More Than One Way To Live Forever -Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Fall of Puerto Moreas
1690: Port Royal
“It’s been abnormally quiet this morning, have you noticed?”
Norrington looked up from buttering his toast to see Elizabeth standing at the window, one arm resting casually upon the frame. So many years had passed since he asked her to be his wife, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Still, the sight of her took his breath away. The morning light highlighted her fine profile, and set her golden mane afire.
Though this was a normal scene for the former commodore, a stranger looking in may have been actually appalled by Lady Elizabeth’s appearance.
Sweat matted her golden hair at the temples from their morning activity, and it spilled out in a near blinding riot of curls about her shoulders. Her loose lawn shirt lay open at the throat, revealing the layer of wrapping beneath that bound her breasts tight. No full skirt hid her lower half, but trousers and top boots framed her long legs to little imagination and absolute perfection. To a newcomer, the scene would be unusual indeed, but to Norrington it had become a routine, and a blessed one at that.
Every morning at seven o’clock, he practiced fencing with Elizabeth. Five years after their run in with Beckette and Davy Jones, he would admit to himself in private thoughts that she was now his equal with a blade. Every morning afterwards they breakfasted together. And every morning after pecking at her food, she stood at the window to look to the sea.
She was always looking to the sea.
Always.
It was a schedule that smacked of a relationship more intimate than they truly shared. No ring of his encircled Elizabeth’s finger. Indeed she wore no ring at all; William had had none to give her before disappearing in a flash of green aboard the Flying Dutchman.
Events of five years past had liberated her from the usual confines of a woman’s duty, but the prize was only bitter sweet. Beckette’s wicked meddling had, in Elizabeth’s blunt and bitter phrasing, “Freed her from the expectation of grandchildren.”
Fatherless, her husband far at sea, and childless, Elizabeth was left to her own devices. Her once girlish laugh, high and glittering like chimes in the wind, now held the edge of a woman who had seen too much too young.
Despite it all, James suspected she enjoyed her freedom, more than she would ever tell him.
“I can’t say I noticed,” James confessed. “But I have yet to set foot out of doors.”
Elizabeth nodded dismissively, eyes still transfixed on the window. “Come have a bit more to eat, you’re getting too thin,” Norrington urged casually.
Her lips curled slightly at his fussing. “You are neither my father nor my husband, James. I’ll eat as I like.”
Her smile for James was never quite as sweet as it had once been. She was a shadow of the innocent girl she once was. The wariness left behind by their misadventure showed in her eyes, and her smile.
“True, I am not,” James acknowledged. “Though not for lack of trying.” He teased openly, without self-conscience. Life had changed, the formalities had dropped away. Indeed, life had taken on a whole new flavor for James Norrington entirely. He’d been given another chance at life, spat from the very jaws of death itself and washed up ashore on the beach of Port Royal.
He could not remember any details of his salvation, all was gray in his normally precise military memory.
Elizabeth suspected, nigh nearly knew, it must have been Will granting a favor. A blessing. James had died to save her, after all. It was a feat she could understand the ferryman breaking the rules to reward. Not that she knew the rules, or even pretended to understand them. That would be an utter exercise in futility, she’d learned.
Though no longer a Commodore, James now served on an honorary position of the town council. He advised in matters of defense, but for the most part, lived a quiet life on a military pension.
James too had changed with time.
He no longer regarded life through the same rigid glasses he once wore. There were no squares in nature, only circles, curves, organic shapes and ragged edges. Where certain others only seemed to fear the coming of death more, after experiencing it once and coming back, James found it a freeing experience. He felt as though he knew something of what inevitably waited on the other side. It didn’t seem unpleasant. No, it didn’t seem like much of anything, really. Not something to look forward to, but nor was it something to fear.
“Even if I wasn’t already technically married, James, you wouldn’t want me for a wife. It would spoil things between us, I think. That would be a shame, because you know you’re my last friend in Port Royal.”
“Elizabeth, you exaggerate.”
Elizabeth did not exaggerate.
Truly, he was the only one left in Port Royal now that she cared a fig about. She could still remember the joy welling in her breast, upon elbowing through the crowd ashore, gawking at something that had washed up on the beach five years ago. There lay James on the sand, soaked and disheveled, but miraculously alive and breathing. Her face was the first thing he saw, opening his eyes after being granted the gift of life once again. Tears in her own eyes, the sun had shone behind her, blinding as a halo. He’d never witnessed a more beautiful sight.
Never.
She laughed bitterly, her disdain for the vicious society of the town plainly evident in her voice. “You know what they whisper as I walk past. No one wants to associate with the likes of me.”
