Disclaimer: I'm not going to be funny just yet, seeing this is the first chapter and everything. Suffice to say I don't own anything here, except the creative process and the character of Squirrel. Everything else belongs to Disney, Bruckhemier, and Verbinski.
A/N: No AWE spoilers, just a bit of creative license with the characters and the events unfolding. Spoilers will not be in place for a while yet, but there's plenty of foreshadowing. (That has to be one of my most favourite words.) Also, if anyone has any better idea for the title of the story, I'm more than happy to change it. Thanks.
The night was dark outside. Candles flickered over the water, held by silent tearful faces. The wavering lights cast long, dancing shadows which hinted at danger, death, deception.
Inside, however, candles illuminated everything. The texture of the wood, the gleam of bottles hanging from the ceiling, the weave of hangings and clothing, the sheen of sweat on the men and women who stood silently, staring, unmoving, within the hut itself. The candlelight covered everything, but did not reveal all that was concealed.
A man in black stood before them, smiling a fearless smile. It was to him that the crew's faces were turned, faces which wore expressions of uncertainly, disbelief, fear, or perhaps even a combination of all three.
"Ah'm sure yah all know Kep-ten Barbossa," a dark-skinned woman purred, her lips parted in a smile of indigo-stained teeth. "So such a man need no introduction." The monkey on the captain's shoulder chirruped.
One of the fearful, disbelieving faces - a young man - turned to the dark-skinned woman. "This is the captain we are to follow?" He asked, his dark eyes frowning and wary. "This man?"
The man in black shifted his stance slightly. "I understand, Mr Turner, that our previous dealin's have been far from… pleasant." He turned his smile to all of those gathered. "None who stand here have any cause to trust me." One by one, every man - and one woman - shifted nervously under the captain's gaze, exchanging glances.
"But what choice do we have?"
Faces turned to a woman who leaned against the side wall. She was cradling her left hand - which was wrapped in a yellow cloth - and watching the spectacle with a detached expression and strangely glittering eyes.
"We need a captain," this woman said. She looked to the man in black. "I have heard the stories about you, sir. And - judging from the looks on everyone's faces - they're all true." The woman looked back to the young man who had spoken up before. The look in her eyes was laden with meaning. "But we need a captain." She looked back to Barbossa. "And therefore, we need to be able to trust our captain."
"Thankyou for that vote of confidence, my dear," Barbossa grinned slowly, then turned back to the assembled crewmen. "So. What say you? Can you take orders from me? Can you trust me?"
No-one moved. There was a long silence, filled only with the sound of candle flames. Then, the young man nodded.
"Yes," Will said, his eyes hard, briefly exchanging glances with the woman with the wounded hand. "But should you prove treacherous," he added to the man in black, "Then our trust will be withdrawn, and all that follows shall be on your own head. Mark me."
Barbossa smiled, though a little coldly. "I wouldn't expect anythin' else of you, Mr Turner." The monkey shifted place on Barbossa's shoulder, giving Will a strange little grin.
"What sey deh rest of you?" The dark-skinned sibyl - Tia Dalma - asked of the rest of the crew gathered. "Are ye still willin' to oonder-teke dis voyage, now dat you hev met your kep-ten?"
"Yes." The woman behind Will nodded, her voice husky from crying though her tears were gone. "Of course."
Barbossa made a small bow, the monkey on his shoulder mirroring the motion. "You're most kind, Miss Swann."
One by one, the other men in the room agreed. "Aye." Gibbs, Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton all nodded, though their expressions were still wary, fearful, disbelieving.
"And I." the woman leaning against the wall added, pushing herself to her feet and looking directly into Barbossa's eyes, bold and unafraid. Her deep brown eyes betrayed nothing.
The man in black looked up at the assembled crewmen and women. "Ye all have agreed t' this," Barbossa said, smiling a lop-sided and knowing smile, his ice-blue eyes narrowed with what might be misinterpreted as cunning. "Ye all have said y'were willin' to take this course. If ye ever feel th' need to turn back, I won't stop ye. And none here'll think less of ye."
