Chapter Ten- Reborn

A/N: My grandma passed away last night and I'm a giant trainwreck. I wrote as much as I could for now. I'm just going to post this as a chapter. Next one will be escapism and silly Barbossa introduction. I'm hoping to have it out in the next few days, but we all know how good I am at deadlines. Let me know if you see any mistakes because I kinda didn't give a shit about revising this one before publishing. It was fun though.

I wanted to ask you guys, would you be interested in seeing the perspectives shift once they get on the ship? I'm reading Six of Crows right now and the writer shifts between different character's perspectives each chapter. I was thinking of messing with that a bit, as some of the OCs will not stay minor characters for much longer… and it'd be fun to get into Barbossa's head. I would probably do these perspective shifts in each chapter, as opposed to having each chapter be a different point of view. Let me know what you think.
DISCLAIMER: I don't think eighteen year olds are idiots. I just think Moira is. But we love a good idiot, righhht?

Moira stared at the trio listlessly, her brows knitted together in an attempt to discern their facial expressions. Her thoughts ran dry with her tears several hours prior, leaving her in a hollow haze. All that was left was an indiscriminate passage of time.
Thomas took a careful step into the room and his hand immediately flew over his nose. He bit back a wretch when the acrid stench of decay assaulted his nostrils. He set his oil lantern on a wall-hook near to the door before scanning the strange chamber. The locked room lay as barren as a wasteland, save for Moira and a small chamberpot in opposing corners. The graying, wooden floor was worn into disrepair and the oblong cobbled stone walls pressed in around them. Another dry gag escaped him and Thomas cleared his throat, trying to stave off the bile climbing up his esophagus. His gaze faltered when his eyes landed on the large, sticky pool of coagulated blood near the center of the room and again when he saw the stains in the corner Moira inhabited.
Moira stared off into the dark, her arms draped over her bare knees limply. Her awareness remained fractured, as if she were another entity peering down upon them.
"Lord have mercy on us." Thomas rasped, his voice tight as he went through the motions of the cross with his right hand.
"What is it?" Evelyn called from the hallway, her view slightly obscured by the doorway and his hulking form.
"Stay out there, lass."
An aggravated sound was the only response from her, although she did not advance into the room.
Thomas inched closer to Moira, like she was a cornered animal poised to attack at the next sign of a threat. She blinked at him blankly, hardly able to discern the details of his face. Moira watched him kneel in front of her and reach a hand out to stroke her cheek.
"What has he done t' ye?"
"He whipped me."
The words did not feel her own, her voice hoarse, monotone and disjointed. An infinitesimal bubble of emotion crept into her guts. Moira couldn't yet place it, finding it to be nothing but a strange sensation.
"Put this on, lass." He muttered, pulling off his frock-coat and dropping it into Moira's grasp. Moira mechanically pulled the coat over her shoulders, effectively covering her bare back and open wounds. Thomas gingerly clasped her wrist, slowly prying her away from the corner. He pivoted so his back was facing her and then guided her hands onto his shoulders. Moira automatically wrapped her arms over him and clung her legs to his waist as he stood. The pain in her body seemed far away now, like a memory whispered by someone else. She thought she'd feel relief when he stepped through the threshold of the door.
Instead, Moira felt nothing at all.

Silently, the group crept toward the West Wing servants entrance. Evelyn had a hand on Lady Alice's shoulder, pushing her to the front of the group with the barrel of the flintlock pressed into her neck. Thomas hulked after them, carrying Moira like she weighed nothing more than a small sack of potatoes. A nagging thought danced on the edge of Moira's consciousness, barely a perceptible whisper. She tried to catch it, tried her damndest to find her bearings but came up with nothing. No tears, no anger, no screams of joy. Moira couldn't force herself back into her body nor her mind, even though she knew she was being carried out of Magnus Manor. The servant's door swung open, with it came the burning light of morning. Moira screwed up her face against the cloud-shrouded sun, breathing in the fresh air.

"This way."
Alice guided them down an overgrown path behind the manor, stomping through tall ripples of grass and around debris of many storms passed. Moira elected to shove her face into the back of Thomas' shirt, trying to black out the eye-watering sky. Without much thought, she found herself clutching handfuls of his shirt like a lifeline. The musky scent of him slowly pulled her back down to earth, even more so with each step they took away from Magnus Manor. Evelyn and Thomas were here, in flesh and blood. That very fact proved to be comforting and soul-crushing all at once. A sudden jolt had Moira peering over Thomas' shoulder, trying to figure out why they stopped moving.
