Other Islands

by Andrea Jones

  He was glad of an excuse to leave Lean Wolf to his brooding. Once ignited on the subject of his runaway wife, Lean Wolf would smolder for hours, varying only to insist that White Bear alleviate his single status with the gift of his sister-in-law. Whenever possible, White Bear avoided that question. In spite of Willow’s wish that he shelter her sister, his position of provider to Raven grew increasingly awkward. The more she withdrew from him, the less the elders would consider her his. She exhibited no inclination to go to another brave, but excuses to keep her were becoming difficult to find. Unless the irksome woman capitulated soon, White Bear must reconsider Lean Wolf’s petition. Lean Wolf might pretend to despise the council, yet he was not above using it to get his way. But how to tell a woman, a grieving woman, that she must submit to one man in order to avoid another?

  Maybe he wouldn’t tell her. Maybe he would simply manifest his will. Willow would agree. It would be best for everyone’s sake if—

  A jaybird screamed above him in a white birch tree. Like a spear, its cry violated White Bear’s reflections, interjecting another— an unthinkable— thought. The thought of the taboo that Red Fawn, Lean Wolf’s unfortunate wife, had broken. Suddenly, White Bear understood his old friend’s bitterness. He felt the venom seeping into his soul, the gall that poisoned Lean Wolf’s spirit. It was a tightening of his gut, a wrench of his honor, more shocking in its vulgarity than the call of the blue jay.

  Looking past the bird to the sky, to the west, White Bear eyed the plume of red smoke. It hadn’t abated since those shaggy-haired twins had kindled it, moons ago. Willow, his wife, never caused his thoughts to veer that direction, but now, Raven flew him there. Unlike Willow, Raven was headstrong. Already she demonstrated a lack of respect for herself. Look how she had mutilated her hair. If she was pushed too far, might she, too, run away to live outcast at the House of the Clearing? A house ordained by the Black Chief himself. A place in which men of any shade, of any persuasion, were made welcome. Just to contemplate his sister-in-law in that situation made White Bear feel dirty, dishonored. The woman vexed him for simply inducing the idea. The raucous jaybird, so wanting in circumspection, could be an omen.

  White Bear realized he was standing still, his breathing no longer regular, his eyes staring at the moccasins his wife’s loving hands had crafted for him. He shook his head to clear it. This inaction was no way to serve the People. He started up again, running faster to recapture the time. As the din of the drums attested, the presence of pirates only made the circumstances more urgent, for the People— and, perhaps, for Willow’s stubborn sister.

  Setting his teeth, White Bear determined one thing for certain. This matter was one of pride as well as practicality. He was a responsible provider. An honorable husband. He would not allow a member of his family, a female under his protection, to shame herself as an Outcast. Never.

  Tradition must be upheld. Willow’s sister would do as she was told.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Willow’s sister watched after White Bear, her feet making stirring sounds in the underbrush as she crept from her hiding place back to the path. She had heard him coming— not his footsteps; they fell like the wind’s— but the even whoosh of his breathing. Once again, she observed, his hunt had been successful. The game he carried so lightly would feed his family for months. And when his son was born, the soft fur of the deer’s breast would line a cradleboard. Willow’s sister would prepare it.

  Bitter as it felt to Raven to shed her individuality, she understood she was better off in the background. Aunt to his children. Sister to his wife. A shadow woman. Her husband, Ash, who had truly known her, waited at the Dark Hunting ground. Considering the manner in which White Bear looked at her, Raven, too, might as well reside in the land of Dark Hunting. She was only a burden to him, like the weight of the carcass that crowned his shoulders. He had condescended to offer his body, but he never offered to call her his wife. Raven, the Shadow Woman, approved. It was better this way.

  A short while ago she had jumped to hear the cannon fire. She had snatched up her berry basket and started running back to the village. The drums were pounding. Willow would be needing her. Now that White Bear had passed by, Raven prepared to hasten away again, but she gasped instead. Berries tumbled from her basket as a strong grip encircled her waist. She smelled blood.

  “Lean Wolf.” Dragging his arm from her body, she spun to see his powerful frame unbent by the weight of his kill, his lips smirking. Clutching the basket, she backed from him. “Silent Hunter.”

