you?”



“We have...talked, yes.”



John fell silent, picking up on Erastus' thoughts quite unintentionally. Father and son had done more than just talk. Like an animal mother sniffing and cleaning her newborn young, bonding and exploring with the offspring, Saieros had gone about Erastus, ― smelling his hair, tasting and touching his blackened skin. The growing lust. It had been an intimate, highly sensual dance leading up to the point where Saieros had gently put his hand on Erastus' manhood at half mast, curious to find it all to be in order. It had been to his satisfaction. The act of intimacy had ended there, and they'd spent the rest of the afternoon in silence just being in each other's company.



“Was I wrong to seek him out?” Erastus wanted to know.



“I suppose not. I cannot forbid it. He's your father, not mine. You have a right to know him. I cannot impose my picture of him on you. You went to find out for yourself. But I would strongly recommend that you refrain from telling Jack that you've been with him.”



“He will not approve?”



“He'll most likely disown you.”



*



The crew were not themselves that morning. Bleary eyed, red-rimmed and lost in thought over the night's bad dreams or no sleep at all. They all sat with the feeling they ought to return to the Black Pearl while they had their sanity intact, but few liked the idea of going back on their own through the jungle canopy, knowing that evil spirits now lurked behind every branch. The food didn't taste right. The rum tasted like pure vinegar and paranoia was slowly snaking its ways up their spines as if they suffered from a severe hangover the very next day.



Jack was determined to go through with the adventure. He seemed almost forced, as if some inner conviction of his drove him forward. He barked at the whining crew about what a useless lot of spineless midgets they were, and thus everything seemed normal for a while. Only John saw how his father would gaze at the skies with worried glances, his chocolate brown eyes darting from place to place as if he expected some old ghost to pop out into the open any minute.



“It's only this place Dad. Your fears are not real. It's only been such a short while since you gave birth to Erastus, I don't see why Saieros should be coming after you now.”



“I hear ye, son, but I can't believe it. Not just yet. I need to do this for myself.”



“Why? Why is it so important? It's a statue. So it's made of gold, it cannot compare―”



“I have to prove to meself I still got it in me.” Jack replied, staring him square in the eye.



“Got what in you?”



“The pirate.”



The pirate. Of course. John should have known. He contemplated this as they continued onwards, climbing rocks, trudging upwards on dusty trails overlooking steep hillsides. The sun was washing over them, pricking them with a multitude of sharp needles. Some were beating after flies that weren't there. Or perhaps it was the buzz of unknown voices in a foreign language. Ragetti had major problems with keeping focus on where he was treading. He was fighting the eerie sensation of seeing spiders on his skin. They'd disappear and then come crawling up his sleeve or along the hem of his trousers. But Pintel saw no one. He was lost in a childhood memory, and he couldn't think why that particular memory was haunting him. Rewinding it again and again in his mind, it still made no sense other than that the memory itself was an extremely sad one. He was on the verge of crying. Had he not been so scared of heights, he'd thrown himself off the cliff. Of all the people in the world, he felt like the most lonely one.



Another hour crept by, and suddenly one of the crew-members called out: “God is here! God is here” he said excitedly, pointing at the sun. He then reached out with his arms, welcoming what he thought he saw. Taking a step forward, he stepped out into nothing and tumbled down the steep cliff to the green canopy far below. The man had been a newcomer to the crew. Not someone whom Jack really cared about. He simply shrugged his shoulders and went on. Mr. Gibbs exchanged glances with John as they went on. Was it just him, or was Jack becoming cynical? The change in behaviour was rapidly annoying him until he found himself pondering why he lingered on as Jack's first mate. John glanced backwards, and was baffled at the sight which met him. Behind the last crew-member was the mule. It trudged onwards, unaware of those following behind. They followed silently, and it could be thirty or forty of them. Ghosts of the Taino, wandering in deafening silence, their faces decorated in war paint, their eye sockets like pitch black holes with burning stars. Their faces were angry, their jaws set and determined. John got the feeling they were escorting Jack and his team to their final resting place, making sure they got to the final destination. John noticed how the crew man who was last in line kept looking over his shoulder, clearly nervous. He knew there was something behind him, only he couldn't see it. Like stalked prey.



