Cat Name: Crest
Gender: male
Rank: head councillor
Clan: salted stone
Age: 6 years
Prompt: [10,156 words]
- The name Crest was one well known to the cats of the city of salted stone. He sat in his place as head councillor, and had done so seemingly from the very foundation of the city- ruling and guiding, helping the fledgeling civilization find its footing on the crumbling cliffs where it resided.
But it had not always been so. Despite his illustrious position in the present- Crest’s beginnings were humble ones. That was part of what made him so beloved and popular among those who he presided over- though the exact details of his origins and rise to power were shrouded in mystery, and distorted by the tall tales of many years’ worth of excited storytellers.
Let them spin their fables, Crest has decided long ago. If it kept him in their favor, so long as the positive tales outnumbered the negative rumors, he would allow it. Besides- exaggerated though the stories might have become after so many years, at the very least… they amused him, from time to time. That was another stroke in his favor- let it be known that Crest was a cat of good humor. When it came time to get down to business, he would do so unhesitatingly. But in times of peace, he was as approachable and kindhearted as any of other cat in all the city.
Though his mannerisms are generally fairly friendly, and he has a reputation for fair dealings, there is one area in which Crest notably lacks patience and toleration- that is, pirates. He cannot stand the whole profession, if one can even call if that. Many suspect some kind of personal grudge as the source of his ill will- particularly with regards to the scar over his right eye. But that is one detail the stories are all notably vague on- some speculate about the reasoning behind his hatred, often in connection with that mysterious wound, but whereas a tall tale might be said to contain a grain of truth, no matter how small- this is one story that nobody knows, and that Crest is mysteriously unwilling to diverge.
- - - - -
Crest’s beginning were indeed humble- but he was born far, far away from the site that would become the city of salted stone. That city, the burgeoning metropolis he would found, was barely even a thought when Crest was born, on a lovely island far to the south, where it always seemed to be summer and the waves were always fair. He was named for those waves- as soon as his eyes opened, his mother exclaimed that they were precisely the same shade as the gentle waves that lapped at the coasts of their island home. And thus he was named, for the ocean he grew up around.
Crest’s early life was charmed- he belonged to a small but vibrant community of coastal cats, diligently cultivating and caring for the lands of their island home and making a living by fishing and trading goods with ships that sailed past. From a young age, Crest was fascinated by the ships that passed, wondering what it would be like to board one, to sail along, to work alongside the crew and navigate to new horizons. In his mind it would be similar to the community he grew up in, a carefully and precisely run system of things, with a core of caring community at the center of it all. It was a dream he cherished, and hoped to achieve someday- but in the meantime he worked diligently alongside his parents and neighbors on their little farm, on the little patch of paradise that was their island home. Though it was a small place, and though he yearned sometimes for more and greater things, it was a good place to grow up.
His chance to fulfill that dream came in an unexpected way. Their ports were frequented by merchant ships, looking to trade necessities they couldn’t obtain on their island for the fresh goods and vegetables produced by Crest’s farming community.
On occasion there were those looking for extra hands to help- their offers of hire were always, always tempting to the young dreamer, but his responsibility to his family and farm always held him back. Still, the knowledge that he could easily accept one such offer and hop on board was tantalizing to Crest, picking and prodding at the part of him that hoped for adventure. But it remained a silly daydream, wholly hypothetical, nothing more. Nothing more than that.
Until the season of the famine.
Their community was used to seasons of fertile growing, routinely producing enough for themselves and their families to eat well, and more to trade with merchants with besides. But in Crest’s young adulthood, a season of scarcity struck unlike anything he had seen before. Even the village elders were perplexed and frightened by this- besides not being able to meet their usual margin of profit, even the ability to feed their own families was called into question. Panic gripped the community, and for the first time Creat’s idyllic understanding of his community was shaken- seeing for the first time short tempers and angry exchanges like he had never witnessed prior. The harmony of the community was upset, and tempers were fraught, due to the fear of the unknown and the pressure of maintaining what little poor harvests they could as best they can. The merchant ships that appeared in the early harvest season turned away, disappointed in the lack of goods to be found, and afraid both for their own livelihoods and that of the island they had so fondly visited for years.
Crest found his dreams of adventure morphing, growing and shifting into something else entirely- not simply a desire to see new things before returning to his beloved home. No, in the face of this fearful desperation, he found himself more than anything else wanting to escape. The shores he had walked so fondly, the cheerful waves he had been named for- now he found them stifling, a boundary trapping himself and his family and his neighbors in their own little bubble of paradise. But this was no paradise, the disillusioned youth felt- surely this beautiful island had become a sort of purgatory. He was trapped, trapped, trapped- and he wanted out.
The breaking point came one night at dinner- his father, his mother, and him, huddled around a meager serving of food in their home, looking despondently at the small yield of their crops and thinking worriedly about the inevitably greater hardships that were to follow.
It was a careless remark- slipped out, from a youthful mouth who had been lost in indulgent daydreams all day, and didn’t register the impact or callousness of his words.
“Is this all there is?” Crest asked, wrinkling his nose in disappointment at the small servings of food. “We’ll go hungry at this rate.”
His parents, worried to the breaking point over their ability to provide for themselves and their son, lashed out at this.
“How dare you?” Shouted his father. “You have no idea what starvation looks like. This is only the beginning- you ought to be thankful for what you have now, because things are only going to get worse.”
“We’re working as hard as we can,” his mother despaired. “You, your father, me- all of us are trying. I don’t want to hear you say that this isn’t enough. Many of our neighbors have larger families and are already suffering more.”
“If you don’t want your dinner,” his father snarled, “if it’s so displeasing to you- then don’t eat it. I’ll give it to our neighbors if you’re going to be so ungrateful- certainly they would appreciate it more than you will.”