A grand oak loomed over the group, scraggly limbs stretching around them in its climb for the sun. It stood higher than any of the others in the grove, demanding the attention of every eye. Despite her blurred vision, Moira immediately recognized the oak to be the same tree Elsie whiled a sunny summer afternoon away with her young son and a secret lover. The image before her became more desolate in the mild winter day, the tree left stripped of its lively leaves. The ground was adorned with a patchwork of moss and dirt, globules of morning dew laying fresh upon the hues of sparse greenery. As her eyes began to adjust, her sights honed in on the jarring image that stopped the other three in their tracks. Freshly overturned dirt lay in a heap by Evelyn's feet, large enough to fit a person- large enough to be a grave. The brunette dropped to her knees, abandoning her hold of Alice for the earthen resting place beneath her. Her gun-wielding hand brushed lightly over the dirt at first, before desperation took hold and she began to claw at the ground. As delicately as he could, Thomas shrugged Moira off his back, taking two careful steps toward the hunched over woman.
"Evelyn."
He approached her carefully, squatting down beside her and laying a light hand on her shoulder. Evelyn made no noise, but halted her movement as if he had frozen her in time. An angry hiss left her before the Blackwood daughter whipped around, pointing her gun directly at Alice.
"How long?" She asked, grinding out each syllable through gritted teeth.
"I had to bide my time." Alice took a few careful steps back, although she retained an air of haughty contempt.
"How long has she been lying in the dirt like some diseased animal?!"
" It's been three days."
A wild scream bubbled from Evelyn's throat as she pulled the hammer back with her thumb.
"Don't!" Thomas boomed, reaching after Evelyn while she dodged him.
Simultaneously, Moira forced herself off the ground with an anguished scream, throwing her entire body weight into Alice. The crack of a gunshot sounded off as they toppled to the ground, lead-shot zooming just above their heads. Evelyn shoved her hand into an ammo pouch strapped to her waist, readying to load her pistol again, all the while dodging advances from her male companion. Alice bolted upright, incensed at the woman who nearly put a bullet in her skull. Thomas caught up to the enraged woman and ripped the pistol from her hand. Evelyn turned on the pale-haired man, fist colliding with his cheek. Thomas' head snapped to the left and her hands barraged his chest, a scream ripping from her throat. His arms clamped around her, effectively pinning her against him. Evelyn slapped at his chest again and again, wriggling in his grasp while she screamed:
"I hate you! I hate you!"
Evelyn let out a frustrated growl, followed quickly by a choked sob. Her palm hit his shoulder limply and her forehead fell against his chest, the fiery woman reduced to tears.
Moira lifted her head from her spot beside Lady Alice, who had gathered herself and stood beside Moira calmly. The young ward traced Lady Alice's face, searching for any semblance of fear and finding none. Instead, a resolute, stoic expression came over her and appeared to be having a difficult time biting her tongue. Moira's line of sight slowly trailed over to Evelyn and Thomas. Evelyn was in near hysterics, gripping Thomas' shirt tightly while his hand smoothed over her newly-cropped hair, the other keeping her pinned against him. Moira felt the bustling, chilled wind brush over her face and she closed her eyes, letting her head fall back in surrender. The image of golden hair shining in the sun entered her mind's eye, following Elsie's head as it tipped back in the same gesture many moons ago. Where had she gone?
'Momma?'
The shape of a child wrestled its way into the corner of her eye and Moira sat up straight, turning her head in the direction she knew he stood. Near-white blonde curls fell around his stormy gray-blue eyes, his pale brows knitted in confusion.
'Find my son.'
Moira opened her eyes again and found the place he once inhabited bare. Another helpless cry brought her back to the present moment, back to Charlotte's lifeless body beneath the shelter of an oak tree and to Evelyn's wild wails. All she could do was stare at the couple, before her eyes caught the form standing at the trunk of the tree. Elsie stood solemnly in front of the grave, staring down at what was the final resting place of the governess. Moira took a tense breath and the icy, fresh air seemed to enliven her. With each passing moment, a heaviness sunk deeper and deeper into her heart.