There was in deed a God, they stated, as the steep hillside suddenly ended in another grassy plateau. John paid attention to the last crew member, who, upon entering the plateau, quickly backed away, and John guessed he had latent psychic abilities which enabled him to highly sense the Taino. He watched as the Taino ghosts entered the plateau, forming a half circle about the team.



“So, we're here. We've reached La Navidad” John proclaimed. Jack was excited, feeling like a child all over again. There were evidence of once having been a settlement here. There were square recesses in the ground, and beneath layers of grass and soil there were rotten pieces of charred timber which still carried the scent of the sea, the Santa Maria. The crew looked about, not overly impressed, and John figured they'd probably hoped to find the fortress somehow frozen in time.



“And also the home of some hundred Taino ghosts” John mumbled, eyeing the ghosts surrounding them. He cleared his voice: “The golden statue of Columbus stood right here” he said to Jack, pointing at a grassy spot.” Gazing about, it all came back to John. The statue had been two heads shorter than himself, fashioned after Taino standards. And the Taino was a short people. Out of the corner of his eye materialized militant Taino men shouting their war cries as they hacked down and shot down the Spaniards. Flames, death cries and darkness. John's own blood frenzy. The night bathed in crimson red. The Spaniards tied to poles. Their fingernails extracted while alive, the skin of their thighs peeled away and their entrails pulled out and coiled on a stick. Limbs and ears and sexual organs cut off, their fear-stricken bulging eyes the moment before they were plucked out. And in the midst of the mayhem, the horror and the bloodshed had been the Angel of Light. The Morningstar, naked as the day he was born, his yellow hair like a glowing halo, his beautifully shaped wings like a blaze of white light against the darkness. And he was laughing wildly, his eyes rolling maddeningly, aflame with blood-lust and glee, feeding on the terror of the Spaniards and the anger of the Taino. John almost cringed at the memory of all the madness.



“ ―obviously, now tha' would have been just too easy, wouldn't it?!” Jack said, glaring at him. It shook John out of his reverie, and he directed his attention to Jack. “So if it's not here, then what's yer best guess?”



John turned about, opening his senses. In deed, where would a statue of gold weighing as much as a grown bull find its way? He glanced upwards and the answer gave itself.



“Up there”, he said, pointing at the next hillside looming over them. Of course. A cave.



“Captain Sparrow?” the jittery crewman who had been last, spoke. “You can make them go away, right? Tell them to disappear? It's – it's this place! It was their home, and they're―”



“― a tad upset? They have every right to be, if ye ask me. Let's go!” John replied briskly.



Drawing near to the entrance of the cave was like entering upon the maw of some gigantic beast. The last moments of dying Spaniards, English explorers and French pirates unfolded before him like rain over distant mountains. And always, like a dark cloud looming over the mayhem was the anger of the dead Taino, their glee upon watching their enemies die. Entering the cave mouth struck horror into them all. Someone had decorated the walls inside with bones and skulls in random pattern, and the entrance itself was strewn with human bones like someone sprinkle the steps to their doorway with flower petals. John felt the Taino ghosts pressing on from behind the group. Several of the crew-members were gasping, short of breath, sensing the strong presence of anger oppressing them, making them dizzy to the point where they had to sit down.



Jack busied himself with lighting a torch for himself and Gibbs. He was going in. He was going to see the statue for himself.



“Wha' manner of creature did this?” Mr. Gibbs wanted to know. In spite of himself he was nearly whispering, sweat pouring down his temples and weary eyes darting from side to side.



