Unexpected Secrets

When Merlin arrived in the treehouse, Peter was piping again and dancing around, weaving in and out of a crowd of boys and dwarfing most of them. Merlin cleared his throat, and Peter looked his way, tooted one last note, and drew the reeds away from his lips to say, "Oh, you're here. Hey, boys! ATTENTION!" The noise immediately ceased as all the children stood up straight with their fingers on their foreheads. Peter also straightened and gestured at Merlin. "This," he said in a stern tone that was betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes, "is Merlin. He'll be staying with us for a while. I don't think he plans to become a Lost Boy, so don't any of you try one of your 'initiation processes.' Are we clear?" Peter glowered sternly at each one of them, who nodded meekly in turn. Then Peter himself nodded and barked, "All right! Dismissed!" The clamor resumed to the level of deafening.

Peter strode over to Merlin. He said, "These are the Lost Boys. They're kids who didn't like their families and ran away for one reason or another. Every now and then we pick up a greenie, who is then put through the 'initiation process', which usually involves getting up at the crack of dawn to perform a number of situation tests. It's nothing to worry about, really; I've told them not to, and they usually do what I tell them to." Merlin looked dubious, but said nothing, which was good, because he would have been interrupted by someone saying in a high, squeaky voice, "Hi, Peter!" Peter turned his head to the side, rolled his eyes, turned back, and said in a dull voice, "Hullo, Squirt." Merlin looked around for the speaker, but saw no one. Then he glanced down and saw a small, skinny boy who looked to be about eight or nine years old. He was wearing a squirrel-skin hat over ruffled dark hair, his skin was pale and freckled, and his enormous blue eyes were turned on Peter like spotlights on an actor, following his every move. Merlin grinned in Peter's direction, knowing it would embarrass the redhead.

After his greeting, Squirt had begun pelting Peter with question after question about where he'd gone, why he'd been gone so long, what had happened to his Shadow, and other indistinguishable inquiries. Merlin noticed that Peter seemed to be only half-listening. Instead, he looked as though he was searching for someone or something. Once, Squirt paused to take a breath, and in this gap, Peter said, "Squirt, can I get back to you on that? I promise I'll tell you later." Squirt put his bottom lip out in a pout. "That's what you said last time," he said, the disappointment in his voice impossible to miss. Peter said slyly, "This time's story will be even better than last time's." Squirt brightened. "Promise?" he squeaked. "Promise," Peter said firmly. "Ok!" Squirt chirped, and he skipped off to join a game of toss-and-tumble. Peter smiled after him for a few seconds, then looked at Merlin, who had not stopped grinning at him. Peter self-consciously grinned back, and then resumed his search of the room.

"What or whom are you looking for?" Merlin wanted to know, giving Peter a quizzical look. Peter replied bluntly, "Tinkerbell."

"Tinkerbell?"

"My friend, the pixie."

"You have a pixie friend?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

Merlin thought it strange that a pixie, a common creature, was living here, on an island on a star, but he refrained from asking. Instead he leaned on his staff and watched the boys beat each other up in a dog pile on the floor. He just barely noticed when Peter left the room, and Merlin craned his neck to watch after him. He beheld Peter tiptoe up to a small clock suspended in midair by a number of vines. The clock had a hatch open where the face would've been, and it was through this that Peter peered, whispering in a barely audible voice, "Tink? You awake yet?" Merlin heard a stirring from within the clock, a small groan of complaint, and then silence. Peter smiled amicably. "C'mon, Tink, it's time to wake up. The day's half gone. Besides, there's someone I want you to meet," he said, his voice getting louder as the sleeping pixie woke up.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light from inside the clock, which burned brightly for a split-second, then dimmed, as though someone had struck a match. Four tiny fingers curled delicately around the edge of the hole, one at a time. Following the fingers came a tuft of bangs, a round forehead, two rapidly blinking eyes, a snub nose, and a tiny mouth. The miniscule person suddenly burst from the hole in flight, giving exercise to her brightly glowing wings, which left a small trail of pixie dust when she flew. This was surely Tinkerbell.

Tinkerbell landed on Peter's waiting shoulder with the daintiness of a butterfly. She looked Merlin up and down, as if summing him up, and then she turned her head and spoke softly in Peter's ear.

