Other Islands

by Andrea Jones

  As if in answer to the boy’s proposition, the tigress purred. The sound was oddly loud, like little drums beating in her throat. And she padded nearer. As she huddled into a crouch, Chip raised his sword and pushed Bertie and Bingo behind him. Peter, in turn, jumped in front of Chip. The creature’s black-tipped tail twitched.

  “What does she say?” Peter asked Jill, in all innocence.

  Hook was unsure whether Jill would speak. Her teeth were bared, and she looked more inclined to snarl. For the sake of expediency, he interpreted for her. “The tigress will oblige you…if young Chip consents to join her for dinner.”

  The tiger slunk closer yet. Peter smelled her frowzy fur; the heat of her breath warmed his toes. Unafraid for himself, still he got the nagging feeling that Chip stood in peril. Jewel’s pinching accounted for a goodly part of that feeling. His decision came suddenly.

  “Avast, lads! Time to up anchor.”

  The boys were only waiting for his sanction. Like arrows, they shot straight up and away from the danger. As they hung high in the azure of the Neverland sky with its white, downy clouds, waiting for him, Peter himself lingered one moment longer. “Too bad,” he taunted Hook, “I could have shown you a trick or two about pirating.”

  Leisurely, the boy floated up to lead his crew seaward. Jewel jingled with relief. She acknowledged a signal from her master, then followed Peter, waving farewell.

  Hook and Cecco glowered as they watched Pan’s pack disappear. After this harrowing day, a day spent protecting the Island’s inhabitants, they stood aghast at the boy’s carelessness. The tigress’ ears flapped as she shook her furry head. The motion signified to the men that Jill had broken off her stare. The cat threw a look of suspicion at them, then, warily, turned to pad toward the forest. As the curl of her tail slipped between fern fronds, the men were jolted from the day’s grim events by the sound that followed. It was the sound they least expected to hear. Hook and Cecco exchanged startled glances, then looked down at Jill, sitting between them.

  She was laughing. The merry sound burbled up from her throat, much more easily that the roar of some moments ago. She offered her arms to them, and, staring, they raised her to her feet.

  “One act of humanity, and I find I’m a woman once more.” Her eyes had turned blue as the sea again; she looked cleansed and refreshed, her fair hair curling. They all woke to an awareness of how unserviceable her shirt had become in its function of covering her figure.

  Her mouth no longer seemed hungry for blood. Now, it beckoned like cherries. Her lips held kisses for each of them, husband and lover.

  She was Red-Handed Jill at her fittest.

  CHAPTER 37

  Widows’ Wings

  Like the time remaining to Raven, the afternoon had half slipped away. Tending Willow’s baby, she sat in the tepee. The little one lay on the plush white fur of the bear skin. Through the supple sides of the dwelling, the light filtered in, warm and swaddling, like the wraps of a cradleboard. As Raven sang to her, the child’s eyelids lowered, and soon she slumbered. Raven smiled and kissed the tender cheek. For the first time in months, contentment settled into her soul. Like ashes after a fire, it covered the site of the flame that had so consumed her.

  Not since her first husband lived had she known this kind of peace. She closed her eyes, and, tilting her head back, soaked up the comfort of White Bear’s dwelling. The sounds of the village seeped in, voices of children, the breeze in the leaves of the oaks high above. Sniffing, she appreciated the cozy smells of cornmeal, of firewood, and animal hide. With these scents, she inhaled a sense of oneness with her home. The tepee nestled in the center of the village, surrounded by friends and family and fed by a bountiful land and its life-giving river. Most of the river’s gifts were welcomed by the tribe. The one exception was its bringing of the Black Chief. Of all the men Raven knew, he was the most like her Ash.

  For Raven, fearsome as the pirate was at the beginning, like the river itself he had proved— unexpectedly— to be giving. If not for Hook, Raven might have found no means to ease her worries, and no way to leave Willow the life she deserved. Now, her sister was assured of the lifelong love of her husband. She would retain the status of an elder’s only wife, and the joy of mothering all of his children. Most important, White Bear’s loved ones could live without fear. Raven could not guess what trick the Black Chief planned for Lean Wolf. Strangely, Raven trusted the ‘white wild man’ far more than the boyhood friend of her husband, the Silent Hunter who had been born within her tradition.

