Fic: Esprit de Corps - Chapter 25
Title: Esprit de Corps
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Jack/OFC, Ragetti, Pintel, Gibbs, Barbossa, Cotton, Marty, OCs
Chapter: Chapter 25 - Revelation
Rating: NC-17, for sex.
Disclaimer: I own a good half of this tale, the other half goes to Disney.
A/N: Chapters 25 and 26 are the chapters that inspired this entire story a little less than a year ago. Hang onto your hats!
Enjoy!
Chapter 25 - Revelation
---
Since the beginning of human existence, there has been one practice, one instinct, and one single obsession that man cannot escape. Some may call it necessary; others say it’s a gift. It can be controlling, enlightening but powerful. It isn’t the need for food, safety or shelter. It isn’t love nor greed nor vanity, but sex.
Since the evolution of human communication, poets have been using the power of words to describe the practice of sex, and the emotions that come with it. They studied the marvel of a woman’s pleasure, and the pleasure of a woman that enjoyed the awe that came with the combination of flesh and sweat, just as her companion did.
Perhaps, they were writing of her as if she were a long lost muse, never to be denied the right to unleash her zealous nature, documenting her every move, and depicting her every thought so that each successive lover through time could continue to satisfy her.
Jack tossed the thought around in his mind as she mounted him, letting his fingers trickle down the contours of her body, tracing beads of sweat over the mounds of her breasts, lean muscle of her abdomen, and tender skin of her neck. She shivered at the frigidness of his ring-clad hands, biting her lip as he continued on charting a course along her gooseflesh, and smiling ever so wickedly.
She was a woman that could meet his every desire, rival his own lust, and cause new wants and needs to sprout from uncultivated soil within cloaked territories of his subconscious.
"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night,” he thought, pressing her body against his to warm his chest. Perhaps, her dear friend Shakespeare did know something of her that she never wished to reveal.
With each small tug of her hips, she explored a world where pleasure was expressed through poetry from a multitude of cultures and eras. She pushed away from his chest, arching her back as she continued her careful but meticulous work, letting it become apparent that the traditions and values of multiple societies had shaped her form, right down to the style of language and words she whispered in his ear.
Jack closed his eyes, pondering once more. “If love withholds its strengthening care, the lover is left like a bird without care; the lover is left like a bird without wings.” Did Rumi speak of her as well? How her absence throughout the rest of his days plagued him so that it left him as a bird without wings? Jack certainly hoped not - a free-spirited Sparrow could not be left without wings. Surely, she would not see fit to part from him in such a way.
The curves of her body were a piece of delicate prose representing the many respective eras of practice and knowledge, and he could not help but want more. He turned her, tossing her down to the bed beside him with definitive force, causing her to tumble onto her back so he could finally take charge, astounded that he had to now fight for the dominant position. She smiled as the cords of his hair grazed her chest, and he could not help but whisper her name as she moaned for him to release her. He let his lips touch hers gently within candlelit shadows, lingering for just a moment; it was in her nature to fight him as it was in his to coax her.
It was a game, one in which both wished to conquer one another and ultimately win the upper hand while the other begged to be given another chance. She found herself smiling as she teased her way through the maze of his body, kissing his most horrid scars and the outlines of each finely drawn tattoo.
The labyrinth of his flesh was beautifully lean from his many years of labor at sea. His shirt and breeches only allowed a few choice areas of deeply tanned skin to entice the eyes of those who might decide to gaze at him from afar, but she discovered that he was deliciously pale as milk in his most secret of places.
He paused for a moment, smirking before he took her lips once more. “O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.” Jack wouldn’t have been surprised if Christopher Marlowe had known her as well, and if he had written secret manuscripts of her that had to be hidden away due to their lustful nature.
Then he bit his lip, rethinking his assumptions for a moment as he looked into her eyes. None of those inexperienced, insignificant and arrogant ninnies would have known what to do with a woman of her nature. They wrote of great love, but never had the gall to touch a woman, favoring the forbidden caresses of a firmer and more masculine source, by his reckoning.
They both shuddered at the feeling of their intense lovemaking, feeling that they were both close to their breaking points as they embodied their heartfelt movements with passionate virtuosity. In one full sweep, their longing for release was granted just moments before the sound of eight chiming bells, signaling for Morning Watch.
The pair prayed for their days to pass quickly aboard the Hellride, and longed to join together again under the faintest of moonlight, making each encounter more prurient than the last.
At the sound of First Watch, she would sneak into his cabin to spend a few wondrous hours within the warmth of his arms, but she was quickly reminded of her duties and responsibilities when the Morning Watch was called. With a weary groan, she would return below decks as if their passionate endeavors had ever occurred, though she was not unsatisfied.
She had to agree that he was certainly the type of man that could start the worst of habits, and she could not deny the fact that she enjoyed every moment of it.
The very last night before reaching the island of Guadeloupe, Isabella brushed through the thin lace curtain of Jack’s cabin to find that he lying face down on his bed, whining about some sort of back pain that caused him to suffer throughout the day.
“What ails you, Jack?” she asked, straddling the small of his back. She was ready to offer him any form of comfort - whatever he may have desired. He wiggled his shoulders around a bit, indicating that he would be much obliged if she gave him anything her hands were willing to offer to alleviate the pain.
“I’m getting old, Bella,” he began, sliding his arms beneath his pillow, grunting as she began massaging his back. “At twenty, I used to worry about what others thought of me: about riches, titles, duties, and the occasional salty wench. I used to think of how many of those things I could acquire and how long me body could handle said acquiring. Now, at thirty-nine, I’ve discovered that I’ve never really cared about what others thought of me at all, and I presume that at sixty, I’ll realize that I haven’t been thinking about meself in the first place.”
She nodded her head in understanding, even if he couldn’t see her. “In spite even of your sorrow, one cannot remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change. You’re already insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, but you lack happiness in small ways,” she said, attempting to offer him a bit of advice. She kept her strokes soft and flowing, using the flat of her hands to caress, slither, and slide all over his body.
“Happiness in small ways?” he asked curiously.
“Aye, in small ways,” she said, brushing several cords from his hair to the side to place a small kiss on his brow. “I’ve lived my life chasing after big things while neglecting all the small things that would have kept me sane. You’re going down the same path that I once traveled, and you wish that your prayers will be answered by a superficial coat of immortality, as if it would solve your problems.”
“That is not my reasoning, love. One of these days, I'm going to blink and wake up alone in bed on my fiftieth birthday, wondering where my thirties went. I'll blink again and find myself lame, unable to walk from the pain in my knees or the stiffness of my back. I will be unable to fornicate or move at all, a shadow of the glory that was my former self. What an idle fantasy it is to expect to die of the decaying of your own body brought on by old age, and I am to accept it as if it were bloody customary.”
“Do not fret, Sparrow. Your worries are the same worries as every man, but here you are and here I am. Your fantasies of everlasting life have brought you to this point. Now, look to me as your guide, for I plan to wage war between worlds of the living and the dead while I cannot call myself one or the other,” she said passionately, taking in a deep breath to compose herself.
“Yet, I look back to all the small things with regret, because I was never able to see them until it was too late. The more I lament living, the more the gods choose to keep me alive. That is my battlefield and my sorrow, because I never wanted to fight in the first place. In the end, it was my destiny.”
