Chapter 24 – A Dream of Things that Might or Might Not Be
How long had they walked this passage? Tunnel after tunnel, through openings as large as cathedrals, ignoring other openings, sometimes crouching, once crawling, searching a way through mountains of collapsed stones.
Peter couldn't say. He was miserably hungry for daylight – first that lingering twilight outside and now this. He couldn't fly in this cave, he couldn't talk the way he liked, couldn't scamper or cavort, couldn't even laugh out loud, needing to remain as quiet as possible – and it was deadly boring! He had even started to talk with Hook, of all people, just for distraction and, oh wonder, the pirate-captain seemed to crave the same things!
But then Giliath insisted they remain quiet, because S'Hadh's creatures had sharp ears and they drew ever nearer his domain. So, they walked without speaking for time upon time, hour after hour, men, elves, and boys left alone with their own thoughts.
Peter never realized that Neverland was so large. When flying, he could cross it in minutes, including a loop around the mountaintop, but now the island seemed to stretch itself like taffy deliberately to irritate him. The journey from the Black Castle to Pirate's Cove couldn't be that long, couldn't it? He remembered Tink's words, that they would need almost two days, and he really hadn't understood why. Sure, moving in completely darkness with only lanterns and torches was constricting, but he'd never believed it would make such a difference.
"Just how far away is that cave your fairy spoke of?" Hook's voice was a murmur.
The eternal boy gave him a forced grin. "I think she measures differently than we do. I hope she didn't guess wrong."
The buccaneer gave a disgusted snort. "How like a girl!" Peter clapped his hand over his mouth, choking back a bark of laughter, and for a moment, the two enemies shared a look of understanding.
"We have passed a great distance," Giliath said. "I have consulted with her, too. Fairies do indeed measure by their own standards, but I am familiar with what Tinker Bell intended. Another half an hour or so, and we might rest for the night."
Hook looked over his shoulder on Smee, who carried bedrolls, the satchel with Hook's shaving-utensils, comb, soap and a towel, and another pack with two bottles of a good wine the captain intended to share with the two Elves during their siesta. "Will you make it?" he asked and watched his boatswain's eyes widen in surprise.
Hook had never expressed any concern if he – Smee – could handle an order or if he was tired! "T'ank ye, Sir, I'll make it wi' a push," he mumbled, nearly stumbling in surprise.
Hook smiled and turned his eyes back to the path before him. Tink, on Peter's shoulder, had intentionally ignored the disparaging remarks regarding her estimation of time and distance. Both she and Peter glanced back at Hook as well. Peter, who was not practiced at holding his tongue, forbore a teasing comment this time.
Giliath was right. Even if it felt like another full day, they finally reached the end of the first leg of their journey. They had traveled the first third of the distance, and the pirates and the boys wanted nothing more than to sit down, rest their stone-sore feet, and have a nice dinner – or midnight-snack, or what ever time it was – and then a good sleep.
Rubbing their eyes, the Lost Boys and John glanced around. The cave was no more than a larger opening in the tunnel, washed out by a thin stream that splashed through it and on into a larger one. Beyond a shallow pool was a smoothly flowing waterfall, about a foot across, fed by the snow falling above, warmed by the mountain. The new watercourse that would accompany them on the rest of their way was enough to refill their water-bottles, allow them to wash, and provide water for cooking. As tired as they were, there was little of the good-humored jesting that usually happened between the boys at a meal.
Peter sat down on one of the rocks, flexed his neck and shoulders, and sighed. "Not one more step today!" he murmured, then saw Giliath looking around. The Elf looked as though something wasn't right. His gaze moved quickly back and forth, and his face was pale, with a thin sheen of sweat. He moved stiffly. "Giliath?" Peter asked, concerned, "anything wrong?"
The Elf shrugged and sat down beside him, unpacking his provision. The other boys took their places near him and their leader, and eating from the remaining Indian food, as well as from the pirates' supply. But the eternal boy still watched the Elf, and then looked more closely at the other Elves. Their faces had lost some of their ever-present serenity, and their movements were less graceful. Peter bent toward Giliath. "Come on, you can tell me. What's the matter?" he asked softly. He met the uncertain gaze of the Elf, and made a face. "Hey, you helped me out at my worst. Let me pay something back."
A weary frown touched Giliath's brow, while he held his cup of water tightly before him. He knew it would be unfair to deny his young friend the truth, considering how Peter had opened up to him. He cleared his throat and looked quickly around. Seeing his comrades were busy, he answered in a voice only the boys could hear: "Elves are creatures of forest and sky, wind and sun. To remain in the dark is … difficult for us. Not such a cave as on the way to the Castle, but these tunnels, with no openings to free nature ... It is much like being locked away in a too small room, without enough air to breathe. The walls here have no life. We are accustomed to hearing the conversation of trees, the whispers of grass and water, the presence of life in the animals, plants and the spirits of nature. We need sky above us, especially the sight of stars. Without this, our spirits can die – we are, even now, fading away ..."
"You … you have claustrophobia?" John asked, and color crept into Giliath's cheeks.
"What's … klossatropia?" Peter asked, and the eldest Darling-son smiled.
"Just what Giliath was talking about. It's a trapped feeling you get when you're in small rooms – or underground."
The eternal boy glanced at the Elf full of compassionate understanding. "I kind of know what you mean. When I'm in a strange room – like in Hook's cabin or Wendy's nursery – and the windows are shut, I am afraid I'll be caught. Is that what you're feeling, too?"
Giliath tried a half-hearted smile. "Similar. ou fear the loss of your freedom, but for us, it is worse. We are fading; our soul dies, and a body without a soul dies as well."
