Never Say Die

9. Beyond the Sea

by

Hippediva and Elessil

"Since when does th' navigator give orders?" Jack teased. Barbossa, fortunately, was busy at the bow and Jack lingered, swaying as the Calypso tipped and rolled. "Awright! Awright, I'm goin'!"

The small sloop bucked like an animal, and between the three of them (the monkey was no help at all, having buggered off below) it took all their efforts to keep her steady. Jack finished and swung himself down next to James. "Care fer a swing on th' garden gate?" He laughed and took himself forward before he got slapped.

James passed the helm to Barbossa and followed Sparrow to the bow, hauling the jib even tighter and thwapping the sheet against Jack's calf before belaying it. "Ironic. Here I thought you did not want me to see you... swing."

"Ow! There'll be none of that sort of swingin'. An' wot a gloomy ole sod you are t'think of it! Here I suggest a perfectly delightful, albeit obscene, act an' the first thing you think of is a noose. I draw the line at nooses." He grinned. "You can tie me up, but no nooses."

"May I also gag you?" James sighed, clutching the rail as he looked out over it. The surface broke into tiny maelstroms, churning and dark.

"That would defeat th' purpose, n'est-ce pas? Unless yer one o' them who don't savvy Français."

"I do believe the French also like to talk with their hands, which would preclude the tying up as well." James' raised eyebrow creased into a frown. "The sea spins as much as your broken compass."

"It's not broken, just bent a l'il." Jack laughed.

Barbossa hauled at the wheel and hollered. "Jack! How about you be making yerself useful and giving him a hand instead of bendin'?"

Jack made a face. "Already did that," he muttered.

"Sparrow, he said useful, not even more impeding." James looked up at the sky, the sun still hidden by the haze, her gleam barely distinct enough to serve as orientation. The Calypso pitched and he stumbled for a hold. "We're moving in circles."

"Sounds reasonable t'me." Jack appeared to walk in a perfectly straight line to the bow; the ship was tossing and rearing so hard. He shimmied out and stared down at the criss-crossing ripples, waves at war with themselves. "I think I know why we're movin' like a dog chasin' its tail."

"Really, Sparrow?" James held up the shards of a broken oar, a toothpick in the maw of the boiling sea and a futile attempt to steer them against the currents. The Calypso shied like a spooked mare, bow raised and bucking over the waves: moving, but on no course, least of all that which her reins dictated.

"She's gonna be torn t'pieces!" Barbossa let go of the wheel and she pirouetted in place, sending him crashing into the starboard rail.

Jack was clinging to the bowsprit, not at all sure if he would be safer on deck or hanging in the rigging. "If either o' you gentlemen have any ideas, now is the opportune moment."

James slung one arm around the rail, kneeling on the deck, pushing another oar into the water. It was ripped from his hand, devoured by the hungry sea within seconds. His eyes widened and he snatched a line, lowering it slowly, until he felt the pull. The hemp twisted in the waves, and it was as if it tied around his heart, tugging in whatever direction the currents went.

Below, the Calypso's keel groaned under the strain.

"Swim!" he hollered. "The currents only begin a few feet deep. Swim!" He dropped his coat to the deck and jumped.

The stream grabbed his limbs, but it was easy to fight, and after a stroke, it was as if it cradled him, sure and steady, directing him towards a goal only it seemed to know.

Jack gesticulated wildly with one hand, hanging upside down from the bowsprit. The monkey hurtled overboard and he gulped. Then he let go.

For a moment, he felt exactly the way he felt when he strode into the Bride flush with coin and ready for a party, with every girl's hand on his arm. The waves seemed to be waging an effervescent battle over him, then, gently, pushed him towards James. He heard a splash and saw Barbossa. Within seconds, they were like a trio of puppies in a bath. "Follow him. He seems t'think he knows wot he's doin'."

Barbossa smirked as the monkey climbed on top of Jack's head and shook itself.

"Get offa me, ya mangy beast! Oh f'Gawd's sake!" The dripping monkey squeaked and did its best to hide in his wet mop. Exasperated, he struck out and followed James' lead.

When his ears were underwater, James heard a song, as insistent and luring as the sirens', but without the guile, low and comforting rather than seductive. He swam and followed, until the currents tugged at his feet, not strong enough to pull him underwater, but too strong to ignore. Taking a deep breath, he dove.

Jack tried to shove the monkey off his neck, saw James' disappear, took a deep breath and knifed himself under. The monkey held onto a lock and his left ear as he sped through water that felt light as air. Ripples broke against him and through the blue haze of the water, he saw Barbossa following.