Peter said, "Merlin, this is Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell, this is Merlin." Peter nodded to each of them in turn.

Merlin smiled at the pixie, but his smile faltered when he saw the stony look she gave him. That look clearly told Merlin that she didn't trust him, and he didn't blame her much.

A bell sounded somewhere. Peter's face lit, and he said with relish, "Ooooh, good. It's time for the game. C'mon, Merlin, I'll show you the ropes." With a grin, he turned and led Merlin away.

"The ropes" turned out to be about twenty vines hanging from a ceiling of clay and roots. The floor was made of the same clay, trampled and hardened into smoothness.

Peter began to explain the complicated game, but then gave up at a loss for words. "Just watch, Merlin, you'll get the idea after a while. Once you get it, you can jump in when you feel like it, all right?" he said, and without waiting for an answer, disappeared into the swarming crowd.

Before Merlin's eyes could fully grasp what they were seeing, the walls began to move. No, they weren't moving, they were undulating. No again, the walls weren't undulating at all. There were people climbing all over the walls, and as Merlin looked closer, he recognized them as the Lost Boys.

A whistle sounded, and all lay still. Not even a breeze stirred the vines hanging limp from the ceiling. No one fidgeted. No one spoke. No one even breathed. Then a whistle sounded again, and the air filled with the sound of battle cries and war whoops.

The myriads of Lost Boys were stripped from the walls as they leaped toward the center vines. They grabbed the vines and tried to attack their neighbors while still remaining suspended. Merlin then noticed that each of them bore an orange rag tied around their waists. The boys seemed to be aiming to steal each other's rags, and those that lost theirs were trudging dejectedly out of the arena. Merlin supposed this was how the winner was decided, and he opted to stay out of this one, just to see what the outcome would be.

As the game wore on, more and more boys, sadfaced and ragless,

joined those lined up against the walls to watch and cheer. Peter, Merlin observed, was still in the center, tumbling and wrestling with the rest. The fight intensified as the minutes ticked by.

Finally, there were only two left, Peter and another boy about Peter's size. They were both on their feet, using just about any technique they could come up with. They dropped and rolled on the rag-strewn floor. They stood and headlocked each other until they turned blue. Yet still the orange sashes remained tied.

As it progressed, the other boy seemed to be using fiercer and fiercer techniques. He almost had his hand on Peter's sash once, but the Pan was too quick for him.

Peter soon proved that he had a few tricks up his own sleeve. In one instant, he was hand-fighting the kid, the next, he had made a small leap and grabbed one of the low-hanging vines, his goal being to attack from above. They crashed to the floor.

It wasn't until both had regained their balance that Peter showed how far he could truly go. Merlin himself was only barely able to catch it. The boy made a dive for Peter's feet, or rather, his waist, but when his shoulder had nearly collided with Peter's midsection, the boy found himself charging the air. He crashed to the floor. Peter, it seemed, had dodged to the side and hit him in the back, causing him to fall to the ground. Or so it seemed. Only Merlin knew what really happened; he surmised this from the looks on everyone else's faces, which hadn't changed a bit. What Merlin saw was this: Peter was about to be flattened, he panicked, disappeared, and reappeared a fraction of a second later right next to the still-suspended attacker and hit him. Merlin stood, dumbfounded, not because Peter's ability was exceptionally strong, but because he could perceive no magic from him. He stared at Peter as though his eyes must be deceiving him; Peter couldn't have done that without using some kind of magic. He leaned on his staff for support, thinking that he would definitely ask Peter about that as soon as this match was over.

As it is with all things, the match was over too soon. Peter emerged triumphant; Merlin was told this happened on a regular basis. The air reeked of sweat, and Merlin's midnight bangs clung to his forehead. As everyone slowly filed out of the arena, Merlin fought his way towards Peter, who was surrounded by a pack of cheering and scrambling Lost Boys.

"Pan!" shouted Merlin over the ruckus.

Peter turned as best he could to look at Merlin. "What?" he yelled.

It took him a while, but Merlin finally reached Peter's side after the crowd of boys dissipated enough to let him through. Merlin was quite out of breath, and it took him another few minutes to get out, "How'd you do that?"

Peter looked bewildered. "How'd I do what? I won the match, see?" he answered, holding up the other boy's sash, which he had been holding since the end of the match. He was still wearing his own.