Jack smiled. “I do not lament living, but you call it natural, as if it were contrary to nature to see a man break his neck by a fall, drowned in a shipwreck, or snatched away by the plague or pleurisy. I’ll not flatter meself with fine and elegant words, hailing it as natural, general, common, or universal to want to die.”
“And you should not,” she said quickly. “Death of old age is a rare and extraordinary death, and hence less natural than the others you’ve so graciously pointed out. It is the last and ultimate sort of death, but you must recognize that it’s an extraordinary fortune, and one that is out of the usual, like the fortune that is keeping you going. If you continue on your journey being at one with yourself and your future, it is due to help you last much longer.”
She stretched the tissue of his back, releasing tension from the deepest of muscles. Jack let out a pleasurable grunt from his lips as she continued on with larger, but softer fanning strokes, attempting to relax him with a most euphoric effect. Her hands slid over his skin, encompassing the contours of his form with sufficiently nimble fingers to melt and mold into the shape of his body.
“Feeling better?” she asked, moving her hands in smaller strokes while applying a small degree of pressure as she moved up to his shoulders.
He did not answer; instead he simply shifted himself beneath the sheets and closed his eyes, reaching out for her to pull her down to the cool mattress beside him.
“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, pressing her back against his chest.
“The whole night?” she asked softly, feeling him nestle his head within the crook of her neck.
“Aye, the whole night. Would you be opposed to it?” he inquired, raising his brow.
“Not if you leave me a sufficient amount of room this time. I know you’re not used to sharing the entirety of your bed, Prince Jack,” she joked, shifting her arm beneath the pillow.
“I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with a man wanting to share his bed with a woman such as yourself. In fact, I’d consider them absolute madmen if they were opposed to such an opportunity,” he said, letting his fingers trace delicate circles around her waist.
“Don’t rule out the fact that he might have been a eunuch.”
“Ah! How could I have forgotten?” he said, moving his lips to her ear. “Besides, I believe that I’ve grown accustomed to your company, as it were.”
She smiled. “Have you?”
“Perhaps … Only a little,” he said, instinctively letting his pride correct the true meaning of his statement.
---
The wind blew gently along the outskirts of the ship’s windows. The temperature was warm and soothing due to Jack’s natural heat which stirred lingering sensations upon her skin and within her. As she laid in silence, she was able to recognize not only the wind’s direction, but intensity, and how it would be masked by his soft breathing and occasional snore. When she finally closed her eyes, she lost consciousness, yet continued to be who she was in her dreams.
Even with her presence, Jack could not fall into a restful sleep. Instead, he found himself within a dream of his own, somewhere where he had never been before. In the middle of nowhere, but very close to where he needed to be, while not so far away from where he was once before. To the curious observer, he was lost, but he knew exactly where he was going.
In his mind, he saw green bushes and trees, rocks and vines, feeling the sand beneath his feet lead him to a place of secrecy. As he drew closer to his destination, an overwhelming feeling of emptiness overcame him, shifting uncomfortable sensations deep within the pit of his stomach, and he could not stop it.
The movement of his body was sluggish and not defined by steady or gradual steps, but progressing to move forward by growth, feeling himself age with every step. Yet, he still found himself at a crossroads, empty and unable to move as if life itself was being sucked out from deep within him.
He looked down at his hands, finding that they were gradually withering before his eyes, wrinkling until it was naught but ash floating through the jungle’s cool breeze.
The notion startled him to a breathless reawakening, causing him to rise from his bed and wipe stray droplets of sweat from his forehead as he moved into the main cabin.
He shifted a candle toward the chart table, setting aside numerous charts until he found the one he was searching for. The map had been damaged by seawater from early on in their journey, but it still held together enough so that he could slightly adjust the dials to their proper position.
There was a name on that very map, a name that he had seen and read one-hundred times before, but found it of no importance until that very moment.
“Ponce de León, 1513,” he whispered, returning to his bed, and softly shaking Isabella awake.
She groaned, covering her eyes with her hands. “What is it, Jack?”
“Ponce de León. Why did you not tell him of the location of the fountain?”
“Why would you want to know about that?”
“Clearly, at the very least, you made him look like a delusional fool, and I’m simply looking out for my best interests. I have a reputation to uphold, do I not?”
“You have many reputations to uphold,” she said smiling. “Juan was not a man like you, Jack. Incidentally, he was a man of science along with adventure. He intended on offering those who drank from the fountain to the great minds of Europe to be studied and dismembered, parading what was left around like a strange caged beast, and solidifying that being immortal was equivalent to being an outcast and nothing more. Do you honestly think that I would tell him a damn thing after he told me that?”
“So, you did not tell him that it was you, did you?”
“Never,” she confirmed.
The sound of eight bells disturbed the silent tranquility of the ship. It was a signal for Jack to leave the comforts of his bed in order to fulfill his duties.
Gliding his fingers along her face, he kissed her softly. “I’ll come for you in the morning. Stay here and keep me bed warm while I’m away.”
Jack left the cabin and was shutting the door softly behind him when he ran into Ragetti, who had just completed his watch.
“Good ‘morrow, Cap’n,” Ragetti greeted before heading down the companionway to his bunk.
Jack nodded a response, stopping just short of the quarterdeck stairway.
“Mister Ragetti.”
“Aye, Cap’n?”
“What would you give a woman that, let’s say, you were courting as a token of your affections?”
“Well, fo’ what occasion, sir? If you don’t min’ me askin’.”
“Oh, no particular occasion…” he said, flicking his wrist as he shrugged his shoulders.
“Ya could always try flowers as an unexpected gift… high marks fo’ emotional impact,” Ragetti suggested with a small smile.
Jack looked around the ship for a moment. “Say you do not possess the, er … resources for acquiring said flowers?” he asked, noticing that Ragetti seemed a bit confused by his inquisition. “Would you happen to have something on your person to show as an example for a more proper gift?”
“I might ‘ave one item o’ interest, sir… if ya jus’ give me a moment,” he said, making his way down the companionway to his bunk.
Jack waited for several moments, listening to the lanky pirate shift through his belongings until he heard a grunt of approval escape his lips.
Ragetti raced up the companionway, handing Jack a small, but cumbersome object. “’Ere ya go, sir! Thought I’d ne’er find it!”
Jack studied the object in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth to bite it gingerly. Letting the teeth of the crafted object prick his tongue, he realized that it was naught but a hair comb, possibly made of silver. “What is this?”
“Why, it’s a ladies comb, sir. To make their hair nice-lookin’ an’ such…”
“I know that,” Jack said quickly, “but why have you given it to me?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, but it’s all I’ve got, sir. I pilfered it off a mighty fine woman last time we were in Port Royal. She was quite fashionable beauty wit’ ‘em little delicate curls on ‘er forehead and tha rest o’ ‘er hair was swept up inta a high twist…”
Jack thought for a moment, weighing the object in his hand. “Perhaps, this would be of greater use to someone with a more substantial amount of hair, unlike yourself,” he said, turning to head back to his cabin. “A suggestion for you my one-eyed friend, next time we are in Port Royal, I would pilfer something with a bit more substance or value.”
“Where are ya goin’, sir? I’m gonna need that back!”
“Do not fret, Mister Ragetti. I am simply borrowing it with all intension of giving it back at an undisclosed time.”