They called her all kinds of names, ranging from rude to utterly incendiary.
That strange girl. That silly abolitionist chit. That pirate’s harlot.
James conjectured she brought the vicious gossip upon herself though, by choosing to go about in her trousers and boots on a daily basis, that tricorn hat perched carelessly upon her head.
It smacked a bit of a certain pirate they both knew.
“If I was a pirate’s whore,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, “Then I wouldn’t be stuck here on land, would I?”
James pretended not to hear, but couldn’t control a slight twitch of eyebrow. Despite what the townies were convinced of, he knew her to be no such thing. Though, her fascination with that pirate Sparrow...yes, it certainly remained. She could not hide it, though she tried, burying it deep inside her. The taste of adventure and freedom, battle on the high seas left her a branded woman.
Forever changed.
She had come a long way from being the pampered governor’s daughter. Waited upon hand and foot, always a maid to clean up after her. After inheriting her late father’s fortune she forsook the luxury of her former lifestyle, moving to a little cottage outside of town. It was built on the bluff, overlooking the endless sea. She washed her own clothes, cooked her own food, cleaned her own rooms. Lived by the power in her own two hands, and she very much preferred it that way. The size of her new house resembled the dimensions of a ship’s cabin, and Norrington suspected it was no accident.
An unexpected knock came at the door. “Enter,” called Norrington, and was surprised to find one of the soldiers escorting a priest. “Sir, forgive my intrusion sir, but there’s a man here I think you should speak with.”
Curiosity piqued, Norrington waved them both farther into the room. “Yes?”
A small dark man entered, dressed in a black cassock. His hair was dark and cut short to the skull, two surprised streaks of silver glinting out of his raven hair. “I am Padre Sanchez, from Puerto Moreas,” said the priest, stepping forward. He seemed normal enough, until on second inspection, Norrington noticed dried blood on his white collar. “I have made the journey here rather painstakingly, but I bear important news, that I’m afraid will not bode well.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“You must forgive me for instinctively feeling some doubt,” said Norrington, as the father finished his ghastly tale. “You tell a horrific story, and so strange. Fanged demons with the strength of twenty men?”
“You are forgiven, of course,” said the padre, stirring sugar into a cup of tea. “Anyone would and should have such a reaction to my story. But do not just take me for my word, I implore you investigate the damages yourself. You wouldn’t even need a map to find it, I’m afraid. The vultures circling above Puerto Moreas blacken the sky; a beacon of death seen from miles around.”
“Everyone in the town, massacred?” questioned Elizabeth with alarm. “You are truly the only survivor?” the tale seemed farfetched, and yet Elizabeth knew what supernatural horrors, and miracles, were possible across the seven seas.
“Verdad,” confirmed the Padre. There was a tremble in his hand as he picked up his cup. With a sigh, he set down the teacup and waited for the tremor to pass, crossing himself and saying a short prayer under his breath. “It seemed these things could not enter my church, could not set foot upon consecrated ground. I can still hear the screams from outside,” he explained. “There was such complete silence, before they came. And also, when they left. Will you come, Commodore? Perhaps you can find some evidence to follow these brigands; this tragedy could befall Port Royal as easily as it did Puerto Moreas.”
“I fear it’s former Commodore,” said James with a wince so slight only Elizabeth noticed it. “Why did you come here, to an English port?” he asked, instinctively suspicious of a Spaniard. Old grudges ran long.
“Frankly,” said the Padre, “I know that a missive to Cuba would bring help too late. They would have to send to Spain for advice and it will take months before any authority would even think of lifting a finger. Sadly, this is the way of my country. But you, James Norrington, have a reputation as a man of action. I beseech you to help. This is not a Spanish problem or an English problem or a French problem-it is a human problem.”
Solemnly, Norrington nodded. “I will come with my men,” he agreed. “If you care to wait at the dock, I would request you come with us.”
“Of course,” agreed the Padre, standing. “Gracias, Commodore.” he said. “And God bless you.”
As soon as the Padre and marine left the room, Norrington turned to Elizabeth. Before she could even open her mouth to speak, he anticipated her. “Absolutely not. You will stay here.”
She took his ultimatum more willingly than he expected. Nay, it was almost unnerving, how easily she accepted.
“As you wish, James. Safe journey.” He raised his eyebrows, suspicious. He would be double checking the cargo hold before leaving.
Reaching out, he brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Perhaps he did not fear death for himself anymore, but the thought of Elizabeth coming to any harm terrified him. She smiled that sorrowful curl of lips. She knew that look in his eyes, she’d seen it before. She made to retreat from the room before his urge to kiss her overcame cool English sensibilities, and he made a fool of himself.
