Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.
A/N: This is old. It takes place after Curse of the Black Pearl, before the terrible sequels Dead Man's Chest and At World's End came into existence (yes, I found them terrible because they took away the magic of the first). This has been done in a lazy, inconsistent manner over the past two years, so I'm revisiting my work and editing bits here and there before I attempt to finish the latest chapter. Apologies to all readers and kind reviewers I let down.
Chapter 1: The Traitor
Raucous singing filled the air as the natives danced in the circle of light cast by the bonfire, their faces alight with unrestrained joy. Merrily the fire crackled on, stoked by the ocean breeze, its flames leaping into the air. Amongst the embers cast about the night sky, the moon hung high against a backdrop of deep blue velvet, its pale face mirrored in the calm waters below.
William 'Bootstrap Bill' Turner sat alone some distance away, leaning against a tree, a bottle of rum in one hand. The whispers of the wind and the sea came up close from afar, and Bill closed his eyes, listening to the spirited wind dancing through the leaves, the kind waves breaking in a quiet rhythm against the shore. Such beautiful, familiar sounds, yet always vague, muffled. So much was lingering there, at the horizon, just out of reach. But tonight it was different, somehow. Through a window and into a strange expanse of foggy darkness, Bill was seeking, remembering.
It had been so long. Ten years. More than that, even. Almost eleven, he would say, but he couldn't be sure. Wasn't easy to keep track of time when one was stuck on an island with no prospect of leaving it. But he had learnt, however reluctantly, to wander instead in the cane fields that were the island's wealth; day after day he would silently swing his machete at the thick, rich stalks of sugarcane, his back turned to the shoreline, resolute. Only under the cover of night would he allow himself to crawl back to the beach, sink down on the sand and soothe his feet in the cool water. It was the closest he could ever get to finding refuge, but each time he found himself by the ocean's edge, fierce passion and longing threatened to tear him apart.
Ah, but things had changed now. After ten long and arduous years, he was finally returning to her. A thrill swept through him as he recalled splendid days spent at sea, battling the most glorious storms with the rain pelting the deck and their backs, and riding great rolling waves alongside the dolphins as white foam streaked the waters. He never thought he would get to go back to that life. But the sea was a fickle mistress, dangerous and enchanting and unfathomable, drawing men to her with alluring promises of adventure and freedom. And he had to wonder if she would accept him again.
"Bootstrap!"
Glancing up at the call of his name, Bill was met with the sight of a beaming young lad scampering towards him. The boy's face was flushed from all that dancing and running around, and from the rum he had consumed. As he plopped down on the ground next to Bill, he raised one hand and tousled his own short auburn hair, making it messier than it had already been.
"What's with that, Kip?" asked Bill.
"What?" Kip's voice was even more chirpy than usual.
"That. You keep doing that thing with your hair."
"Oh, that." With a mischievous grin, Kip replied, "Why, to impress the ladies, of course. Don't you think it's charming?"
Bill chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Ain't no ladies to impress out here, lad."
"There used to be one, on the ship that I'd worked on."
The casual remark caught Bill by surprise. He had known Kip for several weeks already, since the day the boy had washed ashore with nothing but the soaked tatters of his clothes. Mostly Bill had been the one to take care of him, giving him food and water as well as work to do to help take his mind off things, and that had marked the beginning of their friendship. Yet, he now realized that Kip had never really told anyone about his past. Frowning, Bill asked, "Which ship did you belong to, then?"
"The Avenger."
It took some time for Bill to process that information. Then he gawked at Kip. "You're a bloody pirate?"
"Aye!" Kip seemed very pleased, and Bill thought the boy was rather drunk. The two fell into companionable silence, though it was not long before Kip piped up.
"You miss her, don't you?"
Bill gave him a questioning look.
"The sea," explained Kip. "I can tell from that look in your eyes. You want to go back to her."
In a low voice, Bill said, "The sea calls to me, lad. Could never stay away from her for longer than a month or two." He sighed. "Not even for love."
"Do you…" Kip hesitated some before he went on. "D'you have family out there?"
"You're a sharp one, Kip." Sighing again, Bill took another gulp of rum before saying, "I might still have a son, I think. At least, I very much hope so."