Eventually, the young ward forced herself to her feet, ambling over to the unearthed dirt. She let herself collapse to her knees, staring up at Elsie just a few paces away. Moira gave a nod of acknowledgement, no longer fearing the prickling in her spine she felt near the specter. Her hand reached beside her and touched the grave, scooping up a little pile of dirt and letting it fall between the cracks of her fingers. Moira closed her eyes and immediately saw Charlotte's soft chocolate gaze, warm and welcoming in a way that she'd never witness again.
Death was strange. It felt like nothing and everything all at once. The aftermath of losing someone left a hollowness in the pit of her, like she'd been emptied out by a sieve. Everything felt numb most of the time. Then, she'd find herself clutching her unraveling torso together, wracked in uncontrollable sobs without realizing how or why she got there. Death made her want to tear the walls down and build anew, but instead she sat chained between unfeeling and irrational agony. It had been akin to her mother abandoning her, perhaps taking her own life by drowning in the sea. But, those memories felt so far away it was barely there. She could barely feel the brush of the waves lapping at her toes nor the grief that wracked her at six years old.
' I wish it had been me instead of you.'
Moira thought for both of the women who left, her opposite hand clutching at her heart. It was hard to believe it was still there. She gulped, forcing away the jumbled emotions brewing within her. Moira was grateful that the tears did not take her this time. Peeling her eyes open, she blinked down at the grave and ground her teeth together.
One distinct sensation remained within her heart, a presence she clung to in order to bury the rest of her grief. Moira clenched her fists, her hands shaking and forearms flexed painfully with the intensity. The fire of her rage bloomed from her center and blossomed up her throat, into her face and arms. Her features turned frigid and pinched while she lost herself to the heat of anger. She didn't know how to express it, never learned how to let it out. Her whole life had been wrapped around Magnus and anger was not something she was allowed to express. Anger was dangerous, no matter who the owner of the emotion was. When it was Magnus lost in rage, he wielded it like a deadly blade. When she expressed it, it resulted in him backing her into a corner and screaming in her face. It resulted in Charlotte's bones snapping beneath the weight of his boot.
"I will make him atone for his sins." She ground out, her voice trembling with hatred. The words struck true, but Moira couldn't rationalize how or when he would fall.
The group remained under the shade of the oak, each one finding not a shed of mercy in the lifeless silence of the Cornish winter day.

No one breathed another word till near a half hour later, when Evelyn's tears were wept and her grief-stricken face was replaced with stony vengeance.
"My nephew has always been unable to manage his anger, but I never once thought he'd be a killer. I bided my time until he was gone, with every intent to bring his lordship to an end and free his ward." Alice spoke up, an expressionless, far-away stare lingering in her piercing black eyes. Moira tilted her head up at the Lady, blinking at her while she processed what the woman said. The ward swallowed, trying to calm her rage-filled tone before speaking:
"We need your help."
"Is that so?"
Moira pulled the oversized frock coat tighter around her, clenching her teeth when the fabric brushed over the open wounds on her back. The filleted flesh stretched excruciatingly as she stood, her legs trembling in threat of collapse.
" We have a ship to catch." Moira flicked a determined look at Lady Alice, her jaw tightening.
"We need official contracts of employment, signed and dated by Lord Magnus. We also need a quick passage to Falmouth."
Lady Alice scoffed and crossed her arms, giving Moira an incredulous sneer:
"You're either stupid or mad to think I'd do anything for you."
"Do you not understand the meaning of the word hostage, you daft ninny?" Evelyn seethed, turning her head from Thomas' shoulder to shoot an incandescent glare at Alice.
"Ah, the snot-nosed imp speaks again! God be bloody praised, I thought we'd sit here forever watching you cry."
"Say that again and I'll pull your innards out your arse!"
Lady Alice graced the brunette with a smarmy grin, raising one brow in a challenging manner. Evelyn made to get up with a glint of violence in her eyes, but Thomas pulled her against him, shushing her quietly.
"As much as I'd like t' see you pull the pompous wench inside out, ye need t' settle."
Evelyn sent a sharp flick of her eyes at Thomas and extracted herself from his arms, instead moving closer to her mother's grave. Thomas leaned on his hands and sighed, his jaw working when he glanced at the mound of earth again.