  “That is one pronouncement the Council of Elders made properly. My name.” His prey never heard him stalking. “Are you running from the pirates, Raven? Have no fear. I will protect you from those devil men…if you say yes to me.” He plucked a berry from her basket.

  “And who will protect me from you?”

  “I think it is I who need protection— from that barbed tongue. But I am daring. I am fearless enough to overlook your faults. No, don’t go. I am only trying to make you smile.” He held the berry up and offered it to Raven, but she declined. Shrugging, he squeezed it. The dark juice oozed along his fingers. He bit the berry and rolled it between his lips to swallow it. “You should smile again, Raven. You were beautiful not so long ago, with your lovely laugh and your long, long hair.” He sucked the juice from his fingers, savoring the syrupy taste. “You never laugh any more, but I see that your hair is growing.”

  Raven’s hand flew to her temple. She tidied what little hair she had. “A woman in mourning has no need for beauty.”

  “Not according to the man who would be her next husband. Raven, it is clear to all the People that White Bear rejects you. I am not so foolish. Tell him you wish him to accept my offer.”

  Swiftly, her black eyes rose to meet his, surprised.

  Lean Wolf laughed. “So that is it? White Bear is more crafty than I suspected! He has not told you of my suit.” He enjoyed the confusion on Raven’s face. Thanks to White Bear’s obstinacy, he had caught her off guard. He seized his advantage. “So now you are aware of my proposal. And to make certain you remember, I give to you two gifts.”

  Unaccustomed as he was to revealing his feelings, Lean Wolf did so with grace. He knelt down on one knee and slid the weight of the doe from his shoulder. Laying it at Raven’s feet, he stroked its coat smooth and looked up at her. No trace of mockery remained in his eyes. “To prove to you I am an able provider.” He stood. He took the basket from her hands and set it in the grass, then guided her to step carefully over the carcass. A smear of blood trailed down his wide, naked chest, thick near his shoulder, more watery where it mixed with his perspiration. “To prove to you I am an eager lover.” He leaned down and, gentle as the doe, he took her cheek in his hand, and he kissed her.

  Raven’s heart rebelled. She hadn’t wanted to be kissed. She dreaded desiring to be kissed. As she had feared, the touch of a man set every nerve alight. The body whose urges the Shadow Woman had damped in a river of sorrow resurfaced to propel her once more into the physical realm, the world of life, of which she had so lustily partaken with Ash. And, surprisingly, this philanderer’s kiss was tender, lingering, still flavored with the sugar of the berry. Like his other women, her blood was up, her desires aflame. With only one touch, Silent Hunter had driven her from her hiding place.

  Reasserting her will, she pulled back before the doe’s blood stained her dress. “Lean Wolf.” She shook her head. “I am not thinking again of marriage.”

  “Then think of me. I will not stand on ceremony.”

  Raven searched his face. She saw the angular features that used to be handsome, before disappointment made him hostile. He wasn’t hostile now. His face was set in caution, but she read the sincerity there. Raven perceived that she must use caution herself. She couldn’t afford to make an enemy of White Bear’s friend.

  “I thank you, Lean Wolf, if what you offer is a compliment. But word of your actions causes me to wonder. As you have said, you are willing to do awa
y with ceremony.”

  “Now you speak like your brother-in-law. Always clinging to custom.”

  “Do not be offended, and I, too, will forgo offense. Let us leave the matter here.”

  “So you do not answer me?”

  “My brother-in-law must answer for me.” Truly, she thought, he was a lean wolf. His hungry smile had appeared.

  “You fish for more gifts, then.” He moved toward her, and leaned closer. The strength of his arms was well known among the fairer members of the tribe.

  When, a few moments later, Raven emerged, alone and panting, from the forest at the edge of the encampment, she held her basket in front of her breast. She stole to the river’s edge to kneel down on its bank. As her knees slid toward the water on the cold, hard pebbles, she scrubbed at the blood upon her dress.

  Silent Hunter had caught her, and she’d never heard him stalking.

