Hook & Jill Saga 3: Other Islands

by Andrea Jones

  Registering disapproval, Walking Man determined to mention the incident to Panther. According to custom, to take notice of a site of taboo was forbidden. But he was sleepy, and he positioned his spear so that he might lean on it. More comfortable now, he fell into a doze. He roused only when White Bear hailed him, and he sat up with a grunt, his aged joints aching.

  “Good day to you, old one.” White Bear sounded surly, as usual. The old man appreciated White Bear’s aura of severity. The man was tall and, looking up at him, Walking Man squinted to see his scalp lock in silhouette against the white of the clouds. With the light behind the warrior, the old man could not perceive his expression.

  “Good day, White Bear. Help me up. I have sat here long enough.”

  White Bear obliged, somewhat roughly, and the two men turned toward their tepees. Walking Man’s voice was reedy from disuse, a condition to which he was not accustomed. “I see that you have finally prevailed over Raven.”

  “With respect, Walking Man, what is your meaning?”

  “I saw her some while ago in her ceremonial dress, heading out from the village. Surely you sent her off?”

  Abruptly, White Bear stopped. He hesitated only a moment. “Of course. She will be preparing herself.” His jaw tightened, and he rumbled, “But she did not inform me where she would go. Tell me, Walking Man. Which path did she take?”

  Walking Man pointed with his spear. “I saw her scamper that way, along the plateau.” He smirked. “The elders will be glad when you’ve settled her, White Bear. That woman has too much spirit. Our fiery one, Ash, seemed to keep her contented, but now that he is gone, your firm hand is required.”

  They had reached White Bear’s dwelling. “Excuse me, old one. I must see to my wife.”

  Walking Man nodded. Before moving on, he sniffed, enjoying the smell of the stew White Bear’s wife was preparing. With his mouth watering, he adjusted the yellow blanket. As he started toward his tepee, White Bear emerged in a hurry. He wore a grim look, and on his lean frame, his muscles bunched tight. In his belt he had tucked a broad hunting knife; at his back he bore a quiver full of arrows. He clutched his bow, and the taut skin at his knuckles showed pale.

  Walking Man observed him over his swollen eyelids. “And where do you go now, White Bear? You look fierce, as if you seek to slaughter that albino bear again!”

  “No bear today, old one. But I am going hunting.”

  Contrary to custom, White Bear left without paying the respect owed to Walking Man’s status. He sprinted along the plateau, and left the old man standing, alone.

  Muffled by the tepee, a hungry wail from the baby inside reminded the elder of his belly. Walking Man ambled away. Since no one else had sense enough to listen, he muttered to himself.

  CHAPTER 29

  In the Tepee of Mother Birch

  “I

  cannot stay,” Raven said, glancing over her shoulder at the forest from which she emerged. “Soon I must run.”

  “We understand.” Lelaneh’s black hair was even longer than the last time Raven had seen it, long ago at the village, but her healer’s gaze touched Raven, just as perceptive. The woman ushered her to a blanket before the Outcast tepee. Four children squatted inside, staring at the newcomer with the round, innocent eyes of ones who viewed new and mysterious things. First they’d encountered the tepee, now the face of a stranger. Raven felt a kindred emotion. She stood in a new place, and the world around her was changing.

  But when Raven turned to greet Lily and Red Fawn, next, she saw that Lily’s comforting manner had not changed, nor had her laugh; “Even our oldest are too young to remember a tepee. Now that Rowan and Lightly have joined us, the little ones are learning how their relatives live.” She invited Raven to kneel down, and, crawling closer to her, Lily’s infant, the tiny girl with a sprout of red hair, extended a forefinger to touch the soft, white doeskin of Raven’s dress. Then she giggled, and scrambled to the cushy lap of her mother.

  When the parrot had squawked its warning, the women’s twin providers had come running from their workshop. With their muscular physiques, they exuded protectiveness, and although Raven noted their European features, their dress and their ornaments appeared more native than not. They now grinned at Raven, greeting her as a guest. “You are Raven.”

  “Please, feel welcome here, lady.”