Merlin put his hands on his hips and gave Peter a look that said You-know-what-I'm-talking-about-but-you-don't-want-to-tell-me.

Just then, Peter sank beneath the sea of heads with a jerk. Squirt had thrown himself on Peter, squealing, "You won! You won! You won!"

The surprised and struggling Peter choked. "Uh... Squirt... you're strangling me!" he managed. Squirt's eyes widened apologetically and he immediately leapt off. Peter massaged his throat, gasping for air. "Thanks," he said breathlessly but gratefully.

Peter turned to Merlin. "Now, what were you talking about? How'd I do what?" he repeated.

Merlin replied, "How'd you do that move? You know, when he leapt at you, you disappeared, and then reappeared right next to him! Tell me! How'd you do it?" As soon as Merlin had said the word "disappeared", Peter's eyes widened in a panic, and he looked around frantically as though Merlin had revealed a tabooed secret. After Merlin finished, Merlin then added, "What's wrong?" Peter took hold of Merlin's arm with the grip of death and dragged him to a deserted corridor that broke off from the main arena.

Peter glared accusingly at Merlin. "How much did you see?" he demanded.

"So it's true?"

"I didn't say that."

"Oh, yes, you did."

"How did you see that?" Peter cried. "Nobody can see that! Whenever I do it, everybody sees me do some kind of fantastic dodge!"

Merlin, however, was not going to let up. "How'd you do it? Just tell me how you did it, and I'll tell you how I can see it," he bargained.

Peter looked at him scrutinizingly, eyes narrowed. "There's something different about you. I knew it from the moment I found you, but I couldn't put my finger on it. All right, I'll tell you. It's a feint. I learned it from Tink. That's all! Now tell me how you can see it!" he finished in a hurry.

Merlin replied, "That's not good enough. What kind of feint?"

Peter sighed. "Tink taught it to me. She said all it took was just a little wish to be someplace else, and the pixie dust I use to fly would grant my wish. Of course, it only works for short distances. Now answer my question!"

Merlin nodded, satisfied. "Okay, I guess it's my turn. When I was young, I lost my eyesight. I was given the second sight. My eyes are useless, but I can perceive things, colors, movements." Merlin paused, unsure of how much he dared reveal and uncomfortably aware of Peter's hawk like eyes boring holes into him. Twisting the base of his staff into the looser dirt at his feet, Merlin took a deep breath and continued. "I can't see as well as a person with normal eyesight, but I can see some things they can't. Are you satisfied?" he asked, distracting himself by running his hand along the gnarled top of his staff, releasing its familiar spicy scent of hemlock into the air. It was then that Peter noticed Merlin's eyes. They didn't seem to look directly at anything, and yet he knew everything was there. Peter could not help but be amazed, and he wondered what other surprises Merlin kept hidden. As Peter looked closer, he saw that Merlin's eyes were not entirely powder blue like most blind people's eyes. Instead, Merlin's eyes were black like the night sky, with tiny flecks of gold here and there.

And then Peter answered him, "No. There's still something you're not telling me. What else?"

Merlin hesitated, once again uneasy. *How would Peter take all this?* he wondered. He inhaled, a deep, steadying breath. "All right," he said finally, "I'll tell you. But you can't tell anyone. Not even Tink. If someone else needs to know, I'll tell them. Got it?" Peter nodded eagerly. *I'm going to regret this,* Merlin thought. "Well, I... uh... I have certain... gifts. Gifts that were inherited from my grandfather that I can control at my will. I'm not sure if that's what you sensed from me or not, but that's all there is to tell you. You see, they're not... uh... properly trained yet. I'm still kind of learning." Merlin decided that that would have to be enough for Peter for now, because he daren't reveal too much. He also didn't think that Peter's eyes could bulge anymore without falling out of his head altogether.

Peter brought his voice down to an awed whisper, "You... you can do magic? Real magic?" he gasped.

Merlin shifted and mumbled, "I knew I'd regret it. Yes, I can."

The younger boy nodded, straightened, and said, "One more question." Merlin braced himself. "How old are you?" Peter asked. The question caught Merlin off guard, and he started. "I'm fifteen," he replied incredulously, taken aback by such a normal question.

Once he regained his composure, Merlin asked, "Now about that 'feint.' How did you do it if you didn't use magic?"