"You cannot honestly tell me you stood here with us just to explain yourself and part ways. I can offer you something."
Moira's words drew the attention of Lady Alice once more, her brow raising ever higher in her scrutiny.
"Offer something? What, are you going to try not to bleed on me?"
This woman was maddening, a completely different Magnus demon apart from Walter. He could kill with his hands and brute strength. Lady Alice could send someone into insanity with her words alone. 'Swallow down the rage. Don't let it out.'
"Tell me, Alice, what would you give to find Oliver Magnus?"
Moira knew it was a stretch to rope in the child, unsure whether Lady Alice would truly care enough about the boy to want to know his whereabouts. However, the shift in the woman's demeanor told Moira everything; she had her in the palm of her hand. Alice lifted her chin, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"How?"
"Magnus never got rid of anything. Some of Elsie's and Oliver's belongings still sit in this house. I believe we can find a trail leading to the boy. I'd search the world for him if it meant you'd help us."
"How can you ensure his return?"
"I can't. But I can ensure closure."
Alice seemed to weigh the options in her mind, her gaze flitting toward the oak tree. Moira watched as the phantom of Magnus' late wife snapped her head toward the Lady, eliciting a shiver from the woman who could not see her presence. Alice's thin brows knit together and she returned her gaze to Moira, a grimace pulling down the edges of her silver-tongued mouth.
"Why would you go to such lengths for the boy?"
"I said we need your help." Moira started, biting her lip and looking away in her next admittance: "And I feel rather attached to him. Elsie would want him found."
Attached wasn't quite the word for it. Moira felt an irrevocable draw to the boy, not only for their similarities but out of a self-designated duty to fulfill Elsie's final wish. It was not her fault that the family had been torn asunder, but it seemed she would be the only one with the freedom to make amends for at least the most innocent of the victims.
'Freedom. I never thought I would say that word and believe I truly had it.'
When Moira's emerald orbs turned to Alice again, she saw that the Lady's eyes softened and her arms dropped to her sides.
"Find solid proof and I'll help you. I wouldn't do a thing based on a whim of a naive girl."
Moira nodded curtly before turning to Thomas and Evelyn.
"Give me the gun."
"What?" Lady Alice hissed, her voice taking a shrill, aggrieved tone.
"I'll still be helping you, miss, but I've learned that words are not to be trusted. No matter how pretty they sound. You'll do what we need and you'll help me find a trace of Oliver, and then I won't put a bullet in your head."
Both Thomas and Evelyn looked clearly shell-shocked, although a satisfied sneer pulled at Evelyn's mouth. She flicked her dark brown orbs to Thomas, who let out a sigh and pulled the gun from the back of his trousers. Evelyn unhooked the ammo satchel from her waist and tossed it to Moira, who caught it before it tumbled to the ground. Thomas sent Evelyn a scornful glare and stood, flipping the gun easily so the handgrip was within reach. Moira snatched it quickly and loaded the flintlock with the help of Thomas, shaking and fumbling with inexperience. "I suggest we begin in his study."
Moira motioned toward the manor with her pistol hand and Lady Alice lifted her hands, stepping back when the muzzle fixed right on her.
The two women left Evelyn and Thomas by Charlotte's grave, giving the two a chance to grieve in privacy. Moira hobbled after Lady Alice, fighting off the blurring edges of her vision and the distinct trembling in her legs. Her marred flesh screamed against every jostle of her step, the pain nearly buckling her knees. Her heart and body felt as if it was torn to shreds, but no tears would come forth. Instead, Moira kept one arm wound over her waist, hoping that she could hold herself together long enough to finish the tasks they had at hand. God be damned if she were to stay another moment longer at the manor than she needed to. Moira would leave this wretched place, even if it meant killing to get away. Her eyes were trained on the back of Lady Alice's head, who was several strides ahead of her.
"Come along girl, I want this matter to be done with as much as you."
Moira clenched her teeth and pushed herself to move faster, contemptuous, narrowed orbs piercing through the back of Lady Alice's skull. If the Lady so much as hinted at deceit, Moira wouldn't hesitate.