“It smells of evil, that's for sure.” John replied. He really had no idea, and just the thought of what he might find spurred him to enter and find out. “Whatever lurks in there is complex. It's not of this world, conjured to be the treasure's keeper and guardian. And then the treasure itself is cursed inside and out. It acts like a magnet, attracting all kinds of evils” John spoke flatly as if giving a lecture. “Care to join us?” Mr. Gibbs gave him a quick smirk.



“It would be worthwhile just to get a glimpse of one of the world's golden wonders.”



John insisted on going first. He wouldn't hear of Jack being at the front line against some creature which was bound to be bad and ugly. Maybe ugly. But not bad. Could it be a troll? Had it been another demon, then John would already know, but it was as if it was an animal, or something relatively brain-dead. A cold-blooded killer. He paid no heed to the cracking of bones and skulls as they made their way into the cave. Stepping on anything that hadn't been human once, was difficult to avoid.



It wasn't long before the tunnel they'd been walking inside, widened up into a large grotto. In the light of three torches combined, they were met by an imposing golden statue standing in the midst of the grotto. Jack held his breath upon beholding such a masterpiece. The gold virtually sang to him, and he had to restrain the impulse to jump forward and embrace it! The golden Columbus held an air of immortality – a proud posture of eternity, though it was rather simple in its features, reflecting the Taino's artistic craftsmanship when it came to art imitating life. Still, the feat of producing such a massive bulk of gold in itself was admirable.



There was all of the sudden a heavy snort from somewhere in the cave. Something big was moving, and as it took a step forward, the grotto trembled from the impact. Looking to their left, an immense creature stepped out from the shadows. Mr. Gibbs' knees almost gave way beneath him from the shock, and he barely managed to stand. Moving his feet was another problem all together. Jack was baffled, somewhat impressed at the same time, but got his feet moving a lot quicker than Mr. Gibbs. He threw his torch at the creature, and it immediately caught fire.



The hideous collection of bones, melted flesh, eyes and limbs which seemed to be the body of the creature before them, moaned in pain. Suddenly, its chest and belly began to open up, revealing several deformed faces which were half decomposed. They were still alive it would seem, and now they stared at the intruders and screamed of pain. It was a cacophony of lost voices, and the image so vile and incomprehensible that Jack had to look away.



“Are you happy now?!” John shouted to Jack through the frenzy. The bulky thing was flailing its limbs, advancing to where they were standing. “Have you seen what you came to find, or would you like to take a moment to have a closer look, perhaps carry the golden thing out with you?”

Jack was about to reply with something impolitely, as the creature lunged forward, splitting the team. Mr. Gibbs ventured back to the tunnel, but remained there, sheltered, while Jack and John backed away from the creature, wading in gold coins and jewels in order to get the golden statue between themselves and the creature.



“Wha' is tha' thing?!” Jack wanted to know.



“A blood golem!” John replied. “It's been placed here in order to guard the treasure from the likes of Columbus and his men. It eats you, then spits out the bones. Only problem is, you don't die. Digesting you takes an awful long time.”



“How comforting. I'm sure ye know of a way to defeat it!”



“Only he who conjured it can un-conjure it.”



“Ye're the Gatekeeper of Hell. I'm sure ye can think of somethin'!” Jack said, making his way around the statue, as they made sure to keep it between themselves and the golem.”



“No, Dad. It was made to serve a purpose here. We're the ones trespassing, not it!” John took Jack by the arm and started to haul him off towards the entrance. “And one more thing, it can devour my flesh as well, and the last thing I need right now, is to have my immortal soul stuck inside a blood golem for however long it takes!”



“Let me just get a small trinket then. Somethin' to remember―!”