In his heart of hearts, Creat knew they did not mean it- that his father would likely partition a small serving of his own meal out for his son, that these were words blurted out due to stress that would be instantly regretted and taken back. But before his parents even had the time to look guilty, his own temper snapped in return.
“Fine!” He shouted. “See if I care!”
And he was gone, streaking out the door and into the night, running past huts with fearful families beginning to taste the first dregs of starvation, past fields that were not growing well enough, past the landmarks he had known and loved and grown up around, past the surf he had been named for- and finally he found himself on the docks, his paws thudding against wood, his heart pounding wildly, eyes casting wildly about. He had never wanted to escape so badly.
And there, through the haze of his angry tears and grumbling stomach and desperate wanderer’s heart- there was his salvation, a ship who had stopped by in the vain hopes of conducting trade. There was still a bustle of cats on the dock, preparing to shove off again, and without even thinking about it Crest was moving again, paws pounding harder on the wood of the docks as he pelted toward them.
“Need a hand?” He asked, gasping for air. The strange cats eyed this youth with his ruffled fur and desperate eyes skeptically, unsure what to make of him.
“What’s in it for you?” One of them asked. Tall, authoritative- and none too kindly in the face of Crest’s desperate expression.
“Passage,” Crest panted. “Off this island. Anywhere. I’ll work as hard as you need me to- just take me away from here, please.”
The raw edge in his words, bordering on a sob, caught their attention- the assembled cats shuffled nervously, their gazes a bit more sympathetic now, but still uncertain.
“That’s a decision for the captain,” one of them ventured. “We can’t just take on a new crewhand without notifying him.”
“I’m a strong worker,” Crest insisted. “Born and raised here, in the fields. I’ve had to work for everything I have.”
A sharp laugh from above sounded, and the assembled crew cats’ gazes jolted upward. A tall figure, brimming with authority, leaned over the rail, gleaming eyes fixed upon the group below.
“You’ll have to work harder still, if you’re going to make it on my ship,” he laughed.
“Captain!” One of the cats gasped. “He’s just a kid, surely-“
“Surely you wouldn’t have me turn away an eager help?” The captain drawled, fixing his eyes appraisingly on Crest, who tried to look as capable and not close to tears as possible. “He’s positively begging to help you with those jobs you was all complaining about earlier. I see no reason to deny it. At least, seeing him acquire sea legs oughta be entertaining for us all.”
A silence fell, during which the crowd silently parted, creating a way for Crest to walk through. He started forward, uncertain, ears laying back in apprehension mixed with excitement.
“Welcome aboard, sonny,” the captain yowled.
Crest’s dream was being fulfilled- he was sailing away, just as he’d always hoped. He was escaping, he was out, he was free. But he felt a shiver of fear as he ascended the plank- and something awfully like homesickness, even if the ship hadn’t even departed yet.
The accommodations were uncomfortable tos au the least- to say nothing of the food, the stale hardtack biscuit he was offered. His stomach churned at the memory, thinking forlornly of the meal he had scorned at his parents’ house. Stars above- his parents. His stomach churned still harder as he imagined what they would think. They would wake up in the morning to find that he still hadn’t returned in the night- unless someone had seen him running to the docks or overheard his conversation with the crew on the docks, everyone would think he had simply vanished. His heart leapt painfully in his chest, and his grand dreams suddenly felt selfish and naive. How could he leave his family and community in the wake of their greatest crisis yet? He was a strong worker, just as he’d said to the crew- he should be using that strength to help his parents farm, he thought with a lump in his throat. The work would be that much harder for them with him gone away. In that moment- he hated himself, a little bit.
“You okay, kid?” A voice sounded. Crest hurriedly wiped away any trace of tears and turned to face the cat- one of his new crewmates, eyeing him with faint concern. Where the strangers had seemed forbidding in the shadows of the docks, her face in the warm lantern light looked a lot more sympathetic.
“I- yeah,” he said, hunching his shoulders. “Just a little seasick.” That much was true- he was feeling a bit queasy, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the churning of the ship on the waves, or from the sickening guilt that seemed to have curled in the pit of his stomach.
“You’re lying,” the stranger said bluntly. Crest startled, looking at her with wide eyes.
“Nobody is okay after leaving their home for the first time,” she went on to explain. “It’s a hard thing- especially if done in the heat of anger, without goodbyes, as I suspect you might have done.”
Crest stiffened, hot tears welling up again.
“Hey, hey,” the other cat said, resting her tail comfortingly on his shoulder. “It’s awful right now, I know. But it’ll get easier. The crew can seem a bit scary, but they ain’t so bad. Before you know it, the sea will become your new home. It’s a different kinda life for sure, but it’s a good one. I only hope you’ll stick around instead of turning tail first chance you get.”
Crest nodded through his tears- still hurt, but determined to see it through, to stick it out and see if anything in his childish dreams was worthwhile. Besides, he told himself, attempting to justify things in his head- his parents were good workers too, and with one less mouth to feed they might scrape by a little better. He’d always been a bit of a big eater, after all. They’d told him so many times, with fondness in their eyes. His throat tightened up once again, Hu not quite so painfully this time.
“I’ll try,” he said resolutely. “I promise.” The other cat hummed comfortingly, and he leaned into the comforting touch of her fur, needing some kind of comfort at the moment.
“One question, though,” he said, chancing a tiny smile in an attempt to break some of the awkwardness (and stop himself from crying)
“Yeah?” The friendly stranger inquired, tilting her head. “I’ll answer if it’s within my ability.”
“Does the food ever get easier to handle?” He joked. “After growing up in a farming village, it was a bit of a rough transition.”
The other cat barked a laugh, and before long both of them had devolved into giggles.