Ragetti paused for a moment, fidgeting his fingers. “Are you going to give it to Miss Isabella? That’s awful kind of ya, sir. If ya were intendin’ on doin’ that, o’ course…”
Jack turned, retracing his steps to the pirate. “Do not tell a soul.”
“I won’t, promise,” Ragetti said, shaking his head.
Ragetti’s promise would go to no avail seeing that most of the crew had figured out where Isabella would sneak off to at night, and it certainly wasn’t because she needed a breath of night air. Jack had not taken into account that the ship was small, significantly smaller than the Pearl and that word of such a thing would travel faster than he could have imagined. He had also forgotten to take into account that the crew knew what affect he had on women, and that it was no real secret. Nevertheless, Ragetti decided that it was best not to cross his captain in his current … state.
---
“Land, ho!”
The bellows of joy caused Isabella to shift awake from her sleep. Her heart raced as she tumbled out of bed to slip on her boots along with her old shirt and breeches so she could head out and help the crew drop anchor.
Within her rush, she did not expect to stop just short of the chart table, finding a silver hair comb and a small piece of parchment tucked beneath it. She narrowed her brow, taking the note from beneath the comb, and opening it to reveal its contents.
Bella,
Last night, I buried my nose within a sea of your curls, and wanted to sleep forever.
Tame them, or it will be highly unlikely that my crew will see my face again.
~J
She smiled. “That man’s a bloody mystery, he is…”
Jack’s scribble looked to be rushed, but the sentiment was still there. She took a few moments to pass the comb through her tangled locks until she could pass her fingers through them with ease as she exited the cabin.
The vessel neared the island of Guadeloupe with a light breeze, clear sky, and studding-sails out, alow and aloft, while before it was a long line of heavy black clouds lying like a bank upon the water. As they drew near, the crew started taking in sail after sail, until their speed was significantly reduced.
She found Jack at the helm, giving orders to his crew of men who were scampering around on the main deck attempting to fulfill their various duties.
“You said you’d come for me?” she asked, tucking her shirt in her breeches.
“Ah! Miss Bella, did I really? Because it seems to me that a good helmsman would know exactly what time to get up off his or her arse and get to work,” he said, ushering her to the wheel.
Looking out beyond the bowsprit of the Hellride, she noticed that the sky above them became cloudy, the sea high, and everything had the appearance of the departure or arrival of a storm. It was blowing no more than a stiff breeze, yet the wind made an ugly choppy sea, which heaved and pitched the vessel about.
Jack nonchalantly dragged his fingers through her hair before heading down to the main deck, and smiled with obvious approval. She smiled back, letting him know that she was thankful before he took his leave.
Pintel had been at work on the topgallant yard, said that his stomach felt disagreeable with him the whole time, and was glad when his job was done, getting down upon the firm deck once more. Ragetti was sent up to the mast-head, staying nearly an hour, but slowly started to show signs of sickness as well.
The work had to be done, so Jack sent Murphy up, and he did very well for some time. He kept his place, and did not come down until he had gotten through his work, which was more than several hours.
The ship certainly never acted so badly before. She was pitched and jerked about in all manner of ways; the sails seemed to have no steadying power over her. The tapering points of the mast made various curves and angles against the sky overhead, and sometimes, coming up with a jerk which made it necessary for the crew to hold on with both hands, then swept off into another irregular curve.
Murphy was not positively sick, and came down with a look of indifference, yet was not unwilling to get upon the comparative terra firma of the deck. Murphy looked up at the quarterdeck where Isabella stood confidently behind the helm, smiling down at him. The young man’s chest swelled with pride, feeling that he had finally found his calling.
A few hours more carried them through to the outskirts of the island, and nothing was talked about but getting in; where they should make land, and whether they would find the Fountain before nightfall. The weather had cleared, leaving the bank of dark stormy clouds astern, making the men more cheerful. Gibbs and Jack had begun laying out a plan together for their time on shore.
The crew had their hearts set upon planting their feet on shore before night, but the tide was beginning to run strong against them, and the wind, or what there was of it, caused them to make little progress with weather-bowing the tide. Though, Jack was relentless, ordering the crew to drop anchor and overhaul the chain. Murtogg and Mullroy assisted in clewing the topsails, and they let go of the anchor.
In half an hour, they were lying snugly with all sails furled, safe along the shorelines of Guadeloupe; their long journey had ended.
---
The crews of the Black Pearl and the Hellride became acquainted with the wooded areas and the swampy coastal trees of the island fairly quickly with Isabella leading the way. She, Barbossa and Jack would stop periodically to ensure that their men were all together and journeying along the same path.
The place was vibrant with rain forest trees which ranged from harmless to the poisonous, causing the crew to travel with a sharp eye on their surroundings. They did not express caution when they stepped over ferns, creepers, and orchids, instead they ignored their beauty. The island seemed as though it had benefited from the perpetual spring, and only Isabella noticed its vivacious scenery. The savanna region was covered with high crippled trees of wild pineapples, moss and lichen, all green and fresh. The flowers, birds and Zephyrs most definitely highlighted their surroundings.
The island mimicked the world that surrounded it. Native papaya and coconut grew high atop the island’s trees, litchis from China, carambole from Indonesia, guava and avocado from Brazil, along with plums of Polynesia. All these items would have never been found on these lands some hundred years earlier.
The indigenous flowers of the region caused wonderful sensations in their nostrils, making the men even more appreciative to be on land than before.
“We’re gettin’ close, I can feel it in me bones!” Ragetti exclaimed, shaking with anticipation.
“The immortal Pintel and Ragetti! I sure like the sound o’ that!” Pintel replied, smiling happily as he cut his way through branches of vegetation.
“Do ya like it betta than ‘Pintel and Ragetti: the Kraken slayers’?”
“Even betta than that!”
After ushering all the men to the front, Jack and Isabella found themselves behind the large group, walking side by side and deep within their own conversation. “So, why is it that the gods decided to put the Fountain on an island such as this?”
“I suppose they’re running of out uninhabited lands to choose from. I’ve watched the world grow smaller and it has been moved from place to place throughout my years of existence. The gods cannot afford having every living being drink from it, then we’d become too powerful for their liking,” she explained, stepping over several large roots from overhanging trees.
“Aye, but there is always an overabundance of mythical and extraordinary tales to these occurrences, are there not?” he asked, cupping his hands behind his back.
“Absolutely, though this one does not have anything whimsical of that nature. This tale is really the same story as mine except it had all to do with vanity and beauty and none to do with honor.”
“Furthermore solidifying that we are not creatures of logic, and are driven by pride,” Jack offered.
“A true notion, to say the least. It is said that the goddess Psyche, who was, in fact, not a goddess at the time of this story was first told, was an absent minded follower of the Fountain in order to boast that she was much more beautiful than Aphrodite herself,” she said, turning to him. She noticed that he was listening to her quite intently.
“The tale of Psyche, which I will not go into, is fairly a long and complicated, but Aphrodite sent Eros to transfix her with an arrow of desire and make her fall in love with the nearest person or thing available at the time.”
“A rational solution, I suppose,” he said, twitching his nose.
“Well, so they thought, but even Eros fell in love with her, so things did not exactly go according to plan. He took her to a secret place and eventually married her and asked Zeus to make her a goddess.”
“Ah, the Fountain,” he concluded with a smile.
