by Andrea Jones
“I hear you. You do not call me ‘Brother.’ ”
“Yet brother is what you are.”
“I know, now, to listen beyond your words. I know that when you turned from me, you did not wish to do so. Whether running or yielding, yours are not the actions of indifference.”
She countered, “Your actions were those of indifference, and rightly so. I did not mean to change them.”
“But you feel strongly for me.”
“And how do you feel, for me?”
His grip upon her shoulders tightened. Within his hold, Raven felt all the care and protection of a husband for his wife. He said, truthfully, “My feeling is obvious.”
“Yet I would be content as before, when it was clear that you felt nothing.”
His forehead creased. “Ash was my blood brother. It is right that I should take you for my own.”
“I have been a burden to you.”
“And now you are a joy.”
“But I am selfish. White Bear, I have always wanted more.”
“Today, little blackbird, you have won it. My heart lies open to you.”
“I want everything.” She shook her head, disconsolate. “Yet I want nothing.”
“As always, your words bewilder me.”
Raven saw the puzzlement on his face, and understood that he allowed it to show only because of the closeness they now shared. She could not recall one instance of White Bear exhibiting uncertainty before his wife. She rejoiced to share his confidence, yet she sorrowed for Willow’s loss.
He continued, “You dwell within my family. You are nourished by the fruits of my hunting, and you sleep beneath the shelter of my tepee. For many moons, you requested nothing, but shared in my all.”
“Yes.” She loved the frankness of his gaze, but she could not bear it. Sighing, Raven closed her eyes. What she had dreaded was coming to pass, and, as she had guessed, the cost to Willow was too high.
White Bear watched the pulsing of the life-vein beneath her jaw. He spoke her name, as if for the very first time. “Raven.” He said it again, lower, and as gently as his harsh voice allowed. “Raven. Even when I catch you, you hide from me.”
“White Bear, you caught me long ago.”
“And still, you ran?”
“I do not flee from you.” She opened her eyes, black as her namesake. The sadness ran in them, deep, like a river. “I run from myself. My own nature frightens me.”
“You feel so frightened that you run until your feet bleed?”
“I fear what has happened.”
“Yet I am certain that you wanted it to happen.”
“It will not happen again.”
Angrily, White Bear rose to his knees, startling two chipmunks that scampered, scolding, up a tree. He no longer confined her. If she ran from him this time, he thought, she would not stray for long. Now she belonged with him. Still, he echoed the animals’ irritation. “Why do you say this?”
Raven read the wounding she inflicted on his heart, and she felt it in her own. She rose up to sit before him, laying her hands on his arm, tense and tough. After the fever of her passion, the cool of the shade chilled her nakedness, and she shivered. “Here is truth. Here is my heart broken open: I feel too much for you, and I feel too much for Willow.”
White Bear pulled her near, rubbing her arms and warming her against his chest until he stilled her shivering. “You have been mourning. Your heart was closed to happiness. I am glad now to hear it speak to me.”
“At first, my heart was closed.”
“But time has passed. As you have said, I am a patient man.”
“Ash was rash, and I loved his impulsiveness. But in these months since his passing, I have grown older. I found your patience to be a welcome trait.”
“Patience has served me. It can serve you, too.”
“I watch you, White Bear. You are a good man. I see your kindness to my sister. To please her, you welcomed me to your home. I feel your pride in her child. I witness the wisdom that earns you a place among the elders. You respect me as sister to your wife. You allow me to tend to you, and you gave me time to mourn. In all things, you are a man. One day, I forgot to look for Ash. I looked at you. On that day, when you got up to leave our tepee, you carried my heart through the door.” Raven looked down. “It was then that I knew I must run.”
He sat silent for some moments, and then he smiled. “But today, you came to me.”
“No, White Bear. You hunted me down.”
“This afternoon we celebrate our ceremony. I am now your husband.”
“You are my sister’s husband.”
He huffed. “A double tie then, all the stronger. Why try to break it, Raven?”
“See us now. Would you wish for Willow to witness us, close as we are?”