  In this quiet present, Raven sat snug on the prized white fur won by her husband’s valor, living not in the past, nor yet in the future. With sadness balanced on either side of this moment, she dwelt in the now. Thus she sat, unstirring, until the two opposites appeared, presenting themselves simultaneously.

  Wings fluttered at the top of the tepee, a sound Raven had heard once before. As she looked up, a strip of silk came spiraling down, blazingly blue. It landed in her lap. At the same time, the flap of the dwelling pulled open, and White Bear stooped to enter. Raven raised the ribbon. She turned her eyes to meet her husband’s. He stared at the silk, and the glad expression on his noble face altered. All at once, the sorrow beset them. The Black Chief’s signal had come.

  Their time, together, was ended.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  With many questions on their minds, Rowan and Lightly waited. They applied their anxious energy to preparing for the journey to the Other Island, trying not to allow doubt to weigh down their spirits. Their canoe lay beached on the shore of the bay, their packs rolled and ready. Each kept his weapons at hand. All they needed now was good news. For everyone’s sake, Jill’s venture must succeed.

  The young braves watched so keenly that before the Clearing’s parrot could shriek its alarm, they were loping through the garden trellis to hail the visitors’ approach. Relief soared in their hearts when they saw Jill hiking briskly between Hook and Cecco. The two pirates were armed to the teeth with swords, knives, and pistols, but Jill, in her forest-green tunic and fawn-colored leggings, looked like a nymph of the wilderness. Clearly, she had come through her trial unscathed. When she saw the young men, she disengaged her arms from her escorts and reached for her sons, smiling.

  “My dears, the hunt was successful.”

  The group trickled into the oasis of the Clearing to be greeted by its people. While the parrot fussed and the children clamored, Lily, Lelaneh, and Red Fawn flocked around Jill, chattering their greetings and shedding good wishes for her voyage. Lily and Lelaneh, who had an inkling of the ordeal Jill had endured, clasped her hands and measured her up, assuring themselves of her well-being.

  Rowan and Lightly ushered Hook and Cecco into the tepee, where the two Men of the Clearing joined them. They held a brief pow-wow, saying little and saying it low, then those who were about to sail made their farewells to the ladies. Their embraces were fervent and earnest, but quick. The sea and her intrigues lay waiting.

  “I bring a parting gift for Red Fawn,” Jill announced in her clear, storyteller’s voice, “and one final tale for you all.”

  The children nestled at their mothers’ knees, and, as they all settled on the logs by the totem pole to attend, Jill knelt down beside Red Fawn. It felt quite like old times to her. The lattice of branches cast shade and grace on the circle of friends who gathered beneath it, and the little leafy house that Jill loved so well when she was Wendy seemed to lean in to listen. Its chimney puffed dreamily, just as Peter had puffed on his pipe when pretending to be Father, while the Lost Boys sat sleepy at their feet. Jill smiled at her memories. Catching Red Fawn’s inquiring gaze, she returned to the present, enchanted to be here, at this time, and in this place.

  “A black, shaggy wolf roved this wilderness. He was a hunter, hungry and lean. As he grew stronger than the others of his pack, this wolf shed his regard for his fellows. He roamed and foraged, gobbling up any tidbit he found. Yet in all the abundance of the forest, he was never
satisfied. Even the most wholesome fare might grow stale in his mouth, and he’d spit it out, ungrateful, when he grew tired of the taste.

  “One day, as he prowled near the sands of the seashore, this wolf leapt high to catch a bird on the wing. Because he deemed the bird beautiful, he didn’t grind the creature’s bones between his teeth. He made her sing to him, and when her song ended, he swallowed her whole. But, as the little bird entered the hungry wolf’s throat, her beak pierced the beast’s gullet. He tasted his own blood instead. The bird flew free, but the wolf, who always before saw himself as the hunter, sensed death itself stalking, behind him.

  “Crawling into his den, the mighty wolf rested his muzzle on his paws. The little bird fluttered near, just out of reach. She lulled him to sleep, and with the sound of her song in his ears, the wolf closed his eyes, to see the land of Dark Hunting.”

