Prologue

“Dead men tell no tales.”

That was the warning pirates offered those who braved the seas. But one man seemed to defy that rule with great regularity. Captain Jack Sparrow had been left for dead more times than he could remember. He had been stranded on deserted islands, sentenced to eternity in Davy Jones’s Locker, and sucked beneath the surface of the ocean by the bloodthirsty Kraken. Each time he was doomed, with no chance of survival. Yet, somehow, he always managed to return to the living with stories of great adventure.

So, sometimes, dead men—or at least men who were supposed to be dead—did tell tales.

But none could equal this particular tale—the one told by a Spanish sailor who was lost at sea for nearly two hundred years. He was pulled from the ocean by a fisherman as the last moments of sunset cast a faint orange glow across the dark waters of the Atlantic ...

CREE-YAK! Wailed the winch as the fisherman turned the crank that lifted his net from the sea. CREE-YAK! Against the darkening sky he could faintly make out a shape; something was trapped in the net. CREE-YAK! He continued to turn the crank and study the shape until his worst fears were realized. CREE-YAK! There among the fish trying to escape was the body of an ancient sailor.

“Captain!” called the fisherman. “Captain!”

The captain arrived just as the sailor’s lifeless body spilled out onto the deck.

Both said a quick prayer as they looked down on the poor lost soul. The old man’s clothes were tattered and torn; twisting strands of seaweed were wrapped around his arms and legs; and water poured from his long white beard. Remarkably, a book remained securely wedged between his chest and arm. When the captain reached down to get it, the most amazing thing happened.

The ancient sailor opened his eyes.

Although he could barely whisper a few halting words at a time, the sailor told them what turned out to be an incredible story, a story, he insisted, that the king needed to hear. They agreed, sailed straight for the royal city of Cadiz, and took the old man to the palace. Because the sailor was too weak to walk, they had to carry him in a worn canvas sail.

King Ferdinand was the opposite of the ancient man who lay dying on the floor of the palace. The old and feeble sailor was undoubtedly of humble origins, his greatest achievement his service to the crown. Ferdinand, however, was young and privileged, said to be divinely chosen by God to lead the Spanish people. And now, through the words of this man, Ferdinand thought he might be able to achieve what his forefathers only dreamed of—immortality. He studied the sailor, who barely clung to life as he strained to take shallow breaths while still managing to keep a tight grip on his book.

The captain of the fishing boat spoke first. “We believe he’s found ...”

The king held up his hand to silence him. He wanted to hear it from the sailor himself. He kneeled down next to the ancient man, who struggled to open his eyes.

With a wheeze that seemed to drain all his energy, the sailor said, “Ponce de León .”

King Ferdinand nodded and looked over his shoulder at a mysterious man whose skin had been darkened by a lifetime spent sailing the seas. They shared a knowing look, and then the king turned back to the ancient sailor. He took the book from the sailor’s tight grasp and saw that it was an old ship’s log from the Santiago . The king began to carefully turn the pages.

“He says he’s found Ponce de León’s ship,” the captain explained.

“Or sailed on it,” the fisherman added.

“No,” the captain snapped, not wanting to sound ridiculous in front of the king. “I told you Ponce de León died two hundred years ago.”

“But he died searching for something,” the fisherman responded, not backing down.

King Ferdinand nodded. He knew exactly what Ponce de León had searched for centuries earlier. And here in the ship’s log he saw a symbol that could mean only one thing.

“The Fountain of Youth,” Ferdinand said.

His mission complete, the sailor flashed a faint smile and spent his final breath, easing into a death that had long awaited him.

The king stood and turned to the mysterious man.

“How soon can you sail?” he asked as he handed him the old ship’s log.

The mysterious man did not hesitate to answer.

“With the tide.”