Pirates' Destiny: In Hazardous Pursuit

Chapter 29: Isla de Muerta (Evie)

I awoke with a jolt. Jack was no longer next to me, and I gazed around the dark room, drinking it in. This would possibly be the last time I saw it, or anything even loosely related to the British parliament. It might be the last time I saw anything, by the sound of this island. I chuckled, remembering the first boating excursion I took with my father when I was little. At a tiny 6 years old, I finally understood that daddy was going out to sea when he left for so long, and I wanted to go as well. I wanted to see the world, and the sea was the best way to do it, so I begged my mother and father to let me go out on the boat. 

I threw tantrums, refused to eat, refused to leave the house, and finally refused to sleep, until I got to go out on the boat with my father. At last, my mother gave up, and my father took me on one of his expeditions. It wasn't all that exciting, looking back on it, but to a 6 year old who had never seen anything but the itty bitty island of Port Royal, every single wave was a masterpiece, every sea creature a dinosaur. 

We had gone out to deliver gunpowder to another ship, and at the time, that was the least interesting part of the trip, but ever since I was old enough to know what gunpowder was, I have wondered who we gave it to and why. If I was being quite honest, in the past few years I'd begun to question many of mine and my father's nautical outings. Sure, we'd go out and his crew would lower the fishing nets a few times and we'd turn back around and head for shore, but as I got older, so many times we would be transporting people from place to place. Why? What was it all for? Who were those people and why had we sent them onto another ship and simply sailed home? And that ship we always let them off on was so very eerie.

My father always told tales of Davy Jones, a creature of the sea so vengeful that he would rise and take entire ships down to his locker at the bottom of the ocean, even if he had only previously damned one man of the crew. Stemming from Davy Jones was also the legend of the Kraken; I didn't hear about the Kraken from my father, but from one of the men we were transporting. See, my father didn't much like me talking to the sailors we would have on our boats, but I was always very curious, and would try to sneak out of the captain's quarters to talk to them anyway. Several times I succeeded, and when I would talk to some of the men, they would get to telling stories; these men were the very best at telling stories. Sometimes the tales were so tall that even 8 year old me would not dare believe them. One of these tales was the Kraken. 

I remember so clearly the face of the man who told me about it. His name was Samuel Burgess, and he had short, scraggly facial hair, much like Mr. Gibbs, and a thick coat of black and gray hair on the top of his head. He was the only sailor who had returned to Port Royal with us on that particular journey. "I seen it, missy." he said. "I seen the beastie take a whole ship o' men right out of the water with a few fell sweeps. It was as big as Tortuga is wide." Then, of course, I had no idea what Tortuga was, but the way Samuel talked, it sounded pretty big. "It swallowed 'em right into the ocean, so don't you ever be gettin' on the wrong side of Davy Jones." With that, he had gulped and fallen silent.

It wasn't until several years following that I started to consider the possibility that perhaps there was some massive octopus-like creature living in the moving waters. On another one of my trips with my father, when I was 12, we had gone out for several batches of fish and come up on a horrible shipwreck. The ship had been torn in two, boards sticking up everywhere, and there were men hanging off the rails both dead and alive. We brought aboard the ones left alive, and they told us of a massive beast with suckers on its tentacles ripping their boat apart and taking their captain; I decided that day that nothing was impossible if it be regarding the sea.

Awakening from my reverie, I took a deep breath and sat up. I looked at my feet, and suddenly I remembered.. I hadn't fixed Mr. Gibbs's shoes yet. "Damn." I muttered under my breath as I got up and searched around the dresser drawers for my leather squares and sharp needle. 

"You're gonna wanna see this, lass." Jack's smooth drawl reached my ears and I chuckled. Standing up to face him, I plastered a smirk on my face.

"You know there is a limit to what I'll allow you to call me." I said, the sides of my mouth turning upwards. 

"I can't wait to find out what it is." he said, smiling so all his teeth would show, including the gold ones on the bottom row. I feigned a stomp towards him and he jumped, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, love." he said, his smile remaining. I laughed, abandoning my search for the leather, and walked toward him. He immediately stepped back to hold the door open for me. 

The sunlight reflecting off the deck momentarily blinded me, but I forgot my aching eyes when I heard Lucy's voice coming towards me, shouting, "Have you seen where this buffoon is taking us?! I should have never come with you on your half-witted adventure, this is madness!" 

"I couldn't agree more!" Jack said behind me. 

"Alright, the both of you!" I spat, looking up at Lucy. "Show me where we're going." With this, she grabbed my wrist and led me out to the bow of the ship and pointed. 

From a distance, the island appeared to be granite black, and had jagged rocks lining its entrance, along with several ships that were surely haunted by the ghosts of crews who had perished trying to save them. Fog loomed ominously over the rippling water and a chill ran up my spine. "That's it, isn't it?" I asked, never taking my eyes off the island. "That's the Isla de Muerta." 

"That's her alright." Jack said, almost sadly. I would have turned to read his face, but I couldn't. I couldn't look away. Staring at it felt like some faraway dream I'd had but couldn't remember once I'd awoken, and the darkness that surrounded it was like every stormy night on sea I'd ever experienced. But what kept my attention was the song. I had to find the source of the singing; the chanting that was becoming ever-louder as the ship drew closer and the island's features became distinct. A chorus of voices sang in unison, a song I'd heard since I was 7 years old... a song I would never forget: 

Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never say we die...