SilentMusician202: Philip speaks English as a native language; so that effectively makes him Anglican; given that Irish remained the majority tongue of Ireland until the 19th Century or so; when it was displaced by English. Don't worry; the Irish will get some pretty strong love the next chapter. ;)

Shameless Commercial Plug: It would be a disgrace to all Seto Mermaids if you don't watch Seto no Hanayome (瀬戸の花嫁) (aka My Bride is a Mermaid!) because "Honor among thieves is honor under the Seas" in English and "Written as Chivalry it is read as Mermaid" in Japanese, a play on ninkyō (chivalry) and ningyo (mermaid). This show caused a multi-day delay in this chapter after I found it on Hulu.

Notice of Slowdown: I've tried to get these chapters out on a 9-10~ day schedule; but I have a trip to Florida coming up to see the final Space Shuttle launch that begins on 5 July and ends on 12 July. I'll try to get a shorter 1,500~ or so word chapter out before I leave; but no promises :-\

Chapter Three

Philip felt a sense of loss as he watched her gaze out to sea. "It's all you've known, isn't it?"

"Yes," she replied sadly. "I first swam these waters at birth, and all of my summers have been here; yet I can never again return."

"All your summers?" he said, realizing what that meant. "So your shoal doesn't live here year round."

"No. As the days shorten, the fish here grow too thin to support our shoal. So we journey north to Devil's Point Sound, where the waters still teem with fish. As the days lengthen, we return."

"If you follow the fish to eat, then what of the legends that say you feed on men and the threats by your brethren?" What of the looks the other mermaids had for me? Does that mean I will hunt the fairer sex?

"Legends are not always true," she replied with a wan smile. "But they have a kernel of truth within them. I wish I could tell you more, but we have until the night's tide to be far from here."

At this, Philip frowned. "It shouldn't be hard. We have these," he said with a motion towards their lower halves. "It should be easy to swim to another island."

"Banishment is never that simple. If you wish to live, you must swim several days beyond your shoal's holdings." She saw that he didn't quite understand yet and sighed. "Do you remember what I looked like from below when we were playing?"

"How you looked from below?" he said in confusion. "I remember the way you stood out against the sun from below…" He trailed off as he realized it. "A dark shape against the sun's rays." [1]

"Aye," she affirmed. "There are things in the sea which enjoy our flesh. When a shoal migrates, we rest at different times, so that there are always several dozen mermaids on watch against the creatures of the deep. Banishment forces you into unfamiliar waters without the protection of the shoal."

"I could watch while you slept," he offered before frowning. "No, that would never work. I couldn't stop a shark fast enough."

As he retreated into thought, she reached out to comfort him. He always put me first, even during the march.

"We stop here for water!" Blackbeard shouted after they'd passed a fast-running stream in the darkening light of sunset.

In the middle of the column, Philip Swift sighed and looked down at his charge. She appeared to be paler than she'd been earlier that day. Worriedly, he pressed his cheek against her forehead and was shocked by the clamminess of it.

He'd thought he'd been sweating furiously during the march from the way his vest stuck to his skin, but when compared to her, he'd barely been sweating. Her shirt was completely soaked through in sweat, and her head lolled drunkenly.

It took him only a moment to realize the problem. Of course! He thought. She's a creature of the sea; not used to sun or air. She needs water.

Cradling her close, he set out for the stream he could hear ahead of him. As he neared it, he saw several pirates kneeling down to refresh their water bottles. Several looked up at his arrival; their puzzled gazes quickly changing to lecherous ones as they noticed his burden.

Wading into the center of the stream, he began to lower her to the water when a tremendous blow knocked them both onto the bank of the stream.

"The creature will not touch water!" shouted the quartermaster, sword in his hand, blunt edge facing outwards.

"She'll die!"

"I have no desire to leave matters to chance." A voice said from their left. "The one-legged man draws ever nearer." With that, Blackbeard stepped over Phillip and undid a leather flask from his belt.