The study was the messiest it had ever been in all Moira's years of staying in Magnus Manor. Empty fifths of whiskey and papers lay scattered on the mahogany desk and the rug-adorned floor. The hearth was cold and stained with soot, as if Magnus left the fire blazing and dirty during his time in there. Moira lifted a half empty bottle of whiskey from the desk and swilled the drink around at the bottom. Lady Alice watched in complete horror as Moira tested a swig and then downed the remainder of the spirit in a few gulps.
"What kind of soused strumpet did he take in?"
"Evidently the wrong one. Now, if you please."
The sharp, bitter tinge of alcohol did a hellish number on her throat, but Moira wouldn't have it any other way. Moira motioned her gun toward the seat across from the desk, indicating for Alice to sit. With a miffed huff, the Lady settled onto the wooden chair, while Moira ambled to the velvet chair at the head of the desk.
"I thought we had a list of things to accomplish."
Alice glowered at Moira, her arms crossed while she leaned against the back of the seat. The ward had to bite back a smirk, watching Alice completely powerless but equally as defiant reminded her much of a chided child.
"We do." Moira said evenly, swallowing the sore lump in her throat.
"So why are we sitting then?" Lady Alice gritted her teeth in frustration.
"What is the purpose of the locked room?"
"Do we really need to be wasting our time on this?"
Moira pulled the hammer back and pointed it at Lady Alice again. A small smirk came over Alice's face, a jarring display in the face of mortal threat.
"You don't know how to hold a gun, do you?"
The ward blinked, a frown pulling at her mouth.
"Shoot me, child. You'll break your wrist and miss your mark all in one go with the way you're holding it."
Moira sighed, feeling heat crawl to her cheeks and trying her damndest to force it away. With a frustrated huff, she put the gun on the desk gently, keeping her hand on it in case Lady Alice did something rash.
"Just answer the question."
"That room up there was- well- it was where Walter was sent as a child when he behaved badly."
Moira stiffened at his name, her brow creasing in distaste and anger. That name, it tasted sour on her tongue without her breathing a single syllable. She rolled her shoulders back, using the stinging welts and bruises as a distraction from her emotional state.
"Behaved badly?"
"He was always getting into trouble with his father. He was an odd sort. Quiet, but somehow always had his grubby hands in everything they shouldn't be."
"He likes to possess things."
"I guess you could call it possessiveness. I merely saw it as curiosity when I stayed with them. My brother thought otherwise and discouraged such behavior vehemently."
The dark-haired ward nodded, her eyes caught in a deadpan stare on Lady Alice. The cogs of her mind began to turn, slowly putting together the missing pieces in each tidbit of information she picked up on. Possessive. He had a knack for taking what wasn't his from a very young age.
"Can you tell me more about him and his father?"
"Why are you so keen on prying now?"
"I'm just trying to understand."
Lady Alice fixed her with a long, hard look. It seemed like she was taking in every detail of Moira, analyzing her with such a piercing stare that Moira fought not to shrink into her seat. Her fixed gaze reminded her briefly of a certain map-charter she had a business arrangement with. 'Hector Barbossa, that manipulative, intelligent bastard.' Why couldn't she bring herself to be scared of him after he held a gun to her head and alluded to wanting her, if nothing more than as a piece of flesh to warm his bed? 'Because I'm still an eighteen year old idiot.'
"My brother was a very effective Lord. St. Ives was well protected by him, so much so that it gave the town an opportunity to expand into what we see today. He was not so effective as a family man. He only wanted a child in order to continue his lineage and to keep lordship in the family. But, he was weak. Women love money and status, especially the peculiars you'd see roaming the streets at night. He'd take to the pleasure houses and seedier parts of town quite often. When young Walter caught wind of that, he began stealing little things from his father. Important papers, books cataloguing his business endeavors, even simple things like quills and blank parchment. He just kept plucking away at what he could, even though the child had no idea what a pleasure house really was. My brother accounted for most everything, as organized as he was, so he always knew when Walter took from him."
Moira glanced around the room, looking at the scattered papers and whiskey bottles littering what was once pristinely organized. The parallels between Magnus and his predecessor were distinct, each of them having a knack for organization and a possessive devil in their nature. She sat back and wondered if this room looked so out of sorts when his father held the title.
"That couldn't have come to any good."
"Of course not. It all came to a head when Katherine wound up heavy with child a second time 'round. He was hardly at home by then, even less so when it got closer and closer to delivery. His wife didn't make it, the child was born already dead and she took her mother with her. After that, the home grew bleak, very bleak. I ended up marrying and finding my own home in Falmouth. From that point on, I scarcely heard from my brother nor my nephew."