“You see Willow when she is close with me.”
“Yes.” The word escaped from Raven in a sob, and one simple sound turned to confession.
Beneath the black stripes of paint, White Bear’s features smoothed, and at last he believed he understood. “Raven.” He opened his hands, to show their capacity. “I have no need to choose between you. I can provide for both of my wives, and for their children.”
Raven’s head jerked up. “No!”
“You bore no sons for Ash. Do you fear this, too? That you cannot bear?”
“I bore no sons because I used Lelaneh’s herbs. Ash’s temperament was not yet settled, and we both desired to run free.”
White Bear drew back, but, this time, he waited to hear more before rendering judgment. The council accepted Lelaneh into the tribe again, and with good reason. Raven had the right to consult the herbalist, although White Bear could not approve of her visit today to the Clearing, where the Outcasts dwelled, and where, even as he watched, a pirate was welcomed. As for Ash’s temperament, White Bear regretted as deeply as any of Ash’s friends the recklessness that had colored his character. It was Ash’s rashness that got him killed. White Bear asked, evenly, “And is this why I found you in the Clearing, Raven? You still wish to run free?”
She whispered, “Yes, White Bear.” She could not meet his eyes. Having lived beside him these many moons, she knew the shadings of his voice. When he spoke again, his timbre betrayed disappointment.
“You love me, Raven. But you do not want to give me children?”
Now her eyes fixed upon him, and she declared, “For my children, I want a father all their own.”
Considering her meaning, he studied her. His hurt disappeared, and his scrutiny mellowed. “Your gaze is green, then— on Willow?”
“Because I love her, I may not show my love for you.”
“But Willow’s wish—”
“I will not lie with you within her tepee.” Raven closed her mouth, determined to say no more.
But White Bear kissed her, and she didn’t need to speak. He stroked her face. With his fingers, he raised her chin, more tenderly than she believed his hardened hands could do, so that she looked up into the highest reaches of the birch tree’s boughs. He placed his lips against her ear, and his words vibrated in its hollow.
“We do not lie beneath the shelter of my tepee,” he murmured. “We lie alone, in the tepee of Mother Birch.”
Raven had known what would happen, if ever he laid his hands upon her. Worn and weary, trembling at his touch, she wilted against him. He laid her down and, gently this time, the hunter loved her, and she loved him in return. Then they rested beneath the canopy of the Mother’s sheltering arms.
As the sun began the journey to its sleeping place, White Bear slung his bow and his quiver across his back, and he nestled Raven in his arms. And he ran again, lightly, lovingly, over the path on which she had led him. He ran with her, this time, and the two journeyed as one, as husband and his wife, toward home.
When he reached the place where he had kicked off Willow’s moccasins, he was pressing his cheek to Raven’s forehead, smelling the birch bark in her hair. The blue jay’s feather ado
rned it. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her lips shaped a smile that this man, who loved her now, had rarely seen. His heart beat steady, and his breathing came easily. He passed his moccasins, and kept on jogging.
He wouldn’t stop to set her down; he wouldn’t break his stride to pause. Not now, after all the trouble he took to catch her. Not now that her soul reposed in his. She was like a doe. She was strong, yet she was shy and skittish. Even now, he wasn’t sure of her. He believed, but he wasn’t certain, that she would no longer run.
As he carried his new wife, the hunter’s bear claw necklace tapped against his chest. The drumming of her heart and the drumming of his own merged to become inseparable. This afternoon belonged to the two of them. Tomorrow, he would hunt down Willow’s moccasins, in a chase not nearly as exhilarating as today’s.
CHAPTER 30
To Honor and Betray
When he spied the young brave, Lean Wolf stopped to stand with his bow on his back, clutching a carcass by the scruff. This winter, Walking Man would be warmed by soft fox fur.
“I bear you no grudge,” Lightly said. Beneath his leather headband, his eyes remained clear and blue, as if he were telling the truth. Listening at his mother’s knee, he had learned how to tell a story. “I understand that when the council questioned you about Rowan and me, you were honor-bound to answer.” He indicated the surrounding wildwood, “Even though it led to this, your own time of exile, you were obligated to speak.”
