Chosen Path

As the door swung open, the Pearl’s crew members were met with the sight of every rotting skeleton and one stone statue they had passed animate, wielding swords and torches, standing between them and their escape.



“Yer Captain didn’t say anything about living skeletons, did he.”



Elizabeth approached Barbossa’s back wide-eyed. “He didn’t say anything about rivers either, but we navigated that just fine. I don’t suppose they’ll just let us pass.” Elizabeth dropped her package of fabrics and loosened her pistol in her belt.



“It would seem unlikely.”



“Are they alive?” She divested herself of her satchel as Barbossa dropped the chest at his feet in favor of his own pistol and sword.



“Appear to be undead. Except fer the stone, that’s just stone. That moves.”



“Trespassers!” The low, gravelly cry came from the center of the throng of guardians. “Trespassers must die!”



“Not sure I likes the sound o’ that, Cap’n.”



“Loose yer weapons, lads, we don’t go down without a fight.” Barbossa had already taken up his mad fighting stance, so Elizabeth covered his back. Pintel and Ragetti did the same as they prepared for the charge.



“Undead means they can’t die,” Elizabeth hissed in Barbossa’s ear.



“A fact I be all too familiar with.”



“Hack off limbs, or blow them up,” she advised. “And just try to clear a path to make a clean escape.”



“I be givin’ the orders around here, Missy.”



“Have you got any better ideas?”



Barbossa responded with a battle cry. “Jus’ make fer the longboat! Take what ye can an’ try not to die.”



They charged then, swords clashing, pistols firing. Elizabeth soon discovered that while she could disarm a skeleton with her sword, her pistol did little but startle her enemies. Even so, startling them gave her a brief, but useful opening. She fished a grenade out of her coat and tossed it into the fray.



“Take cover!” she shouted to her comrades. The grenade exploded in a mess of fire and flying bones. It took out several skeletons, but there were many more still fighting, and the stone statue dueling Barbossa remained unscathed.



“Barbossa, grenade!”



“In me coat! Cover me!” Elizabeth caught the statue’s sword and lured him into fighting her while the Captain unleashed a few of the weapons he had secreted into his coat pockets.



One of the grenades exploded just as it hit the water, sending water flying. To Elizabeth’s amazement, the water that landed on the statue she battled hissed and evaporated, burning away some of the stone as though it were acid on flesh.



When Barbossa turned back to the statue, exchanging places with Elizabeth again, she spun around to fight at his back. “Water,” she called over her shoulder. “The water’s the secret; force him to the lake!”



A well aimed pistol took a head off a skeleton, but the thing kept flailing about, sword in hand. Elizabeth kicked at it, and it fell, crawling aimlessly until it happened under Pintel’s shoes and was stilled. Elizabeth caught sight of Pintel and Ragetti, attempting to fight while still carrying their treasure chest between them.



She shook her head and turned back to her own battle. As long as they didn’t get them all killed, they could do as they pleased. Judging by the trail of bones in their wake, they were succeeding well enough, so Elizabeth focused on her own enemies. They were moving down the shore; clearly Barbossa was succeeding at pushing the statue towards a watery demise.



Elizabeth fought with everything she had, all the swordsmanship Will had taught her, and the less savory techniques Barbossa had shown her en route to Singapore. She was the better fighter, but the living skeletons were so many, and her sword began to grow heavy in her arms. Finally there was but one left to confront her; Pintel and Ragetti had nearly dispatched the last of their own combatants.



She parried a particularly skilled attack, and was forced to jump aside to dodge a blow. “Barbossa!” she realized she had left him unguarded, and lunged at the skeleton poised to attack him. As she did, he turned, responding to her call, and the stone statue took advantage of his inattention to slice him along his side.



With a cry, he fell to one knee, lashing out towards the statue. Elizabeth gasped as she divested the final skeleton of his sword arm, then his skull, and turned to find the statue poised over Barbossa, sword held high for a final strike.



Barbossa struggled to regain his footing, but between his bad leg and the gash on his side, he continued to stumble on the rocky slope. It was as though time had slowed; Elizabeth rushed ahead, sword brandished high, crying out in hopes of distracting the statue. She would never make it to his side, she had drifted too far from him. Her mind’s eye saw the inevitable before it happened; he would die again, with Elizabeth again just out of range, just barely unable to save him, and no Calypso to bring him back. She couldn’t breathe, her heart stopped beating as she willed her feet to move her faster, but it was simply impossible.



Suddenly, the statue dropped its sword and stumbled backward with a low cry of agony. Elizabeth froze, wide eyed as she took in the image of Ragetti, triumphant with a now-empty silver chalice in hand, the open chest he had carried, and Pintel, coming up behind her to shove the statue the rest of the way into the lake.



