Other Islands: Book Three of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  “Thank you, White Bear, for joining me here. I think better with my feet in the water.”

  Gruff but pleased, White Bear responded, “Old One, you do me honor.”

  “This river is the source of the People.” With her frail hand, she patted the dry, fallen tree trunk, indicating that White Bear should sit beside her in the shade. “The feel of the pebbles under my soles reminds me of the path our tribe travel. Mostly pleasant, but never smooth.”

  “The same is true today. This very morning, we met with unpleasantness.” White Bear looked around to ensure that their words would not be overheard. Upstream, a group of boys prattled as they floated tiny canoes made of birch bark. Birds called from branch to branch, and a woodpecker pounded with a hollow rattle. Above the sloping ground behind White Bear’s back, the camp drowsed in the warmth of afternoon. He slipped off the moccasins his wife had so lovingly beaded for him, and he set them on shore. The Old One was prudent to come here, he found. The swish of water over his skin worked to soothe White Bear’s agitation.

  She observed, “The birth of your daughter; the betrothal of my granddaughter. These things bring joy.”

  “I was pleased to hear you announce Panther’s news in council. I have observed Mountain Cloud. He is a quiet brave, but steadfast. He will make a fine husband for Ayasha.”

  “Yes,” nodded the Old One, “in spite of my jests, Panther shows wisdom. I admit my satisfaction in the fact that Panther’s name was put forth, however prematurely, to follow me as an elder. And my son speaks well of Rowan Life-Giver and Lightly of the Air. It is, in part, because I trust his judgment that I spoke against their exile.”

  “Like me, Lightly came from another island to make his home here.”

  “And like you, Lightly has proven his worth. The service both men render as Messengers is valuable to the People.”

  White Bear acknowledged the compliment with a gesture. “Although I revere tradition, the safety of the tribe must be our first consideration. The Golden Boy threatens, as always, and the number of pirates increases.”

  “No one can claim that Rowan and Lightly neglect to keep watch on those dangers.”

  “Now that I am a father, I see even more clearly.” White Bear’s brow creased as his voice grew sterner. “As I advised the elders, it is a mistake to compromise the People’s safety by dismissing our Messengers from the camp.”

  “You have heard me argue against taboo in the case of Lelaneh. It is well that the elders chose to accept her again. In both situations, the Outcasts possess skills that work for the tribe. It is my hope that, in time, the council will see sense in accepting Rowan and Lightly, too. Their affection brings them happiness, and causes harm to none.”

  “I am Lean Wolf’s friend,” White Bear said, “but I see his hand stirring trouble. I am angry that it is he who brought the evidence Walking Man sought.”

  “And it is Lean Wolf who is punished for spying on the Outcasts in the Clearing. He deserves this taste of the banishment he brought to Rowan and Lightly. Those two had leave from the elders to linger among the Outcasts that night; Lean Wolf had only the consent of his malice.”

  White Bear huffed his disapproval. “It is no punishment to Lean Wolf to spend time in the forest. True, he must now earn his way back to the tribe’s good graces with game, but Walking Man is the one who will benefit. He has no sons to hunt for him.”

  Now returned to the subject of family, the Old One smiled. “Tell me, White Bear, how fares our littlest one, and her mother?”

  “Very well.” White Bear puffed out his chest in pleasure. “In these eleven days since her birth, she has grown to look like Willow.” White Bear’s pride in his daughter and in his young wife was etched on his angular face. “As I anticipated, Willow is a praiseworthy mother.” Grounded in tradition, White Bear of course still hoped for a son, and he looked forward to making more children with Willow. Patience was required until she recovered from childbirth, and, gladly, White Bear granted it.

  Sighing, the Old One squinted her cloudy eyes to view the far bank of the river, whence came an aroma of sun-warmed wheat. “I regret that the question of her sister Raven was raised. How do you intend to answer Walking Man?”

  In the case of Raven, White Bear could not afford patience, neither personally nor in the greater context of the tribe. Walking Man made that fact clear when he questioned White Bear in the Council Lodge this morning.

