by Andrea Jones
“My trident,” he marveled. “Exquisitely rendered.”
“I purchased this piece from my captain. He prefers gold over silver.”
Zaleh laughed, a sound more melodious than the call of the conch. “My boy,” he said, “deep as I may be, it is strange that I did not expect to feel this affection.”
“But you may expect your new son to return to you, once our voyage is over.” Guillaume was smiling, delighted that his gift and his gratitude had so pleased his foster father. He turned his eyes toward Marooners’ Rock. “But whether or not my friends will be fit to sail, this question lies beyond my experience.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Lightly touched down on the stony heights of the Indian mountain, with Rowan at his side. “I’m happy to be trusted once more, but this is one task the council handed us that I find disagreeable.”
The air felt brisk and fresh up here, and they both looked forward to kindling a fire in their tepee, once they hiked down to the deserted mountain camp. Having searched the Island and encountered no sign of their quarry, the pair would welcome a rest to warm up some supper.
“Soon dusk will blanket the sky and put an end to our searching,” Rowan observed. “Perhaps we should camp here tonight.”
“Look, Rowan, there’s smoke rising. It must come from a cook fire.”
Rowan’s gray-glass eyes grew alert. “I believe we have found him.” He drew his tomahawk from its home at his hip. Its heavy, weighted head lent reassurance to his spirit. Lightly shrugged his bow from his shoulders, glad of the new, swifter arrows his twin brothers at the Clearing had crafted to fill his quiver.
Descending the path, the men avoided its stumbling points, half leaping, half flying over rocks and crevices. Within minutes they crouched to view the Indian encampment, deserted for summer moons, its cluster of tepees tucked up snug and waiting for winter. From the long wooden lodge-house, a feather of smoke drifted upward. Lightly sniffed, detecting a roast of venison he guessed to be Lean Wolf’s lonesome dinner. Hungry as the young men were, the aroma made their mouths water.
Always cautious, Rowan proposed, “Let us call to him. I know better than to enter the den of a wolf.” When Lightly nodded, Rowan took up a stance as steady as the tree of his namesake, and cupped his hand to his mouth. “Lean Wolf, Silent Hunter. We come to you bearing news.”
Moments later, the rangy form of the hunter emerged, bending to exit the lodge, then straightening to his full and formidable height. He wore leggings and a long sleeved deerskin shirt that stretched tight over the muscles of his arms. During his time of expulsion from the tribe, he appeared shaggier than usual, his narrow face more feral. “Well,” he said, licking the grease from his fingertips, “here are the young lovers. Have you come to find warmth at my hearth? Sorry. I do not welcome your kind of heat.”
“Nor do we welcome yours,” retorted Lightly. “I look forward to the day my mother abandons you.”
“Ah!” Lean Wolf raised his eyebrows. “Such a woman is my kind of kindling. What makes you think she’ll turn cold to me?”
“Your first wife Red Fawn did. Why shouldn’t your second?”
“Red Fawn is the only female who ventured to run from me. She believed she was done with Silent Hunter, but now she knows better.”
“Do not dare to try your bullying with Red Hand.”
“Strictly speaking, I don’t know what you’re talking about. No man of the People associates with pirates, or with Outcasts.” Giving his words the lie, his first wife’s marriage bracelet appeared at his wrist as he cocked his head and held a hand to his ear. “In fact, I am not certain my ears perceive you.”
“You call yourself a man of the People. A brave of the tribe would not attempt to rape Red Fawn.”
“So it was you who shot at me. You may regret that your arrow missed my heart.”
Rowan stepped forward. “Threaten us if you wish. But if you harm a woman again, we will make certain the elders learn of your transgressions.”
Lean Wolf jeered, “The elders do not hear you any more than I do. Not only are the pair of you invisible to us, you are inaudible. Now go away. From this moment, I will follow the council’s ruling and ignore you.”
“You will hear us.” Rowan stiffened, and intoned, “Lean Wolf Silent Hunter. We bring word from the Council of Elders: ‘Our Messengers are restored to the People, and all quarrels exhaled with the smoke of the peace pipe. Further, the warrior Lean Wolf is deemed to have served his time of solitude, and may return to the tribe with his tribute of meat and of furs.’ ”
As Lean Wolf listened, both displeasure and satisfaction crossed his face.