Tossing it to the ground in front of Philip, Blackbeard smiled. "Your ration of water. The creature shall get no ration."

Reaching out, Philip grabbed the flask. Opening it, he splashed water over Syrena's face. Her eyes began to flutter as she slowly regained consciousness. Once her eyes were open and gazing out blankly, Philip brought the nipple of the flask to her mouth and squeezed.

He watched as she drank down the warm water like a fish out of water. Which I suppose she is, he noted wryly. Suddenly, a sword pierced the flask, letting the remainder of the precious fluid drain out.

Angrily, he turned and saw that Blackbeard had done the deed. "That's quite enough water for the creature, missionary." Blackbeard stated. "We only need a tear from it. A weakened creature will fulfill that purpose just as well as a vigorous one." [2]

Chuckling, the pirate leader disappeared into the darkening gloom of the jungle, leaving behind a furious Philip. Before his anger could go any further, a tug on his arm interrupted his thoughts.

Looking down, he saw Syrena smiling weakly. "Thank you for the water," she said. "And thank you for the name. Do you have one?"

"Philip," he replied. "Philip Swift." [3]

"I have it!" Philip shouted. "The boats!"

Seeing the confusion on her face, he elaborated further. "The jollyboats that Blackbeard's crew used that night to try and trap you and your shoal. Including the one I sat in."

"What about them?"

"They should still be there!" he said with glee on his face. "Nobody's going to risk life or limb in that cove to recover a trifling jollyboat or two."

Syrena wasn't quite sure what to make of this idea. What good does a boat do for a mermaid?

"We can tow the boat during times of slack wind," he explained. "At night, we can sleep inside, avoiding the creatures of the deep!"

A smile broke her face as she realized the brilliance of the scheme. "We won't need to stop during the trip to forage for food, because we can carry it with us!"

With grins on their faces, they leapt off the rock pile.

As they traveled to the cove, they leapt over each other in clouds of spray. Their amusement lasted until they found the first body.

It floated on the surface, a pair of seagulls pecking away at its bloated flesh. Shooing away the birds, Philip swam closer to inspect it. Turning his head, he saw Syrena floating off to his right, a sad look on her face.

She's seen this before many times, no doubt.

The body was dressed not in the mixture of clothing styles preferred by pirates, but in the blue fineries of a Royal Navy officer. The eyes were gone, no doubt the work of the seagulls, but what unnerved him the most was how the man's throat had been torn out. It looked like a wild animal had done it, but the human-like teeth marks around the ragged cavity said otherwise.

"Your sisters."

"Yes."

As they swam closer to the cove, the bodies became more numerous, along with the amount of flotsam floating on the waves, until they couldn't swim a tail's length without bumping into one or the other.

The bodies all wore the uniform of His Majesty's Navy, from the highest officer to the lowliest seaman; adding to Philip's confusion. Then he remembered the proclamation he'd heard while in the Fountain.

"Edward Teach! For crimes committed on the high seas, by the authority granted to me by His Majesty the King, with a goodly amount of satisfaction, I hereby place you in the custody of the court, and declare you to be my prisoner."

"Pirate hunters," he said. "They must have arrived on the first day of the march."

"Just as my sisters' anger reached high tide over that night." She shuddered from head to tailfin. "None would have been spared."

As they explored the cove, they found three longboats drawn up on the beach, along with one floating upside down next to all the other flotsam in the cove. Two of the beached longboats were painted in crisp colors and well maintained. The other beached boat was in poor condition and heavily weather-beaten, along with the capsized one offshore.

"Stay here," Philip told her. "I'll go ashore since I know how to walk."

Swimming to the beach, he found it increasingly harder to make way as the water shallowed, until he lay on the wet sand of the beach, unable to go any further while the surf crashed over him. [4]

Grunting, he used his arms to slowly drag himself up the beach. After several minutes of exertion, he finally remembered his tail. Pushing against the sand with it, he thrashed his way uphill before collapsing in a trembling heap next to the closest boat. My new body is definitely more of sea than land.

