Other Islands

by Andrea Jones

  Hook stopped pacing to watch her, and Lightly’s hide prickled with apprehension. Even as a Lost Boy, he had never seen Jill’s pirate king look so fierce.

  “Keep it secret,” Jill commanded the younger men. “I must ask you to serve as my messengers— to another kind of beast. One who lurks within your tribe.”

  The Indians sat straighter, exchanging wondering glances. Rowan said, “We vow to help Lightly’s mother in any way we can. We know you will not ask that we act against our people.”

  “Quite the contrary. In helping me, you will preserve the People from a threat. He is a secret predator— a silent hunter— whom, I am convinced, few of your kinsfolk suspect they should fear.”

  “Speak, Lady.” Rowan Life-Giver crossed his arms, and his chiseled features sharpened. “We hear you.”

  Moving to stand behind his Jill, Hook felt outrage boil within his breast, like a storm upon the waters he loved so well. He set his hand on her shoulder.

  Jill stroked her tigress’ coat, and, word by dreadful word, she revealed her misadventure. As her listeners grew graver, the next chapter of her story took shape. With her son’s assistance, and her lover’s, not only the crafting of this next story, but its enactment, too, could prove cathartic.

  The waves pawed the hull with a low, rumbling snarl. Lightly wasn’t certain, but he thought that, as Jill spoke, her gaze flashed green, like the eyes of her tigress.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Since the pirates returned to their ships, the Clearing enjoyed its own noises once more. As if in relief, the breeze sighed through the branches. Grasshoppers sawed on the sward, the creek’s burble was audible again, and birds chirped as they bounced in the treetops. Blossoms and herbs in the garden scented the air. The grasses basked under the sun, with a fringing of shade, deep green and tempting, that offered a cool canopy for children’s play. Peaceful as the place was, still, Lily knew one who suffered here.

  She left her redheaded daughter with Lelaneh and her brood, and lingered outdoors for a moment. The twin Men chopped firewood by their workshop, nearly naked and free as the breeze that buffed their hempen hair. First one raised his ax, then the other; together they followed through in two graceful arcs, grunting as their tools struck and thumped, and their logs split to halves as identical as themselves. Lily loved to watch her men work, knowing that they loved their work as well as they loved their women. She blew them a kiss, then, more soberly, walked to the house they had built to shelter their family.

  She approached the grand oaken threshold. Above her, in the windows, green gauzy curtains waved her in, then the interior welcomed her— embraced her, really— with rugs woven by her own hands, and the homely feel she and the other women cherished. It emanated from the low arches of the pine beams and from snug, padded alcoves. Ragdolls and whittled boats lined the stairs as Lily mounted them, playthings for the little ones, fashioned by sailors in long months at sea.

  “Red Fawn?” she called, softly. Her voice sank into the house, to become another of its comforting qualities.

  Red Fawn remained subdued in the time since the party, keeping to herself in her bedroom as if chary to set foot outdoors. Lily approached quietly, her feet meeting the warm, sanded wood of the floors. The planks didn’t creak; the Men of the Clearing were expert carpenters and considerate fathers, and they’d worked to craft a house in which children could slumber without disturbance. Lily hesitated now to disturb Red Fawn, but she and Lelaneh agreed; the time had come to tend to the troubles of their spirit-sister.

  As Lily entered the room, Red Fawn raised up on her elbows to greet her. She wore a loose doeskin shift. The silver earrings she adored, her gift from the commodore, lay scattered on the bed table. Usually cheerful, her slender face appeared drawn. “I am sorry I worried you.” She peered out from under a cloud of black hair.

  Lily plucked up a brush and sat on the bed. “Turn your back, and I’ll smooth your hair. This way, you can tell your troubles to the house.”

  A hint of a dimple appeared at the corner of Red Fawn’s lips. “Lily, you are ever sensitive to those you love.” She sat up straight, so that Lily could work.

  “You loved Flambard. Is he the cause of your sorrow?”

  “No. And yes.”

  Lily laughed, but gently. “Which of those answers was for the house, and which for my ears?”

  “Both are for you. I loved him, and I shall miss him dearly. But…I am also afraid.”

  “Not afraid of his spirit, surely? Flambard wished only joy to you.”

