Legends of the Treasure Child: Sparrow's Nest

John opened his eyes. The man with the crown came into John's focus, and John had to look twice. His eyes felt as if they were glued together. His head pounded and felt like it was made out of a ton of bricks. He could hardly lift it. His back ached, but John could tell it was healing. John struggled to sit, very much aware that he was oceans away from Jack. Every cell in his body kept screaming at him, and though he felt like it would kill him, he had to look at the man with the crown again.



“You were always the rebellious one” John heard a voice speak in a language he nearly didn't recognize. At first he thought the man with the crown had come back to life. Turning his head to his left, he saw Paris sitting on furs. He looked solemn. And beautiful, with brown curls framing his tanned cheekbones. “At first I couldn't understand where you all had gone, but then I realised that it was I who had died. Saieros and Sakias placed me here, beside my king. It took time before I realised what had happened. I fell asleep. And I died in my sleep. But I rose again, thinking I'd just been sleeping. They watched over me for centuries. We saw the tribes of men rise and fall. From a distance. But you – always the wilful and angry one – you existed in the thick of it.” Paris of Troy's ghost paused and gazed at his son. His youngest child. Once Alyosius, now John Sparrow. “Why did you leave?”



John met his gaze – his brown orbs – which spoke of a forgotten past. A past in which the lush gardens of Troy still bloomed and in which gods and demons walked. Of sun and the scent of olives and salty sea. John broke the gaze and looked down to the immaculate corpse of the man with the crown. The Demon king of Seventh Plane of Hell. Family reunions was crappy stuff.

“How many lifetimes have you lived, my son?”

The question severed the tense atmosphere. The flames flickered wildly from the torches as if some unseen wind suddenly swept across the half dark tomb which was carved out of the mountainside. John's eyes lingered on the perfectly preserved body of the man with the crown. It seemed like he died only yesterday. Not a flaw on his pale skin. Under those eyelids with long, black lashes rested eyes just as yellow and glowing as John's. John felt sick. The old hatred for his demon father bloomed up in his chest like a deadly infection. He turned his face away and came to stare at Paris again.

“How can you rest here by his side, after what he did to you?!” John almost snarled, putting an effort into getting to his feet.

“Thousands of years have passed and I can't forgive him. Saieros and Sakias put my body to rest here, thinking it only prudent that their parents be united in death.”

“Speaking of forgiveness, if Jack is dead, I am going to murder my brother. I am going to rip his insides apart and feed his entrails to the sharks. I'll clean out his skull and hang it on the wall after I've –!”

Paris rose from his fur-covered seat and walked over. Touching John's lips with his fingers in prayer, he came into existence. John hadn't felt those fingers touch him in thousands of years. They smelled of that familiar scent. Olive oil. Like the Greek, Trojans also used to clean themselves with olive oil, bathing their limbs in it and peeling off the dirt with knives made from bone. On impulse, John leaned forward, grabbed Paris' shoulders and pressed his lips against Paris. Breaking the kiss, Paris gasped, looking shocked. He withdrew and brushed some stray curls away from his forehead, adjusting the crown on his head. The gold gleamed amongst the wild array of curls.

John had to sit down again. His feet wouldn't bear his weight. Paris faded back into being a ghost. He watched his son shut his eyes and rest his head on the white pelt of a polar bear. The remains of the arrow lay on the floor. The memories of a long gone childhood swirled through his head. John shut his eyes and time began to pass.



Somewhere in Constantinople.

Jack Sparrow took one last look at the man with the crown laying inside the sarcophagus. The crown was covered in dust and grime, still gleaming a dull golden despite the centuries it had endured in the darkness. The skeleton of one of the greatest emperors the world ever had learned to know, gave nothing away of the life this man once had led. A king of nations, one of the greatest Christians ever. Emperor Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus Augustus.  Or simply emperor Constantine. A true pioneer in the name of Christianity. There was nothing special about his garments. White linen, embroidered around the sleeves. Crosses. That was it. Jack wrinkled his nose, gave a courteous nod and closed the lid. He then proceeded to wrap the Tear of God into a piece of cloth. Picking up the infant in his arms, he decided to drag the stone after him and pray the fabric would hold until they reached the harbour. Where was Gibbs when Jack needed him? Jack trudged off into the darkness feeling anything but confident.



It wasn't like he hadn't faced worse situations. Lady Luck was, as always, with him. The journey back to the White Swann went without complications. Gilbert Monterey had been at the docks, waiting impatiently. He had been concerned and gone after the children. He expected to see John. The initial joy of seeing Jack and his band of half-demons was soon quenched when Jack only shook his head, not knowing what to tell Gilbert. They made their way back to the ship while Jack gave a short account of their quest, and how John had disappeared. Then he had set his gaze in Gilbert and said: “Now it's you and me, mate. If you really carry his child inside you, then the situation has become all the more severe for you as well. I see no reason why the demon wouldn't want to eradicate every single trace of his brother.”

“Where can we hide?!”

“Hide?!” Jack sighed. “No idea. There's no place on Earth or in Hell which isn't accessible to Saieros.”

“What about a church?”

“Nah. They are only buildings. He might feel a slight itch. That's it. He won't go up in flames or anything.”

“Why not? He's a demon –!”