He'd just about caught his breath when a great pain arose from his tail. Gasping, he cried out as he felt like thousands of glass shards were being driven into his flesh. Looking down through tear-soaked eyes, he watched as the scaly flesh of his tail quivered and then sloughed off, leaving in its wake a pair of bony legs.

He stared at his new (or old) legs for several more moments. Already, they seem awkward and inflexible. Amazing how fast you can get used to something like a tail.

Twitching his toes, he was about to stand when he noticed that instead of being covered with dark hair, his legs were now smooth and hairless. In the back of his mind, something shook loose and he checked his arms and chest.

Like his legs, they were now as smooth as a baby's bottom. Why hadn't I noticed that before? I guess it's one of the things you don't notice until you do. That's going to be a problem when we go ashore in the future.

Sighing, he stood up, wincing as daggers of pain shot through his legs. Along with the pain, a more familiar feeling returned – that of his privates swinging freely. I feel naked without my tail already. At that thought, he broke out in laughter.

Still chuckling, he inspected the boat next to him. Painted on the bow was the unknown ship's name – HMS Providence. Upon seeing the name, a great weight fell from his shoulders.

Even if he couldn't give all of these poor souls a Christian burial, he could make sure their souls were given a memorial mass. Their families could be notified through the Admiralty, rather than being left to wonder what had happened to their fathers, brothers, or sons.

As he continued to inspect the boat, he noticed it had a sailing rig stowed away neatly, along with a significant amount of canvas. We can let the wind do our swimming for us while we lie under the canvas, protected from the sun. [5]

Finding a coil of rope spread across the bottom of the boat, he pulled out several loops and walked over to the other Providence boat, wincing at the pain shooting through his legs. No wonder Syrena couldn't walk. I'm only managing it through experience.

The other boat was equipped like the first; the only difference being a slightly different sailing rig. Tying the two boats together, he returned to the first boat. Stepping into it, he began to deploy the sailing rig. Better to do it now with legs on dry land, than try to do it at sea with a tail.

It took some trial and error at first, but he soon had the rig almost ship-shape, drawing upon the knowledge he'd absorbed during his childhood at Kinnagoe, playing with fishermen's sons and going out to sea with them every so often.

A shout from the cove turned his head. Looking out, he saw Syrena floating in the water several dozen yards offshore, waving to him. He waved back and in return she lifted a large fish above her head. At that, he grinned. It takes one to catch one, indeed.

Suddenly, he remembered something. "Wait!" he shouted. Pulling a lead weight from the bottom of the boat, he tied it to another coil of rope and pulled out several loops of line. "When I throw this into the water, catch it!"

When she shouted back in reply, he swung the rope around and let it fly. As it arched through the air, he suddenly realized that she could see his privates from where she was. The embarrassment of that moment triggered another revelation in Philip's mind.

When Syrena swam, the water exposed her chest for all to see. [6] He'd overlooked that in all of his excitement over his new body; but now he felt shame welling up within as he remembered the glimpses he'd received of her womanly parts.

Lord, he prayed. Forgive me for partaking of that which is reserved for marriage.

Pausing to take one last look at the beach for anything of use, he noticed a tail sticking out from under a pile of wreckage. Walking over, he saw the decomposing corpse of a mermaid under a pile of driftwood. Chunks of the tail had been torn out by the scavengers of the beach. Even in death, the mermaid's face was still hauntingly beautiful, as was her brilliant red hair.

Sighing, he said a prayer for the poor soul. How many have died because of the fountain?

Getting the jollyboats into the water hadn't been that hard with the two of them working together.

While Syrena pulled on the rope in the water, he pushed first one, then the other down the beach, being careful to keep his legs out of the surf until it came time to push the last boat into the water. Even as the surf crashed over his feet, he kept pushing on the boat.

At first, the surf had felt refreshingly cool, as if his legs had been badly sunburned. Then the changes began and he collapsed. Unlike the transformation to legs, the change to a tail was rather pleasurable, as if he was pulling on a pair of well-worn shoes. It started with a pleasant warmth suffusing his legs; and an urge to pull them together, which he did.