Click Next Entry for Chapter 2.
1690: Port Royal
“It’s been abnormally quiet this morning, have you noticed?”
Norrington looked up from buttering his toast to see Elizabeth standing at the window, one arm resting casually upon the frame. So many years had passed since he asked her to be his wife, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Still, the sight of her took his breath away. The morning light highlighted her fine profile, and set her golden mane afire.
Though this was a normal scene for the former commodore, a stranger looking in may have been actually appalled by Lady Elizabeth’s appearance.
Sweat matted her golden hair at the temples from their morning activity, and it spilled out in a near blinding riot of curls about her shoulders. Her loose lawn shirt lay open at the throat, revealing the layer of wrapping beneath that bound her breasts tight. No full skirt hid her lower half, but trousers and top boots framed her long legs to little imagination and absolute perfection. To a newcomer, the scene would be unusual indeed, but to Norrington it had become a routine, and a blessed one at that.
Every morning at seven o’clock, he practiced fencing with Elizabeth. Five years after their run in with Beckette and Davy Jones, he would admit to himself in private thoughts that she was now his equal with a blade. Every morning afterwards they breakfasted together. And every morning after pecking at her food, she stood at the window to look to the sea.
She was always looking to the sea.
Always.
It was a schedule that smacked of a relationship more intimate than they truly shared. No ring of his encircled Elizabeth’s finger. Indeed she wore no ring at all; William had had none to give her before disappearing in a flash of green aboard the Flying Dutchman.
Events of five years past had liberated her from the usual confines of a woman’s duty, but the prize was only bitter sweet. Beckette’s wicked meddling had, in Elizabeth’s blunt and bitter phrasing, “Freed her from the expectation of grandchildren.”
Fatherless, her husband far at sea, and childless, Elizabeth was left to her own devices. Her once girlish laugh, high and glittering like chimes in the wind, now held the edge of a woman who had seen too much too young.
Despite it all, James suspected she enjoyed her freedom, more than she would ever tell him.
“I can’t say I noticed,” James confessed. “But I have yet to set foot out of doors.”
Elizabeth nodded dismissively, eyes still transfixed on the window. “Come have a bit more to eat, you’re getting too thin,” Norrington urged casually.
Her lips curled slightly at his fussing. “You are neither my father nor my husband, James. I’ll eat as I like.”
Her smile for James was never quite as sweet as it had once been. She was a shadow of the innocent girl she once was. The wariness left behind by their misadventure showed in her eyes, and her smile.
“True, I am not,” James acknowledged. “Though not for lack of trying.” He teased openly, without self-conscience. Life had changed, the formalities had dropped away. Indeed, life had taken on a whole new flavor for James Norrington entirely. He’d been given another chance at life, spat from the very jaws of death itself and washed up ashore on the beach of Port Royal.
He could not remember any details of his salvation, all was gray in his normally precise military memory.
Elizabeth suspected, nigh nearly knew, it must have been Will granting a favor. A blessing. James had died to save her, after all. It was a feat she could understand the ferryman breaking the rules to reward. Not that she knew the rules, or even pretended to understand them. That would be an utter exercise in futility, she’d learned.
Though no longer a Commodore, James now served on an honorary position of the town council. He advised in matters of defense, but for the most part, lived a quiet life on a military pension.
James too had changed with time.
He no longer regarded life through the same rigid glasses he once wore. There were no squares in nature, only circles, curves, organic shapes and ragged edges. Where certain others only seemed to fear the coming of death more, after experiencing it once and coming back, James found it a freeing experience. He felt as though he knew something of what inevitably waited on the other side. It didn’t seem unpleasant. No, it didn’t seem like much of anything, really. Not something to look forward to, but nor was it something to fear.
“Even if I wasn’t already technically married, James, you wouldn’t want me for a wife. It would spoil things between us, I think. That would be a shame, because you know you’re my last friend in Port Royal.”
“Elizabeth, you exaggerate.”
Elizabeth did not exaggerate.
Truly, he was the only one left in Port Royal now that she cared a fig about. She could still remember the joy welling in her breast, upon elbowing through the crowd ashore, gawking at something that had washed up on the beach five years ago. There lay James on the sand, soaked and disheveled, but miraculously alive and breathing. Her face was the first thing he saw, opening his eyes after being granted the gift of life once again. Tears in her own eyes, the sun had shone behind her, blinding as a halo. He’d never witnessed a more beautiful sight.
Never.
She laughed bitterly, her disdain for the vicious society of the town plainly evident in her voice. “You know what they whisper as I walk past. No one wants to associate with the likes of me.”
They called her all kinds of names, ranging from rude to utterly incendiary.
