Legends of the Treasure Child

Little John had grown fast during the last month. Three months old he was, and looking like he was three years old. And with the growing up came a dangerously bad temper. The growing was one thing, Jack had decided. There was nothing to be done about it. But when John became angry and upset because Jack and Will wouldn’t let him have his way, John’s eyes changed to a searing devilishly red, like molten lava, and the very floorboards which he was standing on and whatever that would be in his grasp, would freeze up and turn to gold. And if he saw somebody of the dead passengers which he didn’t like, he would stop and stare malevolently at them, pouting, until the person’s very insides were set ablaze with flames coming from nowhere, and he would stand like nothing had happened while the body burned to cinders and the soul perished. Jack would be extremely upset, hauling the boy away by the collar of his shirt and confining him to his room, which was a small section Jack ha closed off by building a wall from timber and debris, giving John an earful about what he’d just done and how wrong it was. This went on for two more months, until Jack was so sick of it he simply locked John inside the cabin whenever it happened, tired of John’s bad temper and frustrated over the rapid changes the boy was going through. Every illusion Jack had ever had about a fathering a normal boy, was being picked apart piece by piece from what he saw, every single day, fearing he would be next to either be burnt alive or turned to gold by his own child.
Will felt the growing threat as well, as the baby he’d just started to get himself to like, seemed to have turned into a spiteful, hateful boy. There seemed to be no logic to the boy’s behaviour, and when John couldn’t get his way with Jack, he often turned to Will to get him to override Jack’s decisions because Will was captain. At times it seemed so that the only one getting along with John was Bootstrap, and Bootstrap used that knowledge to distract the boy from his temper by telling him stories from when he was a child himself, or to show John how to handle things on board a ship. Bootstrap was a master at calming things down, something Will admired him greatly for. Most often it would work, but sometimes not. These were the days when Jack realized he knew nothing of raising children, and the fear that welled up in him whenever John threw his anger at whatever was in his way, whispered of black-winged ghosts that haunted his dreams at night. So great was that fear that he did not dare to stop John from nursing from his nipple whenever the boy wanted to soothe his hurt emotions, and Jack began to feel trapped, sensing the demon had been reborn. He knew well that John read him like an open book, and it tore Jack in two trying to be a good father and doing the right thing versus keeping John happy. It struck Jack that maybe John was angry with him, taking out his anger on the others because of something Jack was doing. Had done. Did. With that demon. Perhaps John was angry with Jack for hating his demon father. Perhaps it was all his fault. Should he have loved the demon? Was that it? Did the Thyrion have one single trait that Jack could describe as a good thing? Jack couldn’t think of any. Still, the more he thought of the Thyrion, the more questions popped up.

Father Irons was a tall, lean man, wearing black robes and the collar of a priest. Bootstrap fished him up from the surface of the waters, welcoming him on board with a brief nod before he moved on to the next. He left Father Irons standing there, baffled and surprised to say the least, like a drenched cat just rescued after having fallen into the aquarium of its prey. He looked down at the rope which was hanging from his neck. Then he remembered everything.

He sat down on a nearby barrel and John caught his attention. The boy ran towards Will who stood by the wheel, steering the Flying Dutchman on towards the grey clouded horizon. Will gazed upwards, a cold wind caressing his face. Calypso was in a bad temper, causing stormy weather with heavy rain. John climbed up to him, wanting to take over the wheel, but Will wouldn’t let him. As usual it made John furious, and he began to scream while Will tried to explain to him that it was the captain’s wheel to command for the moment.
Father Irons fished out a rosary with a golden cross attached to it, something which immediately caught John’s eye. He wandered over to it, staring at it intently. Father Irons put it between his palms while beginning to mutter the Apostels’ Creed, not really aware that John was watching him.

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of—“

“—gold” John whispered, his eyes as round and big like bowling balls, fixed on the golden cross which dangled from the beaded chain.

“—heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the—“

“—Thyrion” John said.