“I’m afraid not,” she cackled. “That’s the one part of seafaring life that nobody likes. You get used to it after a while, though.”
“Guess I’ll have to stick it out, then,” Crest said, with a beleaguered sigh.
“I’d like to say that after a hard day’s work it tastes better… but that would be a lie,” his new friend chuckled. “Truly, though- don’t worry too much. First few days will be a bit rough, but you’ll get the hang of it soon enough. And the crew isn’t so bad, truly.”
“I hope so,” Crest said, with a weary little smile. “Thank you.”
His new acquaintance bid him goodnigjt, and Crest settled into the scratchy hammock he had been provided with. It was itchy, and uncomfortable, and made him long for his own bed- but they were out at sea now, and his home was far behind him. He’d made his choice, and would at least attempt to see it through- no matter how many tears slipped down his muzzle and onto the uncomfortable fabric as the loneliness and realization of what he’d done crept in.
- - - - -
His acquaintance had been right- Crest did learn to fit in well enough. The first few days, though, were a misery- his legs felt unsteady, his heart and stomach were heavy with guilt and homesickness, and every muscle in his body ached as he worked and used his strength in ways he wasn’t accustomed to.
The crew seemed a bit less intimidating in the light of day- and though they seemed to have some measure of sympathy for him, as a kid who had run away from home and was feeling homesick, they were by no means easy on him. Crest was pushed hard, jibed at, and told that he was out of his depth for certain. He was not a part of their community- not yet, at least. These cats had been bonded by hard labor and countless leagues journeyed together, and though he was not truly accepted into their fold yet, he was determined to work hard until they did accept him.
And so he worked, through the blisters on his paws and the hot sun on his back and the gnawing sick feeling that remained in his stomach- learning in bits and pieces picked up from those who had spent their whole lives on the sea. Learning tidbits about sea currents and winds, about the intricacies of shipbuilding and how to tie knots and properly raise and lower sails. How to tell when storms were coming, how to navigate by the stars, which goods were worthwhile to transport and which ports to avoid- all of this, absorbed over the course of his long stretch on the sea. This broadening of knowledge transformed him into a capable sailor- one who even some of the older and more experienced among the crew acknowledged as having his head on straight. Along with his mind, his body was strengthened as well- through working tirelessly, and observing the ways in which his crewmates conducted themselves, he learned how best to accomplish tasks in a timely manner without as much strain. His blisters became less severe, his weary muscles strengthened, and Crest grew. No longer was he the scared and homesick runaway. The gnawing ache in his stomach persisted, and it still flared up sometimes- but he had learned to suppress it, to push forward, to not allow himself to spiral back into thinking about the island home he had once called paradise. He had a new job, and a new life, and dwelling on such things would simply not do. He was no longer the outsider or the newbie- over the year Crest spent on the merchant ship, he became a vital part of the crew- even going so far as to teach and comfort more newcomers who joined their voyages, seeing in these scared young souls a mirror of his former self.
Even the crew, those wary and shadowy figures that had seemed so intimidating to Crest that night so long ago on the docks, had become familiar- more than acquaintances or coworkers, and now friends- family, even. Theirs was a tight knit group, and they kept the ship running like clockwork, under their captain’s watchful eyes. Captain always seemed to be grinning, as though all of life was a game for his amusement. It had been for his amusement that he’d taken Crest on board, wanting to see what that desperate little farmer boy would do, and he had been pleasantly surprised by the results. Crest had grown, and was nothing to laugh at now- a sage and experienced seafarer he was, and a worthy addition to their ranks- something that the captain never let those who had doubted Crest forget. For his part, Crest was grateful for the community of it all- having grown up in a tight-knit village, the feeling of having other familiar bodies living and working alongside him was a comfort. Sometimes it made him sentimental, remembering the village he had been raised in, wondering how they’d all made it through the famine- but only sometimes. Crest was a part of this crew now, and would not dwell on the past more than he had to. He had a new home, and her name was the sea- the ship- wherever their wanderings took them. His childish dream to travel the world, to see what lay beyond the gentle waves around his island home, had been fulfilled- and though the way to get there had been paved with guilt and sweat and tears, he would not change it. This was where he belonged.
- - - - -
But it is not the tendency of things to simply stay static, no- and Crest soon learned this the hard way. Their merchant’s ship garnered no small amount of fame for its well oiled workings and capable crew- a fact that brought himself and his compatriots no small amount of pride to think on, but which would also prove to be their undoing. For the complimentary tales did not simply attract the admiring eyes of willing clients- but also garnered attention from greedy and unsavory characters, who made a pact among themselves to get their claws on some of the rich shipments that Crest’s ship carried.
Tragedy struck on a perfectly normal night- really, Crest thought as he looked back on it, it was almost an insult how normal it was. One should have thought that such terrible things might happen under the shadow of storm clouds, or in the midst of battering waves- within extraordinary circumstances. But this is not how it happened- no, it was a perfectly normal night, with calm seas below and starry skies above, wrapping the ship in a cool and blissful calm as it moved steadily through the surf, navigators charting a path by the pattern of the stars. They did not see, in the darkness, the dark shadow of a ship approaching from the rear. Did not hear the whooping of raiders drawing near until it was too late. Did not know they were being raided by pirates until one of their navigators chanced a look up from her star charts, lit dimly by lanternlight, and saw the hulking shape of a ship next to theirs, and heard gleeful cackling as invaders swung aboard.
