rainbowfic | Crane White #14, Fire Opal #17, Fever Red #18

Name: shadowsong26
Story: The Blood to be Repaid
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Crane White #14. I will come on the breath of the wind (Taz is a force of nature.), Fire Opal #17. Like a hurricane, Fever Red #18. tea
Supplies and Materials: bichromatic, paint-by-numbers (from Kat), mosaic (Pirates of the Carribean), eraser, acrylic, oils, fabric, charcoal, novelty beads ("The lack of money is the root of all evil." - Mark Twain), glitter, glue ("Today's annoyances may blossom into tomorrow's full-blown frustration unless you take care of managing your feelings in the present moment...It might not seem like a good idea at first, but your disclosure will relieve some of the tension and allow you to enjoy your day.")
Word Count: 3188
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Taz, Dallu, Barbossa and his crew, Jack Sparrow
Warnings: Violence, body-horror as in the movie, references to prostitution, some sexism, period-appropriate racist terminology
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Last Crane White and Fire Opal yay!

Ten Years Ago

“Thanks for your interest, son, but I don’t sign kids.”

Taz fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m sixteen,” she insisted.

Captain Sparrow grinned at her. “Nice try. Come back next year.”

“Jack,” the older man sitting next to him drawled, “give the boy a shot, why not? You can always get rid of him if he can’t keep up.”

“I can,” she insisted again.

“Fine,” Sparrow said, and gave her another gold-flecked grin. “Welcome to the Black Pearl.”

She was sixteen, and she’d given her real name—Taz could sound either male or female in English, thank God—but left out as much as she could and much of the rest she left in was a lie. The biggest, of course, being her sex. She didn’t know how superstitious Sparrow was, but it wasn’t worth dealing with the rest of the crew if he weren’t.

‘Course, sooner or later, she’d find a way to getting her own ship, but she needed to build a reputation and the skills she couldn’t pick up just by hanging around by the docks. She would, she swore, one day have a reputation just as impressive as her new Captain’s. And it had to be Sparrow’s ship she signed onto. Not for him—though he was rumored to be either brilliant or very, very lucky—but for reasons of her own. Reasons she’d spent over a year tracking down.

Taz fell to the rhythm of life on the Pearl as if born to it. No one caught on to her true sex, by some miracle—it was harder than she’d thought, in the close quarters of the ship. All the practice she’d had, building up to her current employment, had given her more space to maneuver, less chance of someone stumbling into her and feeling something what he shouldn’t.

Or, since she wasn’t particularly buxom and had long since worked out a means of flattening what she did have, not feeling something what he should.

To her advantage, she was fast and flexible and learned quick what she didn’t know already, and got along easy with the others, and none of ‘em bothered to look too deep, at least not so long as things went well.

Pintel and Ragetti approached her with Barbossa’s plan. It took ‘em three separate whispered occasions, but they outlined the bulk of it to her.

It was tempting.

Sparrow was fair—he wasn’t gonna short any of ‘em their shares, she didn’t think—but removing him made everyone else’s portion just that much bigger. On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly right, this plan. She liked Sparrow, more than she’d expected from when she first signed on. She certainly respected him.

On the other other hand, she had other concerns besides right and fair.

“I’m in.”

She held up a coin in the weak shaft of sunlight that filtered in through the cave, admiring how it shimmered in the light. And it was pure, just like she’d been promised, and she had a small bag of them—her share of eight hundred and eighty-two pieces.

If she’d still been wearing a bodice, she would’ve kept one of ‘em there, for good luck.

As it was, she slid one into the bandages binding her bosom down as soon as she was sure none of the others were watching, then tied the bag to her waist.

Even though she hadn’t accomplished one of her goals, signing on to the Pearl, she had enough to start.

Time enough for the rest later.

It was eerily quiet when she woke for her watch, three hours before dawn. Not just ‘cause the ship was never quiet when they were actively sailing, but…

This was a special kind of quiet. Breathless, becalmed…frightened.

