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The Evil Lady E	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 5990 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Chapter 14: The Forked Tongue

“Are you ready to die, Jack Sparrow?” The voice was still a hiss in Jack's mind, only now that the god was in front of him, its long, forked tongue flicked out with the words, and he heard it aloud, as well.

“Not jus' yet, mate,” Jack said aloud, summoning all his bravado to disguise the burgeoning terror and despair that was making its way out from his gut. His eyes fell on Elizabeth, who was still white and unmoving, her hands still shackled together. He felt along his belt for the keys, withdrew them, and bent to her, unlocking them and they fell away. Then he turned again to face the snake.

“You must die, if you're not willing to sacrifice the girl.” More rolling and unrolling of the tongue. Jack swallowed his nausea and searched his brain for information, questions, logic, lies, anything that might save him. Them.

“Never said I wouldn't, exactly, but it hardly seems fair to set up the ritual without my even knowing about it, your... shininess.” He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword, but let it remain at his side, for the moment.

“It became clear that Barbossa would fail in his duty to bring me the girl. It was unclear whether or not you would obey.”

“So you made up a lot of donkey droppings about how Lady E was evil and I should punish her.”

“She has the seed of evil in her,” hissed the serpent.

“Oh, so she and the Commodore got it on after all, eh?” He chuckled, and waved an arm merrily. “Thought you heathen deities were only interested in virgins.”

“Not that kind of seed. The shadow. She is capable of evil things. I tasted it when her blood fell in the chest.” The S sounds reverberated in the still morning air, surrounding Jack, unnerving him.

“Speaking of which, what in the world are we doing all the way out here in the ocean, now that you mention it? We're nowhere near Isla de Muerta.”

“The location is not of importance. It is the girl that matters most to me.”

“A fine sentiment, friend, but I'll have to warn you, there's quite a line for her. Three or four deep, if I'm not mistaken. Def'nitely four, if you count Barbossa, the old dog. Speaking of which, why was he so hot to get to Isla de Muerta, if not for the sacrifice?”

“His own greed propelled him to return,” snarled the serpent voice. “He planned to trade the virgin for the rest of the Aztec treasure. Everything except the chest, which was cursed.”

“Everything-“ Jack broke off, shuffling on his feet, unable to believe his ears. “Everything except the chest? You mean to tell me there's hoards of gold an' treasure rotting over there, and only the bleedin' chest bore the curse? Those nice little coins? That was it?”

A cough sounded from behind Jack, and he saw Elizabeth stirring, about fifteen feet across the deck. She was trying to move wet, clinging strands of hair from her face, and open her eyes. She suddenly coughed again, and spewed a good amount of water onto the deck.

“Meant to tell you before, you're so lovely when you vomit, darling,” Jack called to her while wrinkling his nose, secretly relieved she was, in fact, still alive. For now. Her eyes turned to him as she struggled to breathe.

“Jack?” The word was a small, surprised gasp, with the faintest of hopeful notes in her voice. “What's happening?” She looked Jack over, from head to toe, and then her gaze fell on the giant, writhing serpent, and she placed a hand to her chest, appearing to feel for her own heartbeat. She looked back and forth, again, from Jack, to the huge snake god. “Is this... is this hell?”

“No, love, still the Caribbean, although they do have a remarkably similar climate.” After a pause, he added, “And come now... you, me, a giant snake for all of eternity... not so bad, is it? Think of the possibilities. But, you are alive.”

“Jack Sparrow, you must ready yourself to die.” The serpent seemed to be losing patience, and it bent its head down, bending its long, reptilian neck nearly in half, and glared at Jack. “Either that, or go and finish the girl.”

“Me? It wants me?” Elizabeth choked out, the first stirrings of indignance raising the pitch of her voice.

“Hush, love, Daddy's talking,” Jack admonished her, with two exaggerated pointing jabs toward the giant snake.

The hiss returned. “What's it going to be, Jack? You? Or the virgin?”

“You know, Quetzy,” he said, clearing his throat and taking a few, sauntering steps in front of the snake, “you're really putting me in a tough spot, philosophically speaking. Not that she's all that valuable, mind you, but as I've said before, there'd be several men linin' up to skin me if I let anything happen to her, savvy?”

“The choice is yours, Jack Sparrow.”

Jack's mind was spinning rapidly. “How about - Let's make a deal, shall we? You let us two go, and I'll find you another virgin.”

Silence.

“A better one,” Jack added. “A prettier one.” He could swear he heard Elizabeth's teeth begin to gnash together.

“Pure?” hissed the snake.

“Pure as the driven snow. So... I'm told, not that I've ever seen snow, precisely. Purer than her, anyway,” he said, indicated Elizabeth with a jerk of his thumb. He inwardly cringed and readied himself to duck, wondering what there was sitting near her that she could hurl in his direction.

Silence from the snake. Silence from Elizabeth.

