by Andrea Jones
“Red-Handed Jill is a Pirate Queen. Fearing nothing and no one, she dares to sail the salt sea beside the Terrible Captain Hook, spreading terror in her wake.”
Scenting adventure, the boys scooted closer, leaning toward their leader.
“Her pirate moniker comes from a deed she accomplished. She slew a tiger all on her own, tugging its tail and slashing its throat. Because it was her first kill, she underwent the blood-rage—” Peter’s voice hushed with reverence, “a mystical union between the hunter and the hunted.”
“Did you undergo the blood-rage, Peter, with your first kill?”
“Of course I did, Chip. I went wild, and whooped and danced. I’m sure it lasted a week.”
“What did you kill? Or…who?”
Peter shrugged. “I forget them after I kill them.” He was never one to dwell on the departed, even if he’d been able to remember them.
Appropriately impressed, Bertie croaked, “But why is she called Red-Handed Jill?”
“Because after her kill, she dropped down on her knees and plunged her right hand in the blood of the beast that had stalked her. It stained her skin forever. Her handprint flies from the Roger’s mast now, blood-red on a pure white banner, next to Captain Hook’s. Jewel says it’s a mark of initiation. I say it shows her ferocity. But the best part is…Red-Handed Jill wasn’t always a pirate.” Peter pulled back with an enigmatic expression, looking from face to face. “Once upon a time, when she was just a girl, she dared to fly beside me. She was my Wendy.”
The boys expelled sighs. “Ahhh!”
“But I’m sorry to say that girls grow up to become ladies.” The boys grimaced, just like Peter. “And you know what ladies like…” Four shudders shook the foliage. “Kisses.”
Only Chip had the grace to blush. He once liked kisses himself. He’d given a peck on the cheek to Peter when Peter first adopted him. Chip held a deep, unlikely secret under the cover of his leafy tunic. He knew from Peter’s stillness at the time that, far from despising that kiss, Peter had taken it to heart. Watching Peter with a sly look now, Chip felt just a bit wiser than his ‘father.’ Peter knew more forest lore than his two newest boys could ever hope to grasp. But where his emotions were concerned, Peter was green as a seedling. Even Bertie— the dark, chubby one, as Chip continually reminded Peter— owned a better understanding of friendship. Bingo on the other hand was like a puppy; he held a soft spot for anyone who bothered to feed him. But, young as he was, Chip himself was clear on the subject of feelings. He loved Peter, he loved adventure, and he loved life as a Lost Boy. He wasn’t ashamed to show his emotions, but he was shrewd enough not to.
He was also dutiful enough to move Peter’s agenda along. “Did you have to kiss her like she wanted, Peter?”
Disapproving, Peter angled his head. “If you know anything about chivalry, Chip, you know that a knight never discusses his lady.” He smiled, cunning now, and slipped a lacy cloth from his pocket. “But I can tell you that I carry her kerchief!” Peter dangled the handkerchief over his nose, inhaling loudly with an appreciative grin, “Scented with all the oils of Araby!” Admiring their leader, Chip, Bertie, and Bingo laughed, and Peter sat back. “She granted me this token one afternoon, as I set off upon a quest. And one day I expect I’ll have to do battle in tournament over it. As soon as Red-Handed Jill’s villainous captain gets wind of it, he’s sure to come to collect it.” A determined look settled over Peter, sharpening his patrician features. He tucked the handkerchief away and fingered the tip of his knife. “And I’ll be ready for him.”
As if in answer to the challenge, a thunderous boom exploded in the distance. A flock of parrots squawked in alarm, swooshing from the trees. The very Island trembled at the blast. Peter sprang up to balance on his bough, tense and alert. “Long Tom!” His eyes opened wide as he stared at his boys, then he shoved off to soar up through the branches, ignoring the sting of the old oak’s revenge. A shower of leaves flickered, swirling downward in the spot where he roosted a moment before. He was in the air and overlooking the bay in time to see white smoke erupt from a row of cannon before the roar of the second barrage reached his ears.
“Two discharges?” Chip exclaimed. He darted up through the treetops with the other children at his heels.
Peter hovered, a look of disbelief on his face. But quick as mercury, his expression changed to glee. For the first time in months, his heart banged against his ribs, double-time.
