Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

by A. C. Crispin

  The princess propped her head up on her left hand, and began trailing her fingers in aimless patterns across his skin. She smiled in the darkness. “I can picture you as a little boy, Jack. Full of mischief. I’ll bet you were constantly getting into scrapes.”

  He laughed. “I caused me share of trouble, love. At any rate…none of the old-timers I ran across remembered anyone on the account named ‘Ward.’ But that’s not unusual. Many pirates don’t use their real names.”

  “Really? Is Jack Sparrow your real name?”

  “As far as I know, it is. Never saw it ever recorded anywhere, of course.” He shrugged.

  “Where did you grow up, Jack? Who raised you?”

  “I grew up here and there, love. My first memory is of climbing up the ratlines to the yardarm and seeing the ocean, all spread out. I was a cabin boy on many ships, visited lots of ports. And, of course there was Shipwreck Cove, which was as close to home as any place was. That’s the pirates’ secret hideaway. It’s an island—you know the kind. One of those places that’s very hard to find—unless you know where it is. And it’s not always in exactly the same place, some of the old-timers claim. As for raising…” He chuckled a bit hollowly. “I more or less raised meself.”

  She could tell the subject wasn’t one he wanted to discuss, so Ayisha dropped both her head and the subject, nestling a bit closer. “No wonder there was an instant bond between us, Jack. We both hail from mysterious islands that cannot be found by ordinary people.”

  “Hah!” His chest rose and fell beneath her ear as he snorted. “‘Instant bond?’ What instant bond? You bloody hated me!”

  Ayisha kissed his chest, smiling. She moved her hand, running it down his side. “No, I didn’t. The first time I saw you, I thought you were quite good-looking…for a white man.”

  “You’re trying to distract me, you minx, and don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, trying in vain to capture her hand.

  “It’s working, too.…” she said, kissing his shoulder, then his cheek, searching until she found his mouth in the darkness.

  “You are an insatiable enchantress,” he muttered, his arms coming up to pull her closer. He rolled them over until he had her pinned down. “You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

  “You’ll die happy.…”

  Some time later, when their quick breathing had eased, Jack murmured, “So where were we, love?”

  “We were talking about the labyrinth, and what Captain J. Ward said about it.”

  “Right. I need to know about the labyrinth, love, if I’m going to lead a foray into it.”

  She sighed. “Yes. You need to know.”

  “Apedemak…he’s your main god, right? Since ancient times, I suppose?”

  “There are a number of lesser gods, but yes, Apedemak is special to us, and has been ever since my people left the city of Old Kerma in ancient Kush, just below the third cataract of the Nile. It was Apedemak that gave us the Heart, and told my ancestors to go west, toward the setting sun. They obeyed.”

  “You saw his statue. What does he look like, Ayisha?”

  “He is the lion god. He usually appears as a man with the head of a lion, wearing the Triple Crown. When my father saw him in a vision, he saw him as a huge lion, though.”

  “What did the room look like, where the statue stands?”

  “It’s a big, circular room, and there are two doors. We came in by one, and left by the other. Stacked around the edges of the room was the treasure. There were many piles of it.”

  “Ayisha, tell me more about the Heart. It’s a magical stone—a source of great power, right? So what, exactly, does the Heart do?”

  She raised herself up again, and her voice had gone low and intense. “Jack, the Heart is what keeps the people of Kerma safe. If the Heart was ever taken, or destroyed, we would all die.”

  “Die?” He sounded startled. “How?”

  Ayisha drew a deep breath. “The Heart is indeed a source of power. Every day, the temple priests renew the illusion spells. They are very strong, you’ll see what they’re like when we get there. The priests perform the spells, they say the chants, but the Heart provides the power that makes them work. Without the stone, Kerma would be visible. Anyone could go there.”

  She clenched her hand as it rested on his chest. Ayisha could hear fear building in her voice. “And you know what that would mean! Cutler Beckett and men like him would be lining up to drag us off to the New World in shackles. They have guns. We have spears and bows and arrows. We would fight, but they would win.”