I want my tiny knife, Jack suddenly thought, as the serpent's head glided closer and he stared into its flashing, multi-colored eyes. He leaned down to touch his boot with his left hand, still holding the sword in his right, and felt only bare leg. That's right, he had removed his boots before jumping in after the strumpet. He glanced over near Elizabeth, where his boots lay, one horizontally, one still standing up. How to get it...

“No, no other virgin will do. It must be you, or her. What's it going to be? I'm still waiting for an answer, and my patience is wearing thin.”

Jack tightened his grip on the sword. “I'm sorry, mate, I can't do it. Can't give her to you. Not even to save my own...” He glanced over at Elizabeth, who was now sitting up straight, staring at him wistfully, with tears in her eyes. Although it must have just been the sea water, and his smile became rueful, as he was about to echo her very words. “...my own, sorry, hide.”

“Jack, no,” she protested feebly, trying to get to her feet.

“Then you have sealed your fate, Jack Sparrow. You are a fool to die when you could live.”

“Yes, go on, be a mean ol' snake, make me feel bloody terrible, but do get on with it, won't you?” Jack raised his sword.

“Your weapons are no use against me,” the snake hissed, tongue unwinding. Its neck compressed, and it seemed ready to launch an attack.

Jack decided to strike first, lifting the blade over his shoulder and swinging it round his head in a smooth arc, aiming for the serpent's neck. When the blade made contact with the green, scaly skin, the sword seemed to freeze in midair, and before Jack's eyes, it shattered into five pieces and fell to the deck.

“Right, no use at all, that's what you said, wasn't it? Just checkin'. Elizabeth!” he howled, and dove for cover. The snake lunged at him as he cowered behind the longboat, dodging the serpent's huge, snapping bites first left, then right.

“Jack!” she screamed. She was on her feet, her wet clothes clinging to her body as she seemed prepared to run toward him.

“No! Stay over there,” Jack yelled to her, as she left the vicinity of his boots. He leapt over the longboat and dashed toward the prow. The snake followed him, swiftly, its coils winding and unwinding on the deck. He was having a hard time running in bare feet, and his arms flew straight out in front of him, as though to ward off an enemy from that direction, as well. He swung around the base of one of the smaller masts, and the snake lunged with a snap behind him.

It followed him around the pole. “Elizabeth,” he called, and drew a finger rapidly across his throat.

She watched helplessly, confused, understanding the 'kill' gesture but not what action it demanded. He wants me to help him, she thought. But how?

“Tell me what to do!” she cried.

The serpent whipped its head toward her, then, as though seeing her clearly for the first time. It began to slither toward her.

“No! No,” Jack said, and threw himself on the body of the serpent, right underneath its great, rainbow wings. “It's me you want. Come back here.”

The serpent let out a terrible hiss and bent its head backward to Jack, narrowly missing him with its long, sharp fangs.

“Elizabeth-“ Jack said loudly to her, as he was tossed from the snake's body onto the deck, with a grunt. “One last thought for you! A lady with a hidden weapon - a hidden weapon - “

The serpent lunged at him again, this time sinking its fangs into the wood of the deck, which it tore up and spit out in a graceful curve, as Jack rolled out of the way just in time.

Elizabeth's mind raced. A hidden weapon. Where? She scanned the deck for any sign of a special weapon, seeing only her sword - and having witnessed what happened to his, she didn't think that would aid him much - and her dagger, which still stuck between boards right under the mainmast, but Jack could easily reach that, given how close he was. He must mean something else. Something she didn't know about.

Jack slid on his back like an upended turtle, dodging the snake's blows, which were now aimed at his neck. “A man's worst nightmare! Always remember that, Lizzy, won't you? Remember that a hidden weapon-“

And she listened and watched in horror, as the snake's bites got closer and closer to Jack's limbs, she racked her brain desperately. She remembered what he'd said... they were under the main mast, and her mind had been hazy with desire, but she'd managed to extract that knife from her boot and hold it... a knife. She was sure that was what he'd meant with the finger across the throat. She was looking for a knife.

Where would Jack Sparrow hide a knife?

She ran her eyes over the mayhem on the deck, her gaze finally falling on his soft, brown boots, sitting haphazardly near the rail of the deck. A lady with a hidden weapon... she had hidden it in her boots, couldn't he have done the same thing?

She ran over to them and plunged her hand inside, feeling every crevasse of the leather. Nothing in that one. She hastily grabbed the other one and upended it, shaking it out on the deck, and to her surprise - and immense relief - a small knife clattered out onto the deck. She picked it up, noting how unusual it was, with its painted handle and bone-chipped blade.

Jack began to feel, for the tenth or eleventh time in the last three days, that the luck that had blessed him in his earthly existence was about to run out. He had tried to get up and run again, after attempting to evade the snake low to the ground, but one of the snake's coils had shot out and snared his bare ankle, pulling him down to the ground on his stomach with a crash.