“Hook and Jill are back!” he exulted. “You’ll get your fill of pirates now, my boys! It’s the Jolly Roger…and she’s taken a mate.”
All the boys beheld her now. Chip’s pulse raced; Bertie and Bingo swallowed hard, feeling their insides go hollow.
The Roger flew from the east. With rays of morning light behind her, she glimmered like a sunrise on the horizon of Neverbay. A far more beautiful vessel than these boys had imagined, more handsome, even, than Peter had described, she was fierce— a forty-gunner— graceful but substantial. Gold paint glinted on her deck and rails, white sails arched like wings. Her only dark spot was the black flag, streaming proud at her mainmast. And gliding along behind her, newly embraced by the arms of the bay, was a lithe, lovely ship, smaller and more modest. A fighter, but every bit as trim.
And both ships swarmed with pirates.
Peter punched the air and crowed. Not to be outdone, Chip dove into a somersault, flung back his head, and joined his voice with his chief’s. Below them, the oak tree agitated in the breezes, and leaked its sap to mend the morning’s wounds.
But it didn’t stir a leaf of warning when a lonely, tattered figure crept beneath its cover. A moment later, the arrows were gone, yanked free of the target, and Peter’s best bow disappeared in the underbrush.
✽ ✽ ✽
The Men of the Clearing paddled through Neverbay in record time. Slick and sleek, the canoe parted the waves to run alongside the Roger, just as the twins had designed it to do. Swimming light like a fish, it also carried two of the Men’s ladies. Lily’s braves put their broad, tan backs to their task. They knew how anxious she was to greet her sailor man. He’d been away three moons and more, and for the last weeks she’d been gazing seaward, listening for the sound of the cannon. The twins grinned to see the look on Smee’s rugged face as he hailed Lily from the rail; clearly, he too was eager for reunion. In two shakes, the big red Irishman had shed his boots, thrust his knife and spectacles inside them, and tossed them to the twins. Then, to the cheers of his men, he hurdled to the rail and dove into the sea, the splash of his robust build creating a wave that thrust the little craft bouncing from the hull of the Roger.
“Smee!” Lily and Red Fawn laughed as the boat rocked to the slap of bay water. Lily reached for her soggy sailor, displaying a fine golden bracelet and nearly swamping the canoe as she leaned over the side for the salty kiss on his lips.
“Ah, lass, I’m that glad to be setting my weary eyes upon you!” Smee rolled aboard as the twins leaned to balance their craft and the ladies shifted to make room. He embraced Lily thoroughly, pulling her full, pleasing figure into his arms. Inhaling her fragrance, he reveled in the woodsy scent of her black braided hair. When he released her, he gathered himself to turn a respectful regard toward his commander. Smee saluted, waited for a nod, then turned to the twins. “Go on and take us to shore, lads. Your brothers send their greetings. They’ve a job to be doing for the commodore, and then they’ll be joining us this evening.”
Lily registered surprise at Smee’s choice of titles. But, mindful of her Men, she subdued her curiosity, asking before the twins could reply, “Our young men wish to speak with their mother, Smee. What of the Lady Jill?”
Smee’s face turned a shade redder than his customary complexion. “She’ll be along when she can, Lily. Let’s not talk of her ’til then.”
“My Irish Smee, not talking?” Lily smiled, but not quite as openly as before. More had changed during this voyage than just his captain’s rank. Her slate-gray eyes had alre
ady noted Smee’s fine white shirt and the new neat trim of his beard. “Well, man, I am sure we will find something else to do.”
“A woman after my own heart!”
“Yes, Smee. One of them.” But she held him, dripping as he was, firmly against her best beaded tunic.
The twins winked at one another. Lily was a woman after their hearts, too. A lovely, welcoming woman. For the thousandth time, they thanked the stars they’d had the sense to abandon Pan’s hideout and grow up. A glance at Red Fawn inspired them to paddle with swifter strokes. She blew her kisses to the ship’s crew, the dazzling smile in her dark, graceful face surrounded by dimples as she issued her invitations. There’d be little opportunity before the onslaught. Lily would be occupied with Smee, but Red Fawn always found time for her providers. And so did Lelaneh. The twins looked up to position the sun; the children would be napping soon, in the cool, shady nursery of their house in the Clearing. The young men’s loincloths grew tighter. Their hearts beat faster.
