Apprentice To The Sorcerer

“You seem very happy this morning.”

I looked up at Will. The devil in me wanted to gloat over just why I felt like a cloud-walker this morning, yet a distant part of me wanted to spare him that pain. I pushed the needle in and out of the shirt I labored over, wondering just how much I could say without compromising Will’s temper. “Will,” I said finally, feeling defeated. “I love Jack.”

“I know it well,” Will said, sitting down in the sand beside of me. “I don’t like it.”

“No one said you had to,” I retorted. “And I’m not looking for your approval to do what I want.”

“Never believed you would,” Will said, a wry smile pushing up the corners of his lips. “But it would be dishonest to pretend otherwise.” He began to gather sand, pushing it over his bare feet. His face mirrored the turbulence of a storm-swept sea. “I just can’t understand it. I thought we had something.” His lower lip pushed out a bit before getting bitten by his worrying teeth. “I thought you wanted me.”

I flinched at that mildly accusing voice. “I want you as a dear friend,” I clarified, making a quick stitch. “I cannot be your love.”

“But why?” Will frowned at the beach. “I am loyal, honest, and able to provide.”

“I know it,” I assured him. “You are a wonderful man and any woman should be pleased to have your regard.” I finished off the right sleeve, feeling the weight of my old love for Will pressing down upon my heart. “But Will, you aren’t right for me. Jack is. Can you not honor that?”

Will winced. Turning his head toward the open water, he shrugged. “I just don’t see it,” he confessed. “He’s bounder, a wastrel. He won’t be a dependable man for you. At the first sign of real trouble, he’ll vanish. He’s good at that.”

“He isn’t who you think he is,” I corrected softly. “No one will ever know the limits of Jack Sparrow.”

“And you’re fine with that?” Will made a scoffing noise. “You’re content to love a man you can never know completely?”

I smiled to myself. “Yes, William,” I answered. “I’m content. I don’t have to know his every nuance to appreciate his worth.” I made a quick but even stitch to the shoulder of the garment, careful not to make my work crooked. “He’s good. He’s as deep as the ocean he sails and as careful with me as the finest swag.”

Will grimaced. “But can you rely on him? Can you go to sleep at night secure in the idea he comes home only to you?”

“Yes and yes,” I replied. “I married him yesterday.”

Will cast a despairing glance at my hand, his eyes lighting on my ring. “You’ll come to regret it,” he prophesized.

“I only regret not marrying him the first time he proposed to me,” I answered calmly. “You don’t know my heart or his,” I pointed out. “How can you sit there and tell me I’ll have regrets?”

“I don’t know,” Will answered softly. “I thought I knew your heart. Apparently I didn’t know you at all.”

I looked at him. “You might not know me,” I said, softly, bringing out my pipes from underneath my shirt. “But William Turner, I know you.”

So saying, I began to play.

I played for him and only him, making my melody the essence of Will. He was strong, determined, loyal. He had firm beliefs and he built his life upon them, eschewing all else for the adherence of what he thought correct in this world. He yearned for the sort of love that bordered worship, craved a woman who appreciated and exemplified purity.

William worshipped feminine idols with feet of clay.

Who was I to judge?

I watched him relax, felt a surge of power at the way he submitted to my melody. Playing on, I wove a complicated melody that suited his contradictions, his doubts, his convictions, drew him into himself. I showed him who he was.

“Elizabeth,” Will groaned, sinking onto the sand.

I couldn’t smile and play the pipes. Instead I reached out and ruffled his mop of untidy dark brown hair, infusing the gesture with friendship. Will held many secrets of my heart else his rejection of me would not hurt quite so much. I did love him. I just didn’t love him the way he wanted me to love him.

I brought his melody up, taking him to himself. Showing him his strengths, his purpose without me, I soared upward. We spiraled the peerless sky, looking down upon ourselves from afar. Will’s chest heaved with his gasping breaths. Rolling, he assumed a foetal position in the sand.

The magic of the music claimed him.

I played on.

“Elizabeth,” Will groaned once more, resisting.

I continued, determined he should know himself if he knew no one else. This was the heart of William’s error. He didn’t know who he was. He’d suppressed himself for propriety, for the thoughts and condemnation of others, never for his own code. His selflessness crippled him, but at his core lay a strength even he remained ignorant of.

He would respond to me.

“Elizabeth, stop,” he pleaded.

I played on. No one should be ignorant of themselves no matter how painful.

I showed him his place, displayed his beauty and ugliness side by side for his view. His strong and single-minded song seemed to soar to parts unknown.

“Elizabeth, it hurts!”

I knew it did. Discovering oneself meant pain first and profit later. Will would see that, submit and overcome despite everything. I had done this, become intimate with pain and pleasure and where I stood in this grand scheme. He could do the same.

I played and played. William rolled upon the wet sand, his tears mingling with the worn stone and water. I felt him let go of me, felt it as a snap of tension that died to greater force. He groaned like a damned soul, thrashing uselessly on the beach.

I wound his melody down, watching him take great gasps of air.

“Elizabeth,” he sighed, and I knew he’d let go of me.

I stood, tucking my pipes away. I placed a kiss upon his brow. “You are your own man, William Turner,” I told him. “Now, go and make everyone know it.”