John wasn't having that, and dragged Jack with him as fast as he could. He expected the tunnel to be too narrow for the golem to follow. But it gave bothe him and Gibbs a start to see that as the tunnel narrowed, the golem simply changed the whereabouts of his limbs to fit the uneven edges of the tunnel. Bloody hell. John picked up the pace, dragging both Gibbs and Jack with him by the arm. Before long, he could spot the sunlight outside along with the silhouettes of the waiting crew. Some had ventured a few metres outside, but they quickly got out of the way upon seeing what was chasing the threesome. Well outside, John threw Gibbs and Jack to either side, before he turned on his heel and conjured an energy bolt which shot straight from his palm and into the cave entrance. Bones crackled in the immense heat of the flames of the golem, and there was an immense howl – a choir of voices screaming out in pain as the creature was hit. The energy blast melted into the creature, before it shook, then exploded in a shower of blood, flesh and bones covering all of the bystanders. That wasn't the end of it. The larger parts – limbs like arms and feet, continued to move, obviously looking for each other.



“Good!” Jack shouted, “keep up the good work, John, while the team and I go get the statue. There's a good lad, now!” Jack said as he'd risen to his feet. Half of him was covered in a bloody substance, but he was nevertheless smiling widely. “Move it, ye gutless land-crabs! We got ourselves a golden statue to carry! Snap to it!” he yelled, impatient as a small boy in front of the Christmas presents. The buzz of the angry Taino voices in the beyond was like a halo of mosquitoes around John's ears. His father was determined not to see reason, and it was seriously beginning to annoy him. He longed to get back to the Crimson Lotus, and this – this was pure madness. It was an insult to the Taino and all they'd suffered! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young woman talking. She was addressing him furiously, talking away like a waterfall. She stood out of the crowd because of the golden jewellery she wore. Anacaona, queen of Xaragua. She was dark blue around her neck – a testament to the way she had died. Seeing bruises around her waist, hips and thighs was a further indication of the abuse she'd been undergoing prior to the hanging itself. It was sad to see such a peaceful people reduced to this – an angry, undead mob. The queen blamed him for not having intervened with the Spaniards sooner. And now, he'd gone and messed up again by destroying their golem!



The golem had already reassembled itself halfway. The upper limbs now roamed the entrance of the cave looking for the rest of the body which was currently wandering about blindly. John didn't have much time.



Pintel and Ragetti sought refuge in a nearby palm tree which was partly suspended over the cliff. It had grown in a bent manner as gravity seemed to have gotten the better of it. It looked much like a ecological bridge cut in half, as where to the end of it had exploded in some scrawny palm leafs. The rough branch creaked and complained under the weight of the duo, and they held their breaths in anticipation to whether or not the golem arm which was currently in pursuit would actually follow. Ragetti, being the tall and skinny one, had his doubts about the branch holding the weight of the two of them. He'd scrambled out on the tree branch in the first place, but was now regretting his impulse severely as it dawned on him that the branch was bending further and further beneath their weight. Pintel had more urgent business on his mind as he was holding his cutlass out in front of him, ready to deal with the golem limb which so evidently was on its way out on the branch to join them. Expecting the branch to give way on the middle and fold in two, Ragetti was actually surprised to find that it didn't. Instead, the root loosened from the mountainside, and he closed his eye and screamed as an all too familiar sickening in his stomach told him he was falling fast and up side down. Opening his eye, he saw Pintel falling as well, flailing wildly and screaming – and above them, also falling – was the golem hand, its fingers spread out like a free-falling spider ready to catch its prey.

Jack and his men – who weren't falling down a hillside or hadn't fled blindly down the winding path to disappear into the shrubbery never to be seen again – now stood and gazed at the golden statue. He heard rapid steps in the background, and instantly knew it was John, not the golem.

“I guess we better tie it and drag it with us, then” Jack told them. But he hesitated as a naked woman suddenly appeared before the statue. She was naked and translucent, ordained with jewellery and pieces of palm leaves. The golden statue shone through her, making her appear as if she was made from gold. She was short, like the Taino, beautiful yet bruised and battered. Jack knew the blackened mark around her neck. It had been the fate of many a good pirate.



