Other Islands: Book Three of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  Where he had poured water to discourage the fire, a bold orange flame rose in a homey blaze. Where the new-made Outcasts had pulled up their poles, fresh-cut poles were erected. Over the poles stretched a new tepee made of many hides, stitched neatly together. The top was propped open to vent the smoke of the fire.

  In his shock, Walking Man fell a step backward. It was then that he noticed the most distasteful detail of all. On the tepee’s skin, the paint was still wet. Fresh images shone in the morning sun. The figures were red, depicting two native men. They were winged; they were warriors. One man held a bow, one man held a tomahawk…and, in their free hands, each man gripped the other man’s arm.

  Walking Man stared until his eyes could contain the vision no longer. Turning, he hoisted his spear to point it at the People. With the exception of the boys, no one looked his way. Oblivious, the village went about its business.

  “Which of you did this thing?” croaked Walking Man, as loudly as his ancient voice was able. He moved the spear in an arc. “Which of you defies the judgment of the council?”

  Still, no one noticed.

  “Answer!”

  As if he were an Invisible, the People offered no response. The elder stood his ground, shaking.

  Behind him, he heard a quiet cough. He teetered around to see Panther stepping toward him. A smear of red paint stained Panther’s leggings. “Walking Man!” he called, as if he’d just sighted him. “You look unwell.”

  “Unwell? I am enraged!”

  White Bear, too, appeared at his side. “Let us help you to your place, Walking Man. Look, there. Your pupils await you.”

  “Panther, White Bear, can you not see—”

  “I see that you are hungry,” said Panther. “My wife has cooked your breakfast. Come, sit with the boys, and she will serve you as you teach.”

  Walking Man’s mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Gently, Panther took his staff and made him to lean on his arm. White Bear supported him from the other side. Panther murmured, “Easy, old one. There is no hurry. It is good for boys to learn patience.”

  “I will not tolerate—”

  “It is good for them to learn tolerance, too.” White Bear offered these words kindly, patting Walking Man’s shoulder. “You are wise, old one. You have said that Panther and I hold wisdom, also. Together, we three will be examples for these young ones to follow.”

  The new tepee stood, open, warm, and welcoming. Its smoke puffed up, mingling with the smoke of all the others. There was no hurry. The People’s point was made. Patiently, it awaited its inhabitants.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  After all his fears and triumphs, David had grown, but he hadn’t outgrown adoration. He beat the dirt from his clothing, glad that he’d taken time to bind his brown hair and club it in the manner of his uncle, the sea captain. Emulating his officers, David bowed and waited for the lady to speak first. In his grip, he felt the ivory handle of the looking-glass.

  With her jewel-blue eyes, Jill, his enchantress, greeted him. Indicating that he should join her beneath the skeleton tree, she settled on a quilt and smoothed her skirts. Her golden hair flowed on her shoulders, and she seemed to glow in her emerald green gown. It was the same gown she wore when David first laid eyes upon her. He was jarred to be reminded of the Unity and its pillaging, but soon he realized that Jill’s instinct was correct. The two of them had journeyed full circle; the time of parting pressed upon them.

  The parrot squawked, and David suspected that this creature had carried the message of his whereabouts to Jill. The Man of the Clearing whispered in the bird’s ear, then sent it fluttering home to resume its duties. David felt that Jill was about to do the same thing with him.

  David hung back as Jill’s son laid his packet at her side. Wandering farther up the stream, the man kept his distance. As he lounged about with his feet in the water and his ax shining bright at his belt, he kept guard for Jill. While he waited, he appeared to inspect the area, as if thinking of ways to improve it. Perhaps, soon, the stagnant pool might be freshened, and the Tomb of the Lost Boys sealed shut.

  Jill drew David from his speculations. “I have a gift for you, David.”

  It felt so long since he’d heard her speak, David drank up the sound. Clear as the brook, the voice of his patroness quenched his longing.

  She opened her hand. Gleaming in the green of the forest, his shamrock charm lay in her palm, silver on crimson. “Thank you for sharing your luck with me. Now you may take it back.”

  “But…I meant for you to keep it.”

