Cursed Seas Pt. 02: The Witch-Eye

She would've loved to have seen the world in a whole new light, but it looked no different. Shella looked at Lily. Immediately, a bright, painful light filled her vision. It felt like her eye was getting stabbed by the sun, and with a shocked gasp, Shella dropped the witch-eye.

The witch-eye clunked onto the floor, leaving Shella to rub her eye as Lily swept in for the stone while Jezebel turned around.

"Did you find it?" Jezebel asked.

"You mighta warned me it'd be like th' sun was th' entire damned sky!" Shella spat back. Spots like stars danced in her vision, turning it into a muddle of bright red and nonsensical white.

"No, no, that don't make no sense," Jezebel said as she walked over to the two.

"Oh yeah? Lookit Lily wi' that thing an' then tell me what," Shella said.

Lily gave Jezebel the witch-eye, who held it up to her eye. "Oh! That IS bright," Jezebel said, taking the witch-eye away and rubbing her eye.

"If tha's a soul, then tha' little rock will be better 'n any scope fer findin' people."

"But it doesn't make any sense!"

"You better explain what you mean, 'cause I'm runnin' short on patience," Shella threatened. Her eye still wasn't going back to normal!

"Well, I looked at you and didn't see any soul!" Jezebel said.

"Maybe it jes' needed time t' warm up," Shella said, rubbing her eye. It wasn't making it any better, and only very slowly did the spots leave her vision.

"Well, I'm not seeing any soul now," Jezebel said, holding the witch-eye up to her other eye.

"Are ya sure it's a glow?" Shella asked.

"Oh, it's always a glow! From the tiniest ants and blades of grass to the biggest of men. Don't matter if they're cursed or not. Here - see for yourself," Jezebel said. She thrusted the witch-eye into Shella's hand and closed Shella's fingers around it.

Shella closed her blinded eye, even though it still sent sun-bright spots across her vision, and held the witch-eye up to her other eye. Avoiding looking at Lily, Shella trained her gaze on Jezebel. Jezebel looked as if she was on fire. Bright ephemeral lights swirled in a self-contained pool in, on, and around the woman, colored a near-white red.

Then, Shella looked at her own hand. It was just her regular hand. No glow, nothing special about it. "Don't work on the user," Shella said, jabbing the witch-eye back at Jezebel.

Lily and Jezebel looked at each other. Jezebel's face was a mix of confused and concerned. Lily looked terrified. "No, no, it does" Jezebel said.

"Hey, look, I di'int see nuthin', it don't work on the user."

"Look, it does. Here, Lily, look at yourself with it," Jezebel said, handing the witch-eye off to Lily.

Lily took it and looked at her hand through it. The moment her hand crossed her field of view, Lily dropped the witch-eye and rubbed the eye she had used.

"Okay, now yer jes' playin' along," Shella said.

Lily shook her head and recovered the witch-eye.

"I don't know what to say," Jezebel said, "but Lily and I have been seeing the same things as you have. A witch-eye is part of the natural world; it's never wrong, and it's never off. And a soul is always a glow, you can look at anything with that witch-eye and see it! But I don't know what you are, because there's not a thing in existence that don't have a soul and you don't have a soul."

"Fuck this," Shella snarled as she turned around. She kicked the cottage door open and called back, "C'mon, Lily, we're gettin' off this damned island an' lookin' somewhere else."

Lily looked back at Jezebel, who nodded at her. Lily followed behind Shella carrying the witch-eye.

* * *

The next time someone knocked on Jezebel's door, it was two weeks later. She answered the door, though she wished that she could run away. Jezebel had Seen who it was on the other side of the door, just after those two nice young ladies had left. However, Jezebel had no way off the island, and if she hid it'd only delay the inevitable. With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, Jezebel had to face them.

She opened the door with a how-do-you-do smile and came face-to-face with Veradine Stoker. It'd been, gosh, how many years? The belts and straps looked good on her. It looked like a few more had found their way around Veradine, but her whip seemed shorter than when Jezebel had last seen her. "Hello, there. Come in, come in. Can I interest you in some tea?" Jezebel said.

Veradine rattled out a harsh breath and said, "I'm not interested in tea. I am interested in finding two people. Both women. One dark-skinned, one pale. The dark-skinned one has traits of a fish. Where are they?"

"I'm sorry, but I've not seen those two. But I do have tea!" Jezebel lied. Beneath her friendly smile, Jezebel fervently hoped that Veradine would just walk away.

