The moon's beams sliced through the canopy of the forest like knives, cutting paths of light through the darkness. To the stars, all appeared well. Most busied themselves with what stars normally do; twinkling wondrous secrets to each other or admiring themselves in glassy pools of water. A certain of their number waited in hopeful silence for the whimsical music of Peter's pipes.
Only an eerie silence hung over the forests of Neverland. With soft chimes of disappointment, the stars continued their nightly vigil until dawn.
They could not see what lay beyond the surface of the canopy they glimmered over. They did not know Peter was, at the moment, thrashing about in a net of faerie web, shrieking inaudible threats to the faerie Tinkerbell who stood watch nearby. He worked furiously at the knots, only entangling himself further in the web. He cursed her and called her names, but the cotton in his mouth muffled the words. Peter had tried to free his tongue first, but the more fluff he pulled out of his mouth, the more that came in to take its place until he was nearly gagging on it.
Tink watched him struggle and flinched at his every muffled curse. She knew this wasn't him cursing at her, but it hurt nonetheless. Even though she knew it was useless, Tinkerbell had pleaded with Peter to fight the curse taking over him. She recounted adventures they'd shared, the wonderful games, how Peter had found their first lost boy (though it had really been on accident), and just about everything else she could think of. All to no avail, for though he could say nothing, he glared with unwavering venom.
Having exhausted herself with her efforts and tears, she simply huddled on the branch with wings drooped in despair. Peter stopped struggling, realizing it was futile and that he was wasting his strength. If only he had a weapon . . . something to free himself with! He'd slice through the web and likewise the faerie's wings and heart in a twinkling! If only . . .
The faerie's eyes began to close and she widened them in alarm. She couldn't fall asleep. But what's the harm? A voice purred inside her ear. He's helpless. You've trapped him well. You should take some rest for a job well done.
"Yes . . . some rest," Tinkerbell murmured. She didn't know why, but somehow she felt very warm and very comfortable. Only a tiny part of her consciousness railed against her for letting her guard down, but she drowned it out with a yawn. Tink's eyelids lowered, shut, and didn't open again for quite some time.
A bluebird chirped and with a flutter of wings was suddenly on the branch supporting the web Peter was trapped in. At the moment, the boy was busy spitting magic cotton, which had begun to run out once Tink was no longer awake to supply it. The bluebird twittered softly, and began - almost casually - to sharpen its beak on the strongest strands of faerie web.
Peter watched and smiled in delight.
* * *
Choking on a cry, he flailed out of pure terror, kicking at the blankets that ensnared his ankles. It took a few long moments of blinking in the darkness to determine his surroundings. The fact at last registered in his panicked brain that he was at the Indian village, and lying unharmed on a soft pallet. This signified no cause for immediate alarm. Weak with relief, the boy lay panting and reached up to wipe away the cold sweat beaded on his forehead. The dryness in his mouth made breathing tickle the back of his throat unpleasantly.
Slightly's gaze sought the comforting rays of blue moonlight drifting through the edges of the tipi's opening, but the visions of his nightmare would not fully leave him. Things slithered from he shadows that the soothing light created and as his pulse quickened, he felt a burning moisture begin to collect over his eyes. No, he would not. Even as he remembered the claws shredding grooves into his flesh, leaving trails of wet black blood, he would not cry. There was something in his hand that glinted sharply. The lost boy stared at it in confused recognition, just as a hand gripped his shoulder. Heart plunging into ice-cold fear, Slightly twisted away and struck out blindly with his foot. His heel slammed into solid flesh and bone, the owner of which yelped and scrambled out of reach.
His eyes darted about wildly until they fell upon Billy's form crouching an arm's length away, nursing a swollen mouth. Jukes flinched at the sight of him and backed up further. Slightly did not understand why until he saw the knife in his raised hand - which he had no recollection of unsheathing. If the lost boy could only have seen his face, he might have understood better.
There was a silence between them, broken only by the struggle of lungs to draw in enough air for two rapidly beating hearts.
"That must've been some dream," Jukes spoke up at last, eyes still on the weapon.
I could have killed him, Slightly realized, and dropped the small dagger as if already stained with his friend's blood. "I'll be slightly fine," he choked unconvincingly. Half a second later, the lost boy buried his face in his hands and burst into tears.
Arms wrapped around him awkwardly. Slightly made a dull-spirited attempt to pull out of the embrace. "It's allright," Billy murmured. "Whatever it was, you're safe now."
Slightly's body trembled with more than just sobs. A voice was whispering assurances that it wasn't allright, that he wasn't safe. He waited for his friend's warm fingers to dig into his flesh and tear him apart, just like the cruel talons in his dream. And as suddenly as the fear had come, it vanished, and rational thought returned.
I'm being more than slightly stupid. Billy would never hurt me - I know that better than a kingfisher knows the way south!
He's your true companion, is he? The same pirate who's fired cannon shot to splinter bones and splatter flesh - goodness, he'd never hurt a flea, hissed suddenly in the boy's mind. Slightly's eyes widened, and he gave a shuddering gasp. Where had that come from? He waited for more, but nothing surfaced save for echoes of disbelief at the hateful thought.
"By Fawke's torch," Billy muttered bitterly. "This is all my fault. I should've kept my big mouth shut, at least until morning."
The tale he had told before they went to sleep, before Maegie had bid them good night and slipped out to find her own bed, was more twisted and dark than any story Slightly had heard. And worse yet, it had no ending; no closure. The evil had not been defeated. Only her acolyte Vanessa had been punished - perishing at the hands of Bill's mother, Daneatra. Arizael had gotten what she wanted then; a malleable body to house her spirit. But as for what she wanted now, other than pointless bloodshed, no one knew. There seemed to be very little method to her madness.
Slightly did not answer to this, his whole body trembling and stiff, only gradually relaxing. After what seemed like an eternity, he leaned his cheek against Billy's shoulder and rested fully into the embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"You were only defending yourself."
"But what if I'd --" The rest was never finished as a finger was placed over Slightly's parched lips.
"You didn't, so there's no use worrying about it." But you did have me scared, for a moment. An awfully long moment, Slight . . .
Jukes' finger lifted from the boy's cracked mouth. "You need some water." Slightly nodded in agreement, then reached up quickly to wipe his eyes before he pulled away. Getting to his feet, Billy ruffled Slightly's hair affectionately, something that the lost boy scowled at, yet was too weary to complain of.
Trying to quell his own shakiness, which he was managing to hide a great deal better than Slightly, Jukes moved aside the skin flap. He looked back over his shoulder to say he'd only be a moment, and saw Slightly breathing unevenly, staring and pointing at something outside. Bill turned around quickly, and the surge of his own fright stifled a scream.
His throat constricting too painfully to cry out, Slightly groped among the sheets for the discarded knife. The effort was not necessary however, as Jukes rashly pounced on the wiry black creature, which gripped his wrists tightly and pressed its own weight against him, matching the gypsy's strength. Billy stumbled backwards into the tipi and the thing toppled in after him. Both were sent sprawling over a coverlet. "Wait! Stop! It's just me!" the figure wailed as the gypsy kicked, bit, and struggled with renewed effort to free his fists. Jukes froze for a moment and hastily got to his feet, muttering apologies.
Just as his questing fingers brushed against the dagger's handle, Slightly recognized the voice of their would-be attacker and looked up quickly. The thin blue light coming in from the open entrance barely confirmed the owner's identity, but it was enough. Giddy relief washed over him to be replaced quickly with rage - at himself. Twice now. Twice he had come close to killing or injuring one of his friends.
"Nibs! You witless -- ! You're more than slightly lucky I didn't find what I was looking for until now!" Slightly yelled, pressing the edge of the ice-cold blade against the boy's neck. For a second or two, he was inexplicably pleased to see a flash of fear in Nibs' eyes.
Now thoroughly disgusted with himself, Slightly jammed the knife into place on his belt, despite his wish to fling it into the nearest dark pool of water.
"I - I just came to make sure you were okay. Something's happened!"
Beyond Nibs, both boys could see fires being lit and forms racing in all directions. Voices raised in query and anger and running footsteps pounded across the dusty ground. A small shape bounded their way on all fours, dodging her way through the chaos. Jukes snatched the calico up in his arms as soon as she came within reach.
"Who's dead?" he asked expectantly, fingers knotting in the cat's fur so tightly that she voiced protest and nipped at him.
"Nobody was killed, Billy." His tone was not much of an assurance. What they could see of Nibs' face in the half-lit darkness was tense with worry.
"What's going on?" Slightly whispered.
"Great Big Little Panther's hut was ransacked. Stuff was broken, shattered - just tossed all over the place. But the only thing missing . . . is Peter's sword."
* * *
Her whole body ached, but not half as badly as her wings. Groggily, she blinked open her eyes, trying to grasp a recognizable image in the jumble of memories going through her head. All she could understand, for the moment, was that Peter was gone, and that she was no longer anywhere near the tree that sheltered and concealed the Underground House.