Glances were exchanged. Elizabeth looked over her shoulder to Gibbs; Gibbs looked to Marty and Cotton; Pintel and Ragetti looked to each other, then to the rest of the crew; the crew likewise looked back at them. But Will and the wounded woman exchanged glances with each other alone.
"No," Will said, facing Barbossa boldly and answering for everyone. "None of us will turn back. We've decided."
Barbossa nodded, as though he knew that's the answer he would hear. "Good."
"Den it's settled." Tia's voice was soft and gentle. "You are boun' to deh ends of deh eart'. But tonight… Yeh all need t' rest. Dreams pos'-poned make for ter'ble night-meers."
"I don't see why I have to stay here tonight."
The young woman with the wounded hand stood at the balcony, looking out over the water. The crew were all dispersing, being led through the mangroves in coracles by dark-skinned, candle-bearing men and women. Elizabeth was taken alone one way, Barbossa another; Pintel and Ragetti seated together in one craft, and Will, Marty, Cotton, and Gibbs were being moved as a group in three separate boats. Slowly but surely, the tiny coracles vanished through the trees, pulled by silent, dark hands, through the swamp and into the night, to places of shelter where the crew could rest.
"You need your rest," Tia's voice was firm, but gentle. She was rifling in one of the many crates in her home, searching for something. "You are tired, you are sore…" Tia rose out of the crate, holding a small bottle of spices, and returned to the kitchen again. "And your han' needs attention."
"Then why isn't Miss Swann staying here?" The woman gripped the railing of the balcony tightly in her right hand, her knuckles white through the skin of her hand. "I would have thought it would be best for all the women to stay together."
"Elizabet', she need to be alone for to-night."
The woman snorted softly. "She's not the only one," she murmured to herself, a little darkly.
Tia tapped her foot, looking around the curtain that separated the private rooms of her home. "Come inside now, Miss Greeh. Come inside an' sit down."
Obediently, Squirrel turned away from the night, and came back into Tia's home, shutting the door behind her. She seated herself at Tia's table, and unwrapped her hand from the yellow cloth. She didn't blanch at the sight of her torn flesh, nor did she wince when she placed her hand in the already-bloody bowl of water on the table. She merely grit her teeth and breathed out hard.
Tia emerged from behind the curtain, a small dish in her hands. "Non, non," She clucked her tongue, "Teek it out of deh water, Miss Greeh. Is been in dere long enough."
With a carefully neutral face, Squirrel removed her hand from the bowl of water, and gingerly patted her bloody hand dry with the cloth.
Tia set down the dish she had brought out. "Eat, chil'," the sibyl dragged over a chair and sat on Squirrel's left. "Your friends tell me you've not eaten all deeh."
Squirrel was too tired to contradict the woman; she'd eaten breakfast, but only a handful of nuts for lunch. Still, considering, it wasn't enough. She might as well have eaten nothing. The smell of the ragout Tia had made was making Squirrel's stomach growl. With her left hand resting on the table, Squirrel manipulated the spoon with her right hand and ate ravenously, not minding the spices or the temperature of the meal.
Tia set the bowl of bloody water on the floor and pushed aside the collection of items that littered the table. She motioned for Squirrel to open her left hand, palm up - Squirrel did so, not even considering questioning Tia. She was too tired, too hungry, too sore, too heartbroken. She watched with half an eye as Tia procured a bobbin of bandages and a green lance of aloe. Tia examined Squirrel's palm and fingers, and made a noise in her throat. "What did you do to yerseelf, Miss Greeh?" She asked, with a sigh.
"I fought a Kraken," Squirrel shot back, taking another mouthful of the stew. "But, then, you knew that already."