  He did not reply, but Ayisha could tell he hadn’t fallen asleep.

  “Jack,” she said, urgently, “I know that you had to strike a deal with Christophe to get him to come to Kerma. I know you told him you could get him into the labyrinth. He’s a pirate—he wants treasure. I understand that. There are centuries’ worth of it, just sitting there. Letting Christophe have some as the price of getting my father’s bracelet back is worth it. And you can have some too, though I know my brother plans to keep his word and reward you and your crew for freeing him. But the Heart…the Heart must stay with the god, in Zerzura, Jack.”

  “I understand,” he said, after a pause.

  “Do you?” Her heart was pounding.

  Calm down, she thought. Your father said Apedemak picked Jack, because he is a good man. Just keep remembering that.…

  “I can deal with Christophe, darlin’,” he said. “He’s human, even if he is a double-dealing bloody snake. That’s not what concerns me. I’m just wondering about those illusions and ‘pitfalls’ Captain Ward’s book mentioned.”

  “I can deal with the illusions, Jack, so don’t worry about them.”

  “You’re not coming with us, love. It’s apt to be dangerous.”

  “It will be a whole lot more dangerous if you don’t have me along!” she said. “Illusion can be very powerful, Jack. A strong enough illusion could lead you astray, even to your deaths. I know much more about this than you do.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Besides,” she said, “I’ll be the only one that knows the sacred word that will allow us to pass through unharmed. They say the elements of nature, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water will bring down a swift death for those who do not know the word.”

  “What word is that?”

  “I don’t know it yet, and I wouldn’t tell it to you if I did. Only a few people traditionally know it. The high priest of the god’s temple in Zerzura, and his successor…” Her voice thickened. “Piye is dead, remember? His successor, Nedjeh, will now become high priest, once I report Piye’s fate. He may already have been declared high priest. I’ve been gone almost a year.”

  “So this Nedjeh, he would know the word?”

  “Yes. And, of course, the pharaoh knew it, and the heir. So my brother must know it.”

  Thinking of her recent conversation with Shabako, Ayisha sighed. “Talk about irony. Here I need Shabako’s help, and for him to trust me—just when he thinks I’ve betrayed my heritage.”

  “What’s wrong with your brother, love?” he asked.

  “Shabako knows, Jack. About us.”

  He sat up abruptly. “How did he find out?”

  “He came to find me late one night, and I wasn’t there.” She sat up, too, pulling the sheet up, resting her forearms on her knees. “Tarek doesn’t approve, at least I suppose he doesn’t, but he’d never tell on me. Shabako figured it out himself. I should have realized he would.”

  “Oh…” he said. He sounded wary, almost apprehensive.

  “Relax, Jack,” she said, and she couldn’t help it—her voice had a bitter, sarcastic edge. “I was able to convince him not to have you executed the moment we reach Zerzura.”

  “Bloody hell! Did he really threaten—”

  “No,” she snapped. “He didn’t.”

  After a moment, he said, tentatively, “Should I say anything to him?”

  “No. We talked. I pointed out
that once we’re back on Kerma, I’ll go back to being a good little princess, and you’ll be gone. Shabako is a good man. He knows how hard it can be, to live the life we lead.” She leaned her head against her arms, her face turned away from him, and sighed. “I’m tired. We should go to sleep.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Ayisha…” he said, finally.

  “Don’t say anything, Jack. There isn’t anything to say.”

  “All right, love.”

  They lay back down, not touching, and she closed her eyes, hoping for sleep. Her heart ached, but she did not allow herself to weep. There would be time for that later. It’s so strange, she thought. Human nature is so strange…and so greedy. Back when I thought he didn’t care, I would have been wild with joy if he had just held my hand and smiled at me. Now, when I have so much more, I can’t keep myself from wanting the impossible.…

  She could tell by his breathing that he had fallen asleep.

  Ayisha lay awake, staring into the darkness. Finally, Jack rolled over and threw an arm over her. He was still asleep, but the touch brought comfort. She relaxed, and, finally, she drifted off.