Things began to come into focus, with several dark lines splitting a single picture into fragments. The world eventually stopped its course on the merry-go-round, and Tink was able to determine that the lines were bars and that she was lying in a cage in a dimly candle-lit room, sunlight beating in vain at the heaviliy veiled windows.
One figure rested upright in a chair, the other laid on a bed pressed against the left wall. Tink stared at the smaller figure on the bed before letting her eyes travel back to the sitting one. She froze, wings all but curling in terror. The eyes of whatever sat next to the bed were staring straight at her. The reflection of the candle's flame shone in them quite clearly.
"Glad to see you awake, sweet wings," it whispered.
Tink made a small whimpering sound and raised her hands to form a small ball of light. Her magic sputtered and died, but in that briefest moment of illumination, she was able to discern who - or rather, what - had spoken. "Arizael . . ." she whispered. Her eyes snapped to the bed where the figure was moaning now, tossing and turning in its sleep.
Arizael reached over and gently began stroking patterns across the figure's back with her fingernails. "Easy, little one, easy . . . I've a lovely a gift for you when you wake."
Peter seemed to calm down and resumed breathing peacefully. But any trace of fear in Tinkerbell's heart was now replaced with rage.
"What did you do to him?" she shrieked, rattling the bars with tiny fists. She cried out at the burning sensation and withdrew hurriedly.
"I've done nothing but open his eyes. He now sees that you are not worth his friendship. When he wakes, I shall let him destroy you, if he so desires."
Tink glared. "You're lying! Peter is innocent and good, he's not like this at all! Not even Hook is as bloodthirsty as you've made him act!"
Arizael laughed harshly. "All humans have a spark of cruelty within them, faerie. Children are no different. You know full well how Peter loves games . . . surely, he'll enjoy this one."
The figure on the bed stirred and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Did you say my name, Lady?"
"How was your sleep, Peter?" Arizael knelt close, stroking his hair in a fond gesture. "Did you dream?"
"I had a marvelous dream! That I won, as always." Peter got to his feet and approached Arizael with his hand outstretched. "Before I went to bed, you said you had a gift for me. Something that would help me fight Hook. I don't need help of course, but I'd like to see it anyway."
Her eyes glittered with pleasure. "Of course, Peter." Within moments, Peter's sword was in Arizael's hands, clean of its black bloodstains and shining with newness.
Peter's eyes widened in joy as he picked up his faithful old blade, slicing the air in a few practice strokes. His merry glance caught a raven perched on a nearby branch and he smiled as if sharing a private joke between him and his shadow.
There was a flash of gold and the raven screamed in alarm, black feathers bursting everywhere as the sword sliced through a branch mere centimeters from its head. The raven croaked in mixed indignance and fear as it flew away, leaving such a trail of obsidian feathers that Peter howled with glee to think of a bald raven flying home to its nest. Finally getting over the last traces of mirth, the boy drew the weapon back to his side, and girdled it on his belt.
"I have observed, dear child, that a few of your friends are . . . shall I say, confused?" spoke Arizael. "They believe they can trust the pirates; befriend them even. You must clear their eyes. Bring them to you as you see fit." Her fingers rested on Peter's blade and the metal grew hot for a moment, then cool once more against his skin. Arizael leaned down, brushed curly brown hair away from his ear, and whispered something.
Peter nodded in understanding, and hopped to the window, preparing to fly off.
"A word of advice, boy," called Arizael, "Retrieve your mother first. The rest should follow easily."
* * *
As soon as Peter's sword was discovered stolen, Great Big Little Panther had ordered his braves to go in search of Peter. At the Underground House, the braves soon found only the shredded remains of a faerie web hanging from the branches to give indication of what had happened. As skilled as they were with the art of tracking, the warriors could tell nothing save the obvious fact that Peter was gone to mystery, and Tinkerbell with him.
Wendy's hands trembled ever so slightly around the cup of water she held in her lap. The news had been broken to her as gently as possible, but feather cushions have never been known to stop the blow of a dagger. No matter how many times they had fought, Wendy knew the faerie loved her in her own way, and in turn - through her maternal feelings toward all living creatures smaller than herself - Wendy loved Tink. It hurt to think of the faerie dead, and it hurt far worse to think that Peter, who cared for her so dearly, might've contributed to her demise.
How he would grieve if ever he were returned to himself. Wendy wept his tears as well as her own; for she knew there was a chance he'd never be himself again to feel remorse for what he'd done.
Beside her, Maegie could offer only her shoulder to lean on. This was one of those situations in which words were best left unspoken and tears unhindered. Wendy's sobs eventually ran their course until she succumbed to exhaustion. Carefully, Maegie laid her in a more comfortable position.
"Wennnndyyyy!" bawled a little voice from directly outside the teepee, just as she was folding a blanket over Wendy's steadily breathing form. The older girl moved quickly to yank apart the opening with a reproachful look on her face, which softened upon seeing the tearful Michael.
"Where's my sister?" he pouted, crossing his arms.
"Fast asleep, and staying that way. What's all the fuss about?"
"John stole my bear! And he's playing keep-away with Curly! I tried getting Wuffles back, but I now don't wanna play anymore and they said that I have to --!" Michael was abruptly shushed, for his voice had been climbing higher in volume during his explanation. He was obliged to suffer patience while he was marched some distance away from the teepee. Maegie knelt so she could be eye-level with him.
"Okay, go on now."
"They won't give him back to me no matter what! They say I have to catch him and it's not fair because I can't fly that fast! So I wanted Wendy to stop them." Again with the miserable little pout. Maegie offered a prayer of thanks that she didn't have any siblings of her own.
"I'll make them stop if you pipe down."
"But . . ." Michael scrunched up his nose in consternation. "You can't! You're not Wendy!"
Maegie gave a most unlady-like snort. "Since when does your name have to be 'Wendy' in order to get anything accomplished around here?"
"Look! There they are!" the little one pointed upwards and behind her. Maegie turned about to see two boys floating in midair, giggling with mirth. "John!" shrieked Michael with hands cupped around his mouth. "I'm gonna complain of you!"
"Michael is a cowardy custard! Michael is a cowardy custard!" John catcalled from twenty feet above. He tossed something to Curly and Maegie could make out a tatty dark-brown bear.
"Stop it!" screamed Michael. "You're hurting him!"
"Hurting him?" Curly asked, raising an eyebrow. "How do you know Mr. Wuffles isn't having fun? Look, he's upside down! Wheeee!" Curly dangled the bear by one leg and swung him to and fro.
Michael was not amused and made sure everybody within two miles heard about it. Maegie clapped her hands over her ears. This had to end now, before she went deaf as a post. Gathering her wits, which were somewhat jangled thanks to the pajama-clad tantrum going off full blast beside her, she smiled mischievously at Curly and held out her arms. "You wanna play too?" he asked, grinning back at her.
John frowned suspiciously. Wendy sometimes smiled like that when she was about to trick them into getting her way. Something told him not to trust Maegie with this game, but Curly was already throwing the bear down.
"Don't--!" started John, but it was too late. Wuffles plopped into Maegie's hands, and she handed it down to a relieved yet still crying Michael.
"I don't want you to be my brother anymore! You're mean!" he wailed, and flew off to sit with Tootles by one of the cook fires.
Seething, John turned on Curly. "I knew she was gonna do that! Why'd you throw it to her?"
Curly just shrugged. "If you knew, why didn't you tell me?"
"Oh, very clever!" John glared back down at Maegie. "That was pretty rude to stick your nose into our business."
"Not half as rude as picking on someone two feet tall!"
"What I do isn't your concern, and besides it's just a toy!" the boy yelled back, though for just a moment he did look a bit regretful. "He hangs onto it way too much and . . . well, I think it's time he put aside such childish things."
"You're a lost boy of Neverland and you want Michael to grow up? Something doesn't rhyme in this limerick."
John's mouth opened and closed a few times. "She's got a point there," Curly admitted. His companion bristled and turned back to the girl.
"Fine and jolly for you then! Now Michael's going to come crying to you every time he gets a tick bite! Hope you enjoy having to take care of a whiny little baby!"
Maegie laughed. "You're the one whining like a baby because you're mad that I tricked you."
"You didn't trick me, you tricked Curly and that's easy!"
"It is not!" yelled the highly offended lost boy, but John wasn't finished.
"Just because you're a little older than us, you think that gives you the right to boss us around! You're worse than a baby, trying to act like a grown-up all the time, and what for? You're just a silly girl and can't do anything but get in their way! Come on, Curly, let's find something else to do."
Curly watched the girl, taking note of her wide eyes. Whether she was angry was difficult to determine, for her face was primarly a mask of shock. His answer was given a half-moment later when she turned on her heel and began to walk at a fast pace. Girls only walked like that when they were really upset.
"Are you coming or not?" the middle Darling child snapped.
"I think you wounded her, John," Curly murmured.
"So what?" John muttered. It was hard to feel any sympathy for her in the midst of his own self-pity. He knew now that Michael wasn't going to talk to him unless he apologized and that Wendy would probably scold him even if he did. He would've given back the bear at some point and everything would've been fine, but then she came along and made his little brother hate him. "Let's just get out of here."