Shocked Peter stared at him. "But … you're immortal! You can't die!" He didn't notice that he had the attention of several pirates – among them Hook's – and the other Elves' as well.
Giliath looked into the boy's eyes; his own darkened in the lamplight. "You are misinformed. We Elves do not die from age nor illness. But two things are stronger than we are: the loss of freedom and a broken heart."
"A broken heart?" Nibs asked, unbelieving. "You mean, like, when you fall in love, and your love isn't returned --"
"-- or someone we love and are bound to dies, we usually die as well," Giliath finished, and saw the widening eyes of the boys. "Now you understand why we spend such a very long time choosing and getting to know our partner before covenanting ourselves with her. And you thought humans had long engagements!"
It was a small joke, but it didn't have the desired effect. Peter stared at him, unbelieving. "You can die from losing love?" Giliath nodded gently and the eternal boy glanced down. A thousands thoughts and pictures ran through his mind. He remembered the searing pain as Hook used those awful words, up there among the sails, to weaken him, reminding him that Wendy was leaving him. Or when he was finally caught … that he would die – alone and unloved. It almost had torn him apart. It had paralyzed him, had made him almost look forward to a gruesome death …
"Peter?" Giliath murmured, seeing the sad, hurtful expression in the boy's crystal eyes, his voice blending with the sound of the stream nearby.
Startled, he looked up, met the inquiring gaze of the Elf, and shrugged. "Nothing."
Giliath cocked his head. "Of a truth? I revealed to you my secret, so perhaps you would fain share yours with me?"
Feeling the curious glances of his friends – and several of the pirates – he hesitated. He had wanted to talk with Giliath about all this 'feeling' business for some time, and maybe now was the only – and perhaps last – chance to do it. The boy took a deep breath and jerked his head toward the way they had come. "Not here," he murmured, and rose.
Giliath also rose, but before they could leave, Slightly, who had been working with another Elf and Cookson, stopped them. "Dinner's ready. It's not elegant, but it's good."
That captured Peter's attention, and a grin appeared. "Dinner? I'm starving!"
His second in command blinked. "You sound like Tootles!"
His friend shrugged. "Hey, I have to regain my strength to grind that wizard back to Hell!"
"Peter!" the Elf scolded and the eternal boy grinned his famous smile.
"What? Do you know another place he belongs?" He winked at Giliath. "Come on! Immortal or no – you have to eat, too!" Smiling again, the Elf allowed the boys to coax him to eat.
There was little conversation during and after the meal. Not only because of the enforced silence. No, they were all tired. Even the Elves exhibited fatigue, but the boys knew now it had nothing to do with the distance, but with the cramped conditions. Two men and two Elves had the first watch, and would be replaced by comrades in two hours. The small fire had burned down and wouldn't be fed again, to minimize the risk of being discovered. Only two candles in lanterns remained lit, one at both ends of the group, and that was more for the pirates than for the Elves, who even could see in this darkness.
John, wrapped up in his cape, stared at the ceiling – or where it should have been, for he couldn't see anything in the darkness. His thoughts were on his sister and brother and the Twins. But something else bothered him: Tiger-Lily. He knew that the winter outside had grown worse, and that the Indian shelters couldn't keep that winter at bay. And then their provisions. The tribe had given them a lot of their own food, and John doubted that the warriors would find enough game in this weather to re-stock what the chief had given the children.
Was Tiger-Lily freezing? hungry? Was it still warm in her parents' hogan, or had the cold gotten the better of them? He knew that the Indians were accustomed to the wilderness, that they were 'one with the nature' as only natives could be. But, on the other hand, this 'nature' had now changed into something dangerous and deadly. And he knew from articles he'd devoured in the library since his last visit that even the Indians had difficulties in such weather. Here, in Neverland, it couldn't be so different. John knew that Chief Rain-in-the-Face and all the others were probably in danger. Including the beautiful girl who had captured his thoughts. She wasn't raised in a house made of stone, had not been taught to read and write, but she was well-educated in her own way of what she need to learn to survive in her world, and taught the elaborate etiquette of her tribe.
He knew that world he came from would still see her as a savage, but he didn't care. He had already learned that loyalty, honor and truth had nothing to do with skin color, but with way someone was taught, and with the heart. And Tiger-Lily and her people were – in his eyes – far nobler than the-so called noblemen in his world.
Sighing, he rolled into a ball to keep the chill of fear and worry away that had started to rise in him. Praying that the Indian girl was still safe, he closed his eyes, and as he drifted into sleep he thought he could smell the scent of wild flowers, leather and fresh grass, while the quiet crackling of an open fire awoke the memory of a fire in a tepee, and he happily went off to visit there, where an old woman stitched his brother's Taddy, and a pretty dark-eyed girl smiled shyly at him from across the fire.
Peter also lay wide awake on his pallet, wrapped in his cape, eyes open in the dim light. His thoughts wandered to Wendy and the others. Were they safely through the woods and the marshes to the coast? Where they already aboard, or did they still wander through the winter dangers? Had they been attacked or were they able to reach their destination without any interruptions? He didn't even dare think of the possibility of combat for the little group. But, deep inside, he simply felt that Wendy was alive.
Indeed, if something terrible had happened to her, he would have felt it. Somehow, they were – how did Giliath say it? – bound to each other, and for a moment he remembered Giliath's words about the "covenanting" of Elvish couples. Was it the same with him and Wendy – or something like it? He didn't know, but he would ask Giliath at the next possible chance. Deep in him was a strange turmoil. He needed to speak about it with someone!