“Pirates!” The frantic cry split the illusion of peace that night, the single word setting the whole crew scrambling. The navigators’ star charts were abandoned as they made a mad dash for the bell, to chime a warning and wake those among their crewmates who were sleeping between shifts. The pirates swarmed over the decks of their ship like a dark tide, cutting down and disarming those who attempted to stand in their way. Crest had been asleep, curled in the hammock whose roughness he had become accustomed to, almost comforted by, when the warning peal sounded. He was jerked sharply from dreaming into wakefulness, barraged by the sounds of yowling, of clashing swords and thundering paws and gleeful war cries, and the sounds of his crew, his family, attempting to fight them back.
He scrambled from his bed, throwing off a ratty quilt that one of his crewmates had used to teach him how to knit, and reached for something, anything he could use as some kind of weapon. The only thing he found was a small knife- barely good for cutting fish, even- but it would have to do.
Creeping through the dark hallways of the ship- halls that were familiar to him, the halls of his home, now turned into places where enemies might be stalking- had Crest’s heart pounding in his throat, thrumming in his ears. His paws slipped and shook around the knife, which felt woefully useless and especially small in the face of an unknown threat. He’d heard stories about pirates, both from his home village and from the crew, but had never dreamed about having to face them in reality. This was not the stuff of his childish dream- this was terrifying. He was more afraid than he’d ever been, but he forced himself to move forward, one cautious step at a time, because he was afraid he was terrified but it was his family who was in danger, and he could hardly call himself a part of the crew and not lift a paw to help. So he pressed forward, slinking through the dark passages and up stairs, cursing himself for every creak in the wood planking, every rasping breath he took- even something so soft as breathing sounded far too loud when one had to be quiet like this.
Up through the bowls of the ship, and onto the deck Crest crept, sticking close to the shadows, willing that the shine of his eyes or the gleam of the pitiful knife clutched in his paws would not give him away. He saw wild figures darting across the deck, up from the cargo hold, paws laden with sacks of cargo, carrying crates between them. Taking their supplies and livelihood away. He saw others still parrying blows from his crew, tying some to the mast, while others still had been done away with- it hurt his heart, to see figures he must know lying prone on the deck. Though the darkness of the night heightened his terror with the unknown stretch of the shadows, in that brief moment Crest was thankful for it, because in the dark he could pretend that it was not his friends lying there, still and silent in death at the hands of these raiders. He glanced up toward the front of the ship and spotted an especially bulky shadow facing off with an unmistakable figure- lean, lanky, and laughing was his captain, as he always was, even as his chuckles became tinged with desperation and his sword arm began to shake. Crest stiffened. His captain needed help. Abandoning his fear for a moment of reckless determination, he bounded across the deck, up the stairs and straight into the side of his captain’s assailant, throwing him off balance and allowing his captain time to recover.
“Kid- get away!” his captain snarled, as Crest dug his claws into the side of his enemy, trying to find purchase in the thick fur, trying to get a grip, dig the claws in, deal even a scratch with the useless little knife he’d thought to use as a weapon.
“No!” he growled back. “I’m not leaving you. I won’t.” The strange cat thrashed, growling words of outrage and annoyance and threat, but Crest clung stubbornly on. Anything to throw off his balance, to distract from the captain he owed his loyalty to, who had given him this new life that he cherished. The life that was now under threat, that had already been upset and shattered.
His captain’s breathing was labored, and the way he was moving made Crest suspect that he may have been wounded. But he clung on, fighting with everything he had in an attempt to protect the captain. If the captain could be saved, maybe things would be okay, his frantic brain reasoned. Everything would be okay in the long run, if he could just manage to do this. His life would be preserved.
But his strength could only do so much. He was flung off the pirate, skidding across the deck, the breath knocked out of him, scrambling to his paws as soon as he was able and bolting back across the deck, throwing himself in the path of the attacker. And then, and then- a most peculiar thing happened. The pirate actually paused, appraising him with gleaming eyes.
“Move aside, boy,” he growled. “You do not need to die for this one’s sake.”
“I’m not moving,” Crest snarled back. His captain had attempted to stand and fight again, but Crest shifted so that he was in front, a wall defending the cat who had given him this life from his attacker. “I’m staying here. You can’t have him.” His mind was whirling, one frantic thought after another- knowing he was not strong enough, that this was probably all for naught, trying to think of some way to salvage the situation- and then-
“Foolishness,” the pirate huffed, swatting him once across the face. Only once, but strong enough to sweep Crest out of the way, skidding back across the deck again, paws flying frantically to the deep scratches- over his eye? He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t see. He did not know what had become of his captain. He couldn’t see- no. He blinked open one eye, seeing the night sky overhead. How peaceful it looked, uninterrupted in its blinking brilliance by pirates or raids or fights or deaths. Crest grimaced in pain, a faint snarl up at the uncaring stars. It felt like a mockery, the calmness with which they twinkled down at him, perfectly cheerful.
“Foolishness, indeed,” he gasped to himself, eye beginning to flutter as his body gave out. The exhaustion was too much- he was defeated, and no amount of adrenaline or desperation in that moment could prevent him from sinking into a fitful sleep.
“Stars, you should be grieving this, too,” was the last nonsensical thing he mumbled. And then his head sagged back onto the deck, and then darkness.
- - - - -
His first awareness was of a ground beneath him that felt similar and yet different. It was wood planked, the same as his ship, Crest could tell, even in his halfway awakened state. But this was not his ship- that he knew. This was not his home, he could tell without seeing- something in the air, some sixth sense, some intuition clueing him in to the fact that he had been moved.
The second thing Crest became aware of was a dull, throbbing pain- it seemed to burn under his skin, through his fur, throughout the whole of him. He was on fire and he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t ask for water to put it out, and-
“Oh,” a voice came from somewhere outside his awareness. “You’re awake. Hey, he’s awake!” The last bit was addressed elsewhere, and Crest struggled to turn in the direction of the voice. It hurt to move, and he couldn’t open his eyes. He felt so, so heavy- and tired. Even the wooden floor beneath him felt like a comfort in his exhaustion, and Crest allowed himself to drift off once more.