Unable to see Maegie any longer amidst the confusing birds-eye-view of the Indian village, Curly shrugged and followed.
* * *
Maegie stormed along between smoldering cooking pits, focusing on calming her heart as she walked off her anger. The middle of a war . . . why anyone would scorn acting like a mature human being is beyond me! Yes, I may not be anyone of importance, but at least I try to be responsible! Maegie fought to ignore a suspicious prickle at the corner of her eyes. Oh, stop it. And who needs to fly or play or any of that nonsense? There's more than enough children around here, I don't need to contribute to all the . . .
Five shapes zoomed above her, flying about in the air like wind-tossed leaves. "I challenge thee to a duel! Prepare to surrender!" announced a bear-capped youth.
"Yeah, right, Nibs!" shouted one of the Twins.
"You couldn't win a fight -
"Against a tree stump!"
"Oh no? With this magic sword I can conquer anything!" claimed Nibs. He extended the dented weapon to the sky, just as a dramatic ray of light shone down through a gap in the clouds. "I have the power!"
Nothing, of course, happened. The Twins looked at one another with bright shifty eyes and burst into helpless giggles, rolling over in the air and clutching their ribs. The small red-headed one composed himself first, only to swipe Nibs' cap and toss it to his counterpart.
"Hey! Give that back!" laughed Nibs, chasing after. The forms disappeared
from her line of sight, continuing their game through the sky.
. . . fun.
Maegie continued to walk, her eyes fixed on the ground. Mere seconds later, something slammed very hard into her shoulder, pitching her forward to into the dirt. "Ouch!" she cried out as the friction caused the pebbles to scrape a raw patch on her knee. John, that little brat. Who else would have reason to attack her so? Infuriated, she leapt to her feet and spun around to glare at him. "Try that again, and I will hit you so hard --"
Her voice simply died as she found herself nose to shin with something that was very much bigger than her. Slowly she looked up . . . and up . . . and still higher until she could see the gigantic warty face of a troll.
She drew in breath until her lungs ached and opened her mouth to scream. All that came out was a strangled little squeak.
"Olook terrible sorry," grated the amused creature's voice, as it turned one corner of its mouth up in a jagged smirk. "Olook think maybe he tap your shoulder bit too hard. You be nice little girl and tell Olook where is Great Big Little Panther, eh?"
Maegie's mouth worked soundlessly a couple of times, then she swallowed. She didn't know where the shaman was but had no desire to answer so, lest the troll be displeased and squash her like a bug. Fortunately, someone came to her rescue.
"Greetings, Olook," said Tiger Lily ceremoniously. "My father is holding conference with a few others at the moment. I will lead you to him." Tiger Lily turned to Maegie and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "Everyone who came here did so because they want to help, not harm," she whispered in the girl's ear, "Don't be afraid."
Maegie managed a nod and another squeak, then watched Olook follow Tiger Lily to where her father was speaking to a couple of sparkling lights that she supposed were faeries. Both of which who seemed to be rather agitated about something.
"I say, you certainly took a nasty spill, m'lady."
Nerves still on edge, she whirled and found herself facing a concerned Starkey and Smee. "Oh. Well, I'm all right now, thank you." Self-consciously, Maegie smoothed her skirt and did her best to brush off the dust.
"Bless me for a boat whistle, you're bleedin'. That brute Olook doesn't know how to treat a wee lass such as yourself proper. Come with us and we'll get ya patched up right enough."
"Uh, thank you." Her face reddened, whether because of the state of her appearance, blood running down her leg and all, or being referred to as a 'wee lass', Maegie could not tell. She followed the two men as they set off for a cluster of brightly colored tents.
"You handled yourself quite well, you know. I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd fainted, coming face to face with that monstrosity," stated the British pirate, fingering the hilt of his rapier.
"I'm certain he meant no real harm. Just didn't know his own strength," she advocated.
"Well and perhaps so, but if anyone tries something like that again with one of our lot, they'll be tickled with Johnny Corkscrew."
Several heads turned to regard the bosun coldly. Maegie shuddered. "Ah, Mr. Smee, I wouldn't say such things. We're not really in the position to insult anyone."
"Oh, pardon me then. What sort of insulting position are we in?"
Starkey sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. "What she means, old boy, is that we shouldn't bicker with the other beasties if we expect anything to come out of this 'great alliance'. Which makes me wonder where that brandy-warmed fool of a ship's carpenter got off too."
A distant outraged roar from behind the next row of tents was his answer. "Oh, Saints preserve us, not again." Ignatious ran a hand through his hair, and it clenched in his raven locks as if preparing to tear them out by the roots.
"Bejeepers, and it's worse when he's sober, lass," Smee informed Maegie, who was staring wide-eyed in the direction of the loud swearing. Starkey swept his cape behind him and began to march doggedly toward the fight. Half a beat later, Maegie ran after him. "Hold on there, miss! Tis not safe for a girl to be caught in the middle of this!" Smee scrambled to catch up.
"I'll have yer eye sockets for dice shakers, donkey!" Mason yelled, unsteadily swiping at a cackling satyr. The goat man jumped back and bleated in mock terror at Mason's drunken advance.
"You're in your cups, human! A satyr like Brannie Bosnuckle can hold his liquor as easily as his women! Can you say the same for yours, sailor, or mayhap your preferences differ?" Groans and howls of mirth intermingled from the gathered mob to jeer the carpenter to his feet.
"Well!" Starkey exclaimed, stopping short of yanking his shipmate out of the fray. "I say, that comment was absolutely uncalled for. Go get him, my good fellow!" he cheered Mason on.
Brannie hopped aside at another unsuccessful lunge, giving Mason a whack between the shoulders with his cudgel. The large man grunted in pain and once again started to get up. The satyr, getting bored at the lack of challenge, threw his full weight on the pirate and crouched there, pinning him. "Say good night!" he laughed, raising his cudgel high above Mason's bleary head.
Seeing that no-one was making a move to stop this, Maegie rushed forward before logic could convince her otherwise. "Stop it!" she demanded, grabbing handfuls of the satyr's fur lined waist and tugging sharply. The pain of being yanked on unexpectedly caused Brannie to lose his balance and topple backwards into Maegie. She plopped down on her rear under his weight, but was too relieved that Mason's crown hadn't been split like a melon to complain.
The satyr sat up and leered as she tried to squirm out from beneath him. "Ohhh. Oooh. Pretty little thing, isn't we?" His hands went to her chest, and made a disappointing discovery. "Oh, hell. Flat as a griddlecake."
Her face seemed to pale and flush all at once while snorts and muffled squeaks of shock erupted all around. "You obscene half-assed twit! As if anyone asked your damned opinion in the first place!" she hollered, throwing a punch. It connected solidly with the satyr's cheek and knocked him sideways though not completely off his perch. Not even pausing to shake the sting out of her knuckles, she kicked his rump squarely off her lap. Brannie stumbled unsteadily onto his hooves and backed away as the enraged girl then picked up his cudgel.
"Let it alone, lass, ye don't want to start up another row again," coaxed an old dwarf, fearing more for her safety than Bosnuckle's. Though shaken, the satyr's leer had not quite disintegrated. "Not after this ended one so nicely w'out anyone havin' to be harmed, aye?"
Though her cheeks burned with humiliation, the girl tossed down the weapon. "You're right. I didn't start this nonsense and I won't continue it."
"A very wise choice," sounded a voice behind her. She turned to see Cecco and fled to his side, not caring how childish it looked. The Jamaican pirate turned his gaze to the rest of the assembled men, dwarves, centaurs, trolls and satyrs. Each of the five races was known for their bravery and cunning in battle, but if it were used poorly, it would be of no use to Neverland at all.
Lean Wolf stepped past Cecco and raised his arms to quell the renewed heated murmuring started by Mason's baleful glare. Starkey pointedly cleared his throat and viciously poked Mason's ribs with his elbow until the carpenter assumed a neutral expression.
"The Council is beginning to gather and we will tell you of our decision before sunset. There is much yet to learn about Arizael, but you should all know this. Once, long ago, she was a war goddess. When you let the hatred in your heart guide your actions, you pay her homage."
The warrior's words seemed to turn the lot of them into shame-faced schoolboys. One dwarf bowed his head and sheepishly scratched at the fuzz behind his ear. "He has a point, lads. Come on, there's tasks to be done. We should be putting other skills to use."
"Here's to that!" agreed a centaur. "We'll fetch water for the injured, and see what we can snare for food." He turned to a younger one of his kind. "Thorntail, you're our best forager and we're in need of Black NeverFir bark to keep flesh wounds from festering." The yearling nodded and galloped off.
"This is turning out rather nicely now that we've acting like civilized people," Starkey declared. "What can we do to help?" About a half-hour later, he was huffing indignantly, up to his elbows in stained garments and soapy water. "If I ever find the presumptious blockhead who put us in charge of woman's work, I'll --!"