Sighing, he rubbed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing. He knew that he would need his strength when the time came to face S'Hadh. Wriggling into a more comfortable position in his cape, he closed his eyes, and shortly drifted into a deep sleep.
--------------------------------
Wendy blinked and wiped her eyes free – again – of falling snow. The wind was back on the frozen sea, dodging between the perilous ice-floes. If not for the warm back of the unicorn beneath her, she certainly would have fallen unconscious. The boys in front of her were asleep. Knowing how dangerous this was, she'd tried to waken them, but the unicorn had stopped her. With her gentle voice, the magical mare had told her that the boys were safe, because they were "warmed with its goodness and love."
The girl looked back. She couldn't see anyone. The Will-o'-the-Wisp and Sheeries had said good-bye after they reached the coast. f course, the Sheeries had scowled, warning them that the next time they met, things would not be so pleasant between them. Sheeries loved to create trouble, and their greatest joy was driving humans into hysteria and panic. But still, somehow, Wendy had seen into their little hearts that they weren't wholly evil, because she had seen them afraid – afraid of the same enemies as she was. No, she would never trust a Sheerie – or a Will-o'-the-Wisp – but facing the same dark foe had brought them together, and somewhere, deep in their tiny hearts, was a good place. Otherwise they would have betrayed the allies, and not warned and helped them.
Then the long way over the frozen sea began. She couldn't see the pirates or the Elves. But they were there. Her eyes were simply tricked by the Elvish fabric that hid the rest of the troop, invisible even at that short distance. It was pure magic. She and the boys could not be seen from above because of the unicorn. Its powers covered the children as well – quite a benefit, since she could hear the hollow screeches of the harpies overhead.
Wendy sighed and turned forward again. She felt as though they were being carried into nowhere, because Neverland had vanished from sight only a hundred yards onto the ice. It was simply too dark and too snowy now to see anything at a distance.
Without the unicorn, they would have lost their way. Even the two Elves had shown uncertainty at first. Suddenly the unicorn made a soft snort and its gentle voice whispered: "Over there? Do you see it, maid?"
Wendy concentrated and then she nearly gave a joyful yelp. Directly before them was a large dark shadow – a shadow with four long spires which seemed to reach skyward. "The Jolly Roger!" she whispered; and never before had she felt luckier to see that ship. In minutes, they had reached one of the Jacob-Ladders which would allow them to climb aboard.
Above them, several lanterns cast a querulous glow over the main-deck of the galleon, proof that the six pirates who had remained aboard were on watch. That they had missed the approaching troop showed how well the fabric worked.
Nihal and Emorlhi lifted the sleeping Twins from the unicorn's back, while Cecco took Michael, keeping a careful eye on the magical creature as he stepped beside it. The blue-violet eyes of the unicorn had watched him piercingly, and the black giant tried very hard not to touch it. He felt the ancient magic that forbade him to lay one finger on the mare. It would have cost him his sanity – or his life. It is a law of the universe that none who is no longer pure in mind and soul or has deliberately given pain or death can touch the essence of innocence without paying the highest price possible. Oh yes, the children had fought, even killed, but only to protect themselves or help others. They never had done anything evil on purpose, and so the unicorn had accepted the small boys and the girl on its back.
Billy Jukes lifted his lantern and pointed to the ladder. "Two'v' ya should go at first an' take t'e tent-material 'long wit' t'em, holding it loose-like. We follow directly on t'eir heels, so it'll cover us all durin' t'e climb."
Nihal smiled. "A good plan." Then he turned toward the unicorn, who received the gentle fondling from the girl – it was hard to tell who liked it more. He said some words in his melodious language and bowed deeply, Emorlhi did the same. The mare glanced at them and amusement shimmered in her wide eyes. Then she softly snorted and lowered her head, almost as if bowing as well.
Turning toward Wendy, she nuzzled the girl's shoulder. "Take care, maid. Thy dangers are far from over. The Dark One's creatures do not dare to cross the ice, but the daughters of the storm are still near, and they do not flee because of a frozen sea. Perhaps they will come for thee and thy kin." She shook her head, and her mane and forelock danced, her mouth curving into something like a smile. "But I see the bravery in thine heart. It is thy best weapon. Hold it tightly, keep it close, and thou shalt defy even the wind-daughters." She lowered her head, and touched the outside of Wendy's hand with her horn, then carefully and slowly, slid it up her arm, across her shoulder, around her head and down to her other hand, like a consecration. Wendy felt the living cornucopia of strength and magic bless her, leaving behind a tingling feeling of light and power. Then the unicorn pushed her gently beneath the Elvish material, snow creaking beneath her boots.
"Will we see you again?" the girl asked; her heart heavy to lose the company of the unicorn.
The magical creature glanced directly into her eyes. "Perhaps yes; perhaps no. Even I am unable to read the future with certainty. But keep thou hope, and in sooth, we may yet meet again."
Then suddenly, without warning, it whirled around and was gone – so quickly that it vanished into the darkness before Wendy could blink twice. "Thank you for everything," she whispered; tears in her eyes. She heard a distant musical whinny, then felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked up into Nihal's face.
Bumblyn, who still clung to his shoulder, smiled secretly at her. "Unicorns have a soft fair heart for fairly-like females such as y'self. Certain and sure as the sun does shine I am she will see you again."
"He is right," peeped the pixie, who flew beside them, ignoring Aurora's sneer and her rebuke about 'What would a pixie know about unicorns?'
Wendy took a deep breath. "My thanks, both of you." Then she looked up the steep Jacob's ladder, looming up the ship's hull. "Oh my!" she breathed.
Billy Jukes grinned. "Come on, lass. One last effort and ye'll have it nice and warm." Suddenly he winked at her. "And us'n's're too tired fer a big meal. So, y'r granted a reprieve 'til yer first duty in t'e galley begins."