  “I think you have something luckier to give me in its stead. Am I right?” She smiled. As he accepted the talisman, she offered him the packet, as well.

  It wasn’t as heavy as he remembered. The oilskin felt damp from the cavern, but he trusted it had preserved its priceless contents. Keen to confirm its condition, David no longer delayed to unwrap the package. Carefully, he untied the bindings, then peeled away a triple layer of oilskin. His throat thickened with emotion as he remembered how he and a dead man had wrapped it, panicked by the bucking of the ship in the swells, but determined to preserve the vessel’s history.

  On David’s lap, the Unity’s logbook lay revealed. He felt Jill lean closer. Her satin dress whispered with her movement, and she gave a gasp. Obviously, she recognized this relic, and she grasped its full significance. The two of them looked at one another, and, contented, David witnessed her happiness.

  “Captain Cecco told me how much it would mean to you, Ma’am, to register this logbook with the shipping office.”

  “Oh, David.” For once, words deserted her.

  “You can count on me. I’ll hand it to the proper authority myself. Your marriage will be recorded, in London…Mrs. Cecco.”

  The leather-bound book was dry enough now, but rumpled by past exposure to moisture. Jill took it into her hands and, gingerly, turned its wavy pages to the last list of entries. The date, the latitude and longitude, the ship’s surgeon’s authentication as witness, and the names of the couple the captain had married were confirmed in the palsied script of David’s ailing uncle. Cecco’s signature, and her own— both more tenderly rendered— finalized the entry.

  Jill blinked to clear the mist from her eyes. A burden of worry was lifted, and her shoulders felt lighter. She rejoiced in the recollection of her wedding day; her dread of the monster, Doctor Hanover, did not disappear, but it diminished.

  “I am grateful, David. Thank you.”

  He smiled. “At last I’ve found a way to serve you.”

  “How clever of you. This, then, is the defending you pledged to perform for me, and the duty to your family's honor…your uncle’s honor.”

  “I’m glad to be of use. I can’t give this logbook to you, but I’m pleased to deliver to you its security.” David set the book aside and said, “Here is a token I can leave with you.” He presented Jill with the looking-glass. “I found this trinket at the Mermaids’ Lagoon. Please accept it, with my respect. I know of no woman whose reflection compares.” The heat of a blush suffused David’s cheeks, and he wondered again if Jill’s branding still marked him.

  With her bloodstained hand, she accepted the mirror, then she beckoned him near. As their shoulders pressed close, she angled the glass to reflect both their faces. “See, David.”

  Inhaling her hypnotic scent again, he beheld her image. He memorized the picture of his face and hers, together, like a painting, to treasure forever. Then he examined himself, curious to see how he’d changed. His face was longer now, his cheeks slimmer, his eyebrows darker brown and thickened. Shaded with stubble, his chin was firm. David’s left cheek no longer burned scarlet, nor yet even pink. His flesh was tanned, like the sailor he understood he must soon become.

  “How handsome you have grown. Your face is all your own now, David. It’s a fine foundation, on which to form any future you desire.”

  “Thank you, Lady.” Too soon, she set down the glass. David ventured, “How do you intend to
send me home?”

  “I am told that you have mastered the art of flight. It’s a long journey, but I know you’ll enjoy it. I’ll ask Cook to pack up some food. The birds you’ll meet will be none too generous.”

  David didn’t understand, but he trusted Jill to know. “How will I find the way? Do I follow the stars, like navigating a ship?”

  “Jewel will guide you. You have only to keep up with her, and follow her light. She’ll get you to London much more quickly than Pan. That boy does show off so dreadfully.” She frowned then, and assumed her regal demeanor. “But David. You must understand. The commodore, the captain, and I have discussed the situation. It is imperative to the welfare of our men that you mention nothing about us. For your sake and ours, no one can know that you’ve consorted with pirates. Never divulge what you’ve witnessed, or we will be hunted— and you will be hung.”

  Taken aback, David was horrified. He hadn’t thought of this complication. Somberly, he nodded his understanding. “I’ll not place you in danger, Lady, and I know better than to admit that I’ve mingled with buccaneers.”