“Aye, he took her to the origin of the perpetual springs, and made her his own for eternity. By then, it was evident that the other gods did not approve of Eros’ decision of revealing to the location to a mere mortal, especially one that liked to talk as much as she,” she added quickly. “And with that, the moving had begun, and will most likely continue after we leave this rock.”
“You said that your story was similar to hers, yet I see no similarity, considering that you are free from all dishonest deeds or thought of vanity,” he said, motioning to her attire.
“If I were to have succeeded in my conquest, then I was to be married in order to be made into a goddess,” she said softly.
Jack paused for a moment, pursing his lips. “To whom?”
“To Hermes.”
After a few moments of silent grimacing on Jack’s part, the pair began to hear harsh bellows from deep within the trees.
“We’ve been searchin’ fo’ hours, an’ we still haven’t found a bloody thing!” Pintel exclaimed.
“Aye, we were told that the item on the charts was ‘ere!” said Marty, folding his arms across his chest.
“Walk the plank!” screeched Cotton’s parrot.
“Where’s that ruddy ol’ wench anyway?” asked Pintel.
Pintel’s words did not go unnoticed, Jordan and Moore quickly surrounded the man, both grabbing a fist full of his shirt.
“What did you call her?” Moore asked, feeling his blood boil because of the insufferable pirate.
As the heated discussion continued, Ragetti found himself in need of a rest, and took up a spot upon a fairly large rock covered with soft vines that had wrapped themselves along its surface. He rested his head toward the center, brushing the vines away when their leaves prickled the side of his face.
Ragetti continued to brush away more vines after a moment, looking down at the rock’s exposed surface with a wide eye.
“Oi! I think I found somethin’!” Ragetti exclaimed, waving his arms at the group of men.
The words caused Jack to come to a startling halt, rounding his hips as he saw Isabella’s face light up with anticipation. He, however, was not thrilled at all by the discovery, because he knew the sequence of events that would soon follow.
In his last few moments alone with her he lightly grabbing Isabella’s arm, turning her to him. “Hold on a moment there!” Jack said.
“What’s wrong?”
“You know, Bella, have I not told you how your presence is truly a treasure beyond worth?” he said seriously.
“Jack, maybe it would be best if we discussed this later. Perhaps, in a more private setting?” she said, attempting to escape his grasp to move forward toward the group.
“Don’t, wait!”
The urgency of his voice caused her to stop. “Jack, what’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all, I just don’t think we should go any further… Perhaps, this was all too soon, and too sudden. As you’ve said, it was a fool’s folly for Eros to divulge the Fountain’s secret. The fountain is not going anywhere, Bella. It’ll be best to enjoy our moments together before…”
She was baffled, and the crinkling face made that point visible. “Before what? Jack, you’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life. What would make you want to turn back now?”
He paused. “I just-”
“Aye, Jack, we’ve all been waitin’ a very long time fer this. It’d be best fer ye if ye were ta keep movin’ forward, and not ta be wastin’ Miss Isabella’s time,” Barbossa interjected, pushing Jack forward as he walked by.
Apparently, the pair had failed to notice Barbossa’s presence after they ushered the rest of the men forward, and Jack truly regretted not keeping a watchful eye on the old rogue, but could not express why. They quickly made their way through the crowd to find Ragetti near a large boulder in their path.
“It’s got somethin’ on it, some sort o’ drawin in tha center…” he attempted to explain breathlessly.
“A chalice beneath a tree … in the center,” she explained, crouching to brush aside a sea of vines to reveal the small drawing. “Good eye, Ragetti.”
He smiled happily, turning to Pintel. “They say when ya lose one part of yer body, another part of ya gets stronger,” he said pointing to his eye patch with pride.
“Oh, shut it!” Pintel exclaimed, hitting the back of Ragetti’s head.
Isabella lifted herself up from her toes and began to run forward into the brush. “This way! Keep up!”
“What in the blazes?” Barbossa muttered.
The group looked at one another quite baffled. “Well, go on, you heard what she said, gents!” Jack finally exclaimed, urging them to rush along behind the woman.
Running for what seemed like miles, she dodged under low branches and around larges rocks and tall grasses, hoping that her men would keep up with her pace. She kept on moving, letting her legs propel her forward as her body began to feel sickly from her run.
She was in the middle of nowhere, but very close to where he needed to be, while not so far away from where he was once before. To the curious observer, she was lost, but she knew exactly where she was going.
Finally, her flight came to an end at a very large reddish tree in the center of a clearing with slightly drooping branches that shaded the area. The bark was extraordinarily thick from its years of existence, and quite soft with a bright red-brown exterior. The roots were overgrown, twisting out of the ground as if it were a creature frozen in the act of stalking an unknown prey.
She placed her hand on the shadowy red bark, noticing that her hand had begun to wrinkle from the tree’s presence. Retracting her hand, she began to scream.
“Over here!” she yelled, waving her arms. “Beneath the tree!”
The redness of the tree’s bark symbolized that the gates of the source were tinged with the blood of those who preferred certain death through the passing time, and served as the point of separation between decrepitude and revitalization. Her passage permitted the immortal fairness of the deities who depended upon the gifts of the Fountain to maintain the tenuous illusion of a golden age of youth, incarnated already in her troublesome tale.
Hearing the rustle of leaves and the approach of familiar voices, she made her descent within the cavern beneath the tree’s majestic roots, crawling forward until she found herself falling to a dark passageway beneath the surface.
“Where’d she go?” Moore asked breathlessly as he reached the clearing.
“Down here! Do not touch the tree, it will drain the life from you with no remorse!” she yelled once more.
The men approached the very base of the tree, heeding her words as they cautiously drew near, peering down into the hole where Isabella’s voice had come from.
“Orders, Cap’n?” Gibbs said to Jack.
“We’ll be needin’ rope, I’m sure none of us’ll survive a fall of that nature,” Barbossa said.
“Aye, rope it is,” Jack agreed, nodding his head over to Cotton, who was carrying a few supplies from the ship.
Tying the rope around a smaller tree’s trunk, the men made their way down to the gates of the Fountain via the dreary and desolate passageway.
“Light!” Barbossa said to Cotton, who quickly lit a small lantern to illuminate their way.
Beyond the gates, they stumbled upon a grotto and followed its winding path to the find a room covered in total darkness. The cave was silent, as if it were listening very closely to its invaders, who were, almost without exception, embodiments of blindness, selfishness, and cruelty. In their cognitive domains, they sought to enlighten themselves from the effects of the eternal waters, or so they hoped.
Isabella moved forward, taking the lantern from Cotton as she held her arms out in front of her to find the very end of the passageway.
When her fingers met the slimy rock surface, she placed the lantern on the floor beside her, and searched her pockets for her dagger.
“Aqua vitae, quod incepimus conficiemus,” she whispered, slicing the edge of her scar open and smearing her blood upon the rock as she let the dagger fall to the floor.
Her pain was masked by a foreign rumble before her, causing her and the group of men behind her to step back as the boulder began to move to the side, leaving just a small slither of space for the invaders to climb through.
As they all did their best to squeeze through the opening, they came to a harsh revelation in within.
There she was, standing before them in all her glory: la fontaine, the perpetual chalice of youth and health, the greatest swag in all the land, and the answer to all their prayers.
And she was empty.
---
Latin Translation: “Aqua vitae, quod incepimus conficiemus” - Water of life, what we have begun, we will finish.