Wendy gave him one of her brilliant smiles (it almost made the pirate nervous). "Thank you, Mr. Jukes."
---------------------------------
Sunlight – real honest-to-God sunlight – broke through the branches, played in golden shadows on the dew-drenched grass and greeted the hundreds of rainbow-shaded flowers that bloomed everywhere. Birds chirped in the treetops, and from somewhere, far away, the exultant cry of the Never-Bird echoed through the woods. He could hear the sea and the smell of a fresh salty breeze mingled with the sweet scent of the foliage.
Peter laid his head back, spread his arms and fingers overhead, and relished in the warm air that played over his bare legs, arms and chest. He could have embraced the world in joy, to be free from all worries again; to have the summer back and to know that danger was banished. Neverland was free again, and --
A wild shaking of the earth brought him to his knees. Shocked, he looked around at rocks tossing, trees falling, heard the birds leap upward and away with screeches of alarm, and beside him, one of the Green Masters emerged from his tree, his face sad, hopeless. "It's too late, boy. The Dark One has conquered."
Peter tried to stand up despite the shaking ground, shocked, enraged. "NO! We won! Don't you see it? The summer is back and—"
"No, young Pan, it is but an illusion. Don't you see why it is so warm? The Mount of No Return has awoken – HE woke it." With these words the Green Master vanished back into the heart of the tree. Peter made several steps into the direction of the Green Master –
-- And was suddenly no longer in the verdant clearing, but on a narrow rocky path. Beside him a rough wall of ancient black stone loomed into the cloudy sky, lit from underneath with a dangerous red-grey; on his other side, a steep abyss over unseen depths. He stepped closer to the edge and looked down – and yelped. Beneath him viscous glowing lava flowed through the deep valley. An ugly sulphur smell lingered in the air, like something foul had died, mingled with the smell of burning wood, while an eerie growling noise rolled over the land.
The path beneath his feet was hard, rough – and too warm. No bird sang, no tree was seen, no flowers bloomed, no animals frolicked. But he knew this part of the island. He remembered it as a valley rich with forests and glades, with a beautiful waterfall and a singing stream – and now it was destroyed by the deadly flowing fire far below.
Blinking as if to clear his vision, he looked around again. He recognized now that he was not only deep in the mountains, but at the Mount of No Return itself. How … how had he come to this place? Where were his friends – the Lost Boys, the brothers and Wendy? Where was Tink? And the Elves? Giliath and Thalion … they would never leave him! But he could see no trace of them.
Deciding he had to find out what was going on here, he made as if to fly, but when he leaped into the thick air, he fell to the ground; his left knee and right hand were scratched open. Shocked, he stared at his own blood. Why couldn't he fly anymore? Except for this one awful certain day, he had never before lost all his happy thoughts! Swallowing hard, he moistened his lips with his tongue – and made a face at the smell and taste of the foul air! He called for Wendy.
That is, he meant to call, but nothing came out of his mouth. Not the slightest sound. For a moment he panicked, then forced himself to calm down. It must have something to do with this stench; that was all. Angry and afraid, he began to climb, to get a better view of his surroundings. Finally, he reached a small plateau high above the Neverland valley. His feet were scored by sharp stones now, and every step became painful, but he walked to the other side of the plateau and looked around.
Horror gripped him. The rich woods and jungles had vanished – burned to black skeletons and ashes, still partly covered with ice. The many waterways were a sick yellow color and a lava-stream ate through the island. The foul smell was everywhere, and the sky was dressed in gloomy grey, colored from below by the red-yellow dancing shadows of the volcano.
Peter looked for Pirate's Cove, barely recognizable anymore, and then he tried to make out the Jolly Roger. Finally he saw her – or rather, her remains. Through wisps of smoke, he could see arts of the broken keel still stuck in the ice, and here and there wooden planks loomed out of a frozen sea. No smoke of warming fires could be seen. No lights shimmered. There was no life anywhere. He couldn't tell if any of the pirates had survived – or any of the four friends he had sent with them.
Anguish assaulted him, and he wanted desperately to cry great tears, but he couldn't. All he could think of was that his Wendy was dead – she, her little brother and two of his boys. And the pirates? Yes, once they had been enemies, but now, they were allies. And something whispered that not one of them was still alive.
Urged by an instinct he didn't recognize, the eternal boy climbed further, toward the top of the volcano, his mind numb with shock. Something in him had died. Dry sobs escaped his throat, but still the tears didn't come, even as his heart screamed over and over that he had failed his friends; that he had lost what he loved the most; and that it was HIS FAULT that the Dark One had prevailed.
How he managed to find hold in that stony wall, how his bloody feet found purchase, he didn't know. Eventually, he reached the crater. Hot smoke rose out of glowing abyss and the ground shook beneath his wounded feet. Exhausted, Peter straightened and walked uneasily around to the other side of the bubbling circle. He didn't feel his feet anymore; inside was emptiness. He knew what had happened to the other side of the island – but felt he had to see it with his own eyes.
As he reached the other side of the crater, he took a deep breath of the stinking air, then he looked down. More gaunt skeletons of the burnt forests greeted him. At the edge of what had been the ancient forest, he saw a huge tree-stump looming into the dying skies. Beside it lay the broken trunk. The Never-Tree, Neverland's dwelling of life, was no more.
Now, finally, the tears came. With a shout, Peter fell to his knees, sobbing for all he had lost.