“Father” he heard John speak, “taking the statue would be to strip her of the only thing she and her people have left, which is revenge. I can't stop that golem because I can't and I won't. My conscience stops me. The curse which is put on it is the Taino's prerogative.”

Revenge. The only thing she had left was revenge. The words hit Jack hard. He wanted to fall to the ground and weep! Even the dead was better off than he was.



“Of course” Jack replied flatly. She had her revenge in the afterlife. What did he have?



A nervous breakdown every time he looked at the sky and saw something white with wings.



“We won't be able to drag tha' thing with us through the thick jungle any way, would we?!” Jack asked rhetorically, forcing a grin. Besides, there's plenty of riches here any ways. Oh my, look at those bejewelled rapiers! Must be worth a fortune!”



“And as many gold pieces as any man could carry on his person” John added, understanding where Jack was headed. “But we haven't much time. The golem...!”



“Aye, the golem.” Jack repeated. He felt like a pirate back in the good old days as he, Gibbs and the men stuffed their pockets, bags and trousers worth of gold and trinkets until they looked like wobbling circus bears. Question was – how would they be able to outrun the golem if it came after them? They could already hear it on its way inside the tunnel. Turning about, John sent a wave of strong currents towards it, and it was blown outside the cave entrance and off the cliff. Jack stopped dead in his tracks, eyeing the golden Columbus: “Why”, he began, “ it's goin' to take the golem days I bet, to get back up to the cave now!”



“Don't even think about it!” John replied sharply. He ushered them out of the cave, leaving the bones and the restless souls lurking there, to silence and solitude until the next unfortunate traveller came along.



Jack spent the journey back to the Pearl thinking about revenge. John had on several occasions tried to explain to Jack how it all fit together. How Jack thwarted Saieros' plans by raising the young to be good demons. But John failed to see that it wasn't good enough. That kind of revenge wasn't enough when compared to the torture and terror Jack was put through every time an offspring was to be conceived. First off, Jack wanted to punch Saieros good and dirty in the face. Secondly, he wanted Saieros to piss of and never be seen again! And thirdly, Jack wanted his own dick back, everything that made him a man. Internally, he raged and burned with anger and hatred, regretting ever having gone after the cursed Fountain of Youth in the first place. He grit his teeth and snarled loudly at no one in particular. His outburst startled even John.

“Dad, don't let the curse of this place get to you” he said comfortingly.



“I don't think it's the curse...!” Mr. Gibbs whispered to John. They both stopped to look up, past the green canopy. John gasped as there was a speck of something big, black and white flying up there, over the greenery. No way. He'd been so concerned with Jack's well-being and the treasure hunt he'd completely forgotten to sniff for signs in case Saieros was around. Jack and the others were quickly approaching civilization, where the canopy of the trees opened up and the sun would hit more fiercely. Where there was less shelter. Tuning his mind upwards, John found to his disbelief not just Saieros but also Sakias.



Ragetti and Pintel were quite pleased with themselves. They sat waiting by the boats, tidying their nails, gazing at the blue sky and combing their hair. They had been whistling until just recent, guarding a brownish bag and patting it gently as if it was a beautiful kitten. Upon seeing the two white demonic apparitions with black wings made them shrink and hide behind one of the boats.





A Struggle Between Brothers:



Jack felt his knees failing to sustain the weight of his body. He felt weak, as if strength and spirit was ebbing from him. He did not want any part of this. His heart wanted to flee but his legs wouldn't carry him. Mr. Gibbs grabbed his arm and pulled to get Jack to his feet. “Ye've got to move, Jack!” he urged desperately. John came also, grabbing his other arm. “Dad! Come on, don't give up no―!”



It seemed as if his nightmare was coming true, as Saieros came diving down with full speed. Jack's chest felt too narrow. He couldn't breathe properly. The air was too hot. It was like breathing water, and he clutched at his throat and chest, sensing he was being strangled by some unseen rope.