  Soberly, Raven acknowledged their salutations. At a signal from Lily, these Men of the Clearing rounded up the children. “Into the house, now,” they coaxed. “Who wants to try our new sled on the stairs?” With the littlest ones hiked high on their big, bronzed shoulders, the men steered the tykes toward the structure. To Raven, it loomed huge and inflexibly wooden. Soon she would ride aboard a ship, even larger, and bobbing at the wind’s every whim on the sea. She shuddered and turned back toward the tepee, appreciating the familiar feel of earth steadying her knees, and the heady scent of the grasses.

  Lily empathized with Raven as she gazed upon the symbol of taboo the elder had drawn in charcoal. Lily was too well acquainted with that mark. It was a crude stick drawing of an open hand, fingers splayed in a sign of prohibition. Lily sensed that Raven feared to be marked so herself, and that she was shocked by her own audacity in visiting the Outcasts. No doubt she needed time to adjust. The three Women of the Clearing, better than anyone, understood the trauma of breaking with tribal tradition, even for just a brief errand.

  Lelaneh passed Raven a flagon, saying, “Please, Raven, refresh yourself. This is apple nectar, made of fruit from the Fairy Glade.”

  Grateful for the distraction, Raven sipped the tangy juice. It revitalized her spirit, as Lelaneh intended it should do. The herbalist was an expert in the healing properties of nature, and she was practiced in reading the People’s maladies. It was this gift, Raven reflected, that caused the elders to retract Lelaneh’s exile this morning, officially overlooking the woman’s associations with pirates. Raven held no illusion that her own friendship with Cecco would be dismissed, to say nothing of her alliance with his chief. She drank again to imbibe Lelaneh’s comfort, and licked the sweet residue from her lips.

  The healer said, “I think you have come for my help, Raven? I see you are dressed for a ritual. I can guess what it is you now require.”

  Raven blushed, but, knowing that she had no time to spare for modesty, she pressed on with her business. “Yes, Lelaneh, I thank you. Now that my mourning time is ended, I do have need to brew your tea again.”

  “Never feel shame for this medicine,” the herbalist reassured her. “When a woman feels ready to bear a child, she makes the best mother. Nor are you the only woman of the tribe to come to me.” She hurried to the house to make up a packet.

  Lily took Raven’s hand and said, softly, “I am pleased to see you so rosy, Raven. Soon you will sew your beads on this handsome dress again. But you have not come just to see Lelaneh, I believe. Every day, I receive a message for you.”

  Eagerly, Raven asked, “From the Black Chief?” Lily nodded, and Raven sighed in relief. “So he will keep his word?”

  “He always has done, for us.”

  “Oh, Raven!” Red Fawn’s dimples appeared, and her silvery earrings flashed. “Does he love you a little? How I envy you.”

  Taken aback, Raven reddened again. “Oh, no. I only lent him my help, in return for a favor.” She turned to Lily. “What is his message?”

  “He assures you of his regard, and he instructs you to wait for his signal. The fairy will carry it to you. It may be a few days, at most a week.”

  “Very well.” Raven squared her shoulders. “With Lelaneh’s tea to protect me, I can wait with less worry.”

  “I understand. You wish to leave White Bear’s tepee. You wish to leave without making his child.”

  “Since Ash died, what I wish is not important.”

  Lily’s sympathy draped Raven like a warm fur. “Always, you have protected your little sister. Willow will miss you, Raven, and you will miss her. But I know that, whatev
er each must sacrifice, the love two sisters bear one another will sustain them.”

  Red Fawn asked, “Are you sure you wish to wander? Won’t you dwell here, with us? You heard our providers. You are welcome here.”

  “No, I cannot find it in my heart to offend my brother-in-law so deeply.”

  “Then, will you follow Captain Cecco? He comes often to ask about you.”

  “I will travel with the pirates, but only as far as the Other Island. Once I have gone, you may send word to White Bear of my whereabouts.”

  “To the Other Island!” Red Fawn’s dark eyes grew wider. “Who will provide for you there?”

  “I hope that the family of White Bear will accept me, as his obligation. They will know nothing of my trials, and I will work hard to serve them. In this way, I will honor my brother-in-law, yet remain at a distance.” Raven looked to Lily, whose gaze fell upon her with maternal concern. “What signal will the fairy send to me, Lily?”

  “You may not see her come and go, but you will find a piece of cloth, matching this one.” Lily held up a sleek swatch of fabric, blue as the plumes of a peacock.