It was warmer below, darker, the streaks of light growing rare as they pushed through the water, then, in the distance, light teased through the darkness once more. Around them, the currents coalesced into a funnel. And the funnel led to a cave, directly ahead of them, its watery maw gaping like a single eye. James headed for it and broke the surface, gasping.

Jack pushed after him, his lungs bursting as he surfaced next to James, the monkey sputtering and huffing into his hair.

Barbossa's head popped up close by, weirdly illuminated by the cave's translucent bluish light.

"Here, will ya get him offa me? He's pullin' me ears!"

Barbossa shook the water from his face. "He'd do better t'box 'em."

Jack growled and took a swing that splashed and sent echoes quivering around them.

James pulled himself onto the dark stone, cool and slick. His head jerked back, and for a moment, he looked like a parent chiding his children for making a rude noise in church. He blinked and knelt down, palm on a lapis lazuli vein, unsure whether the pulse he felt was merely his own.

The monkey, bereft of his jangling raft, paddled over to take refuge on Barbossa's back. Jack was already crawling to join James and the former admiral's face was rapt, ice-blue in the pale light, the green eyes wide and distant.

James still listened to the song in his ear, familiar like the chorus of the waves heard in a shell. A foreign sound intruded, the hiss of steel broke his reverie, and he jumped to his feet, his own sword in hand.

Barbossa erupted onto the rock, sword already drawn and Jack fumbled, yanking at his cutlass.

"Lead on, Mr. Norrington. I don't suppose you'd care t'share whatever it be yer hearin' that we can't?" Barbossa's blade touched James lightly and he grinned.

"The voice of reason, it would seem." James' brow was arched, back straight, the blood in his hand thrumming around the sword's handle. He was not surprised at Barbossa's eagerness to fight, but he was surprised at his own, at how right it seemed to fight him here... to defend this sanctum from his presence.

Jack finally got the sword out of its scabbard and slipped on the rock's polished surface, tumbling back into the water with a splash. The monkey screeched and jumped away as Barbossa waved a hand. "Please, do begin th' dance."

James smiled tightly and raised his blade, then lunged forward, staking his ground, his footing sure.

Barbossa parried and his wild laugh boomed through the cavern. "I never did think you were any man's fool, Norrington. Least of all Jack Sparrow's. Or perhaps I be misinformed." His height and the beserker ferocity of his attack made him a surprising foe. He laughed as the blades sparked and rang.

Jack had slid down the rock's edge a half-dozen times before he finally got to his feet and wavered, not sure he wanted any part of this battle.

"Fool often enough, but usually my own," James said quietly, the echo making his voice as loud as Barbossa's. "And never a fool's fool, I like to believe," he finished, smiling briefly as he glanced at Jack, then, as quickly, he focused on the fight, feet flying on stone, dodging once and then pressing forward once more...

There was little room to manoeuvre. The cave opened to a comfortable height but the water ran like a river into it and the embankments were barely wide enough to walk on, much less battle. Jack tore himself away from admiring James' skill and lunged into the fight.

Three blades crashed together, steel sparking. Barbosssa focused on Jack then, pressing the advantage of his height until James stepped in.

Jack parried Barbossa's blade, whirled, then ducked as it sailed over his head. "Never could change yer spots, Hector. I wonder, is it really a good idea fer you t'keep followin' me?"

"A bit harder t'get the true bearin's this time, Jack, but I think I've got it worked out." He kept going for James and Jack grimaced.

Fate had its own way of handling the situation. The narrow path opened into a large cavern, faint light drifting from high above, pale blue rock that gleamed and sparkled with veins of ore. There was a curiously muffled sound from the centre of the cavern where, stretching upwards to the distant light, a cyclone of wind rushed and whispered, its voice sonorous and soft.

James took a step back, shifting his balance as he spun and slashed. The monkey screeched as the feathers of Barbossa's hat went flying.

Jack dove between them, forcing Barbossa back towards the wall. The chamber was roughly circular and the eerie drone of the whirlwind sighed and sang with the ringing blades.

A faint tug startled James and he missed a beat, losing his footing and slipping to the ground. Steel flashed above him and he felt the breeze of it cutting through the air, glancing up to see Jack's blade blocking Barbossa's mere inches above his head.

He rolled sideways and jumped to his feet once more, sword raised.

"I'll not be losin' another prize t'the likes of you Jack, You must know that by now." Barbossa bore down on Sparrow.

"I'd say yer like t'get a pig in a poke like that Aztec gold at this rate, luv. I woulda thought you'd had enough. Or perhaps you just want t'keep the bloody monkey company." Jack laughed and ducked around Barbossa, luring him away from Norrington. Stupid thing to do, really, but it made perfect sense to Jack, whose concept of 'sense' was somewhat dubious. Barbossa roared a response and lunged wildly.