John took no chances. Better safe than sorry, and threw his hand out at Saieros, ejecting an energy bolt which made it look as if Saieros just had flown into a window. The impact sent Saieros reeling backwards, but John couldn't tell if he'd been injured. He watched Sakias descend, and he hesitated to send out another bolt. Sakias landed on the nearby sand dune in a shower of sand. He had changed into human form to appear more friendly. The question was; How friendly was friendly? John summoned a fire bolt, and kept it ready. The flames wrapped themselves around his right hand. He waited in anticipation, stretching out his senses to keep Saieros under surveillance.



Sakias fixed his gaze upon Jack.



“This is not the kind of cooperation I expected from our little brother.” Sakias turned glanced at John. “Aloysius, brother dear. You disappoint me.”



The name spoken out loud was like a strike to his gut. It made him shudder. It was the name Paris gave him when he was finally born. It was the name Paris whispered while he wept over his miscarriage in the dungeons in the palace of the Demon King of the Seventh Plane of Hell. It was the name which defined all of Paris' sorrows, all the treachery, the pain and the fears. Aloysius. Great Warrior. It was John's cross to bear, and now he wanted to sink down into the sand along with Jack. He hadn't seen that one coming. It was the power of the very memories which crippled him internally, and Sakias had done it on purpose.



“Jack Sparrow” Sakias turned his attention back to Jack. “I bid you; Come, and we shall explore passion. Together we'll show Saieros how lovemaking can be.”



Idiot! John thought to himself. If Sakias really thought it would be that easy, then he had another thing coming. “Can't you see he's frightened out of his wits?!” John told shouted angrily. “There will be no 'lovemaking' here!” he continued. Saieros came to land not far from Sakias, on another dune.



“I will have what's mine!” he spoke. John looked from Saieros, to Sakias and then to Jack.



“We're all entitled to Jack's body. Saieros was first to have him. Then you, Aloysius, used him to be materialized back into this world, and then he bore offspring for Saieros again. I say, this time it's my turn. I will try my best not to hurt him.”



“You speak as if he's not here!” John snarled. He hurled the fire bolt at the place Sakias was standing. It caught Sakias by surprise, and he barely escaped the searing flames. The air smelled of singed feathers.



“Tell us how you want it, Jack” Sakias said patiently, understanding he'd have to work around John in order to achieve his goal. Jack didn't reply. He simply buried his face in John's hip. Fear was overcoming him completely. John looked over to where Gibbs had found cover, and he said: “Get back to the Pearl and return to Tortuga. Wait for Jack there.” They all waited patiently while Gibbs and the rest of the crew got their limbs working, moving hesitantly in the direction of the beach. Gibbs didn't like to leave Jack in a pinch, but he relied on John to fix the situation. Gibbs was no match against demon warlords anyway.



“Saieros may start with shifting his shape into something of a more human nature. Isn't that right, Dad?” John glanced down at Jack. Jack managed to nod. It was what he wanted, but he was too petrified to speak. A part of him wanted to lie down and close his eyes and wait for it all to stop. Saieros watched the pair intently and with great obstinacy, obviously debating with himself whether or not he should give in to the request of a lesser being. Sakias eyed his elder brother, sensing the struggle within him.



“Paris would have wanted―!” Sakias began.



“―Paris would have accepted whatever his master chose to mount him with!” Saieros growled.



True. There was no denying that.



“This is Jack Sparrow, not Paris” John growled back at Saieros. “Paris was a different kind of man, raised in a different time with different customs! To think that you have even the slightest grounds for comparison―!”



“―I grow weary with you, little brother. All I hear are excuses! You want him all to yourself, yet when you have him, you waste your time running around doing chores for him! You should be teaching him to be subservient! He should have been chained to your bedpost, learning obedience and the value of patience!”



“Saieros, this is not why we came here” Sakias interrupted, “you're forgetting that your goal can be achieved through other means. Our father, the king did that with Paris.”