Veradine hissed and stepped away from the door frame. Crowded behind her was a dozen women, each cursed in strange manners. At the forefront was a skeleton in a blood-stained dress. Besides her, a woman who looked like she had been mixed with a jellyfish held a bucket. "I know they are here. Magic does not lie," Veradine said.

Jezebel peered at the bucket and hobbled to it. "Pardon me, may I take a look?"

The jellyfish woman looked at Veradine. Veradine nodded, and the jellyfish woman thrusted the bucket at Jezebel. In it, a nasty-looking dagger floated on a scrap of wood in some water. The dagger pointed at Jezebel's house, and it had the faintest whiff of something about it. It reminded Jezebel of that fish-woman from two weeks back - the spray of the ocean, mixed with the musk of sex, mixed with the air of something mysterious. Definitively a strange scent to place.

"You're going off of a dagger floating in a bucket?" Jezebel asked Veradine.

"Do not question it," Veradine commanded, studying Jezebel.

Veradine's scrutiny didn't escape Jezebel's notice. She'd need to clear this up quickly. If Veradine figured out who she was, Jezebel wouldn't live to see another day.

The dagger in the bucket began to point away from Jezebel's house, slowly spinning around. "Well, if you're so sure about it, it's pointing the other way now," Jezebel said.

Veradine shoved Jezebel roughly aside and looked at the dagger. She rattled off an unpleasant hiss and pulled at the straps around her body. Those weren't ever coming off, Jezebel smugly noted. "Let's move!" Veradine barked out amid the grumblings of the women with her.

The cursed women began to tromp back through the forest. Veradine began to follow them, but her footsteps slowed and she cast a glance back at Jezebel. "Have we met before?" Veradine asked.

"Oh, no, I think I would've remembered you!" Jezebel said.

Veradine tilted her head. Abruptly, she jerked and grabbed Jezebel by the collar of her dress. Her whip began twitching like the tail of a cat as she scanned Jezebel's face. Jezebel could see the wheels turn in Veradine's head, breaking through the mold of time. The realization that Jezebel hadn't reacted to the weird women that arrived at her house. Perhaps even the acknowledgement of how hurried Jezebel was to get rid of her guests. "I think I do," Veradine spat between the leather straps that bound her.

The cursed women behind her slowed and turned around. The skeleton came up to Veradine and asked, "Everything all right, Captain Lash?"

The straps around Veradine's mouth shifted as she smiled. "Yes. Return to the ship. I will return just after I take care of something."

"Oh, damn," Jezebel muttered.

The skeleton looked at her and rejoined the cursed women, who returned to walking back from whence they came.

Veradine dropped Jezebel on the ground and leaned over her. "How long has it been, witch?"

"Eh, thirty years, I think?" Jezebel said, scrambling back.

"Forty," Veradine spat. "Forty years I've been wrapped up in these straps. I can't feel anything but the pain."

"You deserve it," Jezebel spat back.

"Do I? It's been a long time. I've been what you made me for longer than I've been human. And yet I still remember... do you remember my daughter?" Veradine asked.

"Yeah, I remember her. But I also remember Jonah and Joshua and Paul and Mary and all those other folks who thought you were nice. They were trying to live free, Veradine."

"They were slaves. Just like you should've been, witch."

"They were people, Veradine. You pretended to be nice to them. To give them a home when they were running, only to tie them up and whip them so they wouldn't run away from the people who thought they owned them. Your daughter should never have grown up in your household."

"She didn't, remember? I still do. The haunting songs you played on a flute... don't you remember my daughter walking into the sea? Don't you remember controlling her?" Veradine spat out, fury in her eye.

Jezebel twitched. It had been too long ago, and she shouldn't have done it, but she was young and wanted to hurt Veradine for everything Veradine had done. There were a lot of bloody, broken backs in those days when Jezebel lived in the British colonies. A lot of times, sneaking in under the cover of darkness with some herbs to help heal the whippings. Asking who had done it, learning of Veradine Stoker. Maybe Jezebel had been too harsh, but a daughter in Stoker's household would grow up to be just like Stoker.

"Yeah, I do," Jezebel said. "And maybe I wasn't right. But I was right to curse you with all the pain you ever dealt to other people."

"Funny that Davy Jones picked us up, one right after the other," Veradine whispered. "Never could get you alone. Then you vanished. But I've found you again, just by accident. Nothing between us. Maybe fortune does smile on me."

The whip came cracking down.