- - - - -
There was that floor again, Crest realized dimly, shifting a bit at the unpleasant rub on his fur. Why was he on the floor, again? Who had put him there?
“Hey,” a voice came from… somewhere around him- he wasn’t quite sure where, as his sense of direction seemed to have temporarily abandoned him. But there was a voice nonetheless, speaking to him. “Are you alive?”
“Mmmrrgh,” Crest managed, in an impressive show of eloquence given his state.
“You are alive!” The voice continued, sounding much more excited now that it had garnered a response. “Cap’n said he liked your spunk and that’s why he threw you in a cell instead of into the sea, but then our medic said you might not make it because of the wounds, and all- and they tried to treat you as best they could, but then you got an in-fec-tion and a fever and they were all really extra sure you were gonna die- but you proved them wrong, so there! Good for you!”
“Who…” Crest groaned, trying to turn his head toward the source of the voice. His eyes blinked open, sight unfocused and blurry, to see the vague shape of a small cat crouching near him, through a set of iron bars. Right… right, he’d heard someone mention that he was in a cell.
“I’m Caspian!” The blurry shape of the other cat announced proudly. “Not a real pirate, yet, on account of being so small, but cap’n and the rest of the crew say I’ll be an excellent one someday. What’s your name?”
A pirate. A low growl rumbled in his throat before Crest even processed it, an instinctual response.
“Pirate,” he spat. “Is that where I am? In a cell on your ship?”
The little cat- Caspian- gave a little nod, fur spiking nervously along his spine, as though realizing for the first time that this strange cat was not necessarily a friend. Crest’s vision had cleared up- in one eye, at least. He could still feel the uncomfortable stretch of healing scars around his wounded eye, and supposed that he wouldn’t be able to see out of it again. The knowledge came quietly, another realization folded into the picture that was his upset life at the present. He could see the young pirate cat watching him apprehensively, yellow eyes wide and soft ears pulled back. For a moment, his anger evaporated- this was just a child. Caspian did not deserve the brunt of his anger and hurt. A heavy sigh escaped him, and he looked seriously at his companion.
“You should leave,” he said. “Your crewmates will probably be wondering where you’ve gotten off to. I suppose it’s not fitting for a kid like yourself to be hanging around with a prisoner.”
Caspian’s hurried paw steps faded away soon after that- he seemed to have been thoroughly frightened by the small outburst. Crest sighed again, settling to a more comfortable position. Every inch of his body ached, and his head throbbed- if Caspian’s word was to be believed, he had been taken into the pirates’ custody- injured and sick, weakened and having barely fought off a fever. A strangled, broken sound escaped him- he half wished he hadn’t scared Caspian off. Pirate or not, having someone to talk to sounded better than sitting alone with his thoughts like this. And come they did- the realizations swirling around in his head, memories descending upon him and making him relive the last night he remembered- pirates overtaking his ship, overwhelming his crew. His captain likely hadn’t made it, Crest realized, despite his best efforts. The knowledge sat like a stone, heavy and hollowing in his stomach. And then came the pangs of homesickness again- both for the family of the ship and crew he had lost, and then again for the small island he had fled so long ago. He was alone again, this time due to nobody’s doing but the whims of chance, his friends and family lost.
No- Crest realized, sitting there. There was someone to blame. This was the fault of the pirates who had slain his crewmates and raided their ship. It was their fault and their doing, and he would hold them accountable for it.
He would not forget his crewmates, nor would he let the pirates forget what they had done to him.
- - - - -
It was some time before he saw the outside of the cell. He’d become accustomed to the small confines, attempting to pass the time by recalling his lessons with his past crew, doing what exercises he could in the cramped space to keep up some of his strength, listening to the commotion overhead in the other levels of the ship. These pirates were a rowdy bunch, that wa for sure. He could not see or hear the outside world, but could make guesses about conditions based on how severely the ship rocked and bobbed with the waves- and how serious the voices and shouting above sounded.
It was on one day- or night, he wasn’t sure which- when the voices reached an especially frantic pitch that he was first visited by the pirate captain. The very same cat he had fought and clung desperately to all that time ago came slinking down the steps, eyeing him with some sort of savage amusement.
“Still kicking, eh?” He asked Crest, tilting his head. “Wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”
“No thanks to you, I’m still alive.” He snarled back, taking as aggressive a stance as he could muster. Of all the pirates, this was undoubtedly the one he hated the most. He wouldn’t betray any ounce of weakness or cordiality to such a creature. He did not deserve it. This was not his captain.
“Hah!” The pirates threw back his head and laughed, and Caspian was reminded with a pang of the way his old captain had always been laughing, joking alongside the crew and lightening the mood. This was like a mockery of that good nature, that kind of sound coming from this twisted and cruel individual. “Yer’ funny, kid. I’m glad I kept you around.” He spoke casually, as though Crest was some sort of pet or amusement. Crest growled in response.
“What prompted you to visit little old me?” He scoffed, lashing his tail furiously. “Not that I think stooping to dirty your paws is above you or anything- you and I both know that it isn’t- but I didn’t think anyone on this ship particularly cared that I was here.”
The captain shrugged, attempting to appear causal- but there was a gleam in his eye, and Crest realized that he was here because he needed something from him.
“You know a lot about sailing?” The pirate captain ventured, eyes narrowing to thoughtful slits as he looked at Caspian. “You must, right? Having sailed on that ship for however long you was there.”
“A thing or two,” Crest spat, baring his teeth.