Destroyed! Neverland was destroyed! His whole world no longer existed! Even the people who had been so dear to him were gone, no living thing anywhere. The dark power that had taken his home had also taken the only thing in his life more precious to him than his freedom: the girl who had captured his little boyish heart – the same heart that had contracted then grown whenever she gave him a thi… a kiss. He had been loved – and he had never admitted to her that he didn't loathe this word, nor the feelings that came with it anymore!
The pain threatened to tear him apart, until he wished with all his might that he had shared the fate of his friends. His anguished screams had died down now, strangled in his sore throat. He couldn't breathe and --
Suddenly, behind him he heard a cruel laughter – dry as dust, like two rocks sliding over each other. Collecting the broken pieces of his pride, Peter wiped his tears away, stood, and turned. He knew exactly who stood behind him, and he wanted to see the face of the one who had destroyed everything and everyone that gave his life meaning.
S'Hadh stood only yards away from him – a tall dark shadow, clad in a long black vestment and a wide black cape. His hair was ice-grey like the north-wind, and tossed in the stinking air. But Peter couldn't make out his face – not really. It was more a pale emptiness with two burning coals where his eyes might be. The wizard lifted one bony hand and pointed a long thin finger at Peter while he laughed again – triumphant, almost joyfully, if such a creature could know joy. He gloated at the boy's pain and sorrow, possibly the only reason why he had allowed Peter to climb up here.
Behind S'Hadh, a second shape emerged in the fumes, and came nearer. A black frock-coat embroidered with silver and gold hung from the shoulders, and a black curly mane blew in the wind; a short sword winked in the left hand, while a sharp hook glinted on the right – and was now lifted to a deadly blow.
Frozen, Peter stared at the man who had come to take the dark wizard down. For a moment it looked as if the pirate would be successful, but S'Hadh had seen the movement of the boy's eyes, whirled around, brought his hands up and two thin bolts of destruction came out of his fingers.
Peter screamed as they hit the pirate-captain on the chest and catapulted him backwards. He rolled over several times, until he finally came to lie on his back, unmoving. For a moment complete silence fell, then a soft moan escaped Hook's lips and woke the boy out of his shock. Sobbing he darted past the wizard on wounded feet to the pirate-captain and knelt down.
Hook was still alive, but as the boy saw the deep burns that had torn the commander's chest, he knew that the buccaneer wouldn't survive those injuries. "Please," he whispered, "please, don't you leave me, too!"
The corner of the man's mouth twitched in his ashen face, then he opened his eyes and glanced at the boy. "Pan," he murmured, and, with some effort, lifted his right arm. Without hesitation, Peter took the metal prosthesis in his fingers and let his tears run freely. Hook had been his mortal enemy, but he was also the last one from his world who had remained with him. But no longer. The man's life was pouring from the deadly wounds the dark wizard had given him.
"I … I'm sorry," Peter sobbed and, finally, admitted something that had burned in his soul since that fateful day so long ago, when he had marked the captain forever. "Taking your hand … I never intended this. It was an accident. Forgive me!"
Something like a smile came to the pirate's mouth and he wanted to say something, but no sound came over his lips. His eyes looked skyward, and a shudder shook his body. Peter bent over him and carefully lifted the head of the dying man onto his lap. "Please! Please stay! Please don't die! Do you hear me? You can't die. Not YOU! You're too strong! Don't leave me here alone!"
One last time Hook met his eyes, and the boy saw something there like understanding. Then they closed, and all tension left his body – forever.
Peter looked down on the fallen pirate. NO! It couldn't be! Hook wasn't dead! Not this strong man, who had freed himself from the belly of a crocodile! Thalion had been right – hate could bind like love did. And he had been bound to this man – far closer than he had dared admit. "Captain?" he whimpered, and shook him gently, but he knew that no power left in that world could bring the buccaneer back.
He was gone forever.
Peter didn't feel anything but cold and pain. His will to live seemed to follow the pirate's soul, and the weight of his loss made him hold the man closer. As if in response, the ground shook again, and the noise of a land in agony grew. The volcano was awake and would devour the island, but Peter didn't fear it. Death would be a release. He heard a whisper from far away; words once spoken to defeat the man who lay dead in his lap – words now meant for him: Old, alone, done for!
Behind him, he heard dry laughter again, like sand blowing in the desert, laughter with no humor, no life. Laughter at his anguish and approaching demise.
"NO-O-O-O-O!" Peter's scream echoed through the scarred mountains, rocking the body in his arms, head thrown to the mocking polluted sky. He felt a hard hand on his shoulder that shook him. He knew that hand was death, but he didn't care.
The only thing he wanted to now was death …
"Pan!" Hook shook the boy energetically, who lay beside him, pleading with someone not to die and weeping tears of despair. A final scream escaped him, filled with so much sorrow that Hook shuddered. "Wake up, boy! Blimey, it can't be that bad!" Around him, the boys were also roused and came to their leader.
At a touch on his arm, the buccaneer looked into the concerned face of Giliath. "It's S'Hadh. He invades the boy's mind, showing him images of horror to weaken him." e pressed his palms together, concentrated a moment, eyes closed, and then stroked shimmering fingers over Peter's damp forehead. He reached for the terrified thoughts of his young friend, to shield him against the wizard's influence – and felt a power standing against him. Collecting all his strength, he attacked it, and …
… And was shoved back like a rag doll. He fell, shaking, gasping for air, his eyesight gone. The boys yelped, startled, and Thalion, who had been watching, hastened toward his friend.
"Giliath!" Slightly asked. "What is it?"
"What happened?" Nibs added, kneeling beside Peter, who trembled and sobbed.
Tink dangled above Peter, tried to soothe him, but it was for naught. Hook glanced over to the shaken Elf; his hand on the boy's heaving chest. "It is that bloody wizard, isn't it?"
