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The sun beat down on the pirate island, hot and scorching. Elizabeth left the baby under the hastily put-together sailcloth canopy, Pintel attempting to interest him in a wooden replica of the H.M.S. Reliant, which they'd tangled with just a few weeks before. She headed east, already unbuttoning her shirt in eagerness to feel cool water against her sweating skin.
Good as it was to be the pirate king, Elizabeth had found it necessary to bathe alone, to guard against many different types of attack at what was essentially a vulnerable position. She had found a private place, a cradle of water on the south side of the island, protected from the pirate city by a tall forested rock, and from the sea by twin sentinels of stone, with the water kept fresh and moving by a cold stream of an underground river emptying into the ocean.
By the time she skipped over the last rock and arrived at the small enclosure, her shirt hung loose, and she tossed it aside, quickly undid her trousers and kicked off her boots, and in another moment had dived into the cool waters. It was heaven to wash the sweat off her back, and she wallowed, raking her fingers through her hair to wash off the grime.
There was a white crab standing in the shadow of a rock. Elizabeth had the strange feeling it was watching her. She dived into the sun-pierced green, swam around the enclosure under water, surfaced, and looked again. Tia Dalma was sitting on the rock where the crab had been.
She caught her breath, kicking in place, trying to slow her heart down. 'I thought it might be you,' she said.
Tia Dalma smiled, and Elizabeth was reminded that this was Calypso. Her teeth were still black, her locks grimy, but she had no need to conceal her nature, and her eyes glowed a slight demonic green in the shadow. She was also naked, her dark sleek body outlined against the rock. She slid into the water, and swam to Elizabeth.
'You love me,' said Calypso, in Tia Dalma's tones. 'I could feel it. I was waiting for you.'
'You kill the ones who love you,' said Elizabeth, swallowing, because she knew it was true. She loved the ocean, it's vast beauty and terror, and seeing Calypso in her full terrible glory had burnt a hole in her heart. She had figured it explained the queer excitement Tia Dalma's unfamiliar scent of herbs and decay, her smoky voice, and her neglected beauty had aroused in her, back in her cabin – the memory was still mixed with sorrow and guilt. She was terrified and aroused, all her long years of longing and her brief experience making no mistake of the feeling.
'Not always,' said Calypso, pressing her body against Elizabeth's under water, her legs twining around hers. 'And isn't it better, to die beside your love?'
'Choking and cold,' said Elizabeth savagely, even as Tia Dalma's hand moved onto her breast, caressing her nipple, and her parts constricted in desire. She could feel the water around them swirl as if by some gathering magic.
'Not in the very end, my dear,' said Calypso, smiling wide, and dived under the water.
Elizabeth's legs opened, pushed aside by Tia Dalma's (Calypso's) hands, then held by the pressure of water alone, it's force magnified, as if the sea had created tentacles of mass of its own matter. She did not sink – indeed she could not move. She saw Tia Dalma through the clear water, her dark lovely shape hovering between Elizabeth's legs, and then her soft mouth on her cunny. Water compressed and sped away between them, and the Goddess's mouth closed in on her, her lips over Elizabeth's pearl, and sucked.
Elizabeth gasped and jerked in the water, her body convulsing even as her legs were held in an unbreakable grip. The pleasure was almost painful. She felt something snake into her, hard enough to spread her open even as it seemed to mold itself into her body, a perfect fit for her cunny, and realized – almost laughing aloud at the incredibility of it – that she was being fucked by a member of water. Then the mass retreated and thrust back in, and Calypso's tongue described circles around her pearl, and Elizabeth lost the power of thought.
In an out, around and up, in ever speeding rhythm they moved, curling her toes, and all she could do was arch her back and plead for more, faster, now. She could hear the rush of the ocean in her ears, and the waves flowed into and over her body, till she felt made of light.
When she opened her eyes, still convulsing with pleasure, she noticed she was a good three feet under water, the golden shafts of sunlight dazzling in the water. Panicking, she scrambled for the surface, and as she did, the magic dissipated, and she could no longer breathe. She broke the surface gasping.
She was alone in the enclosure.
She gathered up her clothes and put them on, for lack of anything cleaner, wondering, while she dressed, why she had not been left with any message, any mark of what had passed. Weren't Goddesses supposed to leave messages, to let people know how best to worship them? Was there to be any point?
Perhaps Calypso was already worshipped the way she wanted to be, by death, superstition, fame – and this desperate adoration in the heart of every sailor.
She looked over at the expanse of water, visible from on top of the rock, and heard the waves crash into the rocks outside the enclosure. The tide was rising, and she needed to get back to her child, and to work.