A/N 2: Thanks for reading, mates!
Author: stealmybike
Pairing: Jack/OFC, Ragetti, Pintel, Gibbs, Barbossa, Cotton, Marty, OCs
Chapter: Chapter 25 - Revelation
Rating: NC-17, for sex.
Disclaimer: I own a good half of this tale, the other half goes to Disney.
A/N: Chapters 25 and 26 are the chapters that inspired this entire story a little less than a year ago. Hang onto your hats!
Enjoy!
Chapter 25 - Revelation
---
Since the beginning of human existence, there has been one practice, one instinct, and one single obsession that man cannot escape. Some may call it necessary; others say it’s a gift. It can be controlling, enlightening but powerful. It isn’t the need for food, safety or shelter. It isn’t love nor greed nor vanity, but sex.
Since the evolution of human communication, poets have been using the power of words to describe the practice of sex, and the emotions that come with it. They studied the marvel of a woman’s pleasure, and the pleasure of a woman that enjoyed the awe that came with the combination of flesh and sweat, just as her companion did.
Perhaps, they were writing of her as if she were a long lost muse, never to be denied the right to unleash her zealous nature, documenting her every move, and depicting her every thought so that each successive lover through time could continue to satisfy her.
Jack tossed the thought around in his mind as she mounted him, letting his fingers trickle down the contours of her body, tracing beads of sweat over the mounds of her breasts, lean muscle of her abdomen, and tender skin of her neck. She shivered at the frigidness of his ring-clad hands, biting her lip as he continued on charting a course along her gooseflesh, and smiling ever so wickedly.
She was a woman that could meet his every desire, rival his own lust, and cause new wants and needs to sprout from uncultivated soil within cloaked territories of his subconscious.
"Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night,” he thought, pressing her body against his to warm his chest. Perhaps, her dear friend Shakespeare did know something of her that she never wished to reveal.
With each small tug of her hips, she explored a world where pleasure was expressed through poetry from a multitude of cultures and eras. She pushed away from his chest, arching her back as she continued her careful but meticulous work, letting it become apparent that the traditions and values of multiple societies had shaped her form, right down to the style of language and words she whispered in his ear.
Jack closed his eyes, pondering once more. “If love withholds its strengthening care, the lover is left like a bird without care; the lover is left like a bird without wings.” Did Rumi speak of her as well? How her absence throughout the rest of his days plagued him so that it left him as a bird without wings? Jack certainly hoped not - a free-spirited Sparrow could not be left without wings. Surely, she would not see fit to part from him in such a way.
The curves of her body were a piece of delicate prose representing the many respective eras of practice and knowledge, and he could not help but want more. He turned her, tossing her down to the bed beside him with definitive force, causing her to tumble onto her back so he could finally take charge, astounded that he had to now fight for the dominant position. She smiled as the cords of his hair grazed her chest, and he could not help but whisper her name as she moaned for him to release her. He let his lips touch hers gently within candlelit shadows, lingering for just a moment; it was in her nature to fight him as it was in his to coax her.
It was a game, one in which both wished to conquer one another and ultimately win the upper hand while the other begged to be given another chance. She found herself smiling as she teased her way through the maze of his body, kissing his most horrid scars and the outlines of each finely drawn tattoo.
The labyrinth of his flesh was beautifully lean from his many years of labor at sea. His shirt and breeches only allowed a few choice areas of deeply tanned skin to entice the eyes of those who might decide to gaze at him from afar, but she discovered that he was deliciously pale as milk in his most secret of places.
He paused for a moment, smirking before he took her lips once more. “O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.” Jack wouldn’t have been surprised if Christopher Marlowe had known her as well, and if he had written secret manuscripts of her that had to be hidden away due to their lustful nature.
Then he bit his lip, rethinking his assumptions for a moment as he looked into her eyes. None of those inexperienced, insignificant and arrogant ninnies would have known what to do with a woman of her nature. They wrote of great love, but never had the gall to touch a woman, favoring the forbidden caresses of a firmer and more masculine source, by his reckoning.
They both shuddered at the feeling of their intense lovemaking, feeling that they were both close to their breaking points as they embodied their heartfelt movements with passionate virtuosity. In one full sweep, their longing for release was granted just moments before the sound of eight chiming bells, signaling for Morning Watch.
The pair prayed for their days to pass quickly aboard the Hellride, and longed to join together again under the faintest of moonlight, making each encounter more prurient than the last.
At the sound of First Watch, she would sneak into his cabin to spend a few wondrous hours within the warmth of his arms, but she was quickly reminded of her duties and responsibilities when the Morning Watch was called. With a weary groan, she would return below decks as if their passionate endeavors had ever occurred, though she was not unsatisfied.
She had to agree that he was certainly the type of man that could start the worst of habits, and she could not deny the fact that she enjoyed every moment of it.
The very last night before reaching the island of Guadeloupe, Isabella brushed through the thin lace curtain of Jack’s cabin to find that he lying face down on his bed, whining about some sort of back pain that caused him to suffer throughout the day.
“What ails you, Jack?” she asked, straddling the small of his back. She was ready to offer him any form of comfort - whatever he may have desired. He wiggled his shoulders around a bit, indicating that he would be much obliged if she gave him anything her hands were willing to offer to alleviate the pain.
“I’m getting old, Bella,” he began, sliding his arms beneath his pillow, grunting as she began massaging his back. “At twenty, I used to worry about what others thought of me: about riches, titles, duties, and the occasional salty wench. I used to think of how many of those things I could acquire and how long me body could handle said acquiring. Now, at thirty-nine, I’ve discovered that I’ve never really cared about what others thought of me at all, and I presume that at sixty, I’ll realize that I haven’t been thinking about meself in the first place.”
She nodded her head in understanding, even if he couldn’t see her. “In spite even of your sorrow, one cannot remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change. You’re already insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, but you lack happiness in small ways,” she said, attempting to offer him a bit of advice. She kept her strokes soft and flowing, using the flat of her hands to caress, slither, and slide all over his body.
“Happiness in small ways?” he asked curiously.
“Aye, in small ways,” she said, brushing several cords from his hair to the side to place a small kiss on his brow. “I’ve lived my life chasing after big things while neglecting all the small things that would have kept me sane. You’re going down the same path that I once traveled, and you wish that your prayers will be answered by a superficial coat of immortality, as if it would solve your problems.”
“That is not my reasoning, love. One of these days, I'm going to blink and wake up alone in bed on my fiftieth birthday, wondering where my thirties went. I'll blink again and find myself lame, unable to walk from the pain in my knees or the stiffness of my back. I will be unable to fornicate or move at all, a shadow of the glory that was my former self. What an idle fantasy it is to expect to die of the decaying of your own body brought on by old age, and I am to accept it as if it were bloody customary.”
“Do not fret, Sparrow. Your worries are the same worries as every man, but here you are and here I am. Your fantasies of everlasting life have brought you to this point. Now, look to me as your guide, for I plan to wage war between worlds of the living and the dead while I cannot call myself one or the other,” she said passionately, taking in a deep breath to compose herself.
“Yet, I look back to all the small things with regret, because I was never able to see them until it was too late. The more I lament living, the more the gods choose to keep me alive. That is my battlefield and my sorrow, because I never wanted to fight in the first place. In the end, it was my destiny.”