  “No, not of Flambard. It is the old fear, Lily.” Red Fawn whispered over her shoulder, “It is my former husband.”

  Lily stopped brushing. “What? Has Lean Wolf entered the Clearing?”

  “No.”

  “But you have seen him?”

  “I may not say that I have seen him.”

  Lily’s hands lay idle, now, and the brush rested with them in her lap, pricking her fingers. “I understand,” she said. She too felt the fear that made Red Fawn tremble, as unwelcome as a worm in an apple.

  “He spied on us, and he learned that I loved Flambard. He knew it, and out of spite he killed him!” Red Fawn spilled her tears, and, at last, she sobbed openly. Lily leaned against her back, and wrapped her arms around her. When Red Fawn calmed again, Lily listened to her woe.

  “I never should have left his tepee. Look what I have done! A good man is dead, and Raven lives in danger.”

  “Hush, my dear. White Bear holds power within the tribe. He will protect Raven.”

  “No one knows Lean Wolf as I do. No protection is enough. He hunted me down, and he slaughtered Flambard. The more Raven eludes him, the more eager he will be to catch her. And worse, he must do so deceitfully, behind White Bear’s back! What he does in front of the People is hurtful, but what he does in secret— it’s vile.” Red Fawn dabbed at her eyes. “Silent Hunter will punish me if I tell. How can we help her, Lily? What will become of her?”

  Lily turned Red Fawn to face her, and brushed the hair from her eyes. “Red Fawn. I, like you, may not say what I know. But I will tell you this: the fairy came to visit today.”

  Red Fawn’s puffy eyes widened. “From the Black Chief?”

  “Even so. He sent a message. His message came not for you, nor for me, nor for Lelaneh. But it was intended for a woman.”

  Red Fawn gasped, and hope dawned on her tearstained face. “I knew that he asked about her, and that he admired her. But now the Black Chief, himself, lays claim to Raven?”

  “I cannot say. But can you think of any man more capable of outwitting Silent Hunter?”

  Now the dimples were coaxed to show around Red Fawn’s lips. She shook her head. “No. I cannot. How lucky we are, Lily, that He of the Eagle’s Claw is our protector.”

  Lily smiled, too. “And how lucky is he, to call us his relatives. I will warn our Men to watch after you carefully, and we will wait for the fairy to carry more news.”

  The women hugged one another, and the curtains waved in the window. On the breeze came the sound of the children laughing, and the babbling of the brook, the Men swinging axes to thunk into firewood, and the scent of the garden that sustained the People of the Clearing with its herbs, and its beauty, and its nourishment. Everything the three women cherished.

  “Truly, Lily. I am glad, after all, that I left Silent Hunter.” Red Fawn reached for her silver hoops, and fixed them to dangle from her ears. “One bad man is no cause to neglect the good ones.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “No, Jill! You propose an impossibility.” It was Cecco who paced this time, back and forth before the mahogany desk from which he once ruled the Roger. The accoutrements of Hook’s resplendent room closed around the three occupants, and the ambiance grew as dense as the tapestry. Even so, Cecco’s boots thumped the floor, barely muffled by the rugs.

  “I concur. The act you propose is impossible.” Hook sat in state behind his desk, dressed in his tawny velvet. Riled by Jill’s propo
sal, he appeared as ferocious as the creature he resembled. He tapped the desktop with his claw. Through his teeth he said, “If we kill a brave outright, we shall have war.”

  Jill countered, “The only impossibility is that I might forfeit my vengeance.” She attempted to settle on the cushions of the window seat, tucking and smoothing the skirts of her gown. But she was too agitated to find real comfort there. The tiger hide stretched out beside her, its color fierce in the sunshine that drove through the bevels on the windows. “The man is a threat to every woman on the Island. First Red Fawn, now myself. If we fail to act, who may be his next victim?”

  “I can tell you who,” Cecco rejoined. “He pursues Raven.”

  Both men watched their lady’s reaction to Raven’s name, but although she drew herself up, her face showed only concern. “I did not know. I am distressed for her.”

  Cecco continued, “Thus far, her brother-in-law forbids a marriage, but Lean Wolf threatens that he will have her. His insistence is why Raven seeks to flee the Island.”