Looking down, he saw his legs fuse together into a central mass, from which red-gold scales and various other fins sprouted. His toes elongated and flattened out into the now-familiar translucent scythe of a mer.

By the time the third wave splashed over him, it was over. Reaching out, he hung to the side of the jollyboat and let Syrena pull him and the boat into deeper waters, rather than fight the surf. Letting go of the boat, he swam over to her.

"There's a mermaid on the beach with red hair," he said. "Dead, unfortunately."

"Neri. She was always so proud of her hair. It was brilliant red like none other; and all the others envied her for it." [7]

"I'm sorry."

"She's finally earned her rest, after fifty years."

"Fifty years? She's not a day over twenty!" Will I age that way too? Will Syrena?

"Time affects us differently." Syrena replied. "For those who were Turned in life like you; or those born into it like I, we age like landfolk, albeit slower. For those who were Turned through death; they age almost not at all."

"That's why you're different," Philip said with recognition. "You were born into this form, unlike the others."

"Yes," she said with a touch of pride. "I promise to tell you everything…"

"…but we don't have the time," he finished. "We only need a few more items from the Providence, such as a compass and clothing; then we shall be on our way."

The Providence lay on the seabed in front of them; rigging fluttering in the currents. Around her lay heavier pieces of wreckage such as her nine pounder cannons. As the frigate rolled over, they had smashed through the gunports.

After a moment's pause to take in the strange sight, Philip swirled around to face Syrena, carefully avoiding her chest with his gaze. With a thin expression on his face, he squeezed her shoulder gently to both comfort her and gain her attention.

Pointing towards the stern of the wreck; he motioned with his head and soon they were off. As they closed with the wreck, details which had been hazy in the distance became clear. All along the lower hull were hundreds of marks, each one showing freshly exposed wood.

Swimming along the hull, Philip placed his hand over a grouping of marks. They lined up almost perfectly with his fingers, causing him to shudder. Even a frigate was no match for their anger and hatred.

At the stern, he found Syrena opening at a window. Squeezing in through the narrow opening, they found themselves inside the Captain's Quarters of the Providence.

The first thing he noticed was the apples. Scores of them lay on the deck, spilling forth from crates which had broken open during the sinking. The Captain certainly loved his apples.

Shaking his head, he joined Syrena in searching the room. What struck him the most about the room other than the apples was how bereft it was of any form of personal effects or memorabilia. Bare wood covered the walls and the furniture contained only that which was related to the ship's operation.

Several more minutes passed as they searched the wreckage of the Quarters, everything having shifted about rather haphazardly as the ship sank. The Captain's desk, among other things now lay on its side against a wall.

Searching the desk proved to be quite troublesome. Many of the drawers had become hopelessly jammed. Grasping a handle, he pulled. No result. Scowling, he tried again with the same result.

Over at the other end of the Cabin, Syrena noticed the problem Philip was having and swam over. With a smile on her face, she placed her hands over his while she pressed her tail against the desk. She then pushed back with her lower body.

As the drawer slowly slid free, Philip realized what he'd been doing wrong. He'd been pulling against the drawer as if he was still on dry land, expecting his weight to provide the leverage he needed. Underwater, you had to actively provide that leverage, even for mundane tasks.

A small wooden box was all that the drawer held. Opening it revealed a compass within. Instinctively, he reached out to place the compass into a pocket; only for his hand to find empty water. Strange how you never miss pockets until you really need them.

Exhaling water through his gills in an underwater sigh, he placed the compass back into the box and swam to the center of the room. As he placed the box on the deck, he noticed several crevices along a wall. Further investigation revealed that this was the chart rack where the ship's charts were held.

Pulling each chart out carefully and unrolling them [8], he checked for any sign of Whitecap Bay. It wasn't until the fifteenth chart that he found what he was looking for. The lettering was beginning to smudge, but it was still legible.