Jack smiled. “I do not lament living, but you call it natural, as if it were contrary to nature to see a man break his neck by a fall, drowned in a shipwreck, or snatched away by the plague or pleurisy. I’ll not flatter meself with fine and elegant words, hailing it as natural, general, common, or universal to want to die.”
“And you should not,” she said quickly. “Death of old age is a rare and extraordinary death, and hence less natural than the others you’ve so graciously pointed out. It is the last and ultimate sort of death, but you must recognize that it’s an extraordinary fortune, and one that is out of the usual, like the fortune that is keeping you going. If you continue on your journey being at one with yourself and your future, it is due to help you last much longer.”
She stretched the tissue of his back, releasing tension from the deepest of muscles. Jack let out a pleasurable grunt from his lips as she continued on with larger, but softer fanning strokes, attempting to relax him with a most euphoric effect. Her hands slid over his skin, encompassing the contours of his form with sufficiently nimble fingers to melt and mold into the shape of his body.
“Feeling better?” she asked, moving her hands in smaller strokes while applying a small degree of pressure as she moved up to his shoulders.
He did not answer; instead he simply shifted himself beneath the sheets and closed his eyes, reaching out for her to pull her down to the cool mattress beside him.
“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, pressing her back against his chest.
“The whole night?” she asked softly, feeling him nestle his head within the crook of her neck.
“Aye, the whole night. Would you be opposed to it?” he inquired, raising his brow.
“Not if you leave me a sufficient amount of room this time. I know you’re not used to sharing the entirety of your bed, Prince Jack,” she joked, shifting her arm beneath the pillow.
“I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with a man wanting to share his bed with a woman such as yourself. In fact, I’d consider them absolute madmen if they were opposed to such an opportunity,” he said, letting his fingers trace delicate circles around her waist.
“Don’t rule out the fact that he might have been a eunuch.”
“Ah! How could I have forgotten?” he said, moving his lips to her ear. “Besides, I believe that I’ve grown accustomed to your company, as it were.”
She smiled. “Have you?”
“Perhaps … Only a little,” he said, instinctively letting his pride correct the true meaning of his statement.
---
The wind blew gently along the outskirts of the ship’s windows. The temperature was warm and soothing due to Jack’s natural heat which stirred lingering sensations upon her skin and within her. As she laid in silence, she was able to recognize not only the wind’s direction, but intensity, and how it would be masked by his soft breathing and occasional snore. When she finally closed her eyes, she lost consciousness, yet continued to be who she was in her dreams.
Even with her presence, Jack could not fall into a restful sleep. Instead, he found himself within a dream of his own, somewhere where he had never been before. In the middle of nowhere, but very close to where he needed to be, while not so far away from where he was once before. To the curious observer, he was lost, but he knew exactly where he was going.
In his mind, he saw green bushes and trees, rocks and vines, feeling the sand beneath his feet lead him to a place of secrecy. As he drew closer to his destination, an overwhelming feeling of emptiness overcame him, shifting uncomfortable sensations deep within the pit of his stomach, and he could not stop it.
The movement of his body was sluggish and not defined by steady or gradual steps, but progressing to move forward by growth, feeling himself age with every step. Yet, he still found himself at a crossroads, empty and unable to move as if life itself was being sucked out from deep within him.
He looked down at his hands, finding that they were gradually withering before his eyes, wrinkling until it was naught but ash floating through the jungle’s cool breeze.
The notion startled him to a breathless reawakening, causing him to rise from his bed and wipe stray droplets of sweat from his forehead as he moved into the main cabin.
He shifted a candle toward the chart table, setting aside numerous charts until he found the one he was searching for. The map had been damaged by seawater from early on in their journey, but it still held together enough so that he could slightly adjust the dials to their proper position.
There was a name on that very map, a name that he had seen and read one-hundred times before, but found it of no importance until that very moment.
“Ponce de León, 1513,” he whispered, returning to his bed, and softly shaking Isabella awake.
She groaned, covering her eyes with her hands. “What is it, Jack?”
“Ponce de León. Why did you not tell him of the location of the fountain?”
“Why would you want to know about that?”
“Clearly, at the very least, you made him look like a delusional fool, and I’m simply looking out for my best interests. I have a reputation to uphold, do I not?”
“You have many reputations to uphold,” she said smiling. “Juan was not a man like you, Jack. Incidentally, he was a man of science along with adventure. He intended on offering those who drank from the fountain to the great minds of Europe to be studied and dismembered, parading what was left around like a strange caged beast, and solidifying that being immortal was equivalent to being an outcast and nothing more. Do you honestly think that I would tell him a damn thing after he told me that?”
“So, you did not tell him that it was you, did you?”
“Never,” she confirmed.
The sound of eight bells disturbed the silent tranquility of the ship. It was a signal for Jack to leave the comforts of his bed in order to fulfill his duties.
Gliding his fingers along her face, he kissed her softly. “I’ll come for you in the morning. Stay here and keep me bed warm while I’m away.”
Jack left the cabin and was shutting the door softly behind him when he ran into Ragetti, who had just completed his watch.
“Good ‘morrow, Cap’n,” Ragetti greeted before heading down the companionway to his bunk.
Jack nodded a response, stopping just short of the quarterdeck stairway.
“Mister Ragetti.”
“Aye, Cap’n?”
“What would you give a woman that, let’s say, you were courting as a token of your affections?”
“Well, fo’ what occasion, sir? If you don’t min’ me askin’.”
“Oh, no particular occasion…” he said, flicking his wrist as he shrugged his shoulders.
“Ya could always try flowers as an unexpected gift… high marks fo’ emotional impact,” Ragetti suggested with a small smile.
Jack looked around the ship for a moment. “Say you do not possess the, er … resources for acquiring said flowers?” he asked, noticing that Ragetti seemed a bit confused by his inquisition. “Would you happen to have something on your person to show as an example for a more proper gift?”
“I might ‘ave one item o’ interest, sir… if ya jus’ give me a moment,” he said, making his way down the companionway to his bunk.
Jack waited for several moments, listening to the lanky pirate shift through his belongings until he heard a grunt of approval escape his lips.
Ragetti raced up the companionway, handing Jack a small, but cumbersome object. “’Ere ya go, sir! Thought I’d ne’er find it!”
Jack studied the object in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth to bite it gingerly. Letting the teeth of the crafted object prick his tongue, he realized that it was naught but a hair comb, possibly made of silver. “What is this?”
“Why, it’s a ladies comb, sir. To make their hair nice-lookin’ an’ such…”
“I know that,” Jack said quickly, “but why have you given it to me?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, but it’s all I’ve got, sir. I pilfered it off a mighty fine woman last time we were in Port Royal. She was quite fashionable beauty wit’ ‘em little delicate curls on ‘er forehead and tha rest o’ ‘er hair was swept up inta a high twist…”
Jack thought for a moment, weighing the object in his hand. “Perhaps, this would be of greater use to someone with a more substantial amount of hair, unlike yourself,” he said, turning to head back to his cabin. “A suggestion for you my one-eyed friend, next time we are in Port Royal, I would pilfer something with a bit more substance or value.”
“Where are ya goin’, sir? I’m gonna need that back!”
“Do not fret, Mister Ragetti. I am simply borrowing it with all intension of giving it back at an undisclosed time.”