She’d never known the rest of the crew to be frightened to silence before.

She slid out and, weirdly conscious of every step she took, headed up.

She was halfway there when her hand caught the moonlight.

It took everything in her not to scream.

When she jerked her hand back into the shadows, feeling it frantic, it was whole, unbroken. She could feel the bones, sure—anyone who’s made a minute examination of their own hand knows the bones can be felt through the skin at times—but there was skin in all the places where it should be.

Until she tentatively tried the moonlight again.

“It’s real,” she whispered.

Maybe it would be gone by the morning. If she could just stomach tonight—maybe the curse would only hold her ‘til morning.

She took a deep breath, and then froze.

Not all of the flesh on her hand had vanished. Without her protective layers of clothing...

A spike of rage splintered her thoughts, and she spun and headed straight for the Captain’s quarters.

“What the hell have you done to us?” she snapped as soon as she got the door open and slammed it behind her.

Barbossa sighed. “And there’s another one.”

“I fought for you. I sided with you, against a man I respected—hell, a man I liked a sight more’n you, because there’s some things as matter more than respectin’ a man—or even likin’ him. And look what it got me!” Defiant, she stalked into the moonlight.

He did not react the way she’d expected.

“God’s blood, you’re a girl!” he said, surprised enough to leap to his feet. The monkey, shrieking at the indignity, skittered off his arm and glared at the two of them from its usual perch, chittering angrily.

“I’m your, girl, Captain,” she shot back.

“…beg pardon?”

“I was gonna make a name for meself before I told you,” she said, some of the rage going out of her now that she was actually having this conversation.

“Told me what?”

“Me mam’s a whore in New Orleans,” Taz said. “Mulatta, but free. You were a customer of hers, seventeen years back. She said you were…unforgettable.” Exactly what Mam had meant by that, Taz didn’t care to know. Enough that she’d remembered the name Hector Barbossa.

The Captain thought about this for a moment. “I remember her,” he said, then eyed Taz. “You do look somethin’ like her, now you mention it. And…” He approached, and took her chin in a suddenly rotting hand. Taz couldn’t quite suppress a shiver of revulsion.

“In this light, I can see a bit of meself in you.”

She slapped him.

He could’ve stopped her, she knew, but he didn’t. He just laughed.

“What’ll happen now?” Taz asked, stepping back to the shadows after a minute.

“We’ll have a meetin’ to discuss it if this goes on too long,” he answered. “But at least for now, we’ll enjoy the spoils and keep an ear to the ground for a way to fix ourselves.”

That seemed to be all they could do. “S’pose there’s no hidin’ my sex now,” she said.

He shrugged. “You’re not the first girl to turn pirate, and yeh’ve quick hands if any of the boys try to blame you for our misfortune.”

She considered that for a moment. “…how much trouble will I find if I blood anyone what’s too rough?”

He just smirked at her. “You’re supposed to be on watch,” was all he said.

Taking that as permission, she bowed and headed back into the moonlight on deck with only a breath of hesitation.

They’d find a way to fix this, and she had her father’s backing when she struck out on her own. A few nights of being a corpse seemed a small price to pay for all that.

~ * ~ * ~

Eight Years Ago

In the end, she’d had to cut Pintel open but good, but after that the others treated her no different than before. Other than Bootstrap, who turned on all of them—even though he’d signed the bloody Robin with the rest, he was having qualms of conscience.

Despite the fact he bloody well deserved it, Taz felt worse about sending him to the deeps than she did about marooning Sparrow. They couldn’t die, after all. An eternity of drowning seemed harder than even the longest death by starvation she could picture.

And the curse hadn’t faded, not in two years—the only nights they were normal were moonless ones. Captain tended to aim them for port those nights--though sometimes they were off a day or two--which everyone appreciated. Easier to find a quick fumble when you had all your parts in working order, after all. Taz herself had found a few lads to fritter away time with, even in her boy’s garb.