“That's true. Once, they had love. And love taught the king to have respect, humility and compassion. His lovemaking to Paris made him a legend―!”

John was cut short.



“―and the three warlords Paris bestowed upon him in return brought the king honour and fame beyond his kingdom! And Paris gave himself to the king unconditionally, with devotion, loyalty and respect.” Sakias seemed eager. At least he and John had an understanding. He'd thought he and Saieros had. Apparently he was wrong.



“Your cruelty to Jack is unnecessary! He has already settled with his destiny to be a Child Bearer. There is no need for torture and fear any more! Conceiving a child should be an act of passion – a joint effort!” John looked at Saieros, sensing that his words were bouncing off some exterior wall.



“Is that what I must do, then? Is that what he has the indecency of me to ask, then? That I be 'human' during the act?”



“Don't forget 'humane' “ John added sternly. He felt Jack's grip on his trousers tighten, as if he was preparing for something. An onslaught.



“Then let it happen right here and now, or I will fight you both from here to eternity!”



John looked down at Jack. He knelt at his father's side and said: “Dad? Do you understand what's going on? What Saieros is asking in return?”



“You will not leave me!” Jack simply whispered between gritted teeth. It was a command and a plea at the same time. Please don't leave me! Jack really said, I'm so frightened I'm nearly losing conscience! Or better yet, knock me out now! That's what Jack would've said. Jack's face was unreadable. He was cold as ice and hard as rock, but John knew all too well the way his jaw was set and the tightening of Jack's lips, pressing them so hard together they vanished into a thin red line. Jack was scared and he was angry. He was cornered, clinging to John the way he clung every time he was giving birth, and the labour throes hit him with full force. When there was no way out. When he had to move with the flow instead of sailing wherever the wind took him. Jack looked up into John's face, and eyed the back of the flintlock pistol just as John raised it. He tightened his grip on John's clothing.



Jack disappeared into merciful darkness, and John wished he could have gone with him. He flipped the flintlock pistol in his hand, and pointed the nozzle at Saieros, saying: “You're only getting one chance at this, so do it right!”



*



Jack woke to the pleasant sound of the waves lapping against the hulls of the Black Pearl. He felt the steady rocking of her about him, sensing she was moving as fast as the wind would allow. The captain's cabin was in darkness save a lamp lit at his desk. He was lying in bed, and the sound of water being poured caught his attention. Propping himself up on his elbows, he gazed to find John readying a steamy bath. No one else was in the room except them, and Jack sighed from relief.



“Who's at the wheel?” Jack asked. It was the only sensible thing he could think of asking.



“Cotton.” John replied. “How's your head?”



“I'll be all right.”



“There's a glass of whiskey for you over at the desk.”



Jack got up. It was in the moment he tried to get out of bed that he felt it. The sting. A sharp pain shot through his rectum, then it dulled away as he got to his feet and began to walk across the floorboards.



“Who's the bath for?”



“You. Whenever you're ready, Dad.” John told him. There was something in his voice. A soreness. Like he was brooding over some painful memory. Jack poured down the glass of whiskey, felt a burning sensation in his throat, grinned and then took of his shirt. It fell to the floor, leaving him naked. Many-coloured versions of his naked flesh appeared on the stained windows. The images seemed to come alive, mixed as they were from colours and fleshy tones. Jack did not want to look at himself. He felt distorted. Disfigured. Maimed. Reduced. Lessened.



There was a black hole in his memory. Only his rectum bore witness. The dull pain was fading. Jack was thankful for the black hole.



He got into the tub. The hot water was soothing against his skin and he moaned out loud in delight. His sore limbs really enjoyed this. John used a sponge to pour water across Jack's shoulders. He untied Jack's bandanna and cleaned his face gently, one inch at a time. John leaned in against Jack's face, smelled his hair just by the right temple and down to Jack's ear. He stroked Jack's chin with the front of his hand, the stubble on his cheek, smelling what was every bit his father. Forget about Paris. Forget about the past. Forget about his brothers. Forget about his fate. This was here and now. For he was with Jack Sparrow. With every sponge brush against his father's skin, John imagined he washed it all away.