Peter replied, "Well, I sorta picked it up out of nowhere. I think it came with learning how to fly."

Merlin still wasn't satisfied. "Could I fly?" he asked.

Peter answered him with a laugh in his voice, "Of course! Like I said, just think of something that makes you smile, and sprinkle some pixie dust, compliments of Tinkerbell."

The two boys grinned at each other. Merlin asked of Peter, "How old are you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I mean, I've never really tried to keep track of how long I've been here. I guess time passes, but in Neverland, everything stays the same, and you never grow up."

Merlin stood in puzzled silence. "You... you mean... you never grow older?" he stammered as the truth hit him like a blast of wind. "Nope!" Peter piped cheerfully.

"Oh. Have you been here a long time? I haven't been on Fincayra very long. I can't even call it my home." Merlin sighed a sigh of longsuffering in remembrance of the arguments that had been held between the inhabitants of Fincayra about his staying there.

Peter looked at him pensively, then asked, "Where's Fincayra?" Merlin looked up. "It's... well, I'm going to use someone else's phrase to describe it. It is neither wholly of Heaven nor wholly of Earth, but somewhere in between. Have you heard of the ancient Greeks?"

Peter thought for a moment. "Nope."

Merlin scratched his head. "Well, then it's kind of like this place, I guess. You say time is different here; well, in Fincayra, time is the same, but different things can happen there that wouldn't be considered normal by Earth standards. Does that make sense?"

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, I guess.

"We should probably head back for lunch. But first, I'll make you a deal. If you tell me more stories about this Fincayra of yours, I'll teach you how to fly. Are we agreed?" he requested, offering his hand to Merlin. The latter eyed it, then shook it with a smile accompanied by a nod. "Good!" exclaimed Peter. "Now, let's go!" A cheerful wind stirred the trees, ruffling Merlin's tunic and hair. Peter leapt off the ground, paused in the air, and performed a smooth loop-the-loop in midair. Merlin couldn't help but marvel at the way the boy was so used to having his feet so far from the ground, but he wasn't about to tell Pan that. Rather, he started off towards the treehouse, and the accompanying shadow told him that the elven-eared boy was not far behind.

Once again, Merlin fended for himself for lunch, while Peter once again tried to convince him that Neverfoods weren't so bad once you got used to them. Merlin, however, decided that he would fare much better with a bush of blackberries, which turned out to be prickly but rather good.

Upon his return, he found the boys and Peter in what Merlin supposed was the commons, holding a rather spirited belching contest. Merlin listened for a while and thought about joining, but his windpipe had decided to take a break, so he wasn't exactly going to win.

Peter noticed him at the door and called to him, "Hey, Merlin, come on in. There's plenty of room." Merlin looked skeptically around at all the occupied chairs and cushions and remains of sofas, and took a spot on the floor.

One of the Lost Boys eyed him for a moment, then said, "Hey, what's that?" The boy, the one that had almost beaten Peter in the game, was pointing to Merlin's staff.

Merlin gripped it compulsively. "It's a staff," he explained. "It helps me walk."

"You mean you can't walk by yourself?"

"No, that's not it. I can walk,, it's just--well, I don't want to go anywhere without it."

"Why?"

"I like it."

"Oh. Kinda like a teddy bear?"

Merlin was getting irritated with trying to be evasive, but he knew he had virtually no choice. "Well, I suppose it is sort of like a teddy bear."

The boy's face contorted into a grin, and Merlin instantly knew that he had said the very wrong thing. "You have a teddy bear?"

Merlin frowned. "Does this look like a teddy bear to you?" he began angrily, but the boy didn't hear him.

"HEY! POSSUM'S GOT A TEDDY BEAR!!!"

Suddenly, Merlin found himself being dogpiled by a mass of arms, legs, and (worst of all) sticks. They wrestled him around for a while until Merlin discovered that, during the fray, someone had taken his staff. In a pause, he looked up frantically and saw that it was the boy who was almost Peter's size. He stood there, holding Merlin's most prized possession in his hands and staring down at Merlin with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Beg, Possum," he said simply. "You have to beg to get it back."

But Merlin would have none of this. In a rush of adrenaline, he tossed off the two or three boys that clung to him and waylaid two more. He fought frantically towards the kid. *Idiot!* he thought. *He doesn't know what he has there! There's no way he could know!*