Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

At the speed they’d been traveling before they’d entered the fog,
that meant that in another two or three minutes, they’d have traveled a
mile. How wide was the expanse of fog they had to cross?
Jack watched the sails. The Wench had all plain sail set, and the
canvas was properly taut. There was wind blowing, the sails could feel
it, and were heeding its push, moving the ship forward. But he couldn’t
feel the wind on his face, nor on his hand when he held it up.
He glanced down at Chamba, who was watching him. Jack tried
to give the lad an encouraging smile. Chamba attempted to return it,
but it looked more like a grimace of terror. Jack wondered what the
former slave was seeing, and hearing. Worse things than he was,
probably.
The last of the sand ran through the glass. Chamba turned it over.
Lee Trafford glanced sideways at Jack. The captain tried to give
the helmsman a reassuring nod.
Hurry up, Jack begged his ship. Hurry up and end, he ordered
the illusion-fog.
He looked back at Ayisha, and suddenly saw her draw a deep
breath and relax.
And, just like that, the fog was gone. It was like snapping one’s
fingers. One moment there, all around them, the next, simply…gone.
Before them lay perfectly ordinary blue water, under a lovely
afternoon sky. In the distance, Jack could see the green of trees and
vegetation, the gray rock of cliffs, and white specks studding the side
of a tall hill. A low range of mountains appeared blue-gray from the
distance.
Jack heard Ayisha gasp, and saw her expression—the look of a
woman who was not sure whether to laugh or weep with joy. “Zerzura?”
he asked.
She nodded, speechless.
“It won’t take us long to sail into the harbor,” Jack said. “You
should go put on the clothes you made for your homecoming. And,
Ayisha?”
She glanced at him. “Don’t forget to take off your shawl. You want
your people to recognize you.”
Ayisha nodded, then she was gone, picking up her cotton skirts