Crouched over her tokens she whispered the incantations with ever more rapid desperation. Barbossa has not managed this well and the tossing of the ship was making it hard to see beyond the walls of place and time. She hissed another incantation seeing Witty Jack in her mind's eye, alone and tortured on the unforgiving white sands, her last hope unravelling under the sun of Davy Jones malevolence.
The boat rocked wildly and she scattered the tokens, despair taking hold as her hated human eyes saw their pattern wrecked by the bucking of the deck, her last desperate attempt to hold the threads together thwarted as her words were stolen away by the roar of the edge. As they fell she knew the game, and the world, was lost.
She saw him on the horizon, him and the Pearl, the black outline of the ship stark against the sand and sky, the trinkets in his hair flashing in the relentless sun. Around him her familiars were caught, petrified in stone, and she could not free them to carry him and the ship away. He could not see them, any more than the bickering straggle of lost souls around her could see him. Tia Dalma finally despaired; she was truly alone and there was no escaping from this prison at all.
Yet in one thing she was wrong, for he did see them. For a moment the parts still remaining came together and Jack was nearly himself again, and he looked up towards the horizon and saw them, a straggle of people he half recognised wending their way aimlessly across the sands. He watched them for a moment debating their possible destination. Then the moment passed and he was hurrying down the deck to berate the miserable soft-eyed wretch who was miss-tying a tack line, and all thought and memory of them was gone.