Their dance brought them closer and closer to the whirlwind, its roar swallowing the sound of their blades, a strange respite from the clash of steel. James struggled against the pull of the whirlwind, sucking him in as hard as it pushed away Jack and Barbossa. Caught between swords and wind, James pressed forward...

Jack spun towards Barbossa, pressing his one advantage: speed. He darted back and forth in an epileptic dance while the winds thrummed a heartbeat not his own in his ears.

Every manoeuvre towards the centre of the cavern pushed him closer to the whirlwind shoving him away. He bounced off the wall hard and stood swaying as Barbossa was forced towards him. The wind pushed them both against the cave's slippery walls and they faltered.

As though the winds tried to part them, James was sucked inwards, stumbling towards the cyclone as though he were on a pitching ship, then hauling himself away once more, back into the fray. A thrust, a parry, another lunge, his blade striking sparks against Barbossa's, then the wind grabbed hold again, like a line wrapped around his ankle.

Jack crashed headfirst into the wall, evaded a slash and turned in time to see the cyclone suck James into its spinning blur. He wheeled to fend off another blow and concentrated on not losing his footing on the glass-slick floor.

Caught within the whirlwind, James struggled: he attempted to swim, to no avail, drawn further inside until he could not even make out the flashes of colour as Barbossa and Jack fought. The roar in his ears was deafening, rising higher as he spun, carried inwards. A second later, his feet touched solid ground, and all was quiet save for the soft trickle of water.

Within the eye of the cyclone, there was an crumbling well, water dripping over tumbled stones. It bubbled up from the depths in a thin trickle over silvery pale rock and drained back to its source. The air smelled of it, sweet and clean, and yet old, so very, very old. Above him, daylight winked like a distant eye.

"One step, and it is begun." The well itself seemed to whisper.

James sheathed his sword, clutching the hilt for a second longer. His head raised, he took that step, then another, until he stood before the well, his own mirror image clear in the water, undisturbed by the tiny wavelets. He leaned forward, his hands hovering barely above the surface.

"Ask what you wish. As the water runs in your hand, so shall you have your answers." It was almost a song, not quite a dirge, nor a lament, its tone soft, unhurried and inviting.

A moment longer James stared, then he dipped his hands into the water, cool and refreshing, warm and soothing all at once. He pressed his palms together and raised them, a cup, the water trickling through his fingers. "What is this fate of which you speak?"

"Your own, which reaches out to the end of time."

"But what is my part in it?"

"You will protect that which must be protected."

"What is that, besides all there is?"

"Mysteries need protection as much as humankind needs them. You can choose to protect one, or not."

"What mystery?"

"The whisper of the waves that drew you from shore."

"Why was I chosen?"

"Your worth has been tested beyond life itself."

The last drop trickled through his fingers, a gentle touch that left his palms dry. "Am I? Am I ready?" he asked, voice shaking, but all he heard was the echo of his own question.

No doubt the voice had meant the sea, her mystery the one to be protected, from mankind and for it. How was he to do that; he, only a man who had failed more often than not when it really counted? What if he was not ready? What if he failed in that responsibility as well, if he let down even more men than he had already?

The task was presented to him, and he could not walk away, yet was still too fearful to step forward. Too hesitant to act, filled by the thought that doing nothing was better than doing wrong.

A lifetime ago, he had stood by as Jack was nearly hanged though he thought the punishment unwarranted; had waited, not certain enough to watch, nor certain enough to step in. Content to abdicate his own responsibility to the law.

He had known the heart of Davy Jones had to be destroyed, but not believed himself the man to make the final decision; had gladly sought an authority to make it in his stead. Only it had chosen differently, and his reluctance to do what he thought necessary had led to havoc and death before the deed was done.

He had seen Beckett's nature; had seen the greed; had seen that the man did not deserve the trust England had given him, that this trust burnt the people of Port Royal. Yet, he'd gladly let himself be sent away to chase pirates and not watch his home ground to ashes and dust for the sake of 'good business'. He had done nothing because he knew not what to do.

All his life, he had obeyed orders. Not only because he was a good soldier, an officer; but because it meant someone above him confirmed what he did, gave him a margin within which to work. That he'd always done well, to the best of his conscience, the best of his knowledge, the limits of his strength. He'd fulfilled a mission in which he believed, but had not chosen, and when the mission was one in which he could no longer believe, he still had not stepped up to make the choice himself. Had continued to act within his margins, discontented but obedient, the soldier he'd always been, except for the weight on his conscience.