  “Never speak of the fleet, nor the men, nor the Island. You must pledge to me, David, upon your mother’s life.”

  As he considered, David’s expression relaxed, and finally he gave vent to a chuckle. “My Lady, even if I told the truth in every detail, who would believe me? I’ll keep my mouth shut, or find myself locked up in Bedlam.”

  “Swear to it, David.”

  He sobered, and placed his hand on his heart. “I swear, on the life of my mother.” He shook his head, once. “I’ll never reveal what I’ve seen.”

  “And what will you tell them, when you suddenly appear there in London?”

  “You’re the Storyteller, Ma’am. What do you suggest?”

  Delighted by a challenge, Jill sat back to strategize. She looked charming with her hand on her chin, her emerald ring dazzling with sunlight.

  While his gaze lingered upon her, David listened to the sounds of the woods, so familiar now. The pair of mourning doves reminded him of their presence where they nested in the skeleton tree. They burbled their lugubrious song, and David’s heart welled up with sorrow, as dismal as the pool beneath their roost.

  Surprising as it seemed, he would miss this Island, after all. Whatever he promised Jill, it wouldn’t matter if he told the truth at home. London lay so far away. He had the feeling that he’d never, ever find his way here again. Not if he searched for the Neverland forever.

  He clutched his shamrock in his fist. It was only a piece of metal, just a slice of silver. It held no power. David knew now that his luck came from Jill. The woman, like the Island, possessed the property of enchantment. During David’s adventure, those two entities, the lady and the land, had combined to work together. Their magic had managed him. Their charms had changed what was left of his life. With difficulty, David swallowed the lump that had formed in his gullet. By choice or by guile, he’d never see Jill or the Neverland again. His magic must lie in remembrance.

  Jill beamed with inspiration. At the sight of his goddess, David’s heart broke again.

  She narrated: “Your ship, the Unity, was scuttled in the storm. Your officers feared that they themselves were doomed, but they set you adrift in the dinghy, hoping, for your dead uncle’s sake, that you’d float your way to safe harbor. This much, of course, truly did transpire.”

  David gazed at Jill, absorbing one last story. He understood now, from experience, that at some time that the Storyteller designed, the tale would turn real. Jill always spoke truth. Truth fueled her powers.

  “Tossed by the tempest, you drifted in your craft, lost at sea. Days passed, nights rolled over, then weeks. Rain and wind and sun beat upon you. As you suffered from hunger and thirst, delirium seized your senses. You will claim that your memory is hazy, David, but that you believe you were picked up by fishermen. As your fever raged, you might have imagined fantastical dreams— until you awoke, wandering the streets of London with this packet in your hands. The fishermen searched the book to learn your destination, and they delivered you safe. These impressions are all that you’ll say you recall, and you are grateful to be back in your homeland, alive, and ready to put your experience to work on a worthy merchant ship. And, David…”

  Jill gazed directly in his eyes, without the filter of the mirror. David’s spine shot hot jolts through his nerves, right down to his fingertips. Jill’s aspect seemed to alter, and she assumed the severity of her counterpart. Through her ruby lips, it was Hook’s words he heard:

  “While you keep your promise to our company, the commodore vows to protect you. Through Jewel, who will communicate with you, you will send word. Name your vessel, and we shall never attack any ship that you sail.”

  David’s trembling trebled as he digested this vow. He sensed the threat that it veiled. Break your promise, and your ship will be taken. And, terrible as its consequences would be, once more a truth lay revealed to him: one way remained to meet Red-Handed Jill again. It was the way of betrayal.

  He had simply to tip the authorities.

  But David was a man now. Paradoxically, like gentlemen, these pirates had taught him good form. It struck him then, how generous his renegade friends had proven. From this company of rogues, David learned honor, and love, and loyalty.

  Luck no longer haunted him. His adventures had disproven it. But as for Enchantment— be she harsh or be she gentle, he’d burn incense at her altar. This mistress was the idol David served.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The morning had passed, and Hook lay flat on his belly. As the sun glided up to its zenith, the Neverland sparkled in its radius. Hook’s posture seemed that of a casual sightseer, but every weapon he prized lay on the sward, within reach.