  He growled, “I know who prompted that discussion, too. Lean Wolf challenges my decision.” Lean Wolf had ceased his demands for Raven’s hand, but White Bear knew his old friend. He suspected that Lean Wolf dropped the subject only to scheme for the match in a more subtle way. Today White Bear’s suspicion was confirmed. “I will tell Walking Man that I am resolved. On Raven’s behalf, I refuse Lean Wolf’s suit. It is better for her, and better for her sister, that she remain in my tepee. I will accept her as my second woman.”

  “And will you offer her a ceremony? Make her your wife?”

  White Bear looked mildly surprised. “No ceremony is necessary. I follow the custom. She will want for nothing.”

  “And is the widow, Raven, ready to walk forward?”

  “I allowed time for my sister-in-law to rise from her grief and prepare a new life. Still,” White Bear shifted as the log’s bark bit into his naked thighs. “I do not believe she understands how her status will rise as she moves from widow to helpmeet. Eventually, she will be respected as a mother herself.”

  “It is well, then,” the Old One confirmed, “I will advise the council not to flout custom. I will contend that the wishes of Raven’s provider prevail over Lean Wolf’s. But, White Bear,” her wrinkled face became grave, “the elders are right to insist that Raven’s future be settled. One way or another.”

  “Old One. Your words show both shrewdness and care. I hear you.”

  White Bear sat quiet, then, and the Old One turned her face to the sky, allowing him time to reflect. The river breeze ruffled the quills of his scalp lock. The feathers stirred back and forth on his shaven head, mimicking his thoughts about Willow’s sister.

  In recent days, something about Raven changed. White Bear couldn’t quite see it, but he felt it in his gut. He sensed too, that this shift had little to do with Lean Wolf. When she entered her brother-in-law’s tepee, the woman carried herself with more presence. Even the scent of her skin was stronger, and her hair took on a sheen it had lacked since she sheared it. When near her, White Bear felt that her being was charged, like the atmosphere after a lightning storm. She tried to hide her new physicality. She cast her eyes down, she kept her hands busy. She even powdered her cheeks. But White Bear was not deluded. Where before her body slept, now, the widow exuded vitality.

  On the other hand, Raven’s spirit felt more absent than ever. She avoided conversation. She hovered over her sister, but she seized any chance to walk alone in the woods. White Bear felt an urge to overcome her reluctance, an impulse in his hands to drag her back into his tepee. The farther her spirit slipped away, the more compelled he felt to pursue her.

  Several nights ago, she roamed abroad by herself, on the pretense of collecting cradle moss. Again, White Bear was not fooled; an abundant supply lay at hand. He now determined that the next time she wandered, he must follow.

  Not for the first time, White Bear believed she deceived him. The mistrust she always instilled in him grew. He sensed again that, no matter how his sister-in-law behaved outwardly, at her core she was not obedient. She was careful only to appear so. As he sat by the Old One, pondering his situation, White Bear ground his teeth. This morning’s council discussion determined him. In the last five days, Raven’s moon-time had lain upon her. Now, as her body renewed her receptiveness, White Bear must undeceive Raven. The very nature of her womanhood warned them both: the time had arrived to conceive Raven’s future.

  The breeze settled, and the feathers of White Bear’s headdress lay still. He turned his hard, gray gaze to his fellow elder. “
Old One,” he said. “You are wise.” He nodded his respect. “I think better with my feet in the water.”

  On the shore behind him, his moccasins lay vacant.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  In the peace of afternoon, Willow sat before White Bear’s tepee, humming a lullaby to her baby. Contentment radiated from her face, until a shadow passed over her. Then her sweet smile turned to astonishment.

  “Raven,” Willow gazed at her sister, who seemed to glow bright in the sunlight. “You are dressed in your ceremonial garb!”

  “Yes, Willow. I feel that the right day has come.” Raven looked away, unwilling to raise her sister’s hopes too high. In truth, she hadn’t realized she was ready for this change until she thought to use it as an excuse to visit Lily. A pang of remorse shot through her, but it quickly passed. In her heart, Raven felt that the spirit of Ash approved. He understood what she had to do, and he lent her the opportunity to do it.