“ – half demon. And half demons are the strongest kind there is. They can go places the real demons can't.” Jack fished out his compass. He took one look at it, but the needle swivelled then pointed the same direction it had for months. To Will Turner's home. Jack shut his eyes tight and closed the lid. He put away the compass. The Swann was a welcoming sight, and he was grateful to be back on board. Gilbert helped him with the twins, getting them warm clothes, food and putting them to bed. The infant was cold also, and whimpering. Jack forced down some food, realising he had to eat to be able to keep going. His entire body ached for rest. He fell into a slumber, holding one hand protectively around the baby, anxious it would somehow disappear.



Captain Jack Sparrow could feel the ship move in his sleep. She made it at half speed across the sea of Marmara, past the narrow strait between the cities of Sestus and Abydus, leading into the Aegean sea. There, the White Swann lowered the anchor. It woke Jack. He found his baby to still be laying next to him, sleeping soundly. Four hours had passed. He woke the little boy and fed it, anxious he would die from him. Having been forced out too soon from Jack's belly, the baby boy was weak. He put the boy to his shoulder, waiting for a burp. There was a rap on the door. Gilbert lifted his head from the spare bed by the door in which John sometimes slept. He got to his feet and answered the door. It was Jack's first mate.

“Pardon me, Sir. But we've come up on the Crimson Lotus.”

Jack dragged himself out of bed. He left the baby in the cot and ventured outside, followed closely by Gilbert. Coming up on deck, Jack saw the familiar outline of John's ship. There was no mistaking the sleek lines of the ship, the black hulls and the red sails which had been folded up. She had lowered her anchor and it struck Jack that she seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone. Jamie Scarborough came out on deck. He walked swiftly over to the railing and shouted:

“Captain Sparrow! How good to see you well. Is everything all right?!”

“I'm fine. Have you seen John?!”

“Not since you two went off to Constantinople. Then the Crimson took off, sailing her own sea, literally. Now she wants to go no further.”

“Where are we?!” Jack wanted to know. He watched Jamie turn and point towards the coastline.

“This coastline is known as Troas. If you look through your spyglass, you can see the ruins of Troy in the distance.”

Jack brought out his spyglass. He trained it on the ruins on land. Finding them, he then focused further, to the distant mountain beyond the ruins. Mount Ida. Something about the mountain made Jack shudder. Jamie Scarborough wasn't looking too pleased either. Jack couldn't explain it. He just knew that John was out there somewhere.



Mount Ida is a strange place. Go far and high enough through the rocky and dry hillside,to where the steep sides of the mountain suddenly are divided by huge gaps. Go through the deep cracks and virtually around the corner one stumbles onto an icy slope. If one makes it over the slope, which is at least twenty metres high, one finds the steps. Follow the steps, right up to the very heavenly ceiling it seems, and one comes to the tower. On the slopes where the tower is built, one can look down at the valley of eternal winter and see right to the coast. The snow hides the ruins of a small village there.



John stood at the base of the old tower. He wanted to scream. There was no way to voice the pain he felt inside. This was the place where it had begun. This was where he had been born and the demon king had died. It was the eye of the storm. The alpha and the omega. Blood ran from his eyes and down across his pale cheeks. His brows were drawn up, united by a deep furrow over his nose. A pain shot out from between his shoulder blades and John crouched, gritting his teeth in pain. He whimpered, dug his claws into the frozen ground and felt the cold sting his fingertips. Soon they began to burn. His claws could only absorb so much cold. He screamed as bones shot from his spine and pierced through flesh and skin. The bones grew quickly, forcing their lengths outwards and upwards, growing a second joint. Then skin covered the bones and then a thin layer of flesh and veins before finally, a thick layer of black feathers. John shuddered. This was Demon nature at work, and it was at work because he was here, at the very centre of things. He could feel their spirits circling in the air around him. The last of the Trojans whom Paris so miraculously had saved from imprisonment. There floated the soul of the wife of Paris' brother Hector, and her child. And the child's offspring and their sons and daughters. John couldn't stop the transformation which was happening. He felt how the demon in him surfaced, how it boiled like black tar in his veins, and he remembered seeing Paris on his deathbed. It was the one memory he had fought to get away from, all these thousands of years. The death of the very man who first gave him life. Demon Nature wanted it differently, John knew. The demon within wanted him to acknowledge that it had been the Demon king Thyrion who first gave him life, but John couldn't. He wouldn't give that demon credit for this when he was also responsible for John's first death even before he had been born. When coming to this place, Paris had accepted his responsibility as king for what was left of his people. Something, love perhaps, had kept him here, making a home for them all. And John had stayed. Because of Paris. When Paris had died, there was nothing more for him there except a terrible sorrow and a devastating loss. Like a traumatized child from a malfunctioning home, John had run away.

Now, as the pain subsided, he stood. Shivering, he flexed the wings on his back. The wind immediately caught hold of the great surfaces and he felt how his feet almost lost touch with the ground. A memory came to him. There was this pirate. With gold teeth. And the sense of home connected to this man. The tears of blood froze on his cheeks, a silent testament to his feelings. He could see the landscape beneath him turning from a hazy white to pink. If he didn't hurry, all would be lost behind a red veil.  And he would no longer remember Captain Jack Sparrow.