  Hook kept his counsel regarding Raven’s reasons for flight, and remained firm in his policy. “To fight the entire tribe for the sake of one man’s depravity is out of the question. I keep the peace for good reason. Too many of our company would suffer wounding, or death.”

  “Not to mention the threat to those whom Lightly calls brethren,” said Jill. “And let us not endanger our men in my defense. I know how loyal our sailors are, and I have no intention of informing them of my trouble.”

  Loath to recall those hours of intimacy with Lean Wolf, she cast her gaze down to view the silver rings on her toes. She remembered another time, when, obsessively, she memorized the details of this very room— the intricacies of the carpets, the nap on the curtain, patterns of pits on a cork— in an attempt to crowd out the violence Pan had imposed upon her. When Hook spoke to her, he drew her back to herself, just as he had saved her, that day, from her shock.

  “My love, shall you take something to drink?”

  “No, I need nothing save your kind attention.”

  “You have only to command me. But I must remind you that rumors are rampant regarding your whereabouts on the night of the revels.”

  “Let the men speculate all they wish. The question of whether I took comfort with their captain or their commodore is immaterial, as long as peace is maintained between us and the Indians.”

  Raising one eyebrow, Hook looked to Cecco. The captain nodded his agreement, and Hook pronounced, “Conceded, for the good of the company. Let the truth remain sequestered. Only Jill’s sons and our first officers shall know what transpired.”

  “Thank you,” Jill said. “To address another problem, which is worrying Nibs, the men believe that he killed Flambard in a brawl, due to some misdeed of Flambard’s. He feels this falsehood to be unjust to the murdered man.”

  “If Captain Cecco agrees, you may instruct Mr. Nibs to say what he knows to be true: an unknown party attacked him and Flambard. The less elaboration, the better.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Cecco assented, “I am satisfied. Flambard was an inept gambler, but a good sailor. My Frenchmen will be relieved to learn of his innocence.”

  In the two days since her abduction, Jill had considered this matter. “The men are always on guard for attack from Pan. They know of course that Jewel works to prevent him from troubling us. Still, no harm can arise from a belief that Pan and his boys are the culprits.” Her expression turned guileful. “In fact, Pan himself will believe that story, given time.”

  Hook exchanged a knowing smile with her. “I shall instruct the fairy to inform Pan of his cleverness.”

  “And I shall arrange for Flambard’s old blue jacket to slip into Pan’s hideout.”

  Cecco snorted. “At last, a good use for the boy’s recklessness. The mystery of Flambard's demise is put to rest.”

  Once again, Hook became stern. “I am, however, displeased that our sentries were caught unawares. First Mr. Noodler allowed himself to be distracted from his post, enabling Mrs. Hanover to slip to the boats. Then Nibs and Flambard were surprised and struck down. I shall not censure Nibs further; no punishment I could inflict is worse than that of finding his comrade dead. The incident is unwelcome, but the lesson learned. The fictitious attack by Pan’s band imparts a stark warning to the men.”

  “Aye, Commodore, we must redouble our vigilance against enemies. As for pursuing justice…” Cecco asked, “might we not seek redress for the insult to Jill through the Indian council?”

  “We have no proof to present to the elders. Lean Wolf would surely display his marriage bracelet. Although it proves his defiance of taboo, it constitutes evidence of our lady’s willingness, however specious we know it to be.”

  “And so, gentlemen,” Jill insisted, “we return to the strategy I devised. It is the surest method to serve Lean Wolf his due.”

  Hook’s face darkened, and Cecco exclaimed, “Miei dèi! I forbid it!”

  “Please, Giovanni, we will get nowhere if you vex yourself so. Come, sit next to me.”

  Incensed as he was, Cecco did not refuse the opportunity to approach her. “Very well. I will sit.” As ever, her proximity affected him, yet his concern was sincere and his disapprobation of her plan in no way weakened. “But explain to me, if you will, Madam, why you feel you must meet with this monster.”

  Hook rested his chin on his fingertips. Deceptively casual, his claw lounged at his thigh. “Yes, my love. A question we both wish to hear answered.”

  Jill slid closer to Cecco, linking his arm in hers. The sensation of her husband’s might, dedicated to her welfare, fortified her resolve. “The first question is this. Shall we three work together, or must I kill him on my own?”

  “We honor your determination, of course.” The commodore controlled his tone, but the disapproval on his face was eloquent. “Yet to allow you to walk into danger defies every instinct.”