“Well then, let me lay it out real simple for ya. We’re in a real bad storm- and my crew don’t have enough paws at the present. I’m figuring that you don’t want to go down with the ship, so here’s a deal- you help us get through this storm, and I’ll let you out of that there cage. It must be getting pretty tiring to be in there, yeah?”
Crest was silent. He did want to be out of this cage. He wanted out, but to do so he would have to help and work beside pirates, the very ones who had taken his family away from him. What kind of cruel joke was this?
On the other hand- the alternative option was continuing to stay here, going down with the ship in the confinement of a cell. That would be a miserable fate- and however alone and despairing he might have been, Crest did not want to die. In that moment, he made up his mind. What better way to trick the enemy into letting their guard down than by making them think you were their friend?
“I’ll do it,” he said, eyes searing with repressed anger as he glared defiantly at the pirate captain. “I’ll help. Now let me out of here.”
“No funny business, you hear?” The pirate said with a would-be benevolent smile (which looked in reality more like a twisted leer), fishing a dark metal key out from a chain around his neck. The door of the cell swung open with a decisive clank, and Crest took his first step out into the pirate ship, fur standing on end. He did not want any kindness from a pirate- but he would do what he must, in order to get free from this.
The storm truly was terrible- he smelled it before they’d ascended the steps all the way, a wild and rain-laden breeze ruffling his whiskers and filling his nose with the scent of the sea. The pirate captain followed close behind him like a terrible shadow, neither of them speaking a word.
The sky was frightfully dark overhead, roiling gray and black clouds pouring down a torrential rain that made it hard to keep footing on the slick wooden deck. Caspian was nearly unbalanced by a gust of stormy wind, and all but deafened by a crack of thunder booming overhead. And there were pirates everywhere- scrambling to hold onto rain-soaked ropes, trying to keep ahold of the wheel, keeping their fellows from being washed overboard- Crest even saw one cat clinging to a net far overhead, attempting to reach safer footing on the ground while being buffetted about by the wind.
He bounded forward on instinct, seeing one struggling cat about to lose his hold on a rope, sliding in behind him and taking hold of it. The cat did a double take, swiveling around with a start to see a lean, gaunt young stranger of a cat with a scarred eye helping him. But then his captain was there too, nodding briefly in reassurance, and just like that- Crest was folded into their workings. This all felt painfully familiar- how many similar storms had he weathered alongside his crew? This felt like a farce in comparison, forced into working alongside the cats who had raided his previous ship, in a barrer for his own freedom. Crest worked diligently, as hard as he ever had, for he did not want to die- but with a scowl on his face, screwed up against the rain, and a little pit of guilt and anger in his stomach. And the pirate captain watched with a smirk on his face, thinking that the spirited newcomer might yet become one of them.
It felt like a small eternity before the clouds began to lighten, and the storm cleared away, leaving the ship battered and soaked- and the cats on it likewise. But they had made it through in one piece, and without the loss of life- such that Crest couldn’t help a small glow of pride. He despised having to work alongside pirates, but all the same, the knowledge that he’d contributed to helping them make it through the storm was a comfort. And in some way- though this was but a shadow of what he had lost, it was still something he yearned for, had grown up around- the companionship brought simply by working alongside others. Though he had been resistant to the idea, it had still fulfilled some inner need that he’d been missing and lacking, all that time in solitary in the cell.
“Hey, you’re out!” A small voice cheered, and Crest turned to see little Caspian bounding over to him. He couldn’t help it- he held back a small grin at the enthusiasm of the kitten. “Cap’n said he was gonna offer you a deal to get out, but based on the things you said to me earlier I was all ‘no way is he gonna take that deal,’ but here you are! I’m glad to be proved wrong though, it’s good to see you out. Wasn’t that storm so scary? My momma made me stay belowdecks, even though I so totally wanted to help. She said I would have been washed away.”
“She was right,” Crest said solemnly. “A little scrap like you? The waves would have scooped you right up. They were this high,” he said, stretching out a paw for emphasis. Caspian frowned at him.
“I’m not that little, am I?” He asked, looking a bit forlorn. “I really wish I could’ve helped.”
Looking at him, in that moment, Crest was reminded faintly of himself, long ago- and of the young sailors he’d mentored on his previous ship, in what seemed like a past life. He couldn’t help but feel a stab of fondness for the young cat, pirate or not. And so he smiled, and nudged Caspian’s shoulder in a friendly manner.
“You’re a bit little now,” he conceded, “but I’m sure you’ll grow up big and strong. And then you’ll be able to help run this ship as well as anyone. But to do that, you have to stay safe and work hard, in the meantime. Right?”
“Hmm,” Caspian said thoughtfully. “I guess that makes sense. You’re right, stranger! Uh- I still don’t know your name, actually. Am I allowed to know that now?”
“It’s Crest.” He gave his answer without hesitation or anger this time, softened by the open manner of this curious little child, and the memories he awakened within Crest.
He was no pirate. Crest glanced up, and his stomach soured immediately at the sight of the pirate captain- not his captain, never his captain- eyeing the two of them with a satisfied expression. No, Crest would never be a pirate- not like that cat. But that didn’t mean he had to be cruel to a child. He could be kind, for the present.
But he would not forget.
- - - - -
And forget he did not, though the pirate crew attempted to welcome him into the fold, seeming to have accepted him following his efforts during the storm. The sight of the lean, scarred youth was something of a frightening or startling one for some, but he had managed to win most of them over nonetheless. His fondness for Caspian only helped to endear him to the rest of the crew- seeing a scarred cat who had endured so much soften to answer the questions and pay attention to a precocious kitten like that was a mark in Crest’s favor.
At times Crest came to almost enjoy his time there- and immediately felt guilty for enjoying the camaraderie of the cats that had separated him from his previous crew. He had no way of knowing which of them were alive or dead, or if the ship had been sunk or not- and for this he could not forgive them. Only to parties such as Caspian, who had joined after that fateful raid or would have been too young to participate or have a say, would he give his true and genuine affections.