"You'll what, laddie?" snapped the scarred, fierce-looking female dwarf overseeing them.
"N-Nothing of course. Pass the washboard?" Ignatious asked meekly.
* * *
Mugwort had very little faith in what mingling with humans would accomplish for his current distress. Indeed, it had always been his opinion that humans were better at harming than helping - however good their clumsy intentions might be. And yet here he was, away from his cozy shop in the market square of Small Monday Island, talking with a human that sported the skin of a dead panther on his head. It was amazing where one's principles would crawl off to when a beloved relative was in danger. Mugwort had raced to the human village on ravenback as soon as young Wisp had brought the news of Tinkerbell's disappearance.
They had arrived before dawn in the midst of an uproar, shortly after the shaman's tent had been discovered in shambles. Wisp had understandably wanted to go aid the search for Tinkerbell, but the feeble-winged Mugwort refused to let him go. He was terrified at the prospect of being left alone among the humans. For once in his life Wisp obeyed his elders, dispatching his raven to help instead. It hadn't been until now that things had calmed enough for both Wisp and Tinkerbell's grandsire to gain audience with Great Big Little Panther.
"Are you certain your braves have searched everywhere?" questioned the elder fairy. His eyes gazed upon Great Big Little Panther with deep sorrow, already half-believing that the worst had happened. "We are a small race; even a fallen leaf could hide our forms."
The shaman lowered his head in remorse. "They have and I am sure they are searching still, looking in every possible crevice. I pray there is still a chance we'll find her safe."
"She's got to be in trouble," piped up the younger fae, his slender form trembling with anxiety. "She would have found a way back --"
"Calm your heart, Wisp," admonished Great Panther. "It is in all possibility she was pursued by Peter when he escaped and forced into hiding." He saw Olook approaching with his daughter out of the corner of his eye. "Please, take Tinkerbell's grandsire to where he may sit in cool shade. There is someone else I must speak with now."
The green fae closed his eyes, and without another word wrapped his arm around the old faerie's bony shoulders, leading him to a nearby oak. However painful Tink's disappearance was for him, Wisp knew it was far worse for Mugwort. . The cobbler had lost his wife Rosemary a couple winters ago. Now he faced the task of faerie funeral rites for his only granddaughter. Tinkerbell's parents wouldn't help much; they had enough on their plates with business at Oberon's Court to be concerned with silly little things like a death in the family.
Mugwort sighed deeply, finding himself a soft patch of lichen on the sturdy oak branch. "I don't know what's become of Tinkerbell, young Wisp. But chin up, lad, there's no use in looking so dismal. Perhaps it's as the good shaman said and she's nestled up safe somewhere, waiting for Peter to call off the chase. If she's alive, she'll make it back to us when she can. And if not . . . we'll find her."
"Yes. We will," Wisp assured him. The old man grinned back, settling back into the cushioning green growth on the tree bark. Wisp fondly studied the elder fae in his repose; tufts of red hair poking every which way around his pointed ears from beneath his leaf cap. The cap Mugwort seldom took off for the sole fact that the crown of his head was as bald as a snow pea.
Feathers the color of pitch filled his vision and Wisp was nearly blown off his perch by the back draft of a very large bird landing next to him. "Nightshade!" he exclaimed, alighting in the air. "Any news?"
"Found Peter," croaked the raven ruefully, eyeing his distressed plumage. Nightshade was a simple creature; he cared for survival, not petty grudges. But now he was beginning to understand just why his faerie companion despised that boy. He'd lost some of his best feathers and quite nearly his life for nothing but a cruel child's temporary amusement.
"You did! Any sign of Tink, then?" Wisp asked, turning to look at Mugwort's reaction. To his surprise, he discovered the elder snoring, leaf cap pulled snugly over his eyes. Wisp decided to leave him as he was; the poor fellow had been up since before dawn. If the news was disappointing, he'd be better off sleeping through it.
Nightshade clicked his beak. He had no intention of going back to That Place. "Saw only Peter. No Tink," he lied. Really, it was for Wisp's own good as well as his own. "Stupid Pan-thing tried cut off my head with shiny poke-stick, then fly North. That all I know."
Wisp was not fooled. With amber eyes narrowed to slits, he peered closely at the fidgeting bird. "You're lying to me, aren't you?"
"No."
"Come clean, you overglorified feather duster."
Grumpily, the raven turned on the branch so his back was facing Wisp. "Not lying. Not listening."
"Must you be so obstinate?" There was a faint whoosh like breeze blowing through a crack. The raven turned his head to glance behind him and found that Wisp had vanished.
"Oh, Nightshaaade!" coaxed a voice right above him. The raven looked forward again to see a mouth-wateringly plump ripe Neverberry dangling inches from his beak. His beady eyes widened with greed and he stretched his neck without thinking toward the tantalizing treat. Wisp held it just out of his reach, tsking at him. "Who's not being a good boy?"
The bird swelled up in indignation. This was so unfair.
"You want rescue stupid pretty fly-thing from crazy witch-person, you can do by self!" he squawked.
"Aha, so she's at Witch's Peak," the fae deducted. The words sunk in and Wisp dropped the Neverberry. Nightshade made a frantic swoop and caught it just barely before it fell into a thorn bush to be lost forever. Not wanting to drop the precious burden in his mouth to throw insults at Wisp (and unable to find them, he was so angry), the raven perched again on the branch and just glared.
Quite naturally, Wisp was oblivious. "Cattails and shrew bones! Tink's with Arizael?! Was she harmed in any way?!"
Nightshade slowly tilted back his head to let the treat slide down his gullet, clearly enjoying Wisp's irritation. The green fae knew he was being punished for his earlier transgressions. Getting angry would do nothing. "Nightshade, I promise I'll go find the ripest berries in Neverland -- as many as you can eat -- if you just tell me all you saw. Please."
"You want more than ask. Nightshade not stupid. Once you know she is in iron cage," Nightshade interrupted himself to peck at berry pulp which had dripped onto the bark. Wisp blanched noticeably. Iron sapped away all a faerie's strength and even life if exposed long enough to the dreaded element. "Then you demand we try release her. Like usual noble idiot self."
"Well, you don't have to go with me if you don't want to."
"Going alone then? Now you just idiot."
Wisp scowled. "Look, I know Tink isn't gonna leap into my arms just because I let her out of a cage - even if it is iron. I'm not trying to impress her, I'm trying to save her life. There won't be any heroics. I'll just fly in when the witch's back is turned, open the cage, and we'll both get the heck outta there. Satisfied?"
The raven stared at the faerie as if he'd suddenly grown mushrooms from his ears. Then the large bird simply shook his head and hopped toward the crestfallen Wisp. "Nightshade fly with you. One brain better than none."
* * *
The shaman turned his gaze to where sunlight streamed and reflected off gleaming shadow, its presence betrayed only by the soft impatient scraping of hooves in the earth. Great Big Little Panther moved toward the silvery figure silently, calling upon the protective spirits to shield them both from sight. Unicorns were secretive creatures; the ones in Neverland being no exception.
The shaman blew gently at an inquisitive dragonfly, shooing it out of the protective barrier. "Greetings, Moondream. What have you seen?"
The unicorn dipped her horn, waiting for the tall man to touch it and share the knowledge she had learned. As if gazing through a smoked pane of glass, Great Panther could see a vision of Hook leading a small gang of his men up the steep mountainside of Witch's Peak.
"Move your feet, you worthless flesh sacks, before I send you to prance over the burning coals of hell!" he yelled at his cowering hesitant men.
Great Big Little Panther's eyebrows furrowed. In all the time Panther had known the man, Hook's voice had always held the same attributes as a predatory feline's. When angry, it was likened to a roar; when cunning, it was soft, soothing, and ten times more dangerous for its unpredictable charm. Now it was hoarse, hungry; filled with rage and desire for bloodshed. A far cry from the demeanor in which Hook often prided himself.
"Cap'n," simpered One-Eye, while his companions panted from nervousness. "Why are we goin' ta visit her? Shouldn't we be lookin' for the Pan boy?"
"The steps toward victory, m'dear bilge rat, are often taken in an uphill climb. Arizael has sent a summons to me, claiming she has the thing I most need to revenge myself upon the young reprobates who have so tormented me. Whether or not she is being entirely truthful, it is still an opportunity I desire to take."
"Wh-what if she tries somethin'? Like turnin' us all into newts?" quivered Turk.
Hook voiced his disdain in deep-throated mirth. "I certainly hope that whatever it is the lady has for me, it will grant spines to my crew of quivering jellyfish."
He turned his back on the men and continued his upward progress. Reluctantly, Turk and the others followed suit. The vision began to dim until all Panther could see was the dark behind his own eyelids. He opened them and shook his head in fear. This did not bode well for Neverland.
"Father?" questioned a tentative voice.
"Hard-to-Hit," the shaman addressed the boy behind him. "What news?"