As though doing nothing meant never letting anyone down, as though it meant to never be at fault. As though it did not simply mean to give up without a fight.

Slinking away because of his guilt at what had been lost would not help any man, would not be atonement. Turning down the challenge offered to him was not humble, it was cowardly.

It was time. Time to step up, to act. Time for him to shoulder responsibility once more, for himself and by himself. He was presented with a destiny and by shying away from it he would betray all he believed to be right. He was frightened. He was unsure.

He would simply have to struggle not to be.

This time, when his palms submerged, there was no voice, no song, only a thrum as steady as the tide. As he raised the water to his lips, it tasted salty, not sharp like seawater, but intense, like hot spice that made the blood surge through his entire body.

Jack barely avoided a slash that almost took off his eyelashes as he fought the wind and Barbossa. He tried to head back towards the entrance of the cave, but the fury of the cyclone made it like fighting his way through a blizzard of spray. Then Barbossa advanced and Jack turned and ran.

He skirted the circular path, panting for breath and searching for any escape. The slippery track grew even more narrow and the wind near-pinned him to the wall. Wind or no wind, he wasn't going to stand there waiting for Hector to skewer him. Eyes squeezed shut, he shoved away from the wall right into the tornado.

Barbossa's sword slashed through thin air.

Jack had no time to think, and precious little breath, but he did manage to yell. Loudly. He was prisoned by the wind, whirling round and round like a cork in a rushing drain. "Bloody hell!" He could not so much as twitch a finger and wondered if he was going to be stuck forever spinning like a top.

Within the cyclone' eye, James started at the sudden noise, the shouting carried to him, brokenly, as though from a great distance. There was a colourful flash, and he recognised Jack's voice. The water suddenly did burn on his tongue, and he choked back the sudden urge to gag.

Without even bothering to swallow, he turned and ran, fighting the whirlwind until it sucked him in once more. He could barely see, the wind an impenetrable mist until Jack crashed straight into him. He held on, the blood rushing in his ears making him deaf to everything else.

Pressed nose-first against James' throat, Jack stopped bellowing. He found he could move his arms and clung wherever he could. He looked up and found he could see James' face perfectly, a little strained and pale, lines of worry dug between the strong brows. He was impossibly dizzy but James'presence melted any panic within the chaotic wind.

James' pulse raced, jumping under Jack's warm breath. He knew, without a doubt, the wind would not harm him. Jack... Jack he hadn't been so sure about. Strange, this relief that flooded him, impossible to deny; the sudden comfort at the warm closeness.

Did he want to live an eternity without even the chance of that? Without anyone he truly knew, without anyone he could dare to know, for fear of his mission, his task? Always turning his back, again and again, watching as those he knew died; no home to call his own because he had to walk away to avoid suspicion, spend every lifetime in a new refuge?

Responsibility was often lonely; he knew that too well. The burden was his, heavy for one pair of shoulders, but heavier still without anyone who so much as knew. Eternity, without anyone to even share the knowledge of it: a frightening thought.

Given the time, he might have laughed at his choice. Caught in a hurricane, only his heart laughed as he leaned in to press his lips to Jack's, the taste of salt still fresh on his tongue.

Jack's dark eyes shot open wide. Warm lips against his own, warm hands, strong on his shoulders, in his hair. If he thought at all, it was only one wistful little hope that he wouldn't get slapped. He leaned into the kiss, his lips parted to salt wetness; the taste of early dawn at sea and a thrill that shot from lips to toes, a clenching in his gut. Suddenly, the wind didn't matter very much. His head was whirling and light, the way it felt after a pull from a hashish pipe. He got lost in the prettiest green ocean, ebbing and flowing, jade-green currents that made him tingle and closed his eyes.

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Tangled together, sharing shuddery breaths, they spun, everything forgotten until there was a deep rumble, the sound of the sea rising and stone breaking. They parted briefly and James gasped into the renewed kiss, now tentative and gentle. Jack tasted as much of the sea as the aqua de vida; different: saltier and stronger, warm instead of cool. Another rumble shook the cave and James reluctantly pulled back, their lips still brushing together as he pushed.

Jack stumbled, still clinging to the sea-dream kiss, and together, they tumbled out of the whirlwind, careening against the wall.

Barbossa jumped back, sword wavering as he stared, his lips twitching into a laugh.

Then the cavern shuddered as though a giant had grasped it from above. A hail of small stones tumbled from afar as a terrific groan rumbled from below them.

Gasping, Jack looked up at James. "I thought th'earth was supposed t'shake during, not after."

The floor rocked with another spasm, stones beginning to crack, and this time, Jack wasn't the only one running.

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