  Jill slipped something into Red Fawn’s fingers. Red Fawn looked down to find a familiar leather band, beaded by her own hands. When she looked up at Jill again, her large, dark eyes reflected her astonishment.

  “Where did you find this bracelet? Has my former husband cast it away?”

  Jill did not answer. She kept a warm, steady hold on Red Fawn’s hands.

  The woman paused, turning over Jill’s story in her mind. Her voice grew tremulous, and her silver earrings quivered.

  “Jill…am I a widow?”

  Jill kissed her friend’s forehead. “You may have many questions, Red Fawn, but I have only one answer: the Silent Hunter shall stalk you no more.”

  In the stillness that followed, Hook, Jill, and Cecco savored the quiet of the Clearing. The nearby brook babbled in contentment; the scents of Lelaneh’s garden sweetened the breeze. But another wind called to them, and these creatures of the sea needed no urging to answer it. Hook rose and made his bows to the ladies. “Come shipmates, our next venture awaits us.”

  Cecco kissed his fingertips in farewell. “Ciao, my dear friends. If Fortune follows us, we will see you again.”

  The pirates and the Messengers struck out on the sun-speckled path toward the bay, leaving the People of the Clearing waving them off from the foot of the totem pole. For this family, the pole’s carved wooden figures evoked a sense of protection. The lion stared proud and fierce from his post at the crown, and below him, the sly tigress smiled.

  Red Fawn linked each of the twins’ arms in hers. Her eyelashes were damp, but her dimples had started to dance again.

  “Is it not time to carve another image, my darlings? I think, perhaps, a lovely pair of bird’s wings.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  For Raven, relief could come only with departure. These last moments with Willow were agony. Raven was dressed in her ceremonial garb, the white deerskin dress with its long, swinging fringe, made especially for changes. Her bundle was packed and tied, waiting at her feet.

  “No, Raven!” Tears seeded Willow’s eyes. They fell to the beautiful beads on her tunic, rolling to join them. “Please…change your mind. Do not leave our tepee.”

  “Be strong for me, Sister. Since I must go, do not make it harder.”

  “I cannot understand how White Bear allows it. Always before, he has acted to protect you.”

  “Your husband knows what is best for me, Willow, and so do I. You must trust our judgment. Now hold me, dear, and give me a hug to remember.”

  “Raven— I am grieving.”

  “Be glad for me instead. White Bear’s people will welcome me, I am certain, and I will find my place on his island.” She stooped to pick up her pack. “As much as I will miss you, Willow, this day is one of happiness as much as a day of sorrow. And you who helped me through it know better than anyone…” Raven shook her head. “I have had enough of sorrow.” Raven, like Willow, felt the tears burn her eyes.

  “Only now do I appreciate your grief, Raven. Today, I truly feel the heartache that caused you to cut off your hair.” Again, Willow wept, covering her face. When she recovered her breath, she cried, “Once you leave, I must live in mourning.” Willow halted as the thought came to her. “Raven— I, too, will shear off my hair!”

  At Willow’s words, Raven froze. Unblinking, she moved, at last, to set down her bundle, as carefully as if it were Baby.

  “Willow.” Raven gripped her sister by her shoulders. “Listen to me.” She waited for Willow’s eyes to clear of tears. “Here is the last counsel your older sister will speak to you.” She leveled her gaze directly into Willow’s. “You must mourn me with all fitting custom. But do not cut off your hair.” Raven held her voice steady. She understood the ways of men so much better than her sister. This point was too important to state with a quaver.

  “Willow: when White Bear looks at you, he must not see me.”

  Raven pulled her sister to her breast, and held her. She bestowed a kiss upon her brow, and then she let her go. Gathering up her pack, Raven nodded to Willow, flung open the tepee, and smiled her goodbye.

  She would try, forever, to remember Willow wearing her sweetest smile. From now to eternity, she would endeavor to erase the face she just witnessed. She was leaving Willow, for the very purpose of preventing the emotion that caused Willow’s look. But Raven knew, already, that she could never forget that expression.