He'd held his hand. Like Jack had asked him to. And he'd held the flintlock pistol at Saieros' human throat all the time. That was all he wanted to remember.





Epilogue:



The Crimson Lotus, two days later.



«I always wanted a little something in France. Nothing much, just a small castle. Somewhere by the English channel» John told him, afterthought heavy in his words. He scratched the back of his head as if he was contemplating hard about it.



«―my soul―!» John heard the Frenchman gasp.



« ―set it up, make it nice and cosy» John continued with a haughty air, «and I'll send some servants. You know how I like it.» His words dripped with sarcasm. He hadn't told Olivier Demont a single word about himself, but he reckoned his actions against Olivier on board the Neptune had spoken for themselves. Some shred of respect ought to have been imprinted then.



«Givh ― give me back my soul!» Olivier begged and stammered. There was no describing the void he felt inside, as if his rib cage, heart, lungs and all had been ripped away and replaced with nothingness. He wasn't even sure he was alive. «I beg you―!»

« ―and when I come to inspect, you better be rabid with lust and ready to worship every inch of my body, or you can forget about ever having your precious soul back!» John snarled at him, clutching Olivier by the throat. Their noses were mere inches apart. John did nothing to hide his contempt, and he could see it burning holes into Olivier's mind. Releasing the deacon, he swiftly pressed a piece of paper into his left palm.

«Au revoir, monsieur Demont» John then told him flatly before shutting the lid.



*



France.

The first morning light warmed the modest brick walls of a modest Franciscan monastery outside the town of Brest. A small carriage and horse was making it way up the dusty dirt road which lead thence, and the man holding the reins was loose on the whip, making the horse work hard as if he was in a hurry. The small carriage came to a halt just outside the great oak door of the monastery in a cloud of speckle and dust. The horse was soaked in sweat and its nostrils warm and damp.



Some monks came out to greet the carriage. They were baffled as the man descended, then proceeded to unload his burden from the carriage without speaking as much as a word, just nodding in salute. He quickly mounted the carriage again, then set off back down the very road he just came. He let the reins run lose and the whip rest, allowing the horse to saunter off at its own accord. His back was straighter now, and the day, which had seemed so gloomy to start with down at the docks, seemed to be brightening up considerably. He couldn't explain why, only that some great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Like some great evil. He felt like he'd been absolved for all his sins, and it made the Frenchman happy as a child.



The abbot was surprised to find a gift of such proportions presented to him in his office. He clapped his hands together in astonishment, delighted that his nephew had risen to such degrees within ranks of the church that he could afford such an item. But it looked somewhat familiar. Like the chest he'd given to Father Amitrand for his journey to the East. He opened it, anxious to what he might find inside. Perhaps the Father had sent it on advance, and that he and his nephew would arrive shortly after? Had Father Amitrand found the item in question? Would the Holy Father be pleased? All sorts of thoughts raced through his head, including the letter from Rome, expressing concerns regarding the confirmation of rumours about the Caribbean golden eyed demon. He distinctly remembered a particular excerpt from the letter he'd received almost a year ago:

'The Holy Catholic Church will no longer suffer such an abominable creature to exist. The Holy Father will no longer tolerate that his subordinates become the prey of this unholy creature. The demon must be repelled back into Hell with all means possible, and the source which giveth leave for said demon and his peers to enter the realm of Mankind, must be traced and dealt with accordingly. The destiny of Christianity rests on our agents which are being despatched across the globe, to find the Tears of God.'



“Quel horreur!” he exclaimed upon viewing its contents. He clasped his head with both hands in terror. Inside the chest lay his nephew Olivier Demont, half dead, lethargic and pale, clutching a piece of paper in both hands as if the salvation of his very soul depended on it.



The End