Lucky for her, the curse seemed proof against a child or the pox, much as it was against her aging. Her curves should’ve filled some by now—she was eighteen, after all—but she still had the same girlish body she’d had when they first took the coins. Perhaps none of the others aged, either, but it was easier to tell with a girl of sixteen then men averaging half again her age.

So, they were frozen as they had been when they’d picked the coins, except for when the moon rose. But the Captain kept looking, kept tracking down the solution, and she knew he wouldn’t let them down again.

But when he came back from his most recent research foray, he looked grim, and he wouldn’t say anything ‘til they got back to the Isla de Muerta cache.

“Gents,” he said, “I’ve found the way to our freedom.”

The others cheered, but Taz saw the look in her captain's eye, and knew there was a problem.

“We’ve got to track down all the pieces what we spent and bring ‘em back here,” he went on, when they quieted.

There was a disturbed murmur in the group, but none of them had wanted to hold on to the coins, and, in hindsight, it seemed a reasonable demand of the heathen gods.

“And we’ve got to repay a blood sacrifice, each and every one of us.”

Then came the uproar.

Taz, raising the pitch of her voice as she rarely felt comfortable using, even with her sex being an open secret, cut through the babble. “How much blood?”

“Not much,” he assured them. “A few drops. And we’ve been hoardin’ more than spendin’ these past two years. And we won’t stop workin’ while we track down our coins. When we’re finally free, we’ll all be rich as kings.”

That quieted them, at least. It might take them time, but the end was in sight. And, after all, how far could the coins have wandered in two years?

Taz, however, though she didn’t dare raise it, felt a stab of forboding. If they all had to repay the blood…

There was no way to retrieve Bootstrap from where they’d left him. Sure, he had a kid, but they didn’t know the brat’s age, name, or even whether it was male or female.

This, she feared, was going to take longer than her shipmates dreamed possible.

~ * ~ * ~

Six Years Ago

Even after a dozen such trips, the burgundy dress felt awkward after years as a boy at sea.

Still, easier for her to retrieve the gold that had gone into brothels than the men. They’d have to pay more to get in, and while she was dark for a quadroon, she was still a girl, and not an unpretty one. And a good portion of the eight hundred and eighty-two pieces had to be earned back this way. Besides, anything she got from customers while seeking out the specific coins they needed was hers to keep, didn’t have to go into the common pot. She put half of it in anyway—didn’t want to rouse accusations that being a woman on the ship had brought the affliction upon them again—but only half.

She had her own future to think of, after all.

Strange, that she was doing this when half the reason she’d gone pirating was to avoid her mother’s trade. Not that there was aught shameful to it—for sure, her youngest sister, the prettiest of them by far, was like to make a better, or at least steadier, living at it than even the luckiest pirate, and damned if Taz wasn’t proud of her mam for using everything she had to keep them afloat. It just wasn’t the life for her.

Too much of her father in her, perhaps.

She retrieved the two coins from the madam’s coffer, checked to make sure the old woman was still drugged asleep, then slipped out the back.

She’d be back as a boy on the Pearl long before the theft was discovered.

~ * ~ * ~

Four Years Ago

“Wait,” he murmured sleepily, putting a hand about her waist and pulling her back onto the bed before she could collect her dress. “When will I see you again?”

She smiled. The pale, pretty cartographer was the best nocturnal companion she’d found, after six years of experimenting. She didn’t so much seek out others anymore, but when she could have Dallu…well, if her soul was left hollow and empty at the end, it certainly wasn’t for his lack of trying.

“Hard to say,” she told him. “Soon’s I can, you know that.”

“Next month?” He sounded hopeful, and he’d put together the pattern that that was the oftenest he saw her.

“Maybe,” she said, and kissed him hungrily. “Or maybe longer. We’ll see.”

He sighed. “I miss you when you’re gone.”

She kissed him again. “Then it’ll be better when I’m back.” She pulled away from him and stepped into the burgundy dress again. “Until next time.”

She caught his sad smile with the corner of her eye as she slipped out the door.

~ * ~ * ~

Two Years Ago

It was a mistake.