  * * *

  Jack stood on the bow of the Wicked Wench, with Ayisha, Tarek, and Prince Shabako. La Vipère, as she had done for so many leagues, was sailing in the Wench’s wake, half a mile distant.

  A dark gray smudge marked the southeast horizon. It was impossible to say just how far away it lay. It might have been two or three leagues, or two miles, or a mile. Or less. There was something uncanny about that smudge. It was difficult to make the eye focus on it. If Jack hadn’t known otherwise, he might have thought the smudge was a distant bank of very low, dark clouds. Or the last remnants of a gale, heading off into the distance. Or perhaps even a low-lying ridge of rock, or a dark-colored sandbar.

  “You’re sure that’s Kerma?” he said, shading his eyes and peering at it. “Looks like…a bank of cloud, or fog. Or maybe a sandbar.”

  “Yes,” all three of the Zerzurans said, at almost the same moment. Then they looked at each other and smiled.

  “Home,” Shabako added. “I never thought I would see it again.”

  Jack raised his spyglass. “Jack,” Ayisha warned, “I wouldn’t do that.”

  But Jack had already looked through the eyepiece.

  The spyglass magnified the smudge, making it seem quite close, less than a mile away. Up close, it appeared to be a fogbank, but no natural fogbank had ever looked like this. The fog coiled and curled, all shades of gray, with hints of color occasionally swirling through, but they appeared and departed so quickly the human eye could not actually say what color, if any, lurked within the grayness.

  Jack had never been seasick in his life, but peering into that cloud made him dizzy, and his stomach lurched. For a moment he felt as though he’d gulped half a bottle of strong rum in one long swallow, following a heavy meal—something he’d done a few times in his life, and lived to regret. Swallowing hard, he lowered the spyglass. His stomach heaved, and clenched. Jack gritted his teeth, and the nausea gradually passed.

  “That was fun,” he said.

  “I warned you,” she said, hugging her gray shawl around her shoulders.

  “Next time, I’ll pay attention,” he promised.

  “Jack,” Ayisha said, “you need to warn the crew that they may feel strange, but that they won’t be harmed, and the effects won’t last. Going through the illusion will be far easier on this ship than it will be on the other, because I am aboard this vessel, and I can…muffle the effects of the illusion better for those aboard the Wicked Wench than I can for La Vipère.” She smiled, and it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. “La Vipère will make it through, but they may not enjoy themselves.”

  Jack nodded. “All right.”

  “When we sail through, Jack, I will need to be at the helm.”

  Jack looked at Ayisha incredulously. “No, love. It takes experience to learn how to steer a ship. It’s not just turn the wheel and the ship goes where you want.”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to steer, Jack, I just need to stand beside the wheel, touch it with one finger. Will that be acceptable?”

  Jack nodded. “Very well.”

  He thought for a moment about how dense the swirling grayness had been. “Do you know where we’ll come out?”

  “Not exactly, but we’ll be fairly close to Zerzura’s harbor.”

  “How close? Are there rocks? Shoals?”

  “No, not that close, Jack. Our fishermen have to be able to go out with their boats, so when the spell was first cast, the priests allowed for that. When my party left the island, we had to sail for two or three miles until we reached the illusion. It should work the same in reverse.”

  After passing the word among the crew that they were going to be sailing into that unusual fogbank and that they might feel a bit strange, but would be safe, Jack went up to the quarterdeck. Ayisha came behind him.

  He checked the traverse board, and looked at Lee Trafford, who was on the helm. “Hold her steady on course, Mr. Trafford. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Jack trotted down the steps, then turned and went into his cabin. Locating the correct course, he carefully marked the bearings on his chart, then entered them in his logbook. “There you go, Mr. Beckett. If I decide to give them to you, I’ll have them,” he muttered.

  Before going back to the helm, Jack went forward, where Shabako and Tarek stood on the bow.