  Beneath him stretched a scene that had often seduced him. He had, however, rarely viewed it from this angle. High upon the cliff top, he peered past its edge at the Mermaids’ Lagoon. A flock of seagulls circled on the same plane as the pirate, piercing the sky with their calls. In the cove, no merfolk were apparent at the moment, but even in their absence the place was breathtaking. The rough rock coast lined an arching curve, hosting tide pools reflecting the heavens. Hook’s eyes delighted in the stretch of sea before him, its jade-colored curls lolling toward shore. His senses reveled in the deep green moss that cushioned the cliff sides, and, of course, in the woman lingering in the Lagoon: his magnificent Jill. The setting was perfect, but for one flaw. Hook was not the man Jill was seducing.

  Wind from the north rushed up the cliff side, tossing Hook’s locks round his head. It brought the smell of the sea and the softness of moisture, but the breeze could not waft Jill’s words to his ear. This circumstance mattered little; Hook could guess what she said. As for the native brave to whom she said it, his thoughts were obvious.

  Lean Wolf’s canoe shot through the surf, pulled toward shore not only by the power of his arms, but by the force of his inclination. The appointed hour was noon. Shrewd as she was, Jill was prepared as her husband arrived well ahead of time. Hook sneered when he watched her greet the man. She’d tossed a kiss when she sighted his canoe, she held the prow as he jumped ashore. She pressed a hand to her breast as, with just one arm, Lean Wolf flaunted his strength, hoisting his craft from the water. Hook noted Jill’s token, the orange kerchief, tied in a band about the biceps of that arm. Lean Wolf left the canoe lying at a slant, petrified on the rock shelf, waiting till tide bestowed motion.

  Apparently, the Indian took issue with Jill’s gown. He pointed, questioning, and she twirled to swell her emerald skirts. Next she presented her back to him, gathering her hair that seemed gilded by the sun, and Hook smirked as Lean Wolf picked at her lacings. This chore was an onerous one, a job that Hook, with only five fingers, most often handed to Smee. Once or twice Hook had simplified the task, slashing the ties with his claw. But— for unambiguous reasons— the man indulging Jill, now, persevered. When he pushed the bodice from her shoulders, the satin fell a
way, shimmering down her body to form a pool of green. She waded out of it to be scooped in the man’s bulging arms.

  Revealed in the sunlight, Jill’s frilly shift shone white. She embraced her brave; Hook, with his lip curled, looked away. While the couple kissed, he opted to sweep the bay with his spyglass. He suspected that merfolk observed, too. Sure enough, he counted three slick wet heads, yellow, auburn, and indigo, bobbing at the opposite end of Marooners’ Rock. No doubt the creatures watched Hook himself as well. The prospect did not concern him. The Lagoon had long served as his source of amusement. His mermaids knew his secrets, and they kept them submerged.

  Yet, vigilant for the safety of his treasure, Hook soon resumed his loathsome lookout. Now Jill drew her brave toward the picnic hamper, where she stored a repast bountiful enough to sate all three of her husbands. The Indian squatted beside her on the quilt, but he looked reluctant to settle. Clearly, he felt hungry for another kind of sustenance. Hook tensed as he saw Lean Wolf seize Jill by the waist. Quick as lighting, Hook’s pistol filled his grip.

  One moment…two moments…three moments later, Jill was feeding the man berries, sharing their sweet taste from her lips to his. Hook’s pistol returned to the sward. Conversation carried the two through their picnic, with Jill speaking earnestly at times, beguilingly at others. Lean Wolf’s expression alternated between fascination and gratification. Whatever the subject, the couple appeared to agree, at the end. At this distance, Hook felt removed enough to evaluate Jill’s skill. He must never underestimate this woman. Like the berries she shared, the words on her lips could be sweet, yet her meaning acidic. Only fools took her tales at face value.

  And now Hook’s time of vigilance came to ripeness. Pulling a rope anchored at the water’s edge, Jill drew a net from the brine. Lean Wolf caught it for her, and grinned at the sight of the bottle. He yanked the cork to sniff the liquid inside. The brew would be tangy and tart, and here was the moment toward which Jill’s art aimed, and when Island magic began.