"Almost all the members of the council have arrived. Tiger Lily showed them to the meeting hut you chose. Lady Arrol of the Woodfolk, King Granat of the Mountainfolk, and Lord Oberon of the Airfolk. Oh, and Sloxwarzth of the Underfolk." Hard-to-Hit struggled to pronounce the last name, and couldn't help but show his distaste at having to say it.
"Hard-to-Hit," the shaman repeated, this time with an air of reprimand. "You know all who gathered to help us are deserving of equal respect, whether or not you find them beautiful." The boy looked down and had the grace to look embarrassed.
"I know. Well, everyone's here except . . ."
"King Kyros and Crooked Tail of the Merfolk. I understand of course why she could not make it, and have sent word for her to simply do all she can to defend what belongs under her reign. As for the Lord of Ice . . . I had hoped he would see Arizael as a threat to all of Neverland." The disappointment in his voice was heavy.
"He doesn't think anything can get past that ice barrier he put up. I think he may be right. Not even Peter could've . . ." The young Indian trailed off sadly, thinking about his friend. Panther placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder.
"All will be mended. Believe that with all your heart. Hope is too often dismissed by despair in troubled times."
* * *
The council went about as well as one could expect when four proud leaders with differing opinions on the way things should be done were shoved into the same breathing space. After several obligatory speeches, each basically expressing hope that the alliances would continue after the coming battle, the elders settled down and began to toss forth strategy. This was interrupted shortly, as Great Big Little Panther insisted they pay more attention to a another related matter. As they were bound to do sooner or later, arguments exploded.
"I have just about had it with this utter nonsense!" Lady Arrol threw her delicately sculpted hands into the air. King Granat twitched at the strident Elf Queen's voice and surreptitiously shifted towards Sloxwarzth who was busily picking his nose with long gray fingers. Just as quickly, the dwarf changed his mind and began scooting back the way he came. Lord Oberon rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off an approaching migraine.
"My warriors are more than ready to march up there and do whatever it takes to bring Arizael down, and you're worried about the fate of the silly woman who made a pact with this entity in the first place?"
"It is believed that she did it," Panther replied evenly, "To save her son's life."
"Oh. It is 'believed'. Believed by whom?" Arrol demanded, raising a thin eyebrow. "The boy himself I suppose?"
"I am certain he was not lying."
Oberon spoke up before Arrol could raise another fuss. "None of us would be accusing the lad of lying. But I admit I am suspicious. You have told us that previously, the boy had no knowledge whatsoever of his past until he returned from the failed - and very foolish, might I add - ambush on Witch's Peak. Arizael had touched him and her former familiar at once, and the resulting contact of all three brought forth the memories Arizael had stripped of them both. Is this not accurate?"
Panther nodded. "It is."
"Wot are you gettin' at?" muttered Sloxwarzth, now inspecting the filth beneath his nails for lack of boogers to keep him occupied. Granat slid an inch sideways in Arrol's direction, no longer caring if he suffered hearing problems for it later.
"What I'm coming about to," Oberon said, in very miffed tones, "Is this. What if Arizael had the presence of mind to throw in a few false memories with the real ones? The boy's mother may be dead and long buried. We never know."
Lady Arrol breathed out, impressed. "Finally, someone who talks sense." Oberon looked quite pleased with himself. The temptation to ruin the Lord's smug mood was too much for Sloxwarzth.
"Nah, we don't know. Tricky minx, isn't she, that Arizael? She's got you goody-goods right where she wants you, trapped 'tween morals and logic." He grinned loathsomely. Something dark caught between his yellow teeth squirmed and then went still again. King Granat was now practically sitting on the Elf Queen's lap. "Kill the host, she could find another while you all build a cairn and bewail the loss of an innocent. Give her mercy for the whelp's sake, and she may have a bit a fun with you first before gutting you on your own pikes. By hell's coals, what a pair of choices, eh?"
Granat's lip curled. "That's enough outta you, Slothwart."
"It's Sloxwarzth, but then I can't expect a dwarf to pronounce anything right while he reeks of stale rum," the Goblin King retorted coolly. The dwarf spluttered in outrage and reached for his axe. Arrol seized his wrist.
"Don't let him taunt you, Granat. He's not worth staining good steel over."
"I don't need no-one to tell me what to do," Granat snapped, his unwavering glare never leaving the Goblin's smirking face.
"Anyone," Arrol corrected primly. The dwarf bristled at the unwelcome grammar lesson, but sat down nonetheless.
"Sloxwarzth does have a point," Oberon admitted, trying to salvage his pride. "It appears we are caught with a difficult choice. We must vote among ourselves on whether to risk all for the life of one who is presumably innocent, or sacrifice one for the sake of all."
A silence fell over all who were gathered there. Panther carefully cleared his throat. "Might there be no other way but to vote upon such extremes? To defeat an enemy, one does not necessarily need to kill them."
Granat gave his red age-streaked beard an impatient tug. "My warriors have families too, you know. I'm sure not all of them will remain alive to return home. Now I hear that Arizael's a monster, a goddess, a mad witch, a - a demoness?" He pounded his fist on the bench. "I don't know what the hell she is, nobody does, and that worries me! We just can't risk so many lives for the sake of one. If we kill her, it'll be over faster."
Sloxwarzth chuckled derisively, but went ignored.
"I know what you must think of this, Great Big Little Panther," Arrol gestured impatiently. "But I can only agree with Granat. It is a heavy choice, but not a difficult one. The only mercy I promise the host of Arizael is a proper burial."
* * *
The sun shone down upon the residents of Neverland in such a way that shadows resembled little more than black puddles beneath one's feet. It was noon, and Maegie had so far learned that nothing whined as irritably as a man forced into domestic labor, that Smee had an uncanny skill for whistling every sea shanty that existed off-key, and that Mason's testosterone level really was worse when he was sober.
"Keelhaul me, but I wish the girl had left it alone," he griped as Ignatious fussed over him accordingly, cleaning Alf's cuts and abrasions with hot water and cloth. Whether he was tending to Mason out of sheer fellowship or merely taking the opportunity to avoid more washing was hard to tell. "I coulda rammed that little scug's horns up his own alleyway, if not for her meddlin'. Lucky for him she stepped in when she did."
Squealing in vexation, Maegie threw her hands up in the air and went to go beat another sodden garment against a rock. She impatiently batted aside a pair of bloomers hanging on the line and nearly broke her nose colliding with someone. "Excuse me," she muttered, walking past him.
"Maegie?" Billy's voice made her turn immediately. They regarded one another in startled silence, each taking in the other's appearance. Maegie's skirt still had a tear above the knee and though her leg had finally been cleaned and bandaged up, dried blood still clung to the fabric. Billy's clothes and a portion of his face, on the other hand, was smudged with soot. "I haven't seen you all day," he managed awkwardly.
"Y . . Yes. I'm rather aware of that."
"Are you well?" he inquired in concern, noticing the smears of crimson on her person.
She gazed at him for a second, peered over at the men of the Jolly Roger and suddenly remembered she was angry with males in general. "Well? I would be well if it weren't absolutely ridiculous around here! Grown men, tearing into each other when we're all supposed to be banding together, and then sulking over the embarrasment of being told off for it. I've seen five year-olds who didn't complain as much and that's saying something! And don't even get me started on the damn satyr!" Maegie's expression grew accusingly woeful. "I missed you."
And worried myself half to death, you silly brat! Do you know what it's like to wake at the crack of dawn with everything going barmy around you, and then finding an empty hut when you search for your friends? If Robert Mullins hadn't assured me you weren't dead --!
"I'd have been there if I could, Mae. Though I rather doubt my presence would have changed any of it."
And just who gave you permission to call me Mae? Bugger all that for a lark. I liked it.
Jukes grinned sheepishly, as if sensing her initial reaction to the pet name. She rolled her eyes, yet couldn't help but smile back. "Of course it wouldn't have. But I certainly would have felt better. In any case, where's Slightly?"
Billy glanced back over his shoulder. "Last I saw him, he was with the centaurs helping fill waterskins. There's a lot of calls for water going around and only one stream nearby." Maegie then noticed he was rubbing his left arm as if it pained him. "I was working at one of the forges," he explained. "There's a shortage of weapons for all the volunteers. I needed something to do with my hands, and Slightly was getting edgy for some reason. We both decided it would be best if we went to work to get our minds off things."
"At one of the forges?" Maegie repeated, after a brief inner debate over what to say. Her eyes fell on his arms and noticed how strong they looked. Hadn't it been just two days past when he'd placed them around her shoulders to help her run from danger? "You've been hammering away on an anvil for hours then. Does it hurt?"
"I must have been too aggressive. And I guess I'm out of practice; I had no means to being away from the Jolly Roger." Billy looked up and grinned at her proudly. "Someday, I want to show you some of the designs I made for machines. If it's possible." His dark brown eyes grew more than a hint of sadness in them and Maegie glanced away, wondering why she'd been looking into them in the first place.
"Of course it's possible. Or it will be, once we pull out of this mess," she attempted to comfort. But she knew there was more to it; that even if Arizael was defeated and Hook freed from her power, Jukes might still not be welcome aboard the pirate ship. "And if not, then you can simply make new ones." Her fingertips reached out and brushed against his sore arm; once again, she was acting without leave from her brain.