Lightly added, “Walking Man has retired from the council. We feasted to his honor two suns ago. Wherever you skulked on the Island, you must have heard the celebration.”
“Do not look so smug, Lightly of the Air. This news that you welcome brings bad tidings, too. It means that only one deed will make sure of your silence.” Reaching behind his back, Lean Wolf produced his broad hunting knife. Its shine was dulled by the blood of the deer whose roasting flesh filled the atmosphere.
Rowan and Lightly still gripped their weapons. Neither moved. Lightly asked, “How do you hope to catch us? Though much like a wolf, you are only a man. Rowan and I are like birds.”
“Did your mother not warn you? I know how to bring down a bird.” He raised his knife as if to hurl it at Lightly, then, suddenly, he aimed it at Rowan. “How far will you fly, young one, once your lover lies dead?”
The color drained from Lightly’s face.
Lean Wolf sneered. “I see that I have hit my target. A blow to one bird is a blow to you both.”
Heavy with dread, Lightly backed from him. “Remember what we told you. The council’s outlook has altered.”
“The Messengers have delivered the elders’ words. Unless you prefer that I kill you right now, I’ll go eat my dinner.” With a malevolent stare, Lean Wolf bent and entered the lodge, flipping down the blanket that covered the open door.
Rowan and Lightly glanced at one another, then shoved off to take to the air. Lightly’s knees shook, but, thanks to his partner’s presence, he did feel able to fly. Instinctively, they soared upward to their private place on the mountaintop. Once their toes touched its rock again, Rowan turned to clasp Lightly to his breast. He sensed Lightly’s emotion, and shared the hollow feeling in his stomach. He kissed Lightly, and laid his head on his shoulder. “Let us return home,” Rowan urged. “Your mother’s men will watch over her, but, more than ever, Red Fawn needs our protection.”
“Yes.” Lightly’s heartbeat lagged. Tightly, he embraced Rowan, and when he spoke to his lover again, his voice was unsteady. “Although I would have understood such a fate, I did not lose you to the love of Ayasha. But, Rowan…never could I bear to lose you to the hatred of Lean Wolf.”
“Lightly of the Air, you are my wings.”
The two held together, chilled by the breeze, gazing over the mountain’s edge at the dimming landscape of the Neverland below them. A yellow glow danced in the Clearing, showing that their kin prepared for another night of revelry— perhaps the last until, months hence, the pirates might sail in to Neverbay once more.
Rowan said, slowly, “I agree that it is good to be trusted again. White Bear and the council honor us beyond our best hopes. Yet it is clear to me that, while Lean Wolf prowls this land, we cannot travel to the Other Island on White Bear’s errand.”
“You speak truth, Rowan.” Lightly sighed. “For everyone’s sake, I hope Jill knows what she’s doing.”
✽ ✽ ✽
From the green of the woods, Raven stepped lightly into the pavilion. Its gaily striped colors lit her features, and she appeared as handsome this afternoon as the first day he’d seen her on the sun-splashed banks of the river. Her raven-black hair had grown a little longer, and in it she now wore a cluster of beads and blue jay feathers that dangled down her neck. Hook could not fail to see that something else had ch
anged, too.
Raven appeared more vivid, somehow, her flesh more full and her eyes more alive. To Hook’s gaze, her body revealed the sensuality she had previously subdued. He recognized the amorousness that he himself had quickened in her, on that night she came to him in this very tent, to guide him through his pain. The twitch tickled at his lip. Apparently, both parties had gained from their exchange.
He swept forward to greet her. “I welcome you, my dear.” Also welcome to him was the familiarity of a friendly female, and the earthy, outdoor scent she brought. The air around her evoked his memories of Wendy, before Jill replaced them with perfume. Eagerly, he bent to kiss the woman, but straightened as she shied away.
“Commodore, I consider myself now to be a wedded woman.” As her dark eyes gazed upon him, Hook identified a hint of who he knew her to be. A rule breaker, like himself.