Lean Wolf had betrayed Rowan and Lightly, and he applied caution before allowing Lightly to approach. “Then I will listen,” Lean Wolf answered, and his suspicious expression turned eager. He gestured, and the two men moved away from the waterfall that frothed noisily nearby.
Lean Wolf threw down his weapons and his kill, and sprawled on a shady patch of pine needles, fragrant in the fresh morning air. Four suns had set since he’d clasped his wife in his arms. One more would be too many. “Well, what word has your mother sent to me?”
“She knows you feel as impatient as she. Red Hand from the Sea will meet you this day. Can you canoe to the Mermaids’ Lagoon?”
With a smirk of conceit, Lean Wolf said, “I have been there before. Have you? I don’t suppose you find the mergirls to your taste.”
“Of course I’ve been there. I know how to guard myself against them.” Lightly measured the man’s mood, then returned the taunt. “Do you?”
Lean wolf laughed, “No female has yet turned on me. I never offer the opportunity.”
“Then you are a wiser man than most. When the sun is highest, you’ll find Red Hand by the caves along the coast. She said you should come hungry.”
“She knows by now that I am always hungry.”
Lightly’s fair complexion turned darker. “Lean Wolf, as I told you, I bear no bitterness. But if you break my mother’s heart, our friendship will be ended.”
“How can we hold a friendship, Lightly? You are an Outcast. I shouldn’t even associate with you. Only my love for Red Hand from the Sea compels me to act against the council’s judgment.”
“I know how well you respect the council. The longer we talk, the better I understand.”
“You’ve grown bolder, young one, but do not push me too far.” His gaze ranged over Lightly’s frame, assessing the brave’s emerging muscles. “Worse things than banishment can happen to a man.”
“I hope to learn, soon, just what those things might be.” Lightly grinned then, to take the sting from his words. “I will tell my mother to pack her picnic.”
“And her pirates suspect nothing?”
Lightly’s ribcage swelled beneath his vest. “Red Hand is as shrewd as any of them.” This time, he relayed no lie. “She will see you when she wants, and she wants to see you now.”
He dodged into the forest, to leave the Silent Hunter to prepare.
“I bear no grudge, Lean Wolf Silent Hunter,” Lightly whispered to himself as he searched for Rowan, whose rigid figure blended like bark on the trees as he stood guard among the shadows of the elms. “I feel only pity.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Humbled by his experiences on the Island, David felt that the House in the Clearing was too grand for him. When the ladies offered him a room, he asked if he might stay instead in the Wendy House. The hut had shrunk since last he saw it— or rather, he had grown. Whatever had occurred, the rough-made dwelling appealed to him as the home Jill had once enjoyed, and as a place of solitude for a young man’s growing thoughts.
One of those thoughts concerned his duty. Thanks to Jill, his past had crystalized in glorious colors. His future might prove just as brilliant. Yesterday, Peter and his band had performed David Paleface’s plank-walk with hubbub and ceremony. Then they escorted David, dripping wet and draped with seaweed, to the Clearing. The residents of this outpost had welcomed him and allowed him to settle in. This morning, Lily had knocked on the little bark door. She entered with breakfast and a sympathetic ear. David devoured a delicious bowl of corn mush flavored with honey, finding himself confiding in Lily, and, fortified by a real meal and motherly interest, he felt that her counsel was sound. Today was the day. Who knew what tomorrow might bring?
Soberly, David nodded to his guardians, the broad and capable twins, and headed for the path behind the house. He passed the stump where Captain Cecco had loitered with Lily while David spied on them, and David entered the woods once again. The brook called out to him, rushing and bubbling, to guide his way to the stagnant pool at its end, and the dreadful cavern that once served David as shelter.