She shouldn’t have come to Dallu when there was a moon, but she’d needed him, in a way she’d never thought to need a man. It was like needing food, or fresh water, or the sea itself.

And her hand had caught the moonlight, and he’d stopped. “My God, Taz…what the hell is--?”

She jerked her hand away. “Goodbye, Dallu,” she said, thick and bitter. “Don’t ask questions, and don’t be expectin’ to see me again.”

“Taz, wait—“

She stormed out the door without letting him finish, doing up the front of her dress as she went.

Damn it all to hell.

“We’re still missin’ one,” Barbossa finally announced, after the third night waiting for the repaid blood to take hold. “Everyone, think. What did we forget?”

A rumble of accusation through the gathered men, each insisting he’d put back his entire share.

“…what about Bootstrap?” Ragetti suddenly asked.

“Bootstrap?” Barbossa echoed.

“Ragetti’s right,” Taz said. “Didn’t he send a piece to his kid?”

He considered this a moment, then swore a blistering string of oaths. “Then we’ll find the kid,” he said. “We’ll get back our gold, and then we’ll be free.”

“It’s taken us eight years to get this far!” Pintel protested, and Taz, with effort, resisted the urge to strangle him.

“Aye,” Barbossa said. “But we’ve got all the time in the world, ain’t we, gents?”

Grumbling, the crew acceded. What else could they do?

Taz kicked a ruby off a stack of gold. First Dallu, then this. Goddamn this entire year.

~ * ~ * ~

Now

“Give this to the girl,” Taz said, shoving her burgundy dress at Pintel. "Captain said she should be dressed proper."

Pintel eyed the neckline, then grinned at her.

“But if you do more than look, I’ll cut your jewels off. Every damn night if I have to.”

His grin slipped, and he snatched it from her. “Fine.”

She smirked and fondled her knife pointedly.

He snarled, but grabbed Ragetti and went to present Elizabeth Turner with their gift.

It hadn’t worked. And the bitch had escaped, and she’d lied about her name.

They didn't even have the last coin anymore--she'd managed to steal it along with herself.

And, what privately and bizarrely rankled Taz the most, the Swann girl had made off with her only dress.

Damn her.

Taz escaped from the Navy with a hell of a lot more ease than she’d had getting back to the Island.

The monkey had beat her there, naturally. She heard it chittering away, but did her best to ignore it.

She knelt next to her father’s body and closed his eyes. “Goodbye,” she whispered, then hesitated.

The whole island, at least until Sparrow managed to escape, was hers for the taking.

She gathered as much treasure as she could hold, and slipped away to start her own life.

Hell, now she was a proper woman again—she was done with playing a boy, and she wasn't going to be trapped in a rotting shell every night anymore—she might see if Dallu would take her back. Could always use a good map man, after all.

But first…first, she needed a ship

~ * ~ * ~

Coda—One Year Later

Taz didn’t quite know what to say. “I’m…um…I’m glad you’re not dead anymore,” she finally managed.

Her father smirked. “So’m I.” He eyed Dallu. “Who’s this, then?”

“Dallu,” she answered for him. “He’s good with maps.”

“Mmhmm.” He considered. “Just so you know, son, I’m a damn good shot.”

Dallu flushed. “Captain, I think she’d stab me before you got a chance, if I ever crossed her.”

He laughed. “S’pose you’re right, at that.”

Taz just rolled her eyes. “I’ve a ship of me own, now.”

“I heard,” he said.

“And…whatever gets decided at Shipwreck Cove…the Morning Glory stands behind you.” She grinned. “Long as I don’t end up a skeleton for ten years again, at least.”

He laughed again. “You won’t.”

She bowed with a flourish, then returned to her ship and her lover and her life, and prepared to make war with the East India Trading Company.

As her feet hit the deck, she heard an odd echo—in Jack Sparrow’s voice, of all things.

“Welcome back to the Morning Glory.”

Crane White #14, Fire Opal #17, Fever Red #18

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