Tia did not rise to the bait. "Dis migh' sting," Tia warned, cutting the green length of aloe open with her fingernail. Squirrel tensed her shoulders as she ate, but still watched, detachedly curious. The sibyl squeezed the aloe, and clear liquid oozed from the plant's wound. The juice of the aloe dripped into Squirrel's palm - Squirrel hissed in pain despite herself. Gently, Tia crushed the juice of the aloe all over Squirrel's torn hand, rubbing it in and spreading it with the length of aloe. Squirrel endured the pain with only miniscule grunts.
"How is deh ragout?" Tia asked, conversationally, trying to put Squirrel at ease. "Not too spicy for yoo?"
Squirrel found she was crushing the spoon in her hand. "No," she gritted out, forcing herself to hold the spoon more easily.
"Good," Tia said gently. "I'm glad you enjoy it. Deh catfish in it were brought in by a frien' of mine." There was none of her usual knowing purr in her voice tonight, just simple concern. But Squirrel was in no mood to be grateful.
"Catfish? What, not squid? And here I thought…"
"Don' snap at me, Miss Greeh." Tia looked under her eyelids at Squirrel. "I know you're angry, but I'm not deh one t' be tekkin' it out on." Her tone was sharp enough to drive Squirrel into a surly, almost-repentant silence. Tia set about unwinding the bandages, and then gently wrapped Squirrel's hand, slowly and easily, so as not to cause her any more pain. Slowly, Squirrel's fingers and palm were covered in soft white cloth. Squirrel watched, almost hypnotised by the movement of Tia's hands and the ease with which she moved. The voodoo witch's hands glowed brassy in the candlelight, and every movement was fluid and sure. So caught up in watching Tia, Squirrel didn't realise she'd finished the stew, or that Tia had finished wrapping Squirrel's hand. Squirrel just continued to stare, eyes unfocused on the present.
"You need sleep," Tia said gently, rousing Squirrel from her half-daze.
Squirrel nodded, eyelids heavy. Then she frowned. "I can't. I'm…"
"No." Tia interrupted. "Sleep now. Whatever you 'ave to say ken wait 'til mornin'." She rose to her feet, gently pulling Squirrel upright as well. The dark-skinned woman pushed aside a curtain, and gently led Squirrel through. In an alcove, surrounded by skins and cloths and bottles and other collected paraphernalia hanging from the ceiling and walls, lay a tiny pallet. Across the mattress was a soft woollen blanket.
"I 'ope is not too small fer you," Tia noted.
"It's fine," Squirrel murmured. With a full belly and her hand soothed and bandaged, the only thing her body wanted was rest. Sleep. Slowly, she staggered forward, climbing up onto the tiny bed, her left hand cradled to her stomach; she pulled the blanket around her, cold without her cloak. Unbalanced without the use of both hands, Squirrel's movements were clumsy, and she felt incomplete, and humiliated.
Tia stood in the entranceway, watching with something like saddened sympathy in her eyes as Squirrel settled herself. "I'd wish you sweet dreams," she said gently, "But I don' wan' to give you false 'ope."
Squirrel let out a long, long sigh. Tia's words had brought back what Squirrel had tried to push from her mind. Instead of answering Tia, she held up her bandaged hand. "How long until it's mended?" she asked wearily.
But the swamp woman just shook her head. "As' again in deh mornin'." She stepped back, letting the curtain fall into place. Her footsteps were soft and silent, but moved away, attending to other business.
Squirrel stared up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes in defeat and weariness. She let out another long sigh… and before the breath had fully left her lungs, she was asleep.
The Kraken's tentacles retreated, hissing and burning, leaving behind the trail of broken wood and blood and bodies of those brave sailors and pirates. Like snakes, the Kraken's arms slid away; they, like the sailors, were dead. They'd all been slain.
But while the arms were dead, the Kraken was not. It was angry. And it would not leave without exacting retribution.
A woman in a blue-grey cloak flew to the arms of a sad-eyed pirate, crying with relief that he'd returned to save them from the fate he'd seemingly abandoned them to. She cried, embracing the pirate, oblivious to the stares of the rest of the crew.