  CHAPTER 4

  Stolen Pleasures

  Hook’s pirates boarded the Island, not to plunder this time, but to partake of the pleasures of shore leave. Far from looting, an advance party had trudged ahead bearing gifts— casks of wine, rounds of cheese, a crate of poultry, even a goat for roasting. The Men of the Clearing, anticipating, had already propped up the spits. Less practical but more impressive were the offerings of earrings in silver, copper, and gold, one pair for each of the hostesses, as well as a coffer of sparkling Venetian beads. For the hosts, a cask of brandy, pouches of tobacco for trading, and two shining axes with Spanish leather grips. Though not in attendance tonight— to the disappointment of the ladies— Commodore Hook was a generous man.

  Executing an order to act in the master’s place, Mr. Smee took charge before the festivities that evening, doling out the largess. “Compliments of himself, Lily. He commands more sailors now, but he won’t be letting them eat you out of house and home.” Relaxing on a wide-striped blanket with Red Fawn nearby and Lily in his arms, Smee leaned against a log and glanced at the fine residence the twins had constructed. A tidy, two story abode, white with green vine shutters, it mightn’t have looked out of place on an Irish country estate. The original structure, the hut that had been Wendy’s, still stood adjoining it, dwarfed but welcoming, its leaves sighing in the breeze and its quaint little chimney puffing out that distinctive red smoke signal. The bones of a rising workshop stood off in a corner of the Clearing, like fingers waiting to be gloved. Above the song of a brook, the surrounding forest rang with the night sounds of crickets and tree frogs, while a glow from the bonfire illuminated the arches of treetops, tinting them orange. The Men of the Clearing tended the fire as deftly as they tended the women— all as the master, Hook, had contrived when he first waylaid Wendy in this very spot.

  Lily filled her eyes with her brawny Irishman, well content. Smee was first mate and steward to a commodore now, and still ship’s bo’sun with two new mates to assist him. But in spite of his rise in rank, he still proved as strong and as sweet as rum. And even if he talked less, he loved more. She answered him slyly, “It is not the house and home that concern me.” Deep in the woods, a commotion could be heard. Eagerly, her eyes turned toward her impending guests. “But how will we accommodate so many?”

  “They’ll not be visiting all at once. The commodore and the captain agreed—” Peering over his spectacles, Smee sent Lily a significant look, “agreed, at least, on that point.”

  “But you said that the two captains made truce.”

  “Aye, when the commodore returned from his absence to take the helm, a truce was struck. He was wise enough to compromise. The men were relieved, at first, to see their officers settling their differences— or should I be saying, their similarities? But once those storms knocked us off course and threatened our shore leave, everyone’s tempers warmed up. And then we had to be mending sails, and running up the spare mizzen for Red Lady, too. It felt as if we’d never be finding this blessed Island, and the Roger’s men began to wonder if the place was warding off the Lady’s sailors, seeing as they’re strangers here. Eight days of foul and eight days of fair. Our fresh paint and polish only just dried before the Island called us home.”

  Lily rested her head on Smee’s shoulder, comforted by his presence. “After you sailed away, my dreams told me that your homecoming would be delayed. I dared not look for you too early, and it is well that I did not. I knew you might face storms of the waters, but I did not foresee these storms between your officers.”

  Smee held her, relieved to unburden his heart. “It’s a time I’ve had, trying to keep the peace between the two of them. Clashing over every little thing, two mighty men, for protocol’s sake avoiding the fight they’re both itching to battle out. It’s true what people say. There’s no conflict so consuming as the struggle over a woman.”

  Red Fawn piped up, and her dimples, so pronounced as she had put on her silvery earrings, now disappeared. “It is a dangerous manner in which to live and to work.”

  “Aye. The men watch. They feel the tension, and they react to it. Commodore Hook knows it wouldn’t be seemly to appear to be bearing a grudge. But the danger lies mostly for Captain Cecco. He can only be showing so much resentment. Nothing that smacks of mutiny. Instead, he vents his ire on whatever else may get in his way.”

  Lily’s brow creased. “You must take care not to incur his wrath, Smee. You yourself are a symbol of the commodore’s power.”

  “May be, Lily. Captain Cecco was fit to be tied when he learned I was appointed personal steward to—” Smee stopped and stroked the unfamiliar cut of his beard, “…to the commodore.”

  Lily divined the meaning that Smee hoped to spare her. To lessen her lover’s discomfort, she gazed toward the fire. “Is that not the trouble you face? Captain Cecco himself cannot approach the Lady Jill, and yet he must smolder to think of you alone with her…touching her each morning, and each night.”