He smiled, half-way. “Those who know me understand that I never hesitate to embrace another man’s wife.” Raven did not appear distressed by his statement, but at the moment he chose not to press her. “Yet, naturally, your wish shall be respected.” He took her hand instead, and brought it to his lips. Her fingers returned his clasp.
Gratified, Hook prolonged the moment, watching as Raven waited for him to release her hand. The woman was such a charming mixture of self-assertion and self-denial. The last time they met, Hook had damaged that denial. The result, this afternoon, made her fascinating.
“Sir, I find that you have recovered your spirits,” she ventured, “and I understand that your happiness is recovered, also.”
“Indeed, as, in some measure, your own happiness is restored. My ships are prepared to sail. As agreed, you shall be advised when to make your escape.” He raised one eyebrow. “Unless, that is, you no longer desire to do so?”
“I do, yet I no longer look upon my leaving as escape. I confessed my plans to White Bear. He agreed to let me go, provided that the tribe’s Messengers accompany me. White Bear himself escorted me here—” she blushed, “although I must thank you for your discretion in choosing this secluded spot, so near the woods. My husband waits for me at a distance there, and I did not tell him who I intended to meet.”
“A wise decision.” Hook’s chest warmed with admiration. “I can imagine the courage required to speak truth to a man of White Bear’s stature. It is enough, perhaps, to have gained his acquiescence to your plans.”
“Sir, what you have promised is enough. And yet I fear I must ask for your help once again.”
Hook stood silent, observing her. In her accustomed sign of agitation, she dragged her fingers through her bob of hair.
“Even White Bear, as my husband and as a member of the council, cannot assure me of the safety of my family— his family.”
Hook frowned. “The terms of truce between my men and yours have held firm. In the time since my ‘visit’ to your village, no spark of war has flared between us.”
“You mistake my meaning. I do not fear hostility between our peoples. I dread revenge from the warrior, Lean Wolf.” As Hook’s eyes narrowed, Raven spoke more quietly. “He whom we call the Silent Hunter.”
Hook set his jaw. The humor vanished from his voice. “I have heard of him.”
“Lean Wolf asked that I should be his wife. As headman of my family, White Bear refused. Lean Wolf is a vindictive man, and I feel I have brought danger upon my husband, upon my sister, and even her baby. I cannot leave the Island without seeking some way to protect them.”
“Can your elders not control this brave?”
“He is too clever. By the time they learn of his treachery, it will be too late.”
“And so you come to me.” Thoughtful, Hook tapped his claw upon the thigh of his boot.
She said, “Nor will the elders act in defense of the Outcasts. I know you undertake to protect those who dwell at the Clearing. I must give you warning: while Lean Wolf hunts, not one of those women is safe.”
“Your council understand that I will deal justice to any member of the tribe who causes trouble at the Clearing. Lean Wolf has never shown his face there. As you say, he is clever. I cannot touch him unless he misbehaves within my domain.”
“Can you not confront him, privately? Can your pirates present some threat to him?”
“Not in the time I have allotted before departing the Island.” Seeing her look of pain, Hook laid his hand on her cheek. She tilted her head, ever so slightly, to accommodate him. Her skin felt velvety, and the feathers of her headdress brushed his fingers. “Raven. I regret that I can make no pledge, this time, to succor you.”
“Is there nothing I can do to prevent his harming my loved ones?”
He withdrew his touch. “Other than giving yourself to him?” At her look of horror, Hook shook his head. “No. Nor should you trust him even if you did.”
She squeezed her hands together, whispering, “I wish I held the courage to kill him.”
“It is no wonder I esteem you, my dear. Yet you are not the only woman of spirit on this island.”
Hook stepped closer, and viewed her puzzled face gazing up at him.
“No man of my company, including me, may lay a finger upon Lean Wolf.” He allowed a note of promise to play in his voice, and it held her captive. “No man of my company.”
“But…your company does not contain only men.”
“I feel that I may send you away in the confidence that those you love shall be shielded.”
A moment of astonishment, a quick intake of breath, and Raven forgot to consider herself a wedded woman. As if her gratitude elevated her, she rose to her tiptoes and flung her arms around his neck. Hook held the lushness of her body in his arms, and, pulling back just a bit, he smiled down upon her. “As promised, your wish shall be respected.” This kiss they shared might be their last.