Ragetti paused for a moment, fidgeting his fingers. “Are you going to give it to Miss Isabella? That’s awful kind of ya, sir. If ya were intendin’ on doin’ that, o’ course…”
Jack turned, retracing his steps to the pirate. “Do not tell a soul.”
“I won’t, promise,” Ragetti said, shaking his head.
Ragetti’s promise would go to no avail seeing that most of the crew had figured out where Isabella would sneak off to at night, and it certainly wasn’t because she needed a breath of night air. Jack had not taken into account that the ship was small, significantly smaller than the Pearl and that word of such a thing would travel faster than he could have imagined. He had also forgotten to take into account that the crew knew what affect he had on women, and that it was no real secret. Nevertheless, Ragetti decided that it was best not to cross his captain in his current … state.
---
“Land, ho!”
The bellows of joy caused Isabella to shift awake from her sleep. Her heart raced as she tumbled out of bed to slip on her boots along with her old shirt and breeches so she could head out and help the crew drop anchor.
Within her rush, she did not expect to stop just short of the chart table, finding a silver hair comb and a small piece of parchment tucked beneath it. She narrowed her brow, taking the note from beneath the comb, and opening it to reveal its contents.
Bella,
Last night, I buried my nose within a sea of your curls, and wanted to sleep forever.
Tame them, or it will be highly unlikely that my crew will see my face again.
~J
She smiled. “That man’s a bloody mystery, he is…”
Jack’s scribble looked to be rushed, but the sentiment was still there. She took a few moments to pass the comb through her tangled locks until she could pass her fingers through them with ease as she exited the cabin.
The vessel neared the island of Guadeloupe with a light breeze, clear sky, and studding-sails out, alow and aloft, while before it was a long line of heavy black clouds lying like a bank upon the water. As they drew near, the crew started taking in sail after sail, until their speed was significantly reduced.
She found Jack at the helm, giving orders to his crew of men who were scampering around on the main deck attempting to fulfill their various duties.
“You said you’d come for me?” she asked, tucking her shirt in her breeches.
“Ah! Miss Bella, did I really? Because it seems to me that a good helmsman would know exactly what time to get up off his or her arse and get to work,” he said, ushering her to the wheel.
Looking out beyond the bowsprit of the Hellride, she noticed that the sky above them became cloudy, the sea high, and everything had the appearance of the departure or arrival of a storm. It was blowing no more than a stiff breeze, yet the wind made an ugly choppy sea, which heaved and pitched the vessel about.
Jack nonchalantly dragged his fingers through her hair before heading down to the main deck, and smiled with obvious approval. She smiled back, letting him know that she was thankful before he took his leave.
Pintel had been at work on the topgallant yard, said that his stomach felt disagreeable with him the whole time, and was glad when his job was done, getting down upon the firm deck once more. Ragetti was sent up to the mast-head, staying nearly an hour, but slowly started to show signs of sickness as well.
The work had to be done, so Jack sent Murphy up, and he did very well for some time. He kept his place, and did not come down until he had gotten through his work, which was more than several hours.
The ship certainly never acted so badly before. She was pitched and jerked about in all manner of ways; the sails seemed to have no steadying power over her. The tapering points of the mast made various curves and angles against the sky overhead, and sometimes, coming up with a jerk which made it necessary for the crew to hold on with both hands, then swept off into another irregular curve.
Murphy was not positively sick, and came down with a look of indifference, yet was not unwilling to get upon the comparative terra firma of the deck. Murphy looked up at the quarterdeck where Isabella stood confidently behind the helm, smiling down at him. The young man’s chest swelled with pride, feeling that he had finally found his calling.
A few hours more carried them through to the outskirts of the island, and nothing was talked about but getting in; where they should make land, and whether they would find the Fountain before nightfall. The weather had cleared, leaving the bank of dark stormy clouds astern, making the men more cheerful. Gibbs and Jack had begun laying out a plan together for their time on shore.
The crew had their hearts set upon planting their feet on shore before night, but the tide was beginning to run strong against them, and the wind, or what there was of it, caused them to make little progress with weather-bowing the tide. Though, Jack was relentless, ordering the crew to drop anchor and overhaul the chain. Murtogg and Mullroy assisted in clewing the topsails, and they let go of the anchor.
In half an hour, they were lying snugly with all sails furled, safe along the shorelines of Guadeloupe; their long journey had ended.
---
The crews of the Black Pearl and the Hellride became acquainted with the wooded areas and the swampy coastal trees of the island fairly quickly with Isabella leading the way. She, Barbossa and Jack would stop periodically to ensure that their men were all together and journeying along the same path.
The place was vibrant with rain forest trees which ranged from harmless to the poisonous, causing the crew to travel with a sharp eye on their surroundings. They did not express caution when they stepped over ferns, creepers, and orchids, instead they ignored their beauty. The island seemed as though it had benefited from the perpetual spring, and only Isabella noticed its vivacious scenery. The savanna region was covered with high crippled trees of wild pineapples, moss and lichen, all green and fresh. The flowers, birds and Zephyrs most definitely highlighted their surroundings.
The island mimicked the world that surrounded it. Native papaya and coconut grew high atop the island’s trees, litchis from China, carambole from Indonesia, guava and avocado from Brazil, along with plums of Polynesia. All these items would have never been found on these lands some hundred years earlier.
The indigenous flowers of the region caused wonderful sensations in their nostrils, making the men even more appreciative to be on land than before.
“We’re gettin’ close, I can feel it in me bones!” Ragetti exclaimed, shaking with anticipation.
“The immortal Pintel and Ragetti! I sure like the sound o’ that!” Pintel replied, smiling happily as he cut his way through branches of vegetation.
“Do ya like it betta than ‘Pintel and Ragetti: the Kraken slayers’?”
“Even betta than that!”
After ushering all the men to the front, Jack and Isabella found themselves behind the large group, walking side by side and deep within their own conversation. “So, why is it that the gods decided to put the Fountain on an island such as this?”
“I suppose they’re running of out uninhabited lands to choose from. I’ve watched the world grow smaller and it has been moved from place to place throughout my years of existence. The gods cannot afford having every living being drink from it, then we’d become too powerful for their liking,” she explained, stepping over several large roots from overhanging trees.
“Aye, but there is always an overabundance of mythical and extraordinary tales to these occurrences, are there not?” he asked, cupping his hands behind his back.
“Absolutely, though this one does not have anything whimsical of that nature. This tale is really the same story as mine except it had all to do with vanity and beauty and none to do with honor.”
“Furthermore solidifying that we are not creatures of logic, and are driven by pride,” Jack offered.
“A true notion, to say the least. It is said that the goddess Psyche, who was, in fact, not a goddess at the time of this story was first told, was an absent minded follower of the Fountain in order to boast that she was much more beautiful than Aphrodite herself,” she said, turning to him. She noticed that he was listening to her quite intently.
“The tale of Psyche, which I will not go into, is fairly a long and complicated, but Aphrodite sent Eros to transfix her with an arrow of desire and make her fall in love with the nearest person or thing available at the time.”
“A rational solution, I suppose,” he said, twitching his nose.
“Well, so they thought, but even Eros fell in love with her, so things did not exactly go according to plan. He took her to a secret place and eventually married her and asked Zeus to make her a goddess.”
“Ah, the Fountain,” he concluded with a smile.