Giliath nodded, sitting up with Thalion's help. "He … he is stronger than before …" he said hoarsely. A shudder ran through his body – rare for an Elf. "His powers … are growing. He … he is in Peter's mind and … and tries …"
Another tormented sob escaped the boy's throat, while he cried again that someone shouldn't die, thrashing as he wept. Smee, who stood behind his commander, gulped. "I wouldn't wish t'at on my worst enemy!" he murmured, the men around him nodding in agreement.
"We must wake him up!" Thalion said and pulled Giliath to his feet, leaning against him. "Somehow, before …" He didn't have to spell it out.
The boys knelt beside their friend and leader, shook him, called to him, but still Peter was captured by his dreams. Another scream, so full of agony and despair that it pierced the pirate's less-than-black heart. Compassion awoke in Hook. Nightmares were one thing – but this was pure torture! The boy whimpered, heart-rending, sorrowful, miserable, all the horror of the world in that one sound, while his hands reached for help, something to hold onto.
"Enough!" Hook snarled. He couldn't and wouldn't watch this torment any longer. He himself had often imagined causing the boy to suffer before he killed him, but this … ! For reasons he didn't understand, those intentions were forgotten. Determinedly, he rose, lifted the crying, writhing child in his arms, carried him to the small waterfall and stood beneath it. The cool water splashed down on the child and the man, soaking them both, Hook's only desire -- to wake up the boy and to free him from the wizard's influence.
Peter could feel S-Hadh's power washing over him. The world around him blurred into mist and nothingness, the corpse of Hook started to vanish from his lap. He tried to hold him, but the body in his arms simply changed into air. He yearned for the end to come; so strong was this wish that he couldn't even breathe anymore. The chill of death hit him, enclosed him, pulled him into darkness and …
… And then he gasped, and found himself … where? Water was pouring over him, dragging him out of his nightmares. He didn't remember where he was, how he had come here. But now, the air wasn't foul with volcano fumes. He took several deep breaths and then, at last, he felt two strong arms around him, which now stood him upright – and under flowing water. Dizzily he looked up at his companion, straight into a familiar face, framed with raven-dark curls. Blue eyes watched him with a mixture of worry and a sneer, before the mouth, framed by a moustache, turned up into cynical smile, one Peter knew so well.
"Now, that's what I call 'sleeping like the dead,' m'boy!"
Peter could only stare at Hook, completely bewildered. A moment ago the pirate-captain had died in his arms, up there on the highest mountain of a devastated Neverland, killed by the foul arts of the dark sorcerer, and now - he stood here before him and…
"Hook?" he asked hoarsely, hardly daring to believe his eyes, water pouring down his back.
The buccaneer frowned, seeing something on Peter's face he had never seen before, not when he looked at him. Something like … hope … and joy? "Aye. That I am."
"You … you're alive?" the boy whispered and both brows of the pirate shot up.
"O' course I'm alive, boy."
Peter swallowed; then the last traces of sorrow and misery became exultation. "You're alive!" he shouted, and without thinking, he wrapped both arms around the tall man, embracing him with a strength Hook wouldn't have suspected from the boy. New sobs escaped Peter, but they weren't born out of pain, but of joy. "You're alive! You're alive!" he said over and over again, hopping up and down in the pool, still holding the captain in that iron grip.
Astonished and disconcerted, Hook stared at the overjoyed child, who seemed to be breaking his ribs, bouncing around and shouting, "You're alive!" a dozen times. His glance swept Smee, who stared stupidly at them; then the amazed boys and fairy, who were no less surprised than he was; then his men, who just stared at them, still frowsy with sleep; then to a perplexed group of Elf warriors; and finally to a smiling Giliath, now supported by a thoughtful Thalion.
Peter seemed to have no plans for ending his celebration. No, quite the opposite. It had been only a nightmare! Neverland wasn't destroyed! His friends were still with him! Wendy, Michael and the Twins were safe aboard the Jolly Roger! Hook was still alive! – a fact he never thought would awaken such a feeling of merriment in him. Peter didn't know why, but the sight of the dying pirate-captain had shocked him as much as the sight of the devastated island.
Hesitating, Hook put his left hand warily on the back of the boy – the maximum embrace he would allow himself with his nemesis. "Peter?" he asked uneasily. "Perhaps you'll tell us all what has gotten into you?" The positive emotions of the boy was displaying toward him were almost frightening.
Peter glanced up to him, his eyes still teary and his lids reddened, but he beamed. "You're alive!"
"Yes, so we've determined," Hook retorted with a rough voice. "And I appreciate this fact, as well. But pray tell why you are so pleased about it?" Uncertainly, the pirate was watching the boy's face, again finding himself in a completely strange situation. People had never reacted that way toward him. It was a fact he had accepted – nay, cultivated – that no one liked him – 'except perhaps our pretty storyteller,' he admitted to himself, 'and Smee.' But he and the girl had faced mortal danger side by side, and – what was the old saying? 'Ten minutes of danger unites more than ten years friendship.' And Smee was a loyal soul – had always been and would ever be.
But that Pan, of all people, was nearly leaping out of his skin because he, Hook, lived – demonstrated now by the boy dancing about him in the pool, hooting like an Indian, under the waterfall and back out around the man again – had him 'turned upside down.' Normally they were trying to kill each other, but he had found himself unable to watch the boy's suffering anymore, and the child almost strangled him with his joyful embrace.
Suddenly Peter grew still, face grew serious, an urgency in his eyes. "When we face S'Hadh, don't approach him from behind!"
The pirate-captain frowned. "That would be bad form!" he declared, mostly out of habit.