  The gray fog was much closer. It seemed to be reaching out with curling fingers, trying to grab them. Jack wouldn’t have looked through the spyglass at it again for a year’s pay. Once had been enough.

  He went back to the quarterdeck.

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “Mr. Trafford, Miss Ayisha is going to be standing right here as we go through this unusual fogbank I mentioned.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Trafford said.

  Ayisha smiled. Since she was wearing her shawl, the expression wasn’t particularly pleasant, but by now the crewmen were used to her. Word had somehow leaked out that she’d cursed Borya’s powder magazine, causing it to explode, and thus saved the ship. When asked if that was true, Jack had merely smiled enigmatically, and said, “If that’s so, I’m glad she was on our side,” and left it at that.

  “Mr. Trafford,” she said quietly, “I am going to reach out and just touch the end of a spoke of your wheel, like this, for the next few minutes. I won’t try to turn it. I’m just going to touch it. All right?”

  Trafford glanced at Jack, who nodded, and he, in turn, nodded at the woman. “All right, miss.”

  Jack was standing on the port side of the quarterdeck. He thought that he’d be able to see the fog approach, by leaning to port a bit and looking past the sails, but it didn’t seem to work that way. One moment they were approaching, and the next they were in it, surrounded by grayness. The fog grasped them, curling its fingers around them, closing its hand so they were enveloped by it. For a moment, Jack fancied that the fog-fist would crush them. But…no. Whatever this grayness was—and it was not true fog—it was as intangible as the weather phenomenon it resembled. And, unlike normal fog, it was not wet. Jack reached over and touched the glass of the lantern, and it felt dry, not slick.

  He soon learned not to stare directly into it, but to keep his eyes moving, not letting them dwell in any one place. It was eerie, eldritch, uncanny…all of that, and more. In addition to the grayness surrounding them, visible to their eyes, there seemed to be a faint hum in his head, an unpleasant drone that was occasionally pierced by muffled moans, or wails, or shrieks.…

  The worst thing about the sounds was that he kept thinking he recognized the voices—people that he had known, people who were now dead. For just a second he thought he recognized old One Tooth Tommy, but he could make out no words. He also thought he heard Pharaoh Taharka’s voice.

  The Wicked Wench plowed forward, as Lee Trafford, white-knuckled, kept her on course, glancing do
wn at the binnacle every so often. Jack thought about asking Ayisha, standing motionless by the ship’s wheel, one finger resting on the nearest spoke, how far they had to travel in this…stuff, but a look at her face and body convinced him that distracting her would be a mistake. She was rigid with tension, the cords standing out on her throat.

  Jack had been keeping his eye on the hourglass, and Chamba, who had the duty of turning it. It took fourteen minutes for the sand to run through it, normally. When Jack watched the sand, it seemed to be pouring from the upper part of the glass into the lower part at a normal rate. But his perception of time was strange. He felt as though they’d been stuck in this hellish grayness for half an hour. But a glance at the glass told him that only seven or eight minutes had passed.

  At the speed they’d been traveling before they’d entered the fog, that meant that in another two or three minutes, they’d have traveled a mile. How wide was the expanse of fog they had to cross?

  Jack watched the sails. The Wench had all plain sail set, and the canvas was properly taut. There was wind blowing, the sails could feel it, and were heeding its push, moving the ship forward. But he couldn’t feel the wind on his face, nor on his hand when he held it up.

  He glanced down at Chamba, who was watching him. Jack tried to give the lad an encouraging smile. Chamba attempted to return it, but it looked more like a grimace of terror. Jack wondered what the former slave was seeing, and hearing. Worse things than he was, probably.

  The last of the sand ran through the glass. Chamba turned it over.

  Lee Trafford glanced sideways at Jack. The captain tried to give the helmsman a reassuring nod.

  Hurry up, Jack begged his ship. Hurry up and end, he ordered the illusion-fog.

  He looked back at Ayisha, and suddenly saw her draw a deep breath and relax.

  And, just like that, the fog was gone. It was like snapping one’s fingers. One moment there, all around them, the next, simply…gone.