Kip said nothing more. Silence fell between them once more as they stared out to sea, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Suddenly a little white dot appeared on the horizon, steadily growing larger and brighter. Kip perked up, watching the ship as it neared. As the crew scurried around on deck, their moving lamps eventually caused the dot to split into several tiny flickering spots of light… until they formed a straight line.
The signal.
Kip immediately felt all his senses go on full alert. Straightening himself, he turned to Bill, ready to say something, his mind racing to come up with any sort of excuse for leaving. But before he had any chance to do so, the older man spoke.
"Why don't you go get them on duty some drinks?"
It was more of a statement than a question. Kip understood the man's implicit request for some time alone. He merely nodded and rose, heading back towards the area near the bonfire where, hopefully, there were still some bottles of rum left for those unfortunate enough to be on guard duty and had to miss the celebration.
In the very heart of the plantation, amidst rows and rows of sugar canes, there stood a stone pedestal which had been there for as long as anyone could remember. On it was an idol, made entirely out of coconut husk, dried leaves and twine, in the rough shape of a monkey's skull. It was small and round and furry, much like the handmade toy of a child. Yet it was heavily guarded by the natives, day and night, unchanging for years, for it was said that once the idol was removed from the pedestal, disaster would befall the inhabitants of that island. Indeed, it was difficult to imagine that the idol held such power, and to some, the idea of having people protect it constantly was almost laughable. It was this that had led to the argument which was taking place while others were celebrating their success in rum trade that night.
"Why are we protecting the stupid dried coconut?"
"You know the legend too. This is our duty."
"But I want to drink rum!"
"Don't be an idiot! This is much more important than rum."
"But I want rum!"
"Be silent! And the coconut is not stupid."
There was a rustle, a soft "Oof!" and a clank of glass as someone tripped and fell onto the soft ground, cursing. The mysterious intruder was revealed to be Kip, who picked himself and the rum bottles up, still swearing fervently under his breath. He looked up at the two natives on duty, who simply stared back, apparently impressed with the way he had involved the use of more than one language in venting his annoyance.
"Uh… drinks, anyone?" Kip felt rather awkward holding out the bottles of rum to two people who seemed as though they had just seen elephants do cartwheels in front of them.
The man who had been defending the coconut responded first, accepting the rum with a grateful smile. Upon spotting the rum, his partner did the same.
Kip plopped himself down, leaning against the stone pedestal and taking sips of the drink instead of large gulps, unlike his companions. It was not long before both guards passed out.
Smiling grimly, Kip got to work.
The party was almost over by the time Bill realized Kip was taking an unusually long time to return. With a curious mind, he headed for the center of the plantation.
When he reached the pedestal, he found two guards lying dead drunk on the ground, one snoring loudly in his sleep. There was no sign of Kip.
"Kip!" shouted Bill, his eyes sweeping the area. His gaze fell on the pedestal.
The idol had vanished.
Bill stumbled a second time and decided to slow down when he suddenly spotted the natives' chief, who was sitting with one arm on his knee and looking extremely satisfied. As he approached the chief, he wondered how best to break the news of the missing idol to him.
"Hello, Bootstrap," Chief Cheeto greeted him with a smile. However, when he took in the grave expression on Bill's face, he turned sober. "What is wrong?"
"The idol," replied Bill, his tone serious. "It's gone."
He watched the chief's warm grey eyes darken, his lips forming into a thin line. The man stood up and whispered some instructions to one of the natives nearby, who hurried off.
"Chief…"
"The people have a right to know."
It took quite a while to gather all the natives around the pedestal.
Chief Cheeto stood before them, his intense gaze settling on the face of each individual present. He opened his mouth, about to address the issue at hand.
A sudden explosion of white light seemed to burst out of nowhere, blinding everyone. Heads turned in all directions, some inclined towards the sky, as the baffled natives searched wildly for the source of the brightness. Until a voice boomed, loud, clear, and coldly disappointed, "You have lost the idol.
"The people are divided. Each day we witness conflicts and disputes, fights and struggles. What faith you once had in us is now gone. We can protect you no longer."
A second voice spoke. This time round it was female, and gentler than the previous one.
"But all is not lost. There is one amongst you who is in our debt. It is he who must retrieve the lost idol. You must come together as one, and restore the connection between us and your world."
The first voice was back, delivering a final, ominous statement.
"And now, it begins."
The light slowly faded away, and Bill assumed the voices had gone as well, leaving them in almost complete darkness once more, with only the faint glow of the moon still upon them.
TBC