As the twins turned their craft toward shore, they scanned the colorful crowd of pirates hanging over the rail. Among the rowdy sailors calling after the women, they searched for their brothers. High in the rigging clambered Nibs the Knife in his orange kerchief, and Tom Tootles, still straining the seams of his breeches. The Men of the Clearing paused only a moment to wave their paddles and shout, “Welcome home!” But they took a long, lingering look at their mother.
At the end of her very first voyage, Red-Handed Jill, the pirate queen, reigned from the quarterdeck, a match for the arrogant captain who had swept her away. She wore a gown of sapphire blue— the hue of the gems circling her throat, the same color as the jewels studding Hook’s wide-brimmed hat. The wind tugged the waves of his black hair as he stood posed beside her. It stirred one golden lock of Jill’s hair, too; the remainder was twisted in an elegant knot. A superior sword shone at her lover’s side, like the sword in the sash at Jill’s own waist. Protruding from his blue velvet cuff was the notorious end of his arm: a deadly, barbarous hook. The sun of Neverbay reflected sharply in its curve. Jill’s arm ended in a delicate hand decorated with rings— a hand blood-red on the inside, from palm to fingertips— and a band of sapphires around her wrist. Linked arm in arm, the pirate pair stood aloof and erect, flanked by their officers, observing the homecoming with identical smiles of satisfaction. The sails aloft folded obediently, like wings of a hawk, as under Hook’s orders men hauled them up to furl them. The image of the Roger’s rulers embedded itself in the Men of the Clearing’s minds. Any doubts they harbored over the past several moons evaporated like morning mist in the certainty of sunrise. Red-Handed Jill belonged with that legendary pirate.
And even if she didn’t, a man would enter hell trying to pry her away.
Two such tormented men existed; only one was present in the company. But the twins didn’t see that man at the moment, nor did he take notice of their women. In his own personal purgatory, Captain Giovanni Cecco stood staring at Jill, a cable’s length behind her, astride the bowsprit of his ship, the vessel he had named for her. His exquisite Red Lady.
✽ ✽ ✽
“Creature of the woodland, I revere your sacrifice.” White Bear followed tradition, withdrawing his arrow from the deer with ceremony. He stanched the flow of blood with a handful of moss, another gift from the forest. With this custom performed, he rose from his knees and slung the carcass across his shoulders, impatient to return to the encampment. Squinting against the light, he looked up toward his companion in the treetop.
He called, “Have you satisfied your curiosity, Lean Wolf?” He knew Willow would be anxious. The thunder of the guns must have set the entire village scurrying. White Bear could hear the defiant beat of the drums in the distance. The women would be pulling children into tepees. The elders would be gathering in council. Even at this distance, in the moist air of the wood, White Bear whiffed the stench of gunpowder. For every member of his tribe, that smell evoked recent and frightening memories. Memories of the Black Chief, He of the Eagle’s Claw, the pirate whose presence now was certain. He called again, urgently. “Tell me what you see. I must return to meet with the council.”
Lean Wolf took one last leer and slid his tough, muscular body down the maple trunk to drop soundlessly to the forest floor. He was a silent hunter. His prey never heard him stalking.
“You want to tell the elders what I see?” Lean Wolf spat on the ground. “I see a faithless woman. A pass-around woman, selecting her patrons.” His sharp black eyes narrowed as he mocked his companion’s frown. “You do not approve of my words. Yet I challenge you to find them false.”
“It is said that those women do not sell themselves. You are wrong to assume it; more so to speak it.”
“You are wrong to chastise me. Red Fawn is wrong to abandon me.” Lean Wolf secured the hunting knife strapped beneath his knee.
White Bear glanced at the beaded marriage bracelet on Lean Wolf’s wrist, but kept his face impassive. “We will not debate it again. Take up your deer and speak as we travel. What happens in the bay?”
“Oh, White Bear! The report you carry to the council will set them trembling.” The smirk Lean Wolf had adopted in recent months marred his comely features. “Wait until I tell you. Lily and Red Fawn and Lelaneh will have their hands full. Ha! Did I say their hands?”