"I - I know how to get some of the pain out. If you don't mind."
"No, uh, I don't."
Trying to ignore the fluttery sensation in her stomach, Maegie moved behind Bill and began kneading his shoulders. Her fingers found the knots in his back and neck and worked them out with slow, steady movements. As awkward as Billy felt, he did trust her and so could not help but relax. Maegie's touch was providing more relief than pounding his emotions out on metal had. She might not have had strong hands like Robert, who'd usually been the one to pound out all the kinks in his back after a hard day's work, but just the feel of them sliding carressingly over his skin was like cool water to a fevered man.
Slightly watched from a distance. Wordlessly, he brought the waterskin to his lips and drank of it; the centaurs had allowed him to take a filled one for his efforts at helping them. A reward, they said, for being a helpful young lad while he could have darted off at any time to seek amusement. Several times he did yearn to stand up from his kneeling position in the pebbly mud around the stream and fly off to play games with the other lost boys. Instead of being near the earth, he quite understandably wanted to be up there. Above all the clouds, the grownups and their war, and the madness . . .
But he had continued his task, knowing that any escape would only be temporary. All morning long after he'd left Billy's side to let him work at the forge, the same voice that had sprung up after his nightmare still whispered thoughts in his head. Bad ones. Most of which concerned just about anyone who was unfortunate enough to get within his line of vision. Slightly couldn't understand it, and he hadn't tried, simply ignoring the spiteful words and throwing himself into his labor. The pleasant sounds of the forest and babbling stream had, for a time, drowned out whatever the voice had to say. But now there were harsh sounds of labor that grated on his already frayed nerves, and he was sure it would start again if he didn't distract himself.
With a somewhat shaky hand, he stoppered the waterskin and walked over to his friends. "So there you two are!" he said, and could not help a smirk when both of them jumped guiltily. Maegie had two spots of red on her cheeks as she let her hands drop from the gypsy boy's shoulders. Billy was left stammering for excuses, although the poor boy really shouldn't have tried. "Am I slightly disturbing anything?"
"No," Jukes scowled, grateful for the soot hiding his blush.
"Sorry," Slightly apologized anyway. "Want to grab a bite to eat?"
"Well, I'm for it. I've about had it hanging around with those shipmates of yours. They act as if they're going to turn into melons just for doing a bit of washing!"
Billy laughed sheepishly. "They can tend to overreact." His smile became more impish. "Not unlike a certain young lady with a pouch of shaman powder."
All three reflected upon the famous 'Blue Water Serpent' incident. "Billy?
Shut up," Maegie chimed with a false air of sweetness.
Several gnomes across the riverbed suddenly dropped their work tools as they hurried toward the center of the village. Shouts, curses, song, and clanging hammer all quieted. The trio could hear the melodic blow of a conch shell accompanied by steady beats of a drum. The Council of Elders was calling for audience.
Jukes' expression had gone from teasing to decidedly ill. "So. They've decided, then."
"Billy," Maegie breathed softly. No more words passed between the three as Jukes raised his eyes to the horizon. Slightly and Maegie pressed reassuring hands to his back and shoulders. Together, the children walked toward the gathering crowd. Daneatra looked up from the vole's burrow she had been spying on and sprinted after to close the distance between them.
"Comrades," a female's voice was lifting above the excitedly murmuring crowd. The three children stopped a little ways behind the throng. A wooden platform raised six feet from the ground, magicked to float in the air beneath the Council's weight so all could see the speakers. The Elf Queen raised her hands for their attention. When she deemed it quiet enough to continue, she spoke again. "Arizael's evil is great, but it will not stand before our combined forces. Her will is to cause discord and war among the tenants of Neverland. But we have already beaten her. Simply by standing here, all of us united. So long as we march under the same banner, she will fall. And fall she must if Neverland is to be free."
Several choruses of "Hear, hear!" echoed amidst pounding shields and other noises of approval.
"We attack at dawn's light on the morrow. She will not live to see the sun set."
Jukes look wretchedly away as cheering erupted once more, making his ears ache with the cacophony. Daneatra, upset by both the deafening noise and what she'd heard, slinked toward his ankles and bunched up against them to comfort Billy as much as her own self.
Arrol lifted her head proudly as she surveyed the assembled warriors. Her roving eye caught sight of the three children standing apart from the rest. The boy's eyes were on the ground, as she had expected them to be. The Elf Queen felt a twinge of fear for him then; if the lad did not see reason for their decision, might not Arizael seek the golden opportunity to twist his heart further against their cause? It was more than plausible. The war goddess already had uncanny connections with the boy. The last thing any of them needed was for their efforts at freedom to be torn asunder from the inside.
No. The boy must be made to understand why this had to be. Arrol looked behind her and caught the gaze of Sloxwarzth, Oberon, and Granat. As if sensing her thoughts, they too looked toward young Jukes and nodded. Summoning her powers, Arrol moved the floating platform over to the crowd's edge. "You there!" she called out. What was his name again? Confound it. "William, is it?"
"Bill," murmured the youth, face heating up as every head swiveled around to stare at him and the towering Elf Queen. Jukes felt Slightly and Maegie stiffen on either side of him.
"Very well. Bill," Arrol corrected herself. "We know your grief, boy, and we can understand how you would come to be angry at our agreement. It's for the good of all Neverland, including your own self. Surely you do not ask so many to lay down our lives for the sake of your mother?"
Billy was quiet. Arrol mistook his silence for an answer and drew herself up disapprovingly. "There are other children here who have lost their parents. Do you hold yourself above them?"
The boy looked up, eyes smoldering with pain and anger. "I hold myself above no-one. I will not try to stop or sabotage your actions, if that's what you think. I know that when you destroy Arizael, my mother will be put to rest. Not even as a cat could she stay with me if this is your final decision. Yes, I will feel grief and I feel it even now, but I never expected people to die to spare me of it!"
The answer did not wholly satisfy Arrol, nor the other members of the Council. "Young one, if you do not stand against us, then can it be safe to say you stand with us?"
"You ask me to help kill my own mother? Is it not enough that the weapons I forged today for our defense are to be used against her? Or maybe you think it fitting that since Arizael's host and I are of the same flesh, I should be the first to stain my craftmanship with her blood?" he shot back.
"Of all the impudence!" Arrol snapped, face livid. "How dare you raise your voice to me?" Her eyes seemed to shoot sparks and Billy looked down, unable to meet their ferocity. "Such a quick temper you have," she breathed after a moment of tense silence. "Indeed, you two must be of the same lineage."
Jukes flinched. "My mother is Daneatra, not Arizael."
"Could have fooled me. And henceforward, you will speak only when I give you permission."
All the while, a towering rage had been building up in Slightly. He wanted dearly to say something in Billy's defense, but for all his boldness, he could not find where to begin to tell the Elf Queen off. Words scampered around his mind and fled away before he could grasp them. And yet, as if it had a will of its own, his mouth unhinged and spoke without leave.
"You're all complete hypocritical idiots, you know that?"
"I beg your pardon!?" Arrol fairly screeched. Throughout the gawking masses, hands flew up in all directions to cover ringing ears.
Slightly felt his lips twist into a sneer, and a flutter of terror pumped his heart faster than normal. These were not actions by his own choice. "You're so caught up in the glory of fighting for Neverland's freedom that you've not stopped to consider any other options, have you? Arizael will fall before unitedness, you claim. What a sad disillusion you have. She's a goddess of war, self-named witch to lessen her importance and thus fool mankind. Mere weapons cannot slay her; neither would an army with double-standards. Go on, whip your goodwilled, peace-loving buffoons up into a frenzy to finish her off. She may kill herself for you - by laughing!"
The Elf Queen spluttered. "How dare -- !"
"I dare because it sickens me to see history repeat itself. You're too busy preening your feathers to worry about the poor fools you're sending off to fight. Took you four long enough to decide what we're all supposed to do, didn't it? And such a simple, predictable decision it came to." Arrol stiffened, every delicate feather on her gown collar bristling until she resembled a badly startled porcupine. Slightly made a desperate attempt to stop speaking, but it was as if he were outside of his body watching his mouth move. "You don't have the slightest idea what to do, but neither of you want to admit that to the other! Either that or you all sat around on your arses, exhausting your wits to trade barbs!"
Arrol's hand blurred before his face, and he heard a sharp snap. Slightly took a moment to wonder why his face was turned in a different direction before the throbbing pain in his cheek clued him in. He touched the reddening mark and heard, as if from very far away, Maegie and Billy shouting a long string of obscenities at the astonished Elf Queen. Granat and Oberon gaped and stammered, while Sloxwarzth looked as if he were trying very hard not to snort out laughing.
Then one sound silenced them all: Peter's crow of triumph.
* * *
The glade was a moderately nice one so far as glades went. Birds sang, crickets chirped. and the drone of bees generated from the clumps of clover, forget-me-nots, and columbine growing around the roots of sheltering oak trees. Or at least they did before the pirates set up camp.
