Wings of a Sparrow

The Uncharted Path

A flash of lightning and the crack of thunder rolled. The canvas of every sail was stretched taut. The ship rocked as it dropped into the valley of a huge swell, then climbed up the other side.

On board, the new crew members scurried about their tasks, pulling lines and trimming sails. They were excellent sailors, but it took everything they had to keep the ship afloat and to stay aboard themselves.

Jack was at the helm, a gleam of madness mixed with determination in his eyes. Gibbs staggered along the deck, slipping and sliding as he went. "That fool will have us lose the canvas, and the masts besides!"

Jack ignored him, a roaring wind blowing back his hair, his eyes intent on their course. Gibbs climbed the tilted deck toward him and shouted, "We'd best drop canvas, sir!"

"She can hold a bit longer." The wind picked up, howling. Jack smiled.

"What's in your head to put you in such a fine mood captain?"

"We're catching up!" Jack turned back to the sea, enjoying himself. Gibbs stared at him like he was a mad man.

{~~~}

The next morning had clear skies. Everyone was in higher spirits, especially when they heard what Jack had said during the storm. Finally catching up! Jack leaned over and studied his compass, cradled in both hands. The compass face showed old-fashioned, rose petal direction markers below a quivering indicator that eventually settled on... southeast.

Jack looked over to Annamaria, who was at the helm. "Bear three points starboard."

She turned the wheel, adjusting course. The ship leaned into the new direction. Jack looked back down. The compass had shifted, back to... northeast. "Six points port!"

Annamaria frowned, but followed the order nevertheless. She turned the wheel back, and the ship responded. Will worked on deck, coiling a rope, but as he worked he watched Jack and Annamaria, clearly not happy.

Gibbs hobbled up. "Left-handed ropes are coiled against the sun, or it's bad luck!" he twirled his finger. "Anty-clockwise."

Gibbs took over the task. The ship shifted course again. Will finally threw down the rope, and growled, "How do we expect to find an island no one can find with a compass that doesn't work?"

Cora, working on the line beside him, also put down her work and inquired, "I was wondering as well. You can't expect to find an island based on rumors alone, even if you are," she held up her hands and made quotations with her fingers, "'THE Captain Jack Sparrow'. Does this island even show up on modern charts?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Now, lad, m'lady, just because it ain't on a map doesn't mean it ain't there. And just because it don't point north don't mean it don't work. We're not trying to find north, are we? That compass gives bearings to the Isla de Muerta, wherever it may lay."

Will raised his eyebrows. "Really? That doesn't seem very logical."

Cora rolled her eyes. "Will, there are other things in this life more unbelievable than a magical compass. I'm more interested in why he has a perfectly functioning pistol, but I've never seen him fire a shot from it."

Gibbs settled in, happy to have a willing listener. "I'll tell ye. Now, Jack Sparrow has an honest streak in him, and-"

Cora snorted. The two men turned and she blushed. "Apologies. Please continue."

Gibbs glared. "And that honesty is where the whole problem starts. This was when he was the Captain of the Black Pearl-"

Will's mouth dropped and he interjected, "What? He's never told us that."

Gibbs sighed. "Ah... he's learned, then. Plays things more close to the vest. See, Jack was a cartographer, back in Old England. Somehow he came by the money to commission the Pearl. Hired himself a crew, promised each man an equal share." he quick glanced around for Jack and continued quietly, "So they're forty days out, and the First Mate says, 'everything's an equal share, that should mean the location of the island, too'. So Jack gave up the bearings. That night, there, uh... there was a mutiny."

Cora gasped. Gibbs held up a hand, looking solemn. "Jack fought against the mutineers, but in the end... There be only so much one man can do against a dozen other swords. Not one member of his crew stayed by his side. They were all too scared of the First Mate, who led the mutiny. With a sword at his back and a dagger on his neck, he was marooned on an island. Left there to die."

Will leaned forward. "How did he get off the island?"

"Sea turtles, mate."

The three of them spun around and there was Jack. He had a half smile plastered to his face, and he spread his hands. "A pair of them strapped to my feet. With human hair. From my back."

Cora groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright, gross. But what about your pistol? GIbbs never answered me."

Jack sighed. "I'll speak for myself then. The pistol. When a pirate is marooned, love, he's given a pistol with a single shot. No good for hunting or any form of surviving, really. But after three weeks of starvation and thirst... that pistol starts to look pretty damn friendly." Jack let this sink in. He pulled out the pistol and raised it. "But I survived. And I still have that single shot. It is meant for one man, no other." He sat on a barrel and methodically fiddled with the trigger, head hung.

"Your First Mate." Will gathered.

Then it clicked. Cora gasped and whispered, "Barbossa."

Jack looked up at them and cracked a small smile. "Now I suppose you realize why I'd be mad enough to sail us through that squall, eh?"

Across the deck Cotton pulled a sail line, looked out, and saw something. He lifted the parrot off his shoulder and stroked it along the back. It opened its mouth wide and screeched, "Land HO! Land HO! LAND HO! LAND HO!"