  Employing his new reticence, Smee tipped his head, but made no reply.

  “But is there no resolution?”

  “Ah, Lily, lass.” Smee sighed, the burden of Hook’s welfare heavy on his heart. Jill’s well-being, too, although he had downplayed his devotion to her in recounting the ship’s last adventure. Smee had come within a hairsbreadth of ruling the Roger, and it had taken every ounce of his integrity to deny himself the full enjoyment of Jill. But he judged it best to gloss over these details; Smee and Lily were a match, and while not an exclusive pair, they trod lightly on each other’s affection. “It’s a right mess the three of them are in. That Doctor Hanover caused more trouble than even he knows, kidnapping the commodore and paving the way for Mr. Cecco’s captaincy. If the commodore hadn’t sent that blackguard packing back to Austria, I’d have roasted the man on a spit myself, like yon ruddy goat.”

  Red Fawn inched closer to Smee, her large, dark eyes wide. “Are you certain the handsome commodore has recovered from his ordeal? Shackled for weeks, drugged, and nearly starved to death!”

  “Aye, I’m keeping an eye on him. Hale and hearty now, but leaner.” Smee grinned. “And stronger, as any who witnessed his resurrection can tell you.”

  “Stronger, you say? You must ask your commodore chief to honor us with his presence.” Red Fawn’s dimples returned. “We will welcome the opportunity to assure ourselves of his good health. And I hope our dashing Mr. Cecco will not neglect us now that he is an important officer. I admit I have missed him, and his exotic accent.” The twins’ parrot squawked high in the fringe of trees, calling its warning. Red Fawn turned an ear toward the forest. “Listen, your comrades are approaching. But ah! The poor fellows who have to stay behind!”

  Sitting up, Smee chortled. “The ‘poor fellows’ will get their turn. Tonight they’ll be rigging their hammocks above decks, staring up to the stars and gulping down the ale. The Commodore knows what he’s about.”

  “Indeed,” said Lily. “He is wise to post guards. Our Men have been watching the Golden Boy. He has assembled a new band of youngsters. They are bound to wish to prove thems
elves against the pirates.”

  “You’re wise yourself, Lily, to catch on to the commodore’s purpose. How I missed you while at sea!”

  One of the twins looked up from turning the spits. “We think maybe Pan’s pack has been prowling. Several times we’ve found things missing from our stores, although nothing of importance. Some food, some clothes.”

  Frowning, Smee said, “I’ll be looking into it, then. We can’t be having that nuisance of a lad taking food from the ladies’ mouths. Or from the children’s.”

  “We’re not certain, though, that the culprit is a Lost Boy,” said the other twin. “Pan and his brood have no need to steal food, nor clothing. And we’ve seen tracks along the stream. They’re larger than Pan’s, and since Jill’s brothers returned to London, he has no older boys.”

  Smee lifted his eyebrows. “Do you say, now? The commodore will be interested to hear it. Mayhap he’ll feel an inclination to go hunting.” He turned to Red Fawn. “And has that husband of yours given up trying to steal you back?”

  Looking down, Red Fawn blushed. “No, Smee. He still bears my marriage bracelet. I never know when he will show himself. Lean Wolf the Silent Hunter stalks like a panther.”

  “It’s a shame he can’t be leaving you in peace.” To the Men of the Clearing he said, “Let me know if you’re wanting a hand in dealing with that one.”

  The twins nodded. “We will.”

  “Lean Wolf is one of the reasons we trained our Scout,” the second twin said, looking toward the parrot’s roost. “His sharp eyes don’t miss much in the forest.”

  Coming from the house, now lit with a nightlight that fell through viney shutters to speckle the ground, the third of the outcast native women, Lelaneh, glided through the cool, dewy grass. She entered the circle of logs around the bonfire and sat beside Smee, nestling against his shoulder. She brought with her a fragrance of honey. As Smee and the women watched the twins at work over the spits, Lelaneh’s waist-length hair swept over the arm Smee circled around her. A bright colored shawl, loosely clasped, barely covered her abundant breasts, and she wielded liquid brown eyes that might make even a strong man weak. “The children are asleep. Your angel, too, Smee. She looks more like her mother every day, except for her hair.”