Now all we need is clothing. Spinning around, he saw that Syrena was already ahead of him. She'd found the chests for the Captain's personal clothes. Swimming up, he looked over her shoulder and saw that the chest was full of crisp uniform items. Even with the muted colors of underwater, the gold frills and white lace embroidery shone brightly.

Strange, he thought. There's no everyday clothing. Not even a battered oilskin to wear during storms at sea. [9] After Syrena began to pull out the fifth uniform in a row, he shook her arm and held up his hand to signify 'no'.

Taking the four sets of uniforms she'd pulled out, he placed them next to the chart and compass. Swimming back, he signaled towards the door at the other end of the cabin which opened onto the main deck of the Providence.

Opening the door, they were greeted by a drowned sailor entangled in ropes. Unlike the other corpses they'd seen, the only marks upon him were a pair of peculiar puncture wounds on his wrist. Beyond the corpse, they could see a tangled mass of rope and rigging that lay across the main deck, making it all but unswimmable.

Even if we can't drown; we could get tangled up in the rigging, and we'd lose time cutting ourselves free, thought Philip. Also, if that poor fellow is any indication, then the main deck will be full of corpses still in their hammocks.

He shuddered at that thought. No, we've seen enough.

The sun had sunk well towards the horizon and the sky was beginning to redden when they set sail. It hadn't taken that long to load their meager possessions into the lead jollyboat; but Syrena had insisted on gathering as much food as possible, from fish to seaweed.

Laying back, Philip twisted his tail around until it was in a more comfortable position in the boat. With his right hand on the tiller, he could feel the boat biting into the water as the sails caught the wind.

With these strong winds, they'd easily be far from Whitecap by the time the moon rose. If their luck held and the winds continued to blow southeasterly, the Bahamas were only a few days' sail ahead.

EDITORIAL NOTES:

[1] Sharks cruise pretty deep; and a lot of attacks on surfers are thought to be because the silhouette of a surfer paddling on their board mimics that of pinnipeds (seals/otters/etc). So what happens when they see a silhouette that combines cetacean characteristics with pinniped characteristics?

[2] I always felt that Syrena was already pretty out of it when she was put in the pool and tied up. Otherwise, she could have escaped or inflicted serious hurt once she touched the water.

[3] Someone on the IMDB message boards for POTC4 noticed that the relationship between Philip and Syrena was closer than what was shown on the screen. They pointed out that Philip is only called by that name once in the film – at the end by Syrena. Everyone else called him 'the priest' or 'the missionary'. This shows they got close enough to exchange names. This is my attempt at showing one such un-shown moment in their relationship.

There's also one other line that Syrena says – after she's tied up at the pool, she says to Blackbeard "All die, even you. Soon, I hear." So how'd she find out about the prophecy?

[4] I can speak from experience after an early morning swim on a New Jersey beach about 15 years ago. I spent almost ten minutes trying to swim ashore in the surf, and just as I was about to give up, I put my feet down, found that the water wasn't that deep; and rather sheepishly walked ashore.

[5] You can undertake surprisingly long voyages in a jolly boat – for example, Captain Bligh sailed 3,500 nautical miles in the Bounty's jollyboat after the famed mutiny.

[6] In order for Disney to get the PG-13 rating they were aiming for Splash back in 1984, they had to put tan-colored makeup onto Daryl Hannah's breasts and glue her hair onto her nipples for the underwater scenes.

[7] In the era of POTC, Red or blond hair is going to be very noticeable – since synthetic hair dyes are not yet available (and natural dyes will not be cheap enough to be affordable by the commoner).

[8] Paper in the 1700s was still made out of rags. It wasn't until the 1840s that wood pulp began to be used. Rag paper lasts longer and doesn't come apart as easily in water as wood paper.

[9] The more I think about it, the more that Barbossa was clearly enjoying himself in OST. I wonder if he got his fine uniforms at credit in London, promising to pay the debt off upon returning from his voyage :D