Granted, they couldn't quite be called 'pirates' at the moment, since very few of them were following Hook's orders for promises of wealth. Their life was on the line and well they knew it after what had happened to Skylights. Fear alone kept them from voicing protests against certain things that any self-respecting buccaneer would not permit himself to go through. Such as Cookson's food, to which a great deal of them had not learned to deaden their tastebuds.
The Greek chef didn't cook well when he was nervous, and by now, Hook's recent behavior was beginning to frighten him. Whereas before, he would sing ridiculous rhymes to amuse himself (and others, so he believed), Eucrates Cookson remained silent unless spoken to, like everyone else. To the Redcoat prisoners, whom were all still with the company of pirates, this was a bitter relief. They knew that their time was soon coming to an end, as surely as the remainder of Hook's sanity was dangling over the edge of an abyss by one fraying thread.
Murphy, Turk, and One-Eye were the only men who did not seem perturbed at all. In fact, they didn't seem anything. Brine tried to ask One-Eye what Arizael had talked to Hook about, and received no answer but dull silence, and it was the same with the other two that had gone up with Hook. The Captain sat now, sipping a tureen of Cookson's goat stew without so much as flinching, and occasionally turning his claw to and fro to catch the firelight. It reflected darkly and shimmered like melting pitch when he did this. He smiled to himself every time.
Arizael had indeed given him a great gift. However, she had put limitations on it; warning him not to use it on that which did not belong to him - such as his born enemies. The lost boys were Peter Pan's, she'd said. "You will not touch them with what I've granted you." The tone of her voice had left no room for argument.
But surely, should Hook capture one of his young enemies, he had the right to kill the child. Might he not sate his curiosity and test the extent of power within his new weapon? And she had mentioned none of his other enemies. That would be an entertaining experiment to go with supper.
"Cookson!" he suddenly barked, causing a chill to run up along several spines.
Upon hearing his name, the portly man dropped his soup ladle in dismay and jogged hurriedly past the huddled prisoners to the silver-haired pirate leader's side. "Aye, Capitan?" Cookson asked uncertainly. There was a bad feeling in his stomach, and it wasn't indigestion.
"The soldiers. Bring one of them to me."
* * *
"Sssst."
John Waters felt his midshipman give a jolt beside him. "What was that?" Henry Oaks demanded fearfully.
"It was me, you daft oaf. Stop makin' noise." The bonds tied to the point of laceration about Captain Water's wrists began to loosen as the strands were frayed by a sawing knife.
"Jeremy O'Dally?" whispered Ridley. "Thought you was dead, man."
"Got ways of keepin' alive," muttered a man informally known as Turncoat. "But not to say I didn't have help. I'd be long dead if not for a forgivin' lad. There, can you move or is the blood clotted?"
"I'd gladly crawl on stumps to get away from this place," hissed Ben Hughes.
"Well you won't be crawlin' anywhere if you don't get a move on." snapped Jeremy. He moved aside as the freed men made their way through the underbrush as silent as possible. It was to their highest advantage that the pirates did not hold them in high priority, otherwise they'd never have been left with Cookson for a guard.
Crunching leaves announced the presence of the chef as he made his way back to the bubbling cauldron to bring Hook a prisoner. They stopped immediately as soon as their owner saw the cut ropes on the ground. "Hummus and feta! The Capitan is going to fricasee me in bad wine for this!"
Cookson stumbled over to the ropes, and rubbed his eyes as if they were fooling him. Then he picked up the ladle and began to thwack at the bushes. "Where are yous? Come out, no is funny joke!"
They were gone, and though he tried desperately to deny it, Cookson was going to be in Deep Stew if he returned to the Captain empty-handed. Grimly, the chef knew he had one choice. He'd been left in charge and so he should be the one who recaptured them. Brandishing his ladle in what he hoped was an threatening gesture, Eucrates put his best foot forward and marched off into the dark wood.
* * *
Gleeful as ever, Peter frolicked through the skies, gutting the occasional cloud with his shining blade. To the lost boys he pursued, it was anything but a game.
"How can Peter -" gasped one Twin.
"Still fly when he -" panted the other.
"Means us harm? That's not a happy thought!"
"Certainly not for us, but it would apparently thrill him!" Nibs retorted, his own lungs heaving from extertion and fear.
"John!" shrieked a small pleading voice, lost somewhere among the puffed clouds. "Where are you?"
All six boys stopped in midair. "Oh no! Michael!" cried Curly. He turned to look at John only to find empty space. It also became quite evident that Peter was no longer chasing them. The eternal youth's attention had been drawn to easier prey.
Frantic, the boys dove down in the fashion that John must have taken. Separation had never served them well, nor had cowardice. They were each afraid, but it was not in their character to abandon one of their own.
John's arms were outstretched in front of Michael protectively, who instead of fleeing, stubbornly clung to his older brother's coat-tails. "Stay away from him!" the middle Darling child quavered. Peter smirked.
"I was always in favor of play before work." He sheathed the golden blade at his side and pitched forward. John grunted as booted feet connected with his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Michael was also knocked back by the impact, but managed to keep ahold of John. Which may not have been a good thing, for Peter Pan was by no means finished. His knuckles dug into the soft flesh of John's throat as he grabbed the younger boy's collar, but the drawn back fist never reached its target.
Peter swiveled his head to glare at Bill Jukes who was holding his wrist in an unshakable grip. "Let go of me!" he raged.
"When Jack douses his latern, cully."
"Wrong answer, Jukes!" Peter released John to flail out with his other fist. The pirate almost didn't block the hit in time, but when he did it left his side vulnerable for a kick. "I don't want you, pirate! The others are mine and you won't interfere," he snarled as each grappled to subdue the other. Peter managed to twist free and drew his blade upon seeing Slightly fly toward him. "So, you come willingly?" Peter paused to slam the handle of his sword savagely into Billy's ribs, punishment for attempting to sneak up on him twice.
The gypsy choked, doubled over, and focused past the pain to stay afloat.
Satisfied, Peter turned back to deal with Slightly. The lost boy brandished a dagger and Peter sneered. "You disappoint me. I had thought you were being sensible. But then, that wouldn't have been very fun, now would it?"
He slashed at the lost boy too quickly for normal reflexes to kick in, but to his amazement, Slightly was already moving aside and the blade cleaved air. The lost boy was just as astonished, though he managed to hide it well. The same phantom that had been plaguing him was suddenly proving very useful.
"Hold still, so I can 'knight' you," Peter yelled, his anger making him sloppy. An opening appeared. Before Slightly quite understood what he was doing, his dagger was slicing across Peter's shoulder. Fat droplets of black blood floated into the air and were carried away by wind currents. Pan drifted back a space to inspect his wound and looked with something akin to respect at Slightly. "Very well then. You go last. Let's see if you can save the others."
Peter's sight fell on Curly who whimpered and backed up against Nibs. But before the cat and mouse game could begin anew, a voice rose up and froze the players. "Don't you touch them!" Wendy's black hair flew wildly about her face as she placed herself between Peter and her boys. "Please, you must fight this, Peter! Don't let Arizael take over you!"
"What are you talking about Wendy? Nobody can take over me!"
Stupid girl . . . Slightly closed his eyes tightly. Not now, he hissed back. He could see a crowd gathering below them, faces upturned and helpless. None of them seemed to know what to do, though several faint voices were commanding for the children to come down at once and hide themselves beneath sheltering arms. It was a false promise; Peter would cut through anyone who stood in his path. This way, at least no grownups would sacrifice their lives needlessly.
"You're attacking your own friends! How can you say she's not controlling you?"
"She's helping me, Wendy," Peter replied, but his voice sounded unsure. "There's going to be a war. Between us and Hook's men. Nobody can stray in the middle; we need to rally together and defeat him!"
Wendy shook her head. "Peter, you don't know what you're saying. You may think you do, but you don't. Arizael's tricked you into thinking this is the right thing to do."
"It is the right thing to do. She told me I needed to open your eyes. And that's precisely what I shall do."
"Wendy!" Nibs screamed in warning as Peter's sword flashed. Wendy gasped as the colder-as-death steel pierced her heart, flooding her senses with darkness.
"Peter," she whispered in a small, lost voice and reached up shakily to touch the sticky red blade. John sobbed aloud and turned to cover Michael's face. Nibs gave a shout of rage and darted towards Peter. Something spurred Slightly into intercepting the lost boy before he could reach Peter. Whether or not this was Slightly's motive or his parasite's, it was a fortunate thing for Nibs that he'd been stopped, for Wendy did not die. She calmly pulled herself off the blade, looking none the worse for wear despite the bloodstains on her pink dress.
Only, there was no longer any light in her eyes. Tenderly, Peter stroked her face. "So you see, Wendy? It won't kill them. And it only hurts for a second or two."
Slowly, the girl nodded. Her hand went to the dagger at Peter's belt. Nib's dagger; which he had stolen off the lost boy in their last encounter. "I'll help you," she replied back evenly. Peter chuckled fondly and let her take the weapon.