And to the nervous, guilty half-glances from the lady.
"Abandon ship," the pirate said, pulling out of the cloaked woman's arms. The crew moved to obey, but the woman stayed behind. She stayed with her captain, wanting to give him courage. There was an imprint on her arm - a clear patch amid a stretch of burns.
Had she failed? It was hard to tell. Surely, something in his eyes spoke of his spirits lifting, if not his ego inflating. The woman in grey turned away from their half-kiss, smiling. She moved to follow the pirate's orders, almost dancing despite the solemnity of the day.
The knight waited for her in the boat, his smile reassuring. His armour glinted in the sun, like the ripples of the ocean below. The cloaked woman laughed with him, climbing down, not needing his arms to steady her. But then both knight and cloaked woman looked back. And there was no more dancing.
On the deck, the events playing out like a horrible farce, were the lady and the pirate. Their kiss, strong and powerful and passionate, drove green daggers into the hearts of the knight and the cloaked woman, slaying them both.
The breaking of these two hearts was an audible thing; the heart of the knight and the heart of the cloaked woman, already fragile as eggs, cracked and shattered. There was a taste of blood in the air; the waters of hope were muddied and fouled.
The knight caught the cloaked woman as she fell - two broken hearts falling together, yet never reaching each other. They were too preoccupied with their own shards to worry about the others'. There was no reassurance here. Just pain. Silent, undignified pain. The knight's armour reflected the cloaked woman's silver amulet; their eyes met, mirroring each other, and their pain.
The snakes reared up once more, and took the pirate to his grave, dragging him and his ship to the bottom of the ocean. The ship and the pirate sank and sank and sank… Lost to the depths of the sea.
The crew mourned. The lady wept. The knight sat in stoic silence, masked. But the cloaked woman felt nothing.
There was nothing left to feel.
Deep below the surface of the ocean, a dolphin waited, watching the bobbing lifeboat darkly. With slow deliberate sweeps of its tail, it followed the tiny boat as it crossed the sea. Behind the dolphin, across the textured marble waves, a man with no heart cried futile vengeance to the uncaring skies. And the cloaked woman heard, and silently heeded him.
It was the dream Squirrel had had since childhood. The same basic features and events remained unchanged, though details changed each night, with each dreaming. Tonight, however, though the dream had never been so real, so tangible, so close to what had transpired only a few hours before, Squirrel found herself watching from a distance. Watching as the figures acted out their parts. As though it were all a quaint little play. Strange how, that despite the fact that sometimes the dream could be so frightening, or calming, or encouraging, it now seemed merely a faint amusement.
It was, after all, just a dream.
She rose, standing on the threshold of a home within the trees. Around her, fireflies droned silently by. By the light of the candles, the cloaked woman saw her face in a mirror, and watched as her eyes changed colour.
"Time to mek a choice," a dark-skinned sibyl whispered, throwing a handful of cards into the air, where they hung suspended, floating there.
"I know," the cloaked woman said, taking one of the cards. She examined it, detached and cool. The five of diamonds. With a cold smile, the cloaked woman threw the card to the floor, where it dug into the floorboards with a metallic thnk. "But where do I want to go?" She asked, wryly. "And what do I want?" The card slowly swivelled, like the arrow of a compass - it pointed south-east.
The sea was calling. And with it… her destiny.
With a final sigh, the cloaked woman breathed out, and the air rose in a column of bubbles. The bubbles rose, flying to the sea's surface, dancing through the rays of light which sliced through the deep ocean water. Rays of warm light, strong and golden, and slowly brightening. Soon, the darkness of the ocean faded away, leaving boards and bottles, animal skins and ropes of coins, and other unidentifiable objects. Sunlight was streaming through the boards of Tia's home, and Squirrel was lying on her back staring up at the ceiling.
After all, it was just a dream. And everyone wakes from dreams eventually.