  “I know that each of you would avenge me, in a heartbeat. I am grateful for your gallantry. But some force within me kept me alive in that cave. I invoked a power. I vowed to myself and to Lean Wolf: his life rests in my hands.” Her eyes challenged each of them. “The man is mine.”

  Cecco gathered her hands in his, not hesitating this time to hold both the blood-red one and the pale. His gaze fixed earnestly upon his wife— she who was so powerful in her womanhood, and yet so vulnerable. “I am your husband. I am a man who loves you. I will not watch you place yourself at that murderer’s mercy.”

  “I am no weak woman to step aside for the sake of safety. But, however, I am a woman. And I am no fool.” Cecco began to speak, but she shook her head. “No, Giovanni, I will finish. Nor is Lean Wolf foolish. I fell prey to his cunning, and I witnessed his strength. While I insist on taking vengeance with my own crimson hand—” she raised it, “this hand— I shall not do so alone.”

  The men reserved approval, yet their tension eased, if only a trifle. Jill noted the fact, and pressed ahead. “I need not hurry. The longer Red Hand from the Sea waits to snare the Silent Hunter, the lower he will hold his guard.”

  “I cannot fault your logic, Jill,” Hook looked as if he’d bitten something sour. “Nor can I say that I like it.”

  Cecco grunted. “Aye, Commodore. In this opinion, you and I stand in accord.”

  “I am Red-Handed Jill. What more need I say?”

  As if to finalize Jill’s statement, the ship’s bell tolled. She looked from one man to the other. “And so, I shall set my plans in train.” As the lady rose from the window seat, the officers got to their feet. “You will excuse me, gentlemen, while I outline my instructions to Lightly.” With her fingers, she stroked the red scar at her throat, and the rings both her men had bestowed upon her glimmered there, golden, and emerald. “This very evening, he will deliver a message to my new husband.” Smiling in her regal way, Jill swept from the room in a swirl of amber satin.

  “ ’Sdeath!” Hook spat the word, then strode to the sideboard. H
e yanked the stopper from a decanter and tossed it to tumble along the tabletop. “I begin to believe it isn’t only the woman’s husbands who are cursed.” Cecco joined him by the board, the glassware clacked, and, in ominous silence, they both downed their drinks.

  Hook’s lip curled. “Od’s blood! To sink my hook in him, and have done.”

  “I too burn to destroy him. Jill herself must not venture near that predator.”

  “You know her as well as I. She will do as she must.”

  “I will not countenance it. I would not allow it for all the gold in Rome! We must keep her from him, however fiercely she insists.” Cecco jerked his chin toward the tiger’s pelt. “There may be truth in the natives’ lore. Surely that tigress is Jill’s totem.” He seized the decanter to pour out again, a splash in each glass, and although the smell of the liquor pervaded his senses, it did nothing to numb them.

  “I have witnessed her blood-rage,” Hook said. “It came damnably close to killing her, and led her to the threshold of the Indian village.” With his boot, he nudged the tiger’s hide. “Indeed, Jill’s victory over this animal is the crux of our dilemma. Had I kept her safe in the aftermath of the chase, she’d not have crossed paths with the Hunter.”

  “Commodore, had I listened to her heart, I would not have left Jill on the beach. Nor would she now crave retribution.”

  “The trouble spans further than that. Conjointly, we refused to grant her wish.”

  Astonished to hear Hook’s conclusion, Cecco stared at him. “Aye…the day that I asked her what she most desired. Her answer seemed impossible then, even to me.”

  Hook banged down his glass. “Impossible, for any other island.”

  “It is even as Lily said. Magic dwells here.” Cecco gazed landward, brooding. Like a kaleidoscope, his perspectives were shifting. As of today, his single concern was to keep his wife alive.

  With his barbed arm, the commodore gestured toward the Island. “Capricious as it is, this place is Jill’s homeland.” He too gazed through the window, toward the Neverland and its varied hues— the sand of the bay, the emerald of the woods, white rock at the cliff top, a wisp of auburn adrift above the Clearing, and the shimmer of cerulean tinting the sea to share its light with the sky. The enchanted isle stretched before him, as ever and anon he had viewed it: an infinite array of the shades of its promise.