White Bear halted as if to cast down the carcass. “Very well, Lean Wolf. I will climb the tree myself.”
“No, no, brother Bear. I will tell you and you can run home to your flock of old men. You won’t want to disappoint your crone, either. The Old One appointed you to the council so her ancient eyes will get some exercise!” Lean Wolf laughed as he easily flung his own kill, another doe, over one shoulder. The strength of his arms was well known among the fairer members of the tribe, and except when a woman was watching, a fully grown doe’s weight meant nothing to him. “And that shows how badly her old eyes need entertainment. Scarred and sinewy as you are, you are hardly a maiden’s dream. But an old woman’s, certainly.”
“I have asked you before, Lean Wolf Silent Hunter. I ask you again, respectfully. I would have you show more deference to our ancestors. They are the guardians of custom, and it is custom that keeps us unified. I need not remind you that only as a tribe can we prevail against the white devils.”
“And yet you defend my wife, who breaks with custom and runs off to oblige those very demons.” Lean Wolf shook his head, his lengthy black hair, bound only by a leather headband, falling over his unburdened shoulder. “You do not see how you yourself have broken with tradition. And in one other respect, as well.”
Quickening his steps, White Bear hoped to outdistance the familiar comment coming next. Sun and shadow filtered through the leaves, alternating against his eyes. Light and dark, like his feelings for his longtime friend.
“You share your tepee with two women,” Lean Wolf called, sprinting to catch up. “Yet you wear only one marriage bracelet. Why not reconsider and give Raven to me? You know how badly I need women.”
“So badly that you drive your wife away.”
“Red Fawn need not have run to the Clearing. I can provide for the requirements of two. Like you, White Bear.” Lean Wolf’s clever smile lit his face. This smile was the one that had won an old man’s little bride. “And believe me, that second girl required me.”
“That girl’s father gave her, too young, to a man too old. You had a wife. The fault was not yours to correct. Nor were you responsible for soothing a certain sister’s grief when her brother died.”
Lean Wolf shrugged. “You would not say so if you yourself had—”
“The sun moves in the sky,” White Bear growled. “Tell me quickly. Why should the council tremble over the pirates?”
White Bear could run all day, and few braves of the tribe could match him. Lean Wolf toted the carcass easily but panted to keep up. Yet he made his voice obey, striking a tone of intrigue worthy of his news. “There comes today not one ship— bu
t two.”
Abruptly, White Bear stopped to turn and stare. “Two ships? Twice the number of warriors?” He dropped his eyebrows, and his gray eyes hardened. “Then it is well we have prepared. Surely this is a sign that the Black Chief of the Eagle’s Claw wishes to finish what he started.”
“He started nothing. He only chased us up the mountain. Rowan Life-Giver has testified to his motives. The Black Chief only wished to count coup and impress his female, to lure her from the Golden Boy. And he was successful! I saw her. She still stands at his side.” Lean Wolf’s hunger showed plainly on his long, narrow face. “I would like to impress that woman, myself.”
“The man who impresses many women impresses none.”
“Your philosophy. Not mine.”
“And what else did you see?” With a gesture, White Bear urged his companion to move homeward again.
“The Black Chief; his woman; two ships full of wild men. The Golden Boy peeping from the treetops, as usual. I counted three in his band.”
“It is to be hoped that the boy will engage the pirates and leave our people in peace.”
“But think, my friend, what a favor that child performed for you! He slew Raven’s husband, and now the prize is yours.”
“You speak too lightly of tragedy. Ash was impulsive, but he was a good man.”
“He was a fool to challenge the Golden Boy alone. A show-off.”
“Ash had seen that boy do too much harm. As I say, he was impetuous, but he was a true brave. In my tepee we honor Ash’s memory. Did you see anything else of importance?”
“Oh, no. Nothing of importance to the council. Just the shaggy-haired twins, canoeing with all their might to get Red Fawn alone before—”
“I have heard enough.” Hiking the deer higher on his shoulders, White Bear backed from Lean Wolf. “I will make haste now. The People must know.” He turned and jogged away, gaining speed with every stride. Even with the warm burden bouncing on his neck, White Bear fell easily into his lope. Keeping his head high and his breathing regular, he covered the distance in half the time another warrior, even a younger one, would need.