And Crest was biding his time- waiting for a moment at which to strike, and then to make his escape. He was no pirate, and he would not stay there. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. The memory of those he had lost, the memory of trying to save his captain, could not be brushed away and buried. To forget would be an insult to their memories. He could not forget, and neither would he forgive those responsible.
His opportunity for vengeance came, as the raid had so long ago, and as the storm had not quite as long ago, on a seemingly normal night. A stroll down the halls of the ship, sword clutched to him, and stumbling upon the captain’s door laid ajar- that was all Crest needed. Though he had managed civility, had made a few friends within the crew- it was not enough to absolve the captain in his eyes. Crest stopped, heart suddenly pounding excitedly in his throat, one paw tightening around his sword, the other flying up to brush over his scarred eye. He could not forget this, either- this wound given to him by the captain that he was confronted with whenever he looked in a mirror. This wound that reminded him of one of the worst nights of his life- which the pirate captain had never acknowledged or expressed the least bit of remorse for. Not for Crest’s eye, not for the raid, not for the death of his captain and separation from his crew and capture by these pirates.
After so long of waiting for and wishing to exact vengeance- it was surprisingly easy, Crest would reflect upon later. It was easy to slip through the door, to pad quietly across the wooden planks of a ship that was not his home. It was easy to behold the captain where he lay, curled in sleep- defenseless. It was easy to draw his sword and make the fatal wound- a thrill of mingled horror and excitement rushed through him, at the heavy reality of taking a life and at the fulfillment of the revenge he had hoped for and sought after. It was easy to rub the blood from his claws and back away, leaving the captain where he lay- where he had fallen, and would never rise from again. It was easy to sneak into his cabin, gather his few belongings, and leave the space as clean and empty as though he had never lived there at all.
It was easy to steal one of the smaller boats that hung along the side of the ship, lowering it into the dark waters. The descent was daunting, but the thrill of finally being free and making his escape made it worth it. It would be hard to row himself to land- but again, worth it to be free of the pirates.
It was easy to chart a course by the stars. Crest had helped the crew with navigation in the past, had done so for years now, and the old lessons he had learned from his previous crew rose up in his mind with ease, the familiar information mingled with fond memories and a still-present grief. He would find his way with little trouble- for the stars were bright and clear tonight, shining down to guide his way.
The only thing that was truly hard was the knowledge that he was leaving Caspian behind. Crest recalled the young cat’s smiling face with a pang, and felt hollowed by the knowledge that he would never see it again.
He shook himself, returning to the task at hand. Caspian would be fine. They all would. Except for the captain- but that was fine, too, he told himself, almost succeeding in convincing himself that his paws had not shaken after taking a life. Even if it had been the life of his sworn enemy.
Crest growled to himself, returning to his navigation charts. He still had a long way to go.
- - - - -
When he first laid eyes upon the cliffs, Crest thought he was dreaming.
He had seen what he thought to be paradise before- the island he’d grown up on, the ship he’d found a home with, the first sighting of dry land after an untold amount of time held aboard a pirate ship. But this coastline was something new.
The crumbling reddened rocks looked almost as though they’d been set ablaze in the light of the setting sun- an uneven landscape, cutting an irregular silhouette and overlooking the sea- and it was beautiful.
“We can camp there for the night,” Crest and his traveling companions agreed. It was a unanimous decision, between him and the small group of vagabonds he’d found himself falling in with. It was odd- traveling about freely together was different from a farming community, or a ship’s crew, but it was a sort of community unit nonetheless. And Crest had always craved for companionship. He was not made to be alone, he realized- and this group of “almost friends” had filled that need for sure. Some nights- like tonight, when they built a fire and sat laughing together in the shadow of some old ruins, Crest thought that they might be more than "almost" friends. That these companions of his might be genuine friends, something he'd been missing and craving for. Sometimes he felt that-
"I want to stay here."
The words slipped out before he could second guess them. The others fell silent, glancing curiously at him.
"What was that, buddy?" One of them asked, tilting his head to one side curiously.
"I want to stay here. Like this." Crest said, giving voice to a halfway thought out wish, in that moment not fearing if they would find it silly or childish or naive. Maybe that was the beauty of having friends- being able to speak and knowing that you would be heard, regardless. "This place is like nowhere I've ever been, and I want... I don't know. I want to stay here, maybe try to build something."
Maybe it was because of his childish notions of living in paradise- maybe he sought to recreate some small aspect of that, and that was what drove him to say such things. Maybe he'd always been looking for some comfort, and had gotten to the point where he wanted to try to create something for himself- something that would last, rather than being taken or destroyed by famine or pirates or unforseen disasters. He braced himself for scornful words, for some kind of reality check- but when he glanced up, his friends looked... kind. A bit bemused, or not quite understanding- but interested, ultimately. Willing to hear him out.
"Gotta admit," one of them said. "I could kinda see a nice sort of city springing up here. Not that I have any experience founding cities, but- even if it's only ever just a small village... this would be a nice place to settle." He stretched luxuriously, giving Crest a lazy smile that sent warmth bubbling throughout his chest and a matching smile across his own face.
"I agree," said another, flicking her ears, eyes wide with interest. "We've been traveling for so long- and I do love all the things we've seen, but this is the first place that I'd kind of... like to stay in. It's nice. Abandoned, now, but I feel like there's potential. At the very least," she laughed, "it makes a really nice camping spot."
The group's laughter resounded, youthful dreams and ideas bouncing around their conversation well into the night- and even when they had all drifted off to sleep, one by one, the warmth of hope and determination remained burning inside of Crest, lighting up from nose to tail. He had come so far- seen and lost so much- but maybe this time he would build something to endure.