He tried to get up again, but his foot was still snared by the monster, and he turned around to see the gold-plated face bearing down on him from only two feet away, mouth open, fangs flashing.

“Oh, bugger.”

“Say your goodbyes, Jack Sparrow,” it hissed, its tongue coming out to brush over his grimacing face.

“Jaaaaaaack!”

Elizabeth. I do hope she's found it.

He turned his face away from the serpent's hot breath to see Elizabeth standing near the helm, holding the tiny knife in her hand.

Please, God - er, Gods - the other God - let her throw better than she shoots. Please.

She drew back her arm and launched the small weapon into the air. He watched the knife as it seemed to float in slow motion, leaving her long, elegant fingers and hurtling, blade over hilt, through the sunlit air. It seemed to shimmer with the same metallic gleam that had characterized the appearance of the snake-god, and it shone beautifully against the light blue-gray sky. It fell toward him in a perfect arc, and he extended his arm naturally, as though guided by some unseen force, to place his hand in position and snatch it from the air, the rings on his hands glimmering in the morning sunlight.

In the next instant he turned and plunged it, mercilessly, into the snake's shiny, green hide.

A great hissing howl filled the air, and Jack felt the grip around his foot loosen, and he wasted no time in stepping back, away from the monster. God. Thing. He stumbled over a coil of rope and fell back on his bottom on the deck.

Mist seemed to shoot out of the hole where the dagger still pierced its skin, and the snake's mouth opened, the tongue rolling out to fling wildly about in the air. The mist seemed to surround the snake's body, wrapping around its coils, until finally there was that same glass-reflection that seared Jack's eyeballs before, and it zipped along the snake's body, from head to toe, in a rapid motion.

And then it was gone.

“Jack!”

He grunted as Elizabeth's weight smacked into him, toppling him flat on the deck. She had literally thrown herself into his arms, and he wrapped his arms tight around her still-damp form, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent, deeply, gratefully. He lay on his back and she was sprawled on top of him, her legs spread over his, her face buried in his shoulder. He felt her take a deep, sobbing breath, and before he knew it, he could feel her hot tears against the skin of his neck.

“Jack - can't believe it - so scared that you'd - so sorry, Jack, I'm so sorry, I'm so-“ and she broke off into gasping sobs, and he patted the back of her neck reassuringly.

“Was that the apology I've been dying for? Almost literally, I might add?” he said wryly, listening to her moan and sob her heart out. She seemed to regain some control, after a moment, and sat up off of him, propping herself on her arms.

“Yes,” she said, lifting a long, wet strand of hair from her face. Her face softened as she looked down at him, watching her. “Oh, Jack... can you ever forgive me?”

He looked at the earnest pleading in her warm, rum-colored eyes, and felt his black pirate heart turn to mush. For a moment. But not without a fight.

“Oh...fine, you're forgiven.” At her immediate, face-splitting grin, he continued, trying his hardest to look fierce. “Don't look so happy, you half-pirate wench... if you ever, ever, EVER murder me again... I really will kill you. Savvy?”

She closed her eyes and nodded, once, before leaning over to curl against him, again. Noticing the utter stillness that surrounded them, she lifted her head to ask Jack, “What's happened to everyone else? There must have been enough noise up here to wake the dead.”

“I gave them all a double ration of rum last night. I find that often results in a long night and quiet, peaceful morning. And I didn't want any interruptions during our... rendezvous.”

“Ah,” she said, trailing a finger along the beard at his jaw. She lifted a corner of her damp shirt to mop what appeared to be dried snake saliva off his cheek. She then leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Jack... you said... before...”

“Said what, love?”

“You said... there were things, things you would teach me, show me.”

The breathily innocent tone of her voice set his blood to pounding in his ears again, and desire, hot and hungry, swept through him like wildfire. Even more strongly so, since he'd been convinced for most of the last several hours that he was about to die. Near-death scenarios always seemed to push his buttons nicely. He searched for a witty answer, but none came, and his mouth opened and closed again, soundlessly.

“You can - you can - “ she slid her hand along his stomach and torso, gliding up toward his neck. “You can take me back into your cabin and show me, now.”

He rolled her off him to the side, and looked straight into her eyes, trying to discern if there was any ulterior motive to those softly purred words that were setting his blood boiling, and, seeing no deception or malice there, words failed him once again. He couldn't believe himself, struggling to think of something to say. Most ironic. The smart-mouthed trickster pirate, at a total loss for words.

But he wasn't about to waste another second dwelling on it. In a heartbeat he had scooped her up in his arms, and headed across the deck and up the steps to his cabin as though the devil himself were after them.

Once inside, he set her down on her feet, and began to slide the clinging, sopping shirt off her shoulders, leaning close to her ear to whisper huskily, “How 'bout we get you out of these wet clothes, shall we? Next you'll catch your death of a cold an' perish, and won't that be the most ironic ending of all...”
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The Evil Lady E