Moira found herself confused by her own emotional range. She chewed on her lip, brows still knit tightly together while she mulled over all Alice said. Just a few days ago, Walter's hardened exterior slipped minutely at the dinner table. Beard-splitting cad is what he called his father. In other words, a man who spent his time with prostitutes. For a moment, the seed of empathy for Magnus burrowed into her chest. The man had grown up hard, clinging to the love of a mother who would not see him through till adulthood. Then, she heard the sickening squelch of Magnus' blade sliding into Charlotte's abdomen. The face of a blonde, breath-starved woman who he claimed to love beneath his grasp etched its way into her mind. Finally, her own pain bloomed into recognition, the memories of what he'd done to her whittling away at her brain. Moira pushed away her empathy, squeezing her jaw tight at the harsh reality. He did not deserve her compassion. He was a murderer who took what never belonged to him. Given what she knew now, she realized:
"History repeats itself."

Moira pushed any other questions from her mind, instead focusing on the tasks that would bring the trio to salvation. Her desire to learn more and analyze the vile man she spent a little over a decade with would not distract her any longer. The two had cleaned the majority of the study, just enough to clear space for Alice to write out the contracts of employment. Moira kept the gun tucked into the frock coat's pocket.
"Have you done this before?"
"I used to help my father with the simpler documents. With a copy of Walter's signature, it should look official enough."
Moira filed through the papers strewn about, searching for the name of a man she could not wait to forget. Hatred, a word she nearly never used started its very own tune in her mind. With each turn of a page, Moira thought about how much she wanted to wrap her fingers around his throat. She wanted to make him taste the fire that threatened to burn her from the inside out. She wanted to hurt him for destroying her. Her throat clenched painfully and familiar tingles crawled up her face when Moira spotted his signature.
Lord Walter Magnus The Fifth.
Moira decided Devil would be a better title for him. She slipped the edge of the parchment into her fingers and held it out for Alice like it was some disgusting rag. A soft hiss escaped her as she moved, her back setting aflame from the simple movement. Lady Alice blinked up from where she was writing out the beginnings of the first contract and snatched the paper up, giving Moira a strange, indiscernible look.
"What's this contract for?"
"Employment on the ship called the H.M.S Serpentine. Thomas and Evelyn will start as deckhands. The map charter wants me to be his apprentice."
Lady Alice narrowed her eyes on Moira, before mumbling:
"Isn't the captain of this ship one of Walter's men?"
'That wretched name again.' Moira shivered and grimaced, nodding curtly in response. She watched as the Lady began writing, saw how she bit her lip in concentration as she connected the dots. Once she neared the end of the contract, she turned her shark-like gaze back to Moira and asked:
"What shall I name you then?"
Moira didn't even hesitate.
"Oliver Ward."

Lady Alice made quick work of the next two contracts, leaving Thomas' name the same and pausing only to ask for help on Evelyn's new alias. They both decided on the name: Rigel Blackwood. Her last name would not hold much merit to anyone, it was common enough in the European countries. She stacked the papers neatly after the ink dried and handed them to Moira. Moira folded them and tucked them away, retrieving her gun in the process.
"I really thought we were past this. You don't know how to shoot."
"We are." Moira muttered, setting the ammo pack down on the desk. She pulled her elbow in at the waist and fired off the gun with a grunt. The bullet pierced the trimming of the door way, splintering off chunks of wood. She hadn't thought much of it, other than to create some form of small wreckage in this hellhole of a manor and disarm the pistol at the same time. Lady Alice ducked, both hands flying over her head until she realized what happened.
"Are you insane!?"
"I hope so. It'd explain why I feel so strange."
Moira weighed the gun in her hand, catching a whiff of freshly burnt gunpowder. She liked the feel of the slick metal and smooth handle, even though she had no idea how to use any of it properly. Moira was quite certain even holding it the way she did that time around was wrong, unless her wrist was supposed to feel like it was about to fly off when she fired. She pocketed the pistol and returned her gaze to Lady Alice, who was merely shaking her head and trying to strangle the small laugh that was setting her mouth aquiver. Moira fashioned her own half-hearted smile:
"We have snooping to do."