That strange girl. That silly abolitionist chit. That pirate’s harlot.
James conjectured she brought the vicious gossip upon herself though, by choosing to go about in her trousers and boots on a daily basis, that tricorn hat perched carelessly upon her head.
It smacked a bit of a certain pirate they both knew.
“If I was a pirate’s whore,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, “Then I wouldn’t be stuck here on land, would I?”
James pretended not to hear, but couldn’t control a slight twitch of eyebrow. Despite what the townies were convinced of, he knew her to be no such thing. Though, her fascination with that pirate Sparrow...yes, it certainly remained. She could not hide it, though she tried, burying it deep inside her. The taste of adventure and freedom, battle on the high seas left her a branded woman.
Forever changed.
She had come a long way from being the pampered governor’s daughter. Waited upon hand and foot, always a maid to clean up after her. After inheriting her late father’s fortune she forsook the luxury of her former lifestyle, moving to a little cottage outside of town. It was built on the bluff, overlooking the endless sea. She washed her own clothes, cooked her own food, cleaned her own rooms. Lived by the power in her own two hands, and she very much preferred it that way. The size of her new house resembled the dimensions of a ship’s cabin, and Norrington suspected it was no accident.
An unexpected knock came at the door. “Enter,” called Norrington, and was surprised to find one of the soldiers escorting a priest. “Sir, forgive my intrusion sir, but there’s a man here I think you should speak with.”
Curiosity piqued, Norrington waved them both farther into the room. “Yes?”
A small dark man entered, dressed in a black cassock. His hair was dark and cut short to the skull, two surprised streaks of silver glinting out of his raven hair. “I am Padre Sanchez, from Puerto Moreas,” said the priest, stepping forward. He seemed normal enough, until on second inspection, Norrington noticed dried blood on his white collar. “I have made the journey here rather painstakingly, but I bear important news, that I’m afraid will not bode well.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“You must forgive me for instinctively feeling some doubt,” said Norrington, as the father finished his ghastly tale. “You tell a horrific story, and so strange. Fanged demons with the strength of twenty men?”
“You are forgiven, of course,” said the padre, stirring sugar into a cup of tea. “Anyone would and should have such a reaction to my story. But do not just take me for my word, I implore you investigate the damages yourself. You wouldn’t even need a map to find it, I’m afraid. The vultures circling above Puerto Moreas blacken the sky; a beacon of death seen from miles around.”
“Everyone in the town, massacred?” questioned Elizabeth with alarm. “You are truly the only survivor?” the tale seemed farfetched, and yet Elizabeth knew what supernatural horrors, and miracles, were possible across the seven seas.
“Verdad,” confirmed the Padre. There was a tremble in his hand as he picked up his cup. With a sigh, he set down the teacup and waited for the tremor to pass, crossing himself and saying a short prayer under his breath. “It seemed these things could not enter my church, could not set foot upon consecrated ground. I can still hear the screams from outside,” he explained. “There was such complete silence, before they came. And also, when they left. Will you come, Commodore? Perhaps you can find some evidence to follow these brigands; this tragedy could befall Port Royal as easily as it did Puerto Moreas.”
“I fear it’s former Commodore,” said James with a wince so slight only Elizabeth noticed it. “Why did you come here, to an English port?” he asked, instinctively suspicious of a Spaniard. Old grudges ran long.
“Frankly,” said the Padre, “I know that a missive to Cuba would bring help too late. They would have to send to Spain for advice and it will take months before any authority would even think of lifting a finger. Sadly, this is the way of my country. But you, James Norrington, have a reputation as a man of action. I beseech you to help. This is not a Spanish problem or an English problem or a French problem-it is a human problem.”
Solemnly, Norrington nodded. “I will come with my men,” he agreed. “If you care to wait at the dock, I would request you come with us.”
“Of course,” agreed the Padre, standing. “Gracias, Commodore.” he said. “And God bless you.”
As soon as the Padre and marine left the room, Norrington turned to Elizabeth. Before she could even open her mouth to speak, he anticipated her. “Absolutely not. You will stay here.”
She took his ultimatum more willingly than he expected. Nay, it was almost unnerving, how easily she accepted.
“As you wish, James. Safe journey.” He raised his eyebrows, suspicious. He would be double checking the cargo hold before leaving.
Reaching out, he brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Perhaps he did not fear death for himself anymore, but the thought of Elizabeth coming to any harm terrified him. She smiled that sorrowful curl of lips. She knew that look in his eyes, she’d seen it before. She made to retreat from the room before his urge to kiss her overcame cool English sensibilities, and he made a fool of himself.
Click Next Entry for Chapter 2.