The boy shook his head and took the man's arms again. "You don't understand. It has nothing to do with good or bad form, James, but with what S'Hadh will do. He will kill you, if you attack him from behind. I know it, James. I saw it!"
Hook was momentarily irritated that the boy dared call him by his given name, something no one ever did, then the child's words came to his mind. "Peter, I…" he started, but was interrupted by the boy.
"Promise!"
Hook made a face. "Belay that, boy, it was only a dream. A bad dream, yes, but no more than a dream."
"NO! It wasn't only a dream. Promise, James! Swear you won't come at him from behind!"
There was such intensity in the boy's gaze that Hook was touched, against his will. He gave in and nodded. "Promised," he grumbled and saw the relief on the boy's wet face before he closed his eyes and laid his forehead against Hook's chest, arms again wrapping around the man.
"Good! I don't want you to die!"
Hook lifted one brow, his hand again stroking the boy's back without his realization. Hating his uncertainty, he found his refuge in mockery, the more familiar role. "If this is so, then I would ask that you would stop trying to break my ribs."
Peter looked up to him – and finally realized what he was doing. Cheeks reddening, he released the pirate as of he were on fire, and stepped back – directly under the waterfall again, then to the side, shaking his curls. "Cheeky old codfish!" he grumbled.
Realizing they both were soaked to the skin, Hook laid his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Come. Let's get out of these wet clothes, and perhaps we can all get some sleep." Peter accompanied the pirate as if it were the most normal thing to do.
Minutes later, they had shed their wet clothes while helping hands passed them others (Smee fussing over Hook, somewhat reminiscent of a doting mother). Others lay the wet ones on the rocks to dry.
As they sat, facing the fire, an Elf handed them both some tea from dinner, still warm. Peter gulped it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, for something to do with his energetic fingers, he took out his knife and began to carve on a piece of common soapstone from the collection on the floor of the cave.
Hook watched the boy as he sipped his tea a bit more slowly (wishing for a flask of hard rum). The boy's eyes were haunted, darkened. Then Hook, still shaken from the emotional outburst of his young opponent, asked, "What was the dream? They probably heard your shouting across the breadth of Neverland."
The boy blushed again, looking away from the light. He saw the understanding gaze of Giliath, who was sitting near a watchful Thalion. It was in the faces of his friends that he finally found the courage to answer.
"Neverland was ash. The woods, the meadows and marshes all burned. Ice covered part of it. The rivers were gall, and I couldn't see the sky." He glanced at Hook. "Your ship, Captain, was torn apart and…" his gaze grew distant as he called up the foul memories again – and Hook took Peter's shoulders and shook him softly, forbidding the boy to fall back into his nightmare.
"Peter, stay here with us!" The youth's eyes cleared, and he nodded. "Go on."
The eternal boy swallowed hard. "Ev – everyone was dead. Your men too, Captain. The Indians, the animals and fairies … they … all … my friends … Wendy!" New tears welled up in his eyes and he hastily blinked them away while he fought the growing lump in his throat, the pictures just too fresh in his mind. "I climbed to the crater of the Mount of No Return. I thought you were dead, too, Captain." His voice was forced now. "Then S'Hadh was there …" He sniffled and rubbed his eyes to force the tears back.
"You saw him, Peter?" Giliath asked, his voice demanding, and the boy shrugged.
"Not clearly. His face was only a pale thing in black with glowing eyes." He took another deep breath, his voice cracking again. "Sud … suddenly you were there as well, Captain. You attacked S'Hadh from behind, but … he knew, and turned around and … and there came something like lightning out of his hands. They hit you. At first you were still alive, but then…" Again he wiped a new tear away, shaken and angry.
" 'Perdition edges his way, and death gives the touch of his hands'," Giliath murmured, quoting a part of the prophecy.
Hook nodded slowly, understanding. "I died."
Peter nodded, while a single tear escaping. "I couldn't help you. I couldn't … keep you. You slipped away … and I was alone." He lowered his face. "Completely alone." His voice was a whisper.
Finally Hook realized what had shocked the boy so thoroughly. You were begging me not to die!" he whispered, as if hit by a hammer. "You were pleading with me to stay!"
Wide-eyed, Peter looked back at him. "How do you know?" he asked; affirming Hook's anticipation with this question.
"You talk in your sleep," Hook murmured, too shaken to say more. The boy had been so desperate, so miserable because he, James Hook, had died in his nightmare! For a moment he felt lightheaded. This could not be! This boy didn't care for him! Never! Never, never, never! He glanced at the stricken face of the child biting his lips, and knew that he was wrong. Peter cared for him, despite their hostility, their history. This boy, who loathed all grownups, him the most, did care for him enough to despair because of a nightmare about his death.
Peter chewed his lower lip, remembering his despair. "Please, you must be careful when we met finally S'Hadh. I –" he swallowed, "…I really don't want you to die."
Hook could barely hear the boy's words, but they made the pirate tremble momentarily (he was glad for the dim light.) He didn't know how to react, what to say. There was an instinct to simply pull Peter into a tight, reassuring embrace. There was an instinct to run before he was confronted with more emotions he couldn't accept, both his and his young adversary's. There was the impulse to yell at the boy, to shake some sense into him. There was even an old faded habit, like an old wound long healed that hitched when the weather was turning, that told him to simply gut the boy. Bloody hell, they were enemies! Enemies – not friends! And – fie on it – neither would cry a single tear if the other died!