“—Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell—“

“—and his wings turned black—“

“—I…,uhm...,the third day He arose again from the dead—“

“—to guard the Fountain of Youth!” John intervened eagerly, smiling from ear to ear, showing off two sharp corner teeth. Father Irons stopped his muttering to stare openmouthed at John, not quite believing what he saw.

“…he ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.”

“He feasts on the souls of the damned who are trying to make their way up to heaven from the seventh plane of Hell in which he rules.” The words poured out of John like a waterfall. Jack, who believed he was coming to the priest’s rescue, with left hand ready to grab John by the collar and drag him off to the cabin, had frozen dead in his leap towards his son, and he remained standing on one foot, listening to his son speaking clearly for the first time.

“I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting…!”

“And only those true of heart shall survive his wrath, Amen.” John finished. Father John fell off his barrel as John’s face began to change. He all of the sudden grew, his face becoming older, and his legs stretched several centimeters, his hair turning from light gold to brown, a shade lighter than that of Jack’s. The clothes remained the same, appearing too small though as John’s body filled them more. He looked like he was ten years old all of the sudden, his yellow eyes shining bright and golden towards Father Irons, his face beaming with joy.”

“You know God!” John said.

“What?” Father Irons replied. His jaw was working yet no words came across his lips.

“Wha'?!” Jack heard himself say. Will had seen the whole thing but wisely kept his mouth shut, sensing that great things were about to happen. Then again, so was the storm, and he was forced to turn his attention to the weather, calling for Bootstrap to tighten the lines to the sails. They were in for a heavy ride. It was beginning to pour down as well. He turned to see John walk over to Father Irons, reaching out for his golden rosary.

“You can’t have this!” the priest said, hiding the rosary.

“I want it. Give it to me.”

"It is a relic to wear only for those who are worthy. And you don’t look like you have deserved it, demon child!”
The rain was pouring heavily, and Jack grabbed John in order to haul him inside the cabin.

“Ask yourself young man, or whatever it is that you are: What do you have to do to be worthy? What does it take for you to be able to wear it proudly, ey?” Father John watched Jack close the door behind them, leaving him standing on deck together with Will at the helm.“Because I sure don’t know anymore. Say, boatman, am I in hell?” Father Irons continued.

“I am the captain”, Will replied with a sigh, “and this is my ship, the Flying Dutchman.”

“Oh Lord have mercy, not *that* boat! Are you to sail me to hell then?”

“I sail the souls of the dead to their final resting place. Whether it’s heaven or hell, I don’t know. I suppose we all get what we deserve. In one way or another”, he finished rhetorically, thinking of Elisabeth as the rain came whipping down on his face.

“What kind of demonic child was that?”

“John? Aye, he’s Jack Sparrow’s boy. The Treasure Child.”

“Really? Jack Sparrow you say? ‘Captain’ Jack Sparrow?”

“Aye. You know him?”

“Heard of him. That’s all.”

“He didn’t…! You know. Him and that demon that spawned John.”

“Didn’t what? Fornicate? Dance naked around an obelisk, howl at the moon and throw unholy incantations about like confetti?” Father Irons wiped water away from his pale face.

“Sorry, just speaking from experience. Don’t ask.”

“It was rape. That’s what I gather from the little he’s told me.”

“And the boy?”

“Believe it or not, Jack got pregnant and gave birth to him, and then he hid him away here, with the boy.”

“A treasure Child is to be a hideous thing, Captain. Something’s not right with this picture. It’s not what I’ve been told.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to speak with Captain Sparrow.”

“You haven’t told me your name”, Will shouted through the icy winds which had picked up considerable speed. He was getting suspicious, taking precautions.

“I’m Father Irons. I was hung from the mast of a pirate ship, by a pirate who abducted me after Mass. His name was captain Teague. He wanted me to find an incantation that would bind the Treasure Child once he had found it. He said he was going to use it to track down all the riches of the world. He hung me once I’d given him the incantation!”