* * *

Veradine's body ached from the straps, her body sore, crushed and twisted underneath them, and her whip arm throbbed with pain, but for once, there was a spring in her step. Her whip was stained with blood; it didn't even take 20 strokes for the old witch that did this to her to die. She had been waiting a long, long time for that.

The Harpy was anchored off the coast of the island, on the other side of the port. Davy Jones' presence was feared everywhere, so Veradine wasn't going to risk her boat and crew by getting spotted by a warship. The women she took with her to land waited by a jolly boat pulled ashore, Jenny Ivory standing loyally and Gwen nearby, downcast.

Jenny took note of Veradine's chipper walk and asked, "Who was that old woman, anyways?"

The straps around Veradine's mouth fought against her as she smiled. "Ever want revenge?" she asked.

"Yes, but I'm not going to get it," Jenny Ivory said.

"I got it."

"Lucky you," Gwen said, looking into the bucket, "But part of me thinks that this is a wild goose chase."

Veradine's smile turned to a frown as she glared at Gwen.

"This dagger just points in random directions. It's meant to give us hope. Saltbeard is toying with us for his amusement. We'll run around like chickens, and when he's tired of us, he'll cut off our heads," Gwen rambled, her grip on the bucket loosening.

Veradine caught Gwen's chin and tilted it upwards, her malevolent gaze boring into the jelly-fish woman's eyes. "He wants Shella. We'll give him Shella. It's as simple as that."

The landing party began boarding the jolly boat. As they began to set off, Jenny realized aloud, "Didn't Ol' Saltbeard say that the dagger would point to where she's been?"

The party murmured themselves into a growing agreement. "Then we just need for her to stay still," Veradine said.

"Yeah, but for how long?" Jenny asked.

"We'll know when we find her."

* * *

Shella lay splayed across the bed, sunlight from the windows painted across her dark brown skin and cloth robe. The light was nice and warm, but it was only skin deep. Further down, where the light never reached, it was empty and listless.

The witch-eye incident replayed endlessly in her mind. It had to be broken, that was the only way she could explain it. But she had realized weeks ago that, while Davy Jones had made a deal with her, she hadn't paid with anything of hers. Her soul was intact from dealing with the devil, and she doubted that was intentional. If Davy Jones wanted an eternal slave, he would have taken possession of her soul. The only way he wouldn't was if he couldn't.

But it made no sense. What was she? It was a question she thought she was comfortable with. Souless... no thing at all, as that old witch had put it. Nothing, neither from heaven, hell, nor the earth itself.

No, no, that was wrong! It had to be simply that the witch-eye didn't function the way that Jezebel had described it. Shella told herself over and over again that that was what it was. Even if it was false, then why should Shella care if she had a soul? It was clear she didn't need one to function! Which made her... what? The start to the question, and there was no way she could think of to handle it. The only answer was something that Davy Jones wanted.

After they had left that small island, Shella had remained silent. She knew Lily kept the witch-eye; she saw her playing with it and sometimes looking through it. But not a night had gone by where they shared an embrace. For the past few nights, Lily no longer slept in the same bed as Shella, instead keeping to herself.

Shella didn't even want to save the crew of the Harpy now. If the witch-eye didn't work, then why bother? It was just a dead-end, she told herself. Yes, she had Lily back, and yes, she should return to undo her betrayal of the Harpy. Make everything right for someone else.

The door to the cabin creaked open and Lily walked in. She was so ghost-like, some times it felt like Shella was the only one who could see her. If they were spotted by another ship, would they even know Lily was on it?

"Whatcha want?" Shella asked.

Lily sat on the edge of the bed. In one hand she clutched the witch-eye, and in the other she grabbed Shella's hand. Her slender fingers made for a surprisingly strong grip, as if she was trying to anchor Shella. Her eyes pleaded with Shella, trying to drag her back to something.

Shella looked at their united hands, then into Shella's eyes. Pale, almost the same color as the blind, but caring and understanding. "Ye'd never lie t' me, right?" Shella asked.

Lily nodded, twisting her grip nervously.

"Then, why souls? Wha' is a soul? Do I have one? N' why is yours so bright?"

Lily paused, her grip slackening. Her eyes flicked away from Shella's, just for a tell-tale second. Long enough for Shella to see that she was debating between lying and remaining true.

Then, Lily pointed at Shella's heart and shook her head.

If it made a sound, it would've been like dropping a pebble down a well, listening to the clacks until they were swallowed up by darkness. Then, rage swelled up. Shella grabbed Lily's collar and demanded, "Then what am I?"