  Ash’s widow had donned her best tunic. Made from the hide of a doe, it was bleached to the whiteness of birch bark, rubbed and scraped until the texture felt soft as down. When Ash passed to the land of Dark Hunting, she had removed all its ornaments. With no beads or embroidery to stiffen it, the dress clung to Raven’s figure. She cinched it at the waist with a snowy belt and pouch, to hold the things she would use in her ritual. The sleeves reached her elbows, edged with long fringing. Loose and pliable, the skirt swung when she walked, its trim dangling down to brush her legs. She had first worn this dress the day she married Ash. The last time she wore it was the day Ash’s body was burned. It still smelled faintly of smoke.

  Willow said, “I know that in making this decision, you must feel both lighter and heavier. But how striking you look, Raven.”

  “Do I?” Raven asked with indifference, feeling the length of her hair. “It was some trouble to tie these feathers, but I believe that my hair is growing.”

  “You should have let me help you.”

  “You have Baby to tend. She is much more important.” As Raven moved her head, the three black feathers she had fastened there quivered. “After so many months, this headdress feels foreign.”

  “White Bear and I agreed last night that you seem to feel better. Do you want me to accompany you?”

  Quickly, Raven discouraged the idea. Where she needed to go, she needed to go alone. “No, thank you. I must take these steps by myself.”

  “I understand, and I am glad to learn that your heart is healing.” Willow sighed, and her pretty face saddened. “Every day that I am married to White Bear, I understand better the loss that you mourn.”

  Raven knelt at her sister’s side, taking her face in her hands to look earnestly in her eyes. “I know, Willow. But you must listen to your older sister. Do not let my loss diminish your delight. To do so would deepen my grief.”

  “Where will you go to cleanse yourself? To the waterfall, by the caves?” Willow smiled again, remembering. “How many times we scampered to those caves, Raven, when I was little.”

  “You never did catch up with me, but once we got there, you kept very close.”

  “I was frightened of the creatures that made their homes in them. But I should not have worried. You kept me safe.”

  Determination rang in Raven’s voice. “I will always do what is best for my sister.” She smoothed Willow’s braid, a habit from earlier days, when both of them, as girls, wore two pigtails. Raven stood then, and dusted her knees. “But no, I will visit another place for my rite, a smaller stream that journeys more gently. It is a place Ash and I went together.”

  “White Bear will wish to know where you’ve gone. With Lean Wolf roaming the forest, he is concerned.”

  “As he knows, all aspects of my rite must be secret. But you may assure your husband that where I mean to go, Lean Wolf most certainly will not.”

  “Perhaps you will tell him yourself. I see him helping the Old One to her tepee.”

  Raven stopped herself from turning toward the forceful form of White Bear. Instead, she edged away. She needed every grain of resolve to take this next step. “I must go if I hope to return before day fades. Goodbye, Willow.” In a flash of white, she was gone.

  Her first impulse was simple: to hasten from White Bear. If he discovered her destination, her danger equaled the risk she took at Neverbay. But as she hurried up the trail— the same she wandered the night she followed the fairy— she felt the lure of adventure.

  Attempting to tame her eagerness, she measured her paces. She loped through the wood to emerge from the trees, and trotted down the grassy slope. Redwings threw their sharp, bouncing cries, taking flight in black and red whirls. Raven half wished that they’d carry her with them, then she stifled the notion. Now that the Black Chief had quickened her yearnings, she felt vulnerable to them. To persevere in her plans, she must hedge her impulses. Raven had weakened, once. She now guarded her longings more strictly.

  Yet how good it felt to run through this land, as she had done since a child. Surely such innocent pleasure couldn’t cause resolution to wane. Released from the village, free from the scrutiny of her brother-in-law, Raven sped from the plain toward the paths of the forest. The mild Island air caressed her flesh as she fled, fingering the fringe of her garb. Her bare feet delighted in the sponge of the turf. When she entered the wood, acorns littered the path. Impishly, she jumped upon them, planting the hard, little nuts with her heels. But when she looked up, the trees leaned in on her, caging the sunlight in their branches. Raven hesitated. The ancient oaks loomed large above, their limbs jointed like arms that might reach down to catch her. Such a foreboding had never troubled her in her youth.