The lake crackled and hissed, filling the chamber with steam as the statue burned away within the waters. They simply watched the spectacle of it for a moment, before Barbossa’s anguished cry snapped them all back into reality.



Elizabeth crouched at the Captain’s side, wrapping her arms underneath his. “Here, lean on me. Are you alright?”



“No, I’m not bloody alright, the bastard stuck me with his unholy sword!”



He was still shouting; that was a good sign at least. “Help me get him into the longboat!” she ordered. “Hurry!”



Pintel came around Barbossa’s other side and together they helped the Captain hobble into the boat. Ragetti had already taken his treasure chest into the boat, and rushed back to collect the bags and chest they had left by the doorway.



“Leave them, we have to go now!” Elizabeth shook as she supported Barbossa while Pintel pushed the boat into the water, then helped the Captain ease into a seat. He leaned back in Elizabeth’s arms, shouts of pain escaping his lips at every movement.



“Ragetti, now! Hurry!” Pintel took up the oars and had already begun to row them away when Ragetti ran down the rocky shoreline, waded into the lake and threw the chest, two satchels, and Elizabeth’s maps into the boat, then climbed in himself.



The maps! They would never escape without them. Elizabeth could have hugged Ragetti if her arms weren’t already so full of Captain. They had lost their lantern in the fray; only the few torches on the walls provided the scant light by which she mapped out their path.



“Take the first fork to the right, then two lefts, and another right. The river should curve a bit, then bear right one last time before we head for open sea.”



“Right, Miss.” Pintel trusted her, at least, which was more than she could say for herself. She clung desperately to the hope that she was right, and that he had the ability to actually remember her directions, because once they re-entered the darkness of the tunnels, she would have no way to double check.



Barbossa’s hat feathers were poking at her face as he writhed in her arms, so she removed it and placed it at her feet. “Watch what yer doin’ there, Missy, I ne’er said ye could remove me hat.”



“You must be feeling better if you can argue with me over your silly hat!” Barbossa’s coat had fallen open and the bloodied tear in his shirt was visible in the fading light. She tried not to think about how much blood there was.



“Course I’m not, I’m bleedin’ me guts out!”



“Hush,” she admonished, wrapping her arms around him like she did with William. “Save your strength. We’ll be back on the Pearl soon, and get you fixed up.”



He shifted in her arms, his hands holding his shirt against his wound. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped several dynamic levels.



“Not ready to die again.”



“Good, because you’re not going to.” Elizabeth spoke fiercely to quell her own fears as much as his. “I won’t let you.” She cradled him like a child, stroking his hair, pressing her cheek to his head. Whether she admitted it or not, he had been her protector since they left for Singapore; in a way, he had been as much during her first stint on the Pearl, for all that he threatened her himself. She would be strong for him, now, and she bit back the frightened tears that threatened to escape.



They had no doctor on board the Pearl, but Murtogg had some basic medical training from his Navy days. He at least kept a medical kit on board, and Elizabeth prayed it would be enough. There was blood seeping onto Barbossa’s hands now.



She caught Ragetti’s movement out of the corner of her eye. He had grabbed the chalice again and filled it with water from the river.



“What are you doing?”



“I figure, it didn’t do that statue no good. So maybe it’ll be good against its unholy blade what stuck the Cap’n.” Ragetti took a drop of water and touched it to his tongue. “It’s fresh at least.”



Elizabeth took the goblet with shaking hands and Ragetti took up the oar again. “Captain?”



Barbossa pulled his waistcoat open, moving his hands away. “Can’t get no worse.”



Elizabeth carefully poured the water over the wound, which bubbled up, hissing. Barbossa stiffened in her arms, snarling. “Bloody hurts.”



“I know. You’ll be alright.” Elizabeth tugged her knife from her belt and cut at her own shirt, ripping a strip from the bottom. She wadded the fabric in her hand, dipped it once into the river, then pressed it gently to Barbossa side, washing away some of the blood and pus that had oozed from the wound. “Hold that there. It’ll stop the bleeding.”



Elizabeth had no idea whether it would work, but Barbossa seemed to believe her, and it gave him something to do besides moan in agony.



They were moving faster now, a stronger current pushing them along as Pintel and Ragetti rowed faster. They boat rocked as the river carried them around its curves, first right, then left, then hard rowing to the final right fork.



The boat pitched suddenly downward, and Elizabeth clung to Barbossa, holding him tightly against her chest as they flew down the last tunnel and into the open ocean. Elizabeth couldn’t suppress her cry of relief at seeing stars, moonlight, and in the distance, the faint hint of black sails.



As they rowed towards the ship, it was apparent the fortress had awakened, and was aware of their escape. The lighthouse searched the waters, and cannons fired into the sea. Elizabeth pressed her head into Barbossa’s shoulder. Even in his desperate condition, he managed to reach a comforting hand up to tangle in her hair. At his touch, she nearly sobbed, but managed to keep still and silent as they slipped quietly along the black waves.