She didn't give Lily time to answer. She sat up and curled her hand into a fist, save that the thumb was on the inside. In a wild fury, she slammer her knuckles into the wooden wall. With a flood of pain, something broke in her thumb.

Lily covered up her gaping mouth in surprise. Shella ignored it and slammed her hand into the wall again. Another burst of pain, and she punched the wall again. Over and over until her pink blood was painted on the wall and her hand was a mess of broken joints and torn skin. She forced Lily to look at her mangled hands even as she felt it hum and twitch, bones knitting themselves back together and skin healing. The blood on the wall evaporated, as if it was never there in the first place. "What th' fuck am I?" Shella hissed.

Lily was left staring at Shella's hand until it healed back to normal. She shook her head; she didn't know.

Shella pushed Lily away in disgust and cradled her head in her hands. Defying Shella, Lily sat even closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Shella looked at Lily and asked, voice quivering, "Whassa point of a soul? If'n I don' have one, what does that make me? 'Cause I can't be somethin' wiffou a soul, righ'? We're in a world wi' witches and th' supernatural, 'n Jezebel say tha' the soul's th' thing? D'ya believe her?"

Lily began to shake her head, but came slowly around to nodding.

"Why?"

Slowly, Lily held up the witch-eye and tapped it.

"Don' give me none o' tha' shite!" Shella snapped as she slapped the witch-eye out of Lily's hand. Lily's eyes went wide in shock as the rock bounced off the opposite wall and skidded under the bed. "You just don' go puttin' yer faith in some rock, ya hear? S' gotta be somethin' more. No stupid stone, no stupid rules tha' nature or God gives it. Tell me tha'."

Lily hesitated, then shook her head.

"'Kay, now tell me. D'ya think I got a soul or not?"

Lily simply nodded.

Shella let it sink in, let the assurance flow through her. Everything was all right, everything was okay. Soul? Check. No need to go mad about it. Now she could focus on her goal - that of freeing the Harpy's crew. Shella scowled. Jezebel had given her the best idea of what was going on thus far, but she doubted that the witch-eye really worked. Not to mention that it was entirely possible that the old witch had lost it and was just spouting nonsense at them.

"'Kay... now d'ya think Jezebel knew what she was talkin' about when it came t' the cursed an' Davy Jones?" Shella asked.

Lily looked very unassured and gave an emphatic shrug that radiated 'I don't know'. She kneeled on the floor, looked under the bed, and fished out the witch-eye. She pointed at the witch-eye and shrugged.

"Oh, don' give me none o' that. It don't work." Shella flopped back down on the bed and covered her eyes.

Lily looked at the witch-eye and tossed it over her shoulder. She sat back down on the bed and took Shella's hands in her own, her eyes soulful. In her eyes, Shella could see what Lily was thinking. Loyalty. Devotion. Love. Whatever would happen, Lily would be there for her.

Lily bent over her, long pale hairs tickling and trailing around Shella's head like curtains to seal the world off. Silently, their lips met together, soft, perfectly aware of each other's touch. Meaning began to fill in, like sand pouring through a crack in the wall. Something that kept it special, a bit more than empty.

A leg on either side of Shella, her rump rising in the air, Lily kept her lips close to Shella's lips, on to Shella's lips. Pale, bloodless pink mingling with lively dark brown, something that shined mixing with something that didn't. They parted just enough, and Lily's tongue crept through. It tasted Shella's lips and Shella didn't stop it from creeping in between her lips. Lily's tongue met Shella's tongue as lips met lips again, a sensuous display meant to fish something from Shella's depths.

Shella found her lips opening wider, letting Lily's kiss become fuller and more desiring. Lily's tongue circled hers, taunting it to come out and play. A small heat was kindled in Shella's heart as she found herself mesmerized by Lily's mouth. Such gentle lips, such a clever tongue. It was simple passion. It was something to hold on to.

Lily slid one hand around Shella's back and cradled her head with the other. Her tender kisses remained, sometimes breaking for a sweet breath before delving back, her lips in love with Shella's. Lily, so shy and quiet around others, but never with Shella. She was comfortable with Shella, she wanted Shella, and knowing that was invigorating.

Her eyes closed, Shella responded to Lily's loving care alike. Her lips pressed to Lily's, to hug and caress. Her tongue found Lily's tongue and began a sensual dance. Her arms crept around Lily's body to keep her there, and Shella found herself aware of how Lily's body pressed against hers; Lily's meager breasts pushed themselves upon Shella's full breasts, their nipples hard and digging into Shella's tender skin.