  Again, she shrugged off her folly. Today, as always, the forest offered things to fear and things to welcome. She smelled the damp airs of its elements now, both fresh and festering, as foliage sprang from high boughs and dead leaves decayed underfoot. Inhaling their odors, Raven found them symbolic. Like the oaks and the acorns, they called to mind the cycle of life that she meant to mark in her ritual. An old life decomposed; a new hope took root.

  And today, Raven’s hope lay on the Other Island. She regretted that the path she must follow should cause Willow grief. Raven couldn’t know, but could only believe that, in time, grief might render good— in the form of contentment for the wife of White Bear. Like the forest that two sisters once traveled together, Raven offered mixed blessings.

  The light was shaded here, and Raven slowed under her more somber thoughts. Preparing her mind for her rite now, she pressed on. As she passed an enormous rock, furred green with lichen, the path curved again. Before long, the ground turned to clay. It felt cool beneath her feet. She knew that, above the treetops, red smoke puffed up from the dwelling in the Clearing. Since the Golden Boy appropriated that spot, Raven had forsaken it. Now she drew closer to the Clearing than she’d ever dared to go without Ash. He attended her in spirit, but something more tangible accompanied her, too: a gift from the Black Chief. Among the tools and herbs for her ceremony, his token rode in her pouch.

  With relief, Raven had learned that this token was the lone keepsake the pirate chief gave to her. As she intuited, the passion he spent on her was not in the nature of engenderment. Her moon flow began immediately afterward, and she knew without doubt that no offspring could come of their coupling. Their bargain was sealed. Raven’s obligation was over, and the Black Chief’s about to commence.

  The sound of babbling water spurred her thirst. Cautious to avoid the cesspool at the end of the stream, she edged along to her left. A flute piped nearby, and young voices rose in song. When Raven met with the creek, she knelt down to drink. The water was cold in her fingers and sweet on her tongue, with a faint taste of mineral. Once her need was quenched, she walked the stream’s bank until the air grew still and tranquil. Weeping willow boughs tickled her arms. Winding her way through the greenery, she found the place that she and Ash had enjoyed. The willows drooped like ribbons, and formed a kind of enclosure, with grass underfo
ot and the creek flowing through it. Raven emptied her pouch to lay out herbs, a bone-handled knife, and a tool for digging. Between her fingers, she rubbed the black, glossy lock that the Black Chief had cut from his hair and sent to her.

  Closing her eyes, she cleared her mind to concentrate. Once her heart felt composed, she brought her being into oneness with the earth. The terrain beneath her toes melded with her legs. She imagined she was planted, like a sapling, drawing nourishment from the ground. Her fingers were leaves. The air that surrounded her mixed with the breath in her lungs. Raven quivered with the vibration of the world around her, its life and its creatures. Touching the sky, her head became part of it. Standing thus, merging with Mother Earth and Father Sky, Raven summoned the Spirits, and she initiated her ritual. She trusted that, when it was done, she would find peace, and hope, and strength. After long months of sorrow, Raven focused on the future. Soon, if she willed it well enough, the past would lie buried, and good things would grow from its forces.

  As always when handling magic, truthfulness was essential. Raven opened her emotions. She missed her husband, and ever would do so. Raven feared for her prospects, yet she must trust her own judgment. Her heart brimmed with love, some of which she might pour forth, and some she must reserve. And here, in her circle of willow boughs, Raven’s spirit stood naked.

  She made the motions, and she voiced the chants. When the rite ended, three black raven feathers, intertwined with strands of her hair, lay on a loose mound of soil. Beneath them, she’d buried her token. All were symbols of her phases. Past, present…and forward. The wind and the earth would take them, would make them of use again. Raven’s next steps were her first steps— on a journey to the end.

  Those steps carried her up the stream bank. They ushered her through an arbor laced with blooms. Her footfalls bore her into the Clearing. In the peace of afternoon, Lily, Lelaneh, and Red Fawn sat before a tepee, singing songs with their children. Contentment radiated from their faces, until a parrot shrieked high in the trees.