The journey from the castle walls to the Pearl was one of the longest of Elizabeth’s life. When they finally reached her, mercifully unscathed save the Captain’s wound, she called up to the crew on board.



“Captain’s injured! Move quickly, help get him back on board!”



Pintel, Ragetti, and Elizabeth passed up the chests and satchels, then hooked ropes to the longboat so the crew could haul the most precious cargo aboard.



The crew all moved in to help Barbossa into his cabin, amidst his howling that he was more than capable of walking into his own cabin. “You, Murtogg,” Elizabeth ordered. “Get the medical kit, and quickly. Mister Mullroy?”



“Aye, Cap’n Swann?”



“Where is my son?”



“He’s asleep, Miss. Cap’n.”



“Good. See that he stays that way. Can’t have him getting in the way.”



“Aye, aye, Cap.” The two men disappeared below deck, and Elizabeth followed the Captain and his entourage into his cabin.



“Everybody out! Get this ship as far from that castle as you can!”



“Got a headin’, Miss?”



“Away from here!” Elizabeth pulled up a mental image of the maps. “Due east. Ninety degrees.” It would do for now. Elizabeth bodily shoved the men out the door, then grabbed Ragetti at the last minute. She grabbed his face in her hands and pressed a swift kiss to his lips.



“Wot’s that for?” Ragetti blushed, momentarily forgetting his Captain.



“For the map. And this: get me soap, fresh water, and rum. Lots of rum. Go now!”



Ragetti stepped to, leaving just as Murtogg arrived. He and Elizabeth stared at each other expectantly.



“Well?” Barbossa growled from the bed, “what’re you waiting for? Bleedin’ all over me coat here.”



“Orders, Captain?” The man was impossible.



“You’re the one with the medical training!” Elizabeth exploded. “Fix him!” She was at Barbossa’s side in an instant, helping him out of his coat and doublet. Elizabeth got a good look at the injury for the first time. The statue’s sword had torn through doublet and shirt to rip open flesh along his side. Murtogg pulled scissors out of his kit and cut away the fabric of his shirt.



“What do yeh think yer doin’ ruinin me clothes?”



“Hush, you’ll make him nervous. They’re already ruined, and it’s faster this way.”



“He’s already nervous!” Murtogg fumbled through the medical kit, having exposed the wound, which was still bleeding, though some had already crusted over. Elizabeth winced at the sight. “Yeh know what yer doin’, boy?”



Ragetti burst in then with the soap, water, and rum. He hurried to the bedside, giving over the soap and water to Murtogg, who waited with a washcloth. He began to bathe the wound, setting Barbossa howling.



Elizabeth called for the rum, which only increased Barbossa’s fury. “Get the rum outta here, yeh can’t be cleanin’ a wound with rum!”



Elizabeth popped open the bottle, tugged on Barbossa’s beard, and poured some down his throat. He spluttered and gasped, but seemed to swallow some of the drink.



“Gods, woman! Yeh tryin’ to kill me?”



“It’ll dull the pain. And give your mouth something to do besides shriek at us when we are trying to help you!”



“Ye could at least get me wine. Rum! Vile drink.”



Elizabeth raised the bottle to his mouth again. “Drink,” she ordered. He did.



“Wound’s deep, but clean,” Murtogg announced shakily. He pulled a small bottle of pure alcohol from the kit and poured a bit of it over the wound, setting Barbossa to howling again. Elizabeth shot Ragetti a pointed look, and he upended the rum bottle over Barbossa’s mouth. Murtogg capped the rum bottle and turned back to the wound. “Needs stitches.”



Elizabeth, Barbossa, and Ragetti watched as Murtogg tried with shaking hands to thread a needle from his kit.



“Yer not comin’ near me with those hands.”



“Well, someone has to sew you up, and I’ve got the medical training. Just as soon as I get the needle threaded…”



Elizabeth’s gaze darted between Barbossa and Ragetti. “I can’t sew,” Ragetti protested. “I’ve only got one eye.”



Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Oh for goodness sakes, give it here.” She expertly threaded the needle, and bent over the Captain. She turned to Murtogg. “How do I do this?”



“Not feelin’ real confident over here, Mrs. Turner.”



“Shut it, Captain! Murtogg?”



“Er, I’ll hold it closed. Just, you know, stitch it up.”



“Any particular stitch that is the most effective?”



“There’s more’an one?”



Elizabeth sighed. “Captain, this may hurt a bit. Ragetti, restrain him, please?”



Barbossa was already gripping the bars of his bed for support. Ragetti bent over his shoulders and nodded to Elizabeth.