"That will kill them if you aren't careful. Just make certain you drive them to me."
"Wendy?" Tootles quavered. John held Michael tightly and drifted toward where the other lost boys were clumped.
Peter smiled at them and threw his head back, letting out another of his crows. It made the very sun wish to put out its flames forever. The lost boys scattered in all directions. Slightly cried aloud, heart overwhelmed with fear, confusion, and the knowledge that he was going to lose his friends. He bolted after Curly and Tootles who disappeared ahead of him into the forest. "Slightly, wait!" Jukes yelped after him. Still holding the knife, Wendy made a thin sound of frustration as her eyes tried and failed to keep track of where the boys were all disappearing to.
"There's not a place they can hide that will be safe from me. Come on, let's go after your brothers first." Shooting a contemptous glower at Billy as he passed, the brown-clad youth flew east, Wendy in tow. Heartsick for all of them, Billy felt himself being weighted down as he followed Slightly. A hand shot up and gripped his arm from below and he was born down by none other than Maegie. "Where are you going!?" she cried, eyes bright with tears. "I'll not let you leave without me! You'll get into no end of trouble!"
"Tell the villagers to hide their children," Billy commanded. "Peter will return for them too --"
"I'll tell them no such thing!" Maegie shouted, stamping her foot. "I'm going with you! I want to help!"
He was running out of time. Already he could see the top of Robert Mullins' hat making a furious path toward him. Once he was in sight of his older shipmate, there would be no talk of helping the others. Not after what had happened on Witch's Peak. Robert would sooner settle down and marry than let him stick out his neck for lost boys. Knowing full well he'd catch the rope's end for it later, Jukes hefted Maegie up into his arms and flew off into the woods.
* * *
Peter went after John and Michael because they can't go as fast, Slightly mused to himself. Or not himself, since it seemed lately that there were two beings in his body and that it was undoubtedly listening. But Nibs is with them, and nothing ever happens to him, so he'll protect them. It's up to me to rescue Curly and Tootles. Oh, and I wish I knew where the Twins went, but perhaps Billy . . . that boy cares only about finding you; he'd leave the rest of your friends to fester.
Slightly grit his teeth. I've HAD it with you - whoever you are - talking that way about people who haven't done slightly anything to you!
The voice gave no reply, and it was just as well that it didn't because he had to focus on listening for his friends. Nothing but the scolding and singing of birds greeted his ears. After several confusing tricks of shadow and sunlight, Slightly was ready to weep in frustration when he heard a far off cry for help. His heart leaped as he recognized its hapless owner.
"I'm coming Tootles!" he called back, dodging between trees. Tootles' frightened voice had taken on an air of wild joy upon hearing Slightly and he continued to shout, leading the older lost boy further in his direction. Finally, the two saw each other and gave exclamations of relief. Tootles had been caught by a pirate trap after losing sight of Curly. Slightly tried in vain to recall the trick Jukes had taught him for getting out of vine nets. Impatiently, he resorted to the dagger and carefully cut a way out for the smaller lost boy.
"Where are we going now?" Tootles asked, once free.
"To find the others. There's only one place in Neverland Peter will never go, and that's King Kyros' mountain."
"But . . . what if he doesn't let us in? He put up that barrier to keep everyone out!"
Slightly had seen the barrier Tootles was speaking of; it rose around the mountain like a dome, looking deceptively smooth. But barbs of ice waited on the surface that would pierce anyone of flesh who strove to gain entrance. "He has to! He slightly respects Great Big Little Panther; maybe if we tell him we're under his protection --"
"An excellent suggestion, me lad."
Tootles screamed a warning just as several pairs of hands gripped Slightly's legs, yanking him to earth. "Fly, Tootles! Fly for your life! Hook's men!"
Slightly could say no more after that, for Hook's gloved hand shoved a hankerchief into his mouth until he gagged, and then twisted the boy's arm behind his back. "Indeed, fly away," sneered Hook. "Tell Peter this is one lost boy he'll never recruit."
Heart beating like a frightened mouse's, Tootles had only to look at Slightly's urgent expression and the hand going to the pistol at One-Eye's belt to take off. "How fitting," Hook was saying, as if enjoying the taste of each word. "That my crew and I would pick up an enemy's pawn while simply out in search for a wayward cookswain and four worthless Red-Coats. Someone must clearly be on our side."
Voices approached and Hook gestured to his men with a curt nod. They all blended into underbrush and shadow, dragging Slightly along with them. The boy dug his heels into the soft earth as he too recognized the approaching voices. He tried to force the gag out of his mouth to warn them, but his efforts were in vain. Slightly's breath hitched as he was dropped onto his back, something pressing down on him heavily. It soon became clear that Hook had no intention of lying an ambush. Though cunningly hidden, his men were not in ready position to attack at the given order.
Hook grinned at the boy pinned underneath his boot and placed a finger to his lips.
* * *
"Zeus!" Cookson was busily cursing at the top of his lungs as he tried to yank his boot out of the snare. Not one of his own, he soon surmised, but that hadn't stopped him from admiring the handiwork for the first handful of seconds. The fun soon ended when he realized that he could not get out of it. "Snares is for dumb animals, not smart cook-person! Maybe is cannibals what set this trap!"
This prospect did nothing at all to raise the chef's morale, but sent him struggling to extract his foot all the more desperately. The chef's troubles were instantly over in a lovely burst of stars as something came down forcefully on his noggin.
"There, now," Thomas Ridley dusted off his hands in satisfaction. "That'll teach him. Who knew the bloke was such a good tracker? He's been on our tails since after midday."
"Doesn't matter anymore." Henry rumbled, flexing his muscles. "O'Dally, you've the only firearm. Gank him for us."
"Nah, that ain't necessary."
"What?! Come off it, man, this brigand'll wake up and follow our trail! Eager to stuff more of his disgusting swill into us, I shan't wager against." Ben Hughes put in.
But Jeremy shook his head. "Ain't no need for killin'. I saw what Hook did to Skylights; there's been enough of that madness. This one's got information anyhow. He can track you say? Then he knows the land better than we do. We'd only get lost on our own."
John Waters saw the logic if not the kindness in this statement. "Very well, we take him with us. Henry, you carry the man."
"What?! Why me?"
"You're always throwin' around your biceps when things don't go your way, so use 'em," Ridley suggested, and nimbly ducked a swipe at his head. Henry grumbled bitterly, but complied. He shouldered his burden and the six men were on the move once more.
* * *
"You musn't cling to me so. It's hard to walk," Billy murmured. Maegie obediently let go of his arm and the sudden absence made his hand dart out to grab hers. "But you don't have to let go completely."
"Billy . . ."
He turned to gaze at her while they walked. Jukes could no longer hold her and fly at once; he was having a hard enough time keeping himself in the air. But he hadn't the heart to send her back to the village. Certainly not when Peter could return and . . .
"Don't cry," he told her firmly. Maegie's shoulders were shaking pitifully. He gathered her into an embrace, despite the voice railing that he was going to lose all hope of finding Slightly if he took the time to comfort her. He ignored it; hope for that was pretty much nonexistent anyway at this point. Billy knew they'd lost the trail the moment his feet touched the forest floor and refused to lift again. Seeing her misery made his heart sink even lower. "Please, don't cry."
"How can I not?" she wept. "I'm frightened and . . . and I don't know how to help but I want to . . ."
"I know exactly how you feel," Jukes tried to soothe. He didn't have the words to continue.
"I feel as if I should have stayed behind, but I know things wouldn't have been any different if I had. And now to top it all off, I'm crying my eyes out like a child!"
He smiled, almost bitterly. "Maegie, we are children. Somewhere in our lives, we were told it wasn't allright to be that way. The people who said so did us wrong."
She raised her tear streaked face to meet his gaze. His fingers had somehow become occupied without his permission to brush stray leaves and twigs from her hair. "Will you . . . when all this is over, will you teach me how to fly like you?" Maegie had always meant to ask him before. Things had just gotten in the way ahead of it.
Billy nodded. "I'll teach you sooner than that," he promised. His lips brushed against her forehead, and he pulled back, more than a little embarrassed. But not ever regretful. "For now we best do what we can on foot. I can't go back to the village if there's a chance that Slightly's in trouble."
"Me neither. And besides, we've lost our way. Unless you're an expert at tree climbing." She mumbled. Maegie fought against the temptation of touching her brow, lest he think she was wiping away the kiss.
He peered up at the towering Nevergreens. "Not likely I'll be scaling those. We've got nowhere to go but in the sun's direction."
"Then let's hope it takes us where we need to be." Maegie wrapped her fingers around his palm once more. The two walked from that place unharmed.
"And where you need to be, dear boy, is where I shall soon follow," Hook vowed under his breath. Slightly heard him quite plainly. "Not now, but soon. First, I've a little pawn to deal with."
Slightly dug his nails into the damp earth and fought back his sobs.
To Be Continued . . .