As he approached the pool, the twilight of the trees closed in, the stream flowed more reluctantly, and the scent of the water turned foul. He paused to lean against the brown, wrinkly skeleton tree, to study this familiar spot. Peter avoided this place, but Lily had told David its purpose. Now he understood why Jill had laid flowers here. Their withering remains lay strewn about the entrance, and David felt a queasy uneasiness about entering that grotto again.
Yet no help could be found in delaying. The task could grow no more appealing with time. Resolute now, David paced the final steps toward the rock wall, brushed the willow boughs aside, and, taking a deep breath, dropped to wriggle his body through the hole. He compared today’s attempt with his previous efforts, and felt the difference in his own maturity. It was harder to fit through the entrance, today, but easier to face its interior.
In the darkness, he rose to stand quickly, wishing to avoid contact with the bones underfoot. He scrubbed the muck off his hands. The twins had offered him a pine knot to light the way, but something in David’s stomach made him refuse it. He didn’t want to see more than he needed to see. It was bad enough to breathe the tainted air. David had no desire to witness exactly what tainted it.
Chilled by the frigid atmosphere, he made his way, step by echoing step, to the mat where he had shivered so many nights between damp, muddy blankets. Locating them by feel, he adjusted his path toward the secret fissure where he kept the precious packet.
He found the mirror first. He now held an intimate acquaintance with its provenance, the Mermaids’ Lagoon. Once in daylight again, David would check his reflection for the remains of Jill’s crimson handprint. Soon he would tender the looking-glass to Jill. It would be one of his parting gifts to her, but not the most significant.
Feeling his way along the cold stone wall, David detected the crevice that held his treasure. He hadn’t really believed anyone would find it, but he sighed in relief to know for certain it was safe. He pulled it out, held it secure, and turned to vacate the cavern and its odors, forever. Confident now, he held no fear of pirates or Indians lurking about, this time, to capture him. When he shoved the packet through the hole before he himself slithered out, he was unprepared to see it grasped and taken up.
In a panic, David scrambled on his belly, scratching and scraping into the daylight. His eyes were blinded at first, and then he gasped at what he saw. With the blazing colors of the parrot perched on one naked should
er, one of the twin Men of the Clearing stood before him, holding David’s secret in his hand.
The man’s other hand cradled Red-Handed Jill’s.
Once again, David felt humbled. As always, the Pirate Queen seemed too grand for him.
✽ ✽ ✽
Walking Man slept a little later these mornings. His old bones had become slow to rise. When he had adjusted his elaborate breastplate and pulled his feathered spear from his tepee, the camp was alive with activity. In the last few days, the People seemed moody, but the elder’s pouchy eyes crinkled in a smile when he saw that parents and children looked cheerful today. The ruckus of games had resumed, and a cluster of smaller boys sat waiting for him by the totem pole. He smelled breakfast on the breeze, and hoped that their mothers had thought to send him some.
The old man hobbled toward them, passing the tepee of White Bear. He grinned again, remembering how White Bear had gone ‘hunting,’ and, hours later, returned with his quarry. Raven had walked into the encampment, with White Bear close behind. Neither allowed much emotion to show, but it seemed clear to Walking Man that Raven was tamed. White Bear held his head a notch higher, and the tension on his face of late had eased.
Next, Walking Man passed Panther’s dwelling. “Good morning, Walking Man,” called Panther’s wife, with her pleasant face smiling. She looked sly this morning, as if she guarded a secret, and Walking Man heard giggling in the tepee behind her. Her long, beaded earrings flew as she whirled toward the sound to admonish, “Hush, my daughters!”
The elder strolled on toward the totem pole, where he greeted the boys. He was gathering his robe to sit down and lecture them when something unexpected caught his attention. He dropped his robe, he straightened up, and he gaped. The youngsters sat quiet, their eyes rolling as they exchanged guilty looks. A dog howled, but it seemed to Walking Man that the village had fallen silent.
Outraged, he strode toward the offensive sight, stabbing the butt of his spear in the ground with every step. When he arrived at the spot where Rowan and Lightly’s tepee had been struck, he halted. He glared, taking in every detail.