“Aye, he took her to the origin of the perpetual springs, and made her his own for eternity. By then, it was evident that the other gods did not approve of Eros’ decision of revealing to the location to a mere mortal, especially one that liked to talk as much as she,” she added quickly. “And with that, the moving had begun, and will most likely continue after we leave this rock.”
“You said that your story was similar to hers, yet I see no similarity, considering that you are free from all dishonest deeds or thought of vanity,” he said, motioning to her attire.
“If I were to have succeeded in my conquest, then I was to be married in order to be made into a goddess,” she said softly.
Jack paused for a moment, pursing his lips. “To whom?”
“To Hermes.”
After a few moments of silent grimacing on Jack’s part, the pair began to hear harsh bellows from deep within the trees.
“We’ve been searchin’ fo’ hours, an’ we still haven’t found a bloody thing!” Pintel exclaimed.
“Aye, we were told that the item on the charts was ‘ere!” said Marty, folding his arms across his chest.
“Walk the plank!” screeched Cotton’s parrot.
“Where’s that ruddy ol’ wench anyway?” asked Pintel.
Pintel’s words did not go unnoticed, Jordan and Moore quickly surrounded the man, both grabbing a fist full of his shirt.
“What did you call her?” Moore asked, feeling his blood boil because of the insufferable pirate.
As the heated discussion continued, Ragetti found himself in need of a rest, and took up a spot upon a fairly large rock covered with soft vines that had wrapped themselves along its surface. He rested his head toward the center, brushing the vines away when their leaves prickled the side of his face.
Ragetti continued to brush away more vines after a moment, looking down at the rock’s exposed surface with a wide eye.
“Oi! I think I found somethin’!” Ragetti exclaimed, waving his arms at the group of men.
The words caused Jack to come to a startling halt, rounding his hips as he saw Isabella’s face light up with anticipation. He, however, was not thrilled at all by the discovery, because he knew the sequence of events that would soon follow.
In his last few moments alone with her he lightly grabbing Isabella’s arm, turning her to him. “Hold on a moment there!” Jack said.
“What’s wrong?”
“You know, Bella, have I not told you how your presence is truly a treasure beyond worth?” he said seriously.
“Jack, maybe it would be best if we discussed this later. Perhaps, in a more private setting?” she said, attempting to escape his grasp to move forward toward the group.
“Don’t, wait!”
The urgency of his voice caused her to stop. “Jack, what’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all, I just don’t think we should go any further… Perhaps, this was all too soon, and too sudden. As you’ve said, it was a fool’s folly for Eros to divulge the Fountain’s secret. The fountain is not going anywhere, Bella. It’ll be best to enjoy our moments together before…”
She was baffled, and the crinkling face made that point visible. “Before what? Jack, you’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life. What would make you want to turn back now?”
He paused. “I just-”
“Aye, Jack, we’ve all been waitin’ a very long time fer this. It’d be best fer ye if ye were ta keep movin’ forward, and not ta be wastin’ Miss Isabella’s time,” Barbossa interjected, pushing Jack forward as he walked by.
Apparently, the pair had failed to notice Barbossa’s presence after they ushered the rest of the men forward, and Jack truly regretted not keeping a watchful eye on the old rogue, but could not express why. They quickly made their way through the crowd to find Ragetti near a large boulder in their path.
“It’s got somethin’ on it, some sort o’ drawin in tha center…” he attempted to explain breathlessly.
“A chalice beneath a tree … in the center,” she explained, crouching to brush aside a sea of vines to reveal the small drawing. “Good eye, Ragetti.”
He smiled happily, turning to Pintel. “They say when ya lose one part of yer body, another part of ya gets stronger,” he said pointing to his eye patch with pride.
“Oh, shut it!” Pintel exclaimed, hitting the back of Ragetti’s head.
Isabella lifted herself up from her toes and began to run forward into the brush. “This way! Keep up!”
“What in the blazes?” Barbossa muttered.
The group looked at one another quite baffled. “Well, go on, you heard what she said, gents!” Jack finally exclaimed, urging them to rush along behind the woman.
Running for what seemed like miles, she dodged under low branches and around larges rocks and tall grasses, hoping that her men would keep up with her pace. She kept on moving, letting her legs propel her forward as her body began to feel sickly from her run.
She was in the middle of nowhere, but very close to where he needed to be, while not so far away from where he was once before. To the curious observer, she was lost, but she knew exactly where she was going.
Finally, her flight came to an end at a very large reddish tree in the center of a clearing with slightly drooping branches that shaded the area. The bark was extraordinarily thick from its years of existence, and quite soft with a bright red-brown exterior. The roots were overgrown, twisting out of the ground as if it were a creature frozen in the act of stalking an unknown prey.
She placed her hand on the shadowy red bark, noticing that her hand had begun to wrinkle from the tree’s presence. Retracting her hand, she began to scream.
“Over here!” she yelled, waving her arms. “Beneath the tree!”
The redness of the tree’s bark symbolized that the gates of the source were tinged with the blood of those who preferred certain death through the passing time, and served as the point of separation between decrepitude and revitalization. Her passage permitted the immortal fairness of the deities who depended upon the gifts of the Fountain to maintain the tenuous illusion of a golden age of youth, incarnated already in her troublesome tale.
Hearing the rustle of leaves and the approach of familiar voices, she made her descent within the cavern beneath the tree’s majestic roots, crawling forward until she found herself falling to a dark passageway beneath the surface.
“Where’d she go?” Moore asked breathlessly as he reached the clearing.
“Down here! Do not touch the tree, it will drain the life from you with no remorse!” she yelled once more.
The men approached the very base of the tree, heeding her words as they cautiously drew near, peering down into the hole where Isabella’s voice had come from.
“Orders, Cap’n?” Gibbs said to Jack.
“We’ll be needin’ rope, I’m sure none of us’ll survive a fall of that nature,” Barbossa said.
“Aye, rope it is,” Jack agreed, nodding his head over to Cotton, who was carrying a few supplies from the ship.
Tying the rope around a smaller tree’s trunk, the men made their way down to the gates of the Fountain via the dreary and desolate passageway.
“Light!” Barbossa said to Cotton, who quickly lit a small lantern to illuminate their way.
Beyond the gates, they stumbled upon a grotto and followed its winding path to the find a room covered in total darkness. The cave was silent, as if it were listening very closely to its invaders, who were, almost without exception, embodiments of blindness, selfishness, and cruelty. In their cognitive domains, they sought to enlighten themselves from the effects of the eternal waters, or so they hoped.
Isabella moved forward, taking the lantern from Cotton as she held her arms out in front of her to find the very end of the passageway.
When her fingers met the slimy rock surface, she placed the lantern on the floor beside her, and searched her pockets for her dagger.
“Aqua vitae, quod incepimus conficiemus,” she whispered, slicing the edge of her scar open and smearing her blood upon the rock as she let the dagger fall to the floor.
Her pain was masked by a foreign rumble before her, causing her and the group of men behind her to step back as the boulder began to move to the side, leaving just a small slither of space for the invaders to climb through.
As they all did their best to squeeze through the opening, they came to a harsh revelation in within.
There she was, standing before them in all her glory: la fontaine, the perpetual chalice of youth and health, the greatest swag in all the land, and the answer to all their prayers.
And she was empty.
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Latin Translation: “Aqua vitae, quod incepimus conficiemus” - Water of life, what we have begun, we will finish.
A/N 2: Thanks for reading, mates!