  Raven recognized it instantly. It was a shred of the scarf with which Hook had bound his severed wrist, to veil his disfigurement from her eyes. Raven was moved by the man’s courtesy; this token was light enough for the fairy to carry; it was easily concealed, and a not unpleasant reminder of his intimacies. She fondled it, remembering its feel on her skin, cool and silky where he touched her, on that night that his passions and hers formed a storm.

  As Raven hid the fabric in her pouch, Lily continued, “When you see this sign, you must hurry here. Be ready to leave forever then, for his men will escort you to the ship.”

  “To the Black Chief’s ship?”

  “To Captain Cecco’s.”

  “And his woman? His Jill?”

  “You will wish to know that the Lady Jill, too, asks after your welfare each time she visits us. She retains her abode on the Roger, under the protection of the Black Chief.”

  Raven relaxed, relieved to understand that the Black Chief’s summons had not led to more discord, and pleased to learn the good tidings that she would sail with her friend— with her fellow in affliction, with the handsome, outlandish Captain Cecco. For the first time in many moons, her blood pulsed with anticipation. At the same time, though, she grieved for his loss. Her heart hurt for someone else, too. “It is unfair, is it not, that a person may love twice, yet may hold only one?”

  “Here at the Clearing, we do not limit our love,” Lily said, kindly. “And that outlook is why we were banished. But no matter where one wanders, each person shares affection as is his or her inclination. You, I think, are more openhanded than some might assume.”

  “No, Lily, you are wrong. I am selfish. I am headstrong and disobedient. I run before troubles catch up to me. But here comes Lelaneh— I must run now, or trouble will find me here.” She stood and, seeing the packet Lelaneh offered, prepared to place it inside her pouch, by Hook’s scrap of silk.

  “Remember,” Lelaneh instructed her, offering the medicine, “steep a cup every morning, and drink it down warm. When you wish to conceive, you must not imbibe this tea at all, until your little one enters your arms.”

  Above the four women, the sky burst into sound. It was the lookout parrot, screaming and fluttering in the treetops, fanning its rainbow of wings in alarm. Other birds rose, too, startled from the branches, to soar and to shriek. Immediately, the Men of the Clearing rushed from the house with their wild hair flailing, pulling axes from their belts. The women looked all around them, then focused on a gap in the fringe of the forest.

  There, at the place where the pirates’ path ended, stood Captain Cecco. With his bracelets gleaming, he raised his hand in greeting to the men. When he saw that Raven stood among the women, his smile broadened. He opened his arms and called out to her, but the parrot kept up a commotion, and everyone stilled to look for the reason. Then the women stepped back, clutching one another, and the twins resumed their stances of alert.

  Within the garden trellis loomed the form of a warrior. Red Fawn whimpered, and Lily gasped. The twin men straddled the grass, poising their axes.

  The warrior stood tall, and stately as a totem pole. He carried a bow. White streaks crossed his brow and three black lines tilted toward the peaks of his cheekbones. His skin shone like copper, and the feathers on his headdress bent with the breeze.

  His stare rifled each of the people, and his expression grew all the fiercer as he observed the pirate. Soon his gaze fell on Raven, and as he glowered at her, his angular face turned to stone.

  Raven took one look in those hard, gray eyes. And then she ran.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Even before she ran, Raven’s heart started thumping. It was this beat she heard as she darted into the forest. She felt the rush of panic in her head, the nip of fear at her heels. She dreaded what White Bear would do to her, if once he laid hands upon her. Only one sound rose above her heart’s disharmony: White Bear’s moccasins as he leapt to the wood in pursuit. After that, the drumming of her heart and the drumming of his feet merged to become inseparable.

  Raven ran.

  She didn’t slow her progress to avoid the foliage. Raven ran right through it, stung by low-hanging leaves, her skin scraped by bark. Raven ran like an arrow, straight through the wood. She couldn’t afford to lose even a finger’s breadth of space between herself and her hunter. She didn’t take time to shield herself— she ran.