Beyond question, this kiss matched their first.
When, at length, Raven pulled away, Hook raised his claw to her headdress. A quick cut, and one long, blue feather flew free from her hair. As it whirled to the ground, they both watched it fall, to settle on the colors of the carpet. It lay between his black boots and her bare feet, beneath the dangling fringe of her dress. Hook picked it up. He did not offer to return it to Raven, nor did she reach out to take it. Over the feather, a look passed between them— a deep look, and a longing one— but nothing more, and then she whirled to run from the pavilion, late to meet her husband in the woods.
Hook touched the tip of the feather to his lips, intensely aware of its tingling. Then he strode to the table, where his hat and his weapons lay waiting. Employing the point of his hook, he pierced the brim, and, painstakingly, he worked his few fingers to seat the feather securely. When he finished, he donned the hat, cocking it at an angle to sport his prize. Yet he knew, as most of those who knew him did not, that this token meant more than a trophy.
It meant that Raven’s flight to the Other Island was a decision for the best.
Still, he reflected…he knew where to find her.
CHAPTER 33
Island Offering
Wittles the carpenter hung up his tools. He stretched and sighed, glad to be done with his tasks. The ship was clean, careened, and seaworthy, and stocked with the materials needed to keep her afloat. The only missing properties were the commodore and his lady. Rumor had it that they were off to the Fairy Glade, for one last evening on the love seat the carpenter had crafted to order. Because no taverns or shops were established on the Island, Hook’s coins of payment still reposed in Wittles’ pocket.
Soon he’d join the lads on deck for a mug of ale under Neverland skies. These last days had been filled with cramming the holds. Timber, hemp, kegs of fresh water. The smith and the cooper turned out dozens of barrels, stuffed now with foods gathered by the men and preserved by Cook, Chef, and their galley mates— fish, fruits, greens, and game. Though the sailors felt well fed, they were ready for a rest.
This afternoon saw the final fest at the Clearing. The rain showers hadn’t damp
ened the merriment, but, rather, made the party more fluid. Mr. Smee got some groans when he announced the commodore’s order to remain aboard on this eve. Smee admonished the hands to keep watch against mischief from Lost Boys, and stay strictly clear of the natives. No footprints on shore tonight, muddy or dry. That was the order.
The sailors grinned, though, when Smee called for casks to be rolled up. Even better, they cheered to see the Red Lady’s boats hooking on and her Frenchmen scrambling aboard. The combined ships’ companies would drink to the Neverland stars that rose over the yardarms, big and brassy, and they’d keep their eyes primed for mermaids. Tonight might be the last they’d see of the Island’s allures, until the next time the fleet sailed for home port.
“And which of us knows if he’ll sink, swim, or swing first?” Wittles scratched his head with his uneven fingernails. “Best to invest in the dice.” He patted his pocket, and whistled his way up the stairs.
✽ ✽ ✽
This last night in port, Nibs straddled a cannon at the Roger’s rail. Lanterns illuminated the ship’s deck behind him, radiating a liquid yellow light to waver on the bay. An air from the fiddler soared to crescendo, then hauntingly came to an end. Like the company’s sojourn here, the melody was done.
Nibs breathed in of the fragrance of Island air. He knew that the other men, even those who hadn’t grown up here, felt the same wistfulness. Half of his heart was anchored on this isle; the other half hankered for open sea. By tomorrow night, these shores and their residents would live on as fantasy. Someplace to dream about, someplace to boast about, and someplace to long to return.
Warned to be wary tonight, the sailors saw nothing alarming. As yet, although the men watched eagerly for mermaids, no seafolk thinned out the crew. Jewel had orbited the Island and reported to Smee early on, indicating that the natives did not menace, and no mischief seemed a-brew from Pan’s boys.
So the sailors laughed and talked, threw dice to go clattering on the boards, and the coins they lost and won clinked in their hands. Nibs gazed up to the crow’s nest, where Noodler and Jewel shared the watch. No doubt they shared Noodler’s flask, too. Nibs roused from his musings when Jewel dove from the nest in a streak of gold to make a beeline to the bo’sun. She must have sighted something.