Elizabeth had spent years as a lady-in-training, learning needlepoint and mending. The skills had proved quite useful in mending sails and their clothing, but she had never expected to use them to sew flesh.



She bit her lip as she slid the needle in and out of Barbossa’s skin. She carefully tied a knot at one end, then continued to stitch up the length of the wound. Barbossa might have shouted, or he might have been silent, but Elizabeth heard nothing but the pounding of her own heart in her ears as she worked to stave off any further bleeding.



Finally, she reached the end of the gash, tied off the thread and held the remainder tight for Murtogg to snip off. Together, she and Murtogg applied bandages, wrapping rags around Barbossa’s waist to hold them in place. Elizabeth slumped forward, sitting at the edge of Barbossa’s bed, head in hands.



Ragetti backed off and Barbossa grabbed the rum bottle from the nightstand and took a long swig. He poked at the bandage, but Murtogg stopped him.



“Don’t touch it. You’ll be fine, but you should get some rest.”



The men headed for the door, and Elizabeth rose to follow, but Barbossa grabbed her arm.



“Thank ye.”



She didn’t trust her voice, she could only nod in return. She reached forward and let her fingers gently caress his cheek. “Sleep, Captain.”



He leaned into her touch. “’Lizbeth…” he murmured wearily. “Hate to be askin’ for more of ye, but I find moving a challenge.” He gestured towards his feet, which she realized were still ensconced in his tall boots.



She smiled gently and slid down the bed to tug the boots off his feet. “Not the circumstances I’d prefer to have ye be undressin’ me.” Rather than irk her, the comment, and the cheeky grin he wore as he watched her eased her mind somewhat. If he could still flirt shamelessly, he must not be too badly off.



She gave the second boot a sharp tug, and he cried out. Elizabeth dropped the boot and leaned over him. “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere else?”



She realized Murtogg hadn’t inspected him beyond the injury they had treated; she hoped he hadn’t sustained any damage they hadn’t noticed.



“Just the old leg. Twisted it a bit on the rocks. Nothin’ to be done for it.” He flexed his knee, wincing.



Elizabeth bit her lip. He was rubbing at his thigh and it would surely have helped if she added her own hands, but that sort of contact was a bit more intimate than was proper, even under the guise of medical treatment.



When she realized he was lying atop the covers, rather than between them, she bent forward to turn down the bed beneath him. “There’s a chill in the air tonight; can’t have you catching it on top of everything else.” He propped himself up as she helped him slip between the sheets. She was surprised to see his linens were as fine as any she’d had in Port Royal.



As he settled back against the pillows, she caught a glimpse of the little boy inside of him, yawning and protesting as his mother tucked him in, just as William had done so many nights. Elizabeth pushed the scarf off his forehead. “Leave it,” he protested, but she had already slid it off, and began combing her fingers through his matted locks.



Countless times, she had sung William to sleep, stroking his hair and raining soft kisses along his face. Her fingers seemed to relax Barbossa too, and she couldn’t resist pressing her lips gently to his forehead as she softly hummed a lullaby.



“Stay,” he whispered, and she felt her stomach clench. His bed was certainly large enough for two, and more comfortable than any she’d slept on in years. It was more than tempting to kick her own boots off and crawl in beside him, letting the soft sheets, fluffy pillows, and warmth of him lull her into sleep. She wouldn’t risk her honor: he was injured and half-asleep already; she was certain he wouldn’t touch her.



The intensity with which her body responded to thoughts of being so close to him stayed her hand. She lifted her head slightly. “Just until you fall asleep.”



Elizabeth sat up and took his hand in hers, linking their fingers. Barbossa shifted against his pillows and closed his eyes, giving her hand a quick squeeze. She ached to move to touch him, brush her fingers through his hair again, or even curl up beside him, but she forced herself to remain still, listening as his breathing slowed. When at last his hand fell away from hers, she rose slowly, trying not to disturb him. He shifted and sighed in his sleep, but didn’t wake.



Elizabeth took the half-empty rum bottle and retired to her own cabin where she collapsed into a trembling heap. She was terrified, but couldn’t say whether she was more concerned for Barbossa’s health or for the growing intensity of their relationship. Things were changing between them, there was no denying it. Elizabeth had no intentions of betraying Will, but the casual flirtation that had begun with words was growing more physical, and ever more enticing.



Will’s words from their last day together echoed in her mind. “In ten years,” he had told her, “if you love me still, be here, and the curse will be broken.” She had but to love him, and return to their island. Ten years was a terribly long time to wait for physical affection, and as long as she loved Will…



Elizabeth shivered and uncorked the rum. Like Barbossa, Elizabeth usually forsook rum in favor of the fine wine he kept on board, but after the events of the day, and the terrifying, tantalizing thoughts in her head, she wasn’t even surprised when she finished the bottle.