  Willow’s face, at last, revealed understanding. And, moments later, her relief became evident, too, as she sensed her sister’s sacrifice. Like a jointed wooden doll, Willow lifted her hand to her lips, and, awkwardly, she gestured farewell.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Always after, when Raven smelled the scent of pine, she was reminded of this hour. It held both her gladdest and her most painful moments. She and White Bear brushed through the stand of spruce trees to emerge on the bright, chalky rock. They had run together, their feet pummeling the earth of the path, wishing to hoard the little time left to them, to spend on this cliff top. On one hand, the familiar waters of Neverbay sparkled in wavelets. On the other lay the ocean that must soon stretch between them, unfamiliar, and unfriendly. It was here that they had conjured the bridge linking their future lives, spanning time and conjoining places.

  White Bear slid Raven’s pack from his shoulders. She stood catching her breath, watching him, confiding his every detail to memory. She did not glance at the ship rocking at anchor as it readied to sail her away. Instead, she stored White Bear’s image, to last her forever: his height, his regal posture, the long black tail of his scalp lock and the feathers she had clipped in it this morning. His iron eyes had softened, and never questioned her, now. Her fingertips would forever remember the bumps of his battle scars. The bear claws resting on his chest belonged to her like her own fingernails, and even his moccasins, beaded by her sister Willow with love, would, in remembrance, ever be part of her warrior. His skin, that smelled of sun and of muscle, and the fleecy feel of the albino bear fur— all these fragments molded together, like clay to shape a jar, and she would carry it just as carefully as she’d bear an earthen vessel— because it held her very heart.

  She smiled at him. “You will never grow old, my husband.” She took his hands, and they strolled, leisurely now, to sit upon the patch of moss beneath the shifting shade of the old alder tree. “I will keep you just as you are, here, in my being.” She pressed his hand to her breast.

  “And you, Wife, shall remain always fresh, like the touch of a summer’s wind tangling the grasses.” He ran his fingers through her brief strands of hair, and stirred the jay feathers that nudged her neck. “Even so has your spirit tangled in mine.”

  “I would ask you to take good care of my sister, and her children, but I already know your custom. A good man cares for his family. Be assured, White Bear, that I will care for your Raven.”

  “My Raven.” As was his habit now, he gentled his voice on the syllables of her name, and he called her so again, while he could. “Raven. I bear a new weight on my heart, after today, because I will speak your name only about you, and nevermore to you.”

  “Every day, I will wh
isper your name to you, White Bear. Will you hear me?”

  He nodded then, gravely. “I hear you.” He gazed over the sea, south and east, toward the Other Island, where he envisioned her standing among the tepees of his people. “And also, I see you.” His gaze traveled the miles again, back to her face. “I will wait anxiously, to hear tidings of my Raven. But do not send our Messengers home to me too soon. I would hear that you are settled, that you accept my people, and that you are satisfied.”

  “I will obey your wish, my husband. And I remember the message that you taught me. Your words will be spoken through my lips, as if you stand on the Other Island before your relatives.”

  “I have a gift for you, Raven. Will you accept my offering?”

  “I never made you a marriage bracelet; I have not given you anything.”

  “Indeed, you have. Although you deny it, you are as openhanded as your sister. Many moons moved around me before I understood your offerings. Today, I hold more wisdom to counsel the People; I make a worthier husband.” White Bear knelt before her, the mossy ground soft beneath his knees. He pulled her up to kneel before him.

  “What I have to present to you, Wife, is a thing that is worthless by itself. Only when many of its kind are woven together can it be useful, or beautiful, or strong. You are all these things, Raven. I revere you for lending these qualities to me. Now, as you go from me, never to return, I return to you what is yours.”

  White Bear drew his hunting knife from its sheath. His eyes remained fixed on hers, gray and solemn. The two lovers faced one another, kneeling at the brink of the cliff, encircled by the roots of the flame tree, the alder, and caressed by the sea-scented breeze. White Bear bent his head to the side and collected the hair of his lock. As he gripped it, he worked the knife back and forth, slowly, reverently, cutting it strand by strand, to fall free. Several inches of his black hair remained, prickling upward at the top of his skull, eked out by its feathers to form what remained of his scalp lock.