  The wood was not dense here. Tender leaves collided with her, leaving moisture cold on her face. Sunlit patches rose up to meet her. The grasses were kind to her feet, with only a nut or a twig here and there, to press into her soles. But deeper forest lay ahead, both a friend and a foe. There she might be hidden, harder to track. Yet, equally, her path would turn difficult, the old trees less yielding to the plight of the quarry— as unyielding as White Bear, if once she allowed him to catch her. She angled her path to avoid the thicker growth.

  Raven was familiar with this forest. Past her panic, she began to design her flight. Young branches swished behind her as his bigger body plunged through the brush. White Bear was as intent on pursuit as she on her freedom. He, too, spared not an instant to dodge obstacles. But now that they’d passed the long grass near the Clearing, his footfalls, like hers, fell more quietly. Naturally, for White Bear knew this terrain too.

  For all her anxiety, Raven was certain her evasion had averted conflict with Captain Cecco. Surely he would not interfere with White Bear; the pirates were under orders from their chief to keep peace with the natives. Nor, in his boots, could Cecco catch up with them. Shedding concern for her ally, Raven felt lighter on her feet. She eyed the lay of the land before her: a small uphill incline, a stand of pine. Beyond the pines, sun-speckled wood again, and, farther off, rock-hard ground should signal the onset of caves.

  As Raven and her sister discussed this afternoon, they had played there as girls. Their mother had warned of animals that sheltered there, but those openings in the earth were too tempting. The girl Raven wasn’t frightened from her playground, and Willow followed her sister. Within those craggy confines, the girls set up ‘house,’ nursed little fox kits, and fled summer’s heat in the cool of the caverns. Now Raven felt like one of those foxes. No matter what lurked within the hollows, just one animal troubled her now.

  As her breathing grew harsher, she looked for familiar outcroppings, making ready to duck in between them. Once among the caverns, Raven could hide. She could choose any hollow along the turning pathway, slide inside, and watch White Bear’s moccasins fly by. She wouldn’t give him the opportunity to find her. She’d slip out to dash off again. White Bear would be sure to believe she doubled back.

  But that move was a vixen’s trick. Raven’s instinct was finer. She wouldn’t follow the obvious strategy, aiming for safety. Instead, she’d plunge far ahead. Because White Bear would detect any trace she left in the grass, she’d kee
p to rocky ground. Leaving no trail, she’d move more slowly then, and silently. She must not cause rabbits to start, or birds in their treetops to cry out in complaint. Already she had heard deer in the brush, their hooves pattering as they hurried from the intruder. But, for the present, speed was Raven’s aim. She must gain the caves. She didn’t care if White Bear knew where she headed— she need only reach there before him.

  Tense and tiring, her legs felt a change. The earth became firmer. Harder terrain lay ahead, and the caves that promised protection. Raven stole one quick glance behind her. What she saw made her heart flutter, like a hummingbird.

  White Bear was gaining. He was closer than ever Willow had come during their many races. Nearer, even, than Ash in the vigor of his youth had achieved. White Bear loped on long legs, his face determined, his nostrils flared— and his bow in his hand. Raven felt a need to scream, but she had no breath to spare. She didn’t look back any more. Like a deer, Raven ran.

  White Bear hurtled on. He knew that few braves of the tribe could match him. He didn’t miss a step. His respiration felt sharp in his chest, but his heartbeat stayed steady. His hunter’s impulse came fully to bear; he focused on his prey. As he trailed his quarry, his legs pumped, his buckskin leggings shielded his shins from the whip of the underbrush. The air tugged at his scalp lock, flogging the feathers against his head.

  Raven ran like the doe; if Willow spoke true, no brave had yet caught her. But White Bear, too, had prowled these woods. He had a notion of where she would run to ground. If once he let her get there, he would lose her. Reaching back, White Bear snatched a dart from his quiver. His arrow would glide straight and true. Raven couldn’t miss the point White Bear’s barb would speak to her. Without breaking stride, he nocked his arrow, aimed, and sent it winging.

  She didn’t see his shot, yet she felt it. Just as she came to the pathway— the haven of caves— a whistling sound shrieked past her ear. The draft from its feathers skimmed the heat of her cheek. Her feet trod on the verge of the rocky trail way, the dry path that promised her shelter. But as the arrow streaked by on that side, she swerved. With a new spurt of speed, Raven veered to the left instead, heading for the wood. Shocked by his shot, she plunged onward, relying on raw, visceral instinct to save her.