At the same moment, he knew that was a lie. Whatever they had known before – that omnipresent hatred – had disappeared, like a morning mist as the sun rose and burned through the trees, like a sharp stone in your back when you slept outside, that you've grown accustomed to, and then you roll over. Something he'd lived with so long he'd taken it for granted. Somehow the pair had left behind wrath and bitterness and were approaching a careful acceptance.
And he had no idea what to do now.
For the first time in his unnaturally long life, James Hook was lost for an idea.
Rubbing his stinging eyes, Hook took a shuddering breath, watching the movement of the boy's knife, working with a nervous speed. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should remind you of this wish, the next time you try to stab me." His voice was not firm as he wanted, and even he could hear how false the words sounded. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, sitting to his left, and gave it a shove.
Peter, still uneasy because of the dream – and the new feelings for the man sitting near him – tried a smirk, though it came out as nothing more than an uncertain smile. "And you could remember my warning the next time you want to gut me."
Both laughed uncomfortably for a moment, before Hook allowed himself to assay the boy's condition. Still sniffling, some tears still on his face, the boy didn't look like the cocky infuriating brat he usual was, but like a forlorn child who didn't understand what was happening. Realizing that he needed to distance himself from this whole unnerving situation, he stood suddenly, taking the knife and half-formed carving from the boy's busy fingers. "Enough. Time for sleep, boy." His voice sounded almost gentle.
Peter shook his head, receiving his discarded cape from Tootles. "I can't sleep. I … I don't dare."
This admission took Hook by surprise – and woke pity in him. "I don't think that this rabble-rouser will try anything else tonight, Peter. He knows now you're well protected." He met the surprised and hopeful expression of the boy, and felt a smile tugging at his mouth, before he scowled insincerely. "Aye, you caught me, Pan. Of course I'll defend you against him any way I can. After all, we're allies."
The rest of the group knew it was an historic moment they were witnessing, Hook's hand resting on the boy's shoulder, while Peter tried to smile at him. Hook's mind again dug around for something mocking to contribute, and came up with – nothing! Finally he realized that he was, again, the centre of attention – gall and brimstone! – because he had, again, assisted one of those damn children! Not even the girl this time, which was only good form. No, this time it was the damn little pest himself. And the brat poured out his heart, giving away that the death of his nemesis would cause him distress. Hook didn't dare to think of the reasons why. And he even didn't dare to think about why it affected him so drastically. The boy's overt concern and jubilant celebration had wriggled a way into his growing heart. The bitterness was silenced, making room for warmer feelings; feelings forbidden to the rigid commander of murderous buccaneers, but which he finally admitted to himself. He had begun to care for the boy.
That terrified him more than the crocodile.
Alas, how could he hunt down the boy ever again, if he didn't hate him?
"Captain?"
Hook looked up and realized that he had gotten lost in thought again. "Aye?"
"If that's true, I think I'd like to go back to sleep now."
Suddenly seeing the smirk on the boy's face, Hook snatched away his hand, as if he'd found it stuck in something very disagreeable, clearly embarrassed. "What're you lookin' at?" he scowled at his abashed crew. They busied themselves crawling back into their bedrolls. "Don't let me stop you, Pan. Heaven forbid I get scolded for keeping you from your beauty sleep."
"Who is it you don't want to hear it from?" Peter teased, slowly coming back to himself. "Smee, Giliath or my Wendy?"
"Smee is by boson, not my conscience. Giliath is a wise counselor, not my commander. And Wendy is a good storyteller –"
" – and very special, as you already said!" the boy interrupted, a bit of the old fun in his eyes.
"Yes," Hook nodded – and groaned inside. Ah, he hadn't admitted again, had he? Several snorts were heard around the cave. "Get to bed, Pan. Don't think that I'll carry you into battle!" he snapped.
The boys were giggling now. Peter smirked and shoved his damp hair out of his forehead. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it – codfish!"
"Quite right, brat!"
Tinker Bell rolled her eyes. Giliath, now recovered, laughed, sounding both amused and relieved. "I fain would say that such as we've seen this night was the best example of love-hate ever."
"WHAT?" man and boy responded, and looked at each other as they would an extraordinarily large, ugly spider.
Thalion nodded. "Indeed, my friend. T'would seem they cannot live with each other, but each also cannot live without the other."
"Are you trying to offend me on purpose, Elf?" Hook growled. "I can live quite well without this nervy putrid little child of Satan!"
"Me, too!" Peter affirmed, which instantly brought all the Elves to laughter.
The two stared at each other, seeing the Elf's tactics at work again before they turned as one toward Giliath and Thalion. "You did it again!" Hook hissed.
"That means: walk the plank!" Peter added, both folding their arms.
Giliath laughed out loud this time, despite his and weakness from the attack – the enforced quiet broken long before. "Well, I have no problem jumping from a ship, but you two should get your stories straight," he grinned.
Peter stuck out his tongue, while Hook snorted. Thalion and Giliath exchanged a glance. "The Dark One has favored us with his oppression – even if he is not aware," the commander said in their own tongue.
Giliath nodded. "In truth. His attempt to weaken the boy by showing him the worst possible future has only strengthened his resolve, and bound them both ever closer to each other." They met Tink's knowing gaze, who nodded slowly – a smile on her tiny face.
TBC…
Dear Readers,
at first a big 'thank-you' for the nice and loooooong reviews. I love to get them and I am happy that you all like my story so much. This chapter was something I had to do - not only for the plot and story-line, but also for all who like to see the two opponents acting a little bit more nicer to each other. In the next chapter our dear storyteller has all hands full to do on the Jolly Roger and is given a little insight of the life on a ship - and that pirates CAN be lads, if you know how to take them. And Wendy will learn more about her fairy-tale-captain, because who knows more about the ship's commander, as the ship's sprite...?