- - - - -
The city of salted stone. That is what it had come to be called.
Many mooncycles down the line, though the settlement was still but a fledgling city, they had established themselves enough as a port city that steady growth could be seen. Crest and his friends were overjoyed, glad that others were falling in love with the place as they had, populating its shores and constructing homes. Looking out from the highest tower in the ruins and over the city they had built- it filled him with an immense comfort that he couldn't quite explain. After spending so long at sea, it felt good to put down roots of some kind. He had only lived here for a short time, but was willing to do anything necessary in order to preserve the existence of this city, and the livelihood of the cats that lived there.
When his friends came to him, saying that cats had been referring to Crest as their leader, he took the title gladly, humbled by their trust and determined to do the best he could. He appointed several ministers to serve alongside him, unwilling to make such leadership decisions on his own, when the body of those who lived in the city and looked up to him had grown so much.
Head Councillor Crest. The title did sound nice, he admitted.
- - - - -
Of course the peace would not last. It never did, not indefinitely.
The trouble came, once again, in an innocuous way- it started with a single messenger, arriving in the council chamber and reporting that they'd seen an unfamiliar ship wash up on the shores of the cliffs below the city. They couldn't tell how many cats, if any, were on board, but would keep the councillors updated. Crest and his fellow thanked them for their report, and continued about their days without paying it much mind.
Following the session of council that day, Crest went to the windows of the building in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the ship for himself-
-and found himself shocked, rooted to the ground a pounding sense of horror beginning to beat through him.
He knew those sails.
He knew that ship.
It was the pirate ship he had escaped from, all that time ago- the very same.
"They've found me." It was an irrational thought, the fearful words murmured out and then squashed, Crest shaking his head furiously to dispel the notion. There was no possible way they could have tracked him down. Surely it was a coincidence, or merely a similar looking ship. Yes, that must be it. He would not allow himself to dwell on this. He had more important matters to attend to- and so long as they did not constitute a threat to his city, he would not pay the matter any mind.
--
It was a matter of days before it was brought up again. Crest waited in a sense of dreadful anticipation, both waiting for some word and desperately praying that it would never come. But come it did, for ignoring an issue had never yet successfully made it lessen- and the same principle held true for Crest, and pirates washed up on one's shoreline would not simply vanish as though they had never been.
The messenger arrived again, this time with a guest. One of the pirates. A slender orange cat, bedecked by subtle jewelry, and a few scars that she wore just as proudly, sauntered in after them, her head held high. Some nerve she had, Crest decided.
"A representative of the shipwrecked crew," the messenger explained. "Here to request a hearing with the council of the city of salted stone."
"Permission granted," one of the other councillors, Bermuda, spoke up before Crest had a chance to reply. Her fathomless blue eyes were gleaming with interest and a faint amusement, as though she had taken to the younger cat's saunter and wanted to hear what she had to say.
"Thank you kindly," the cat said, tipping a polite little nod to Bermuda and the rest of the councillors, before fixing her gaze straight on Crest, who sat in the center. Her expression morphed into something more serious, and she began to speak.
"My name is Starfish. I am a pirate."
A small ripple of shock echoed through the chamber- Crest saw the council's secretary nearly drop her pen in surprise, peering at the newcomer with new interest. The city had had some sparing encounters with pirates, but never one strolling so boldly into their midst.
"My ship has been wrecked, and my crew stranded," Starfish continued on, her voice ringing clearly through the audience chamber. "My captain regrets that he could not be here, but he is occupied with attempting to rescue as many lives as possible. We have many wounded, you see, and those trapped in the wreck- and no provisions to speak of.
"I have been sent to ask for aid- and to promise that though we may be pirates, we intend no harm toward your city. If you would extend a paw in help, we would be much obliged to you for your kindness."
"Awfully polite, isn't she? For a pirate," Bermuda murmured to Crest, tipping her head with a calculating stare. "Perhaps we should-"
"No." Crest spoke without thinking. He didn't have to- didn't have to consider. Pirates brought nothing but death and destruction, and he would not help them now. Would not enable them to continue destroying livelihoods, no matter how desperate he seemed.
A stunned silence. He could feel the eyes of his fellows on him, widened in surprise- he was normally known for giving a fair hearing. But at the word pirates, all his old walls and hatreds had sprung right back up. He did not want to hear any more of this.
"Tell your captain that the city of salted stone does not associate with pirates," he continued, determined not to let his voice shake. "We will not hinder you caring for your own, but do not expect any aid from the city."
And if he felt a stab of guilt as Starfish was led away, her face shadowed with disappointment- or at the faint reproach and confusion in his fellows' eyes- Crest did not acknowledge it. This was one thing on which he would not budge.
- - - - -
A week of silence. No word from the pirates- something for which Crest was fervently thankful. Scouts had reported that they did indeed seem to be sticking to their own, with notably few provisions between them. These reports were always tinged with pity and sympathy, enough to make Crest question if his decision had been hastily made. But- no. He knew firsthand what pirates were like. It was better to not be swayed, he told himself.
And yet- after a week of silence, another messenger came, with another member of the pirate crew.
"The captain of the shipwrecked crew," they announced, "is here to make a petition."
And when the brown tomcat strode into the audience chamber, yellow eyes glowing with a determined fire that halfway reminded Crest of his younger self- his breath caught in his throat.
He knew this cat.
He knew him. He had- but it was not possible, surely. Of all the things to happen, of all the paths to cross again-
"My name is Caspian," spoke the captain, no longer the kitten Crest had laughed with all those years ago. "And I've come to ask for your help."
- - - - -
I'm sorry for the messiness whjfdsgv but. it is done.
