Disclaimer: Peter Pan and all characters do not belong to me. They belong
to JM Barrie (and whomever else he says it is). The song Think of me is
from Phantom of the Opera and belongs to whomever they say it belongs to.
Dedications: The entire chapter is dedicated to my one and only Douggie. He's a sweetie that helps me up when I'm down and makes me even feel happier when I am cheerful. He's my inspiration at work, confidante, and dear friend. With all my love, Doug.
Chapter Two: Elsewhere
Wendy, curled in a fetal position, was suspended in a twilight canvas painted with cherry blossom lavender, wisteria purple, night blue, and ocean green. Stars twinkling like ruby, diamonds, and sapphires were sprinkled abundantly in the vast kaleidoscope of rich colors. A shimmering gauze of fine white hung in the air, very much like rain when the sun struck it just right.
The sixteen year old's lids flickered slightly before opening, as slowly as a flower would spread its petals, to reveal fathomless eyes of stormy blue. Fatigue chained her limbs, and she couldn't seem to move. Exhaustion sunk so deep inside her that she felt its weight drag her own mind. All her energy seemed spent, as though she had run miles without pause.
But for all her weariness, Wendy was sharply aware of her surroundings. Her gaze drank the scene of otherworldly beauty, her chest heaving in wonder. The colors unfolded before her and stretched on to the endless horizon, and the English girl thought that she might be on the doorstep to Heaven. A soft yet strange sensation was permeating her being. It was a feeling of weightlessness, almost exactly as though she were underwater. Her hair, once tied up, floated in the air free and unrestrained, a wave of glossy, shining, chestnut brown. Stray strands tickled the flesh of her back.
Her back? With a start, she realized that she wore nothing. Her hair was her only cloak. With what little strength she had, she pulled her knees closer to herself, and secured her arms more securely around her.
What was she doing here? Where was she? Where had she been?
As these alarming thought began to surface, languor reached its hand to draw her in its realm. Wendy was powerless to resist, but as her eyes began to close once more, she felt the pressure of the acorn, Peter's magic kiss that never faded, beating against her breast, almost like a heart. Then, as many times before, the boy of dirty golden hair and copper tanned skin was the subject of her thoughts, first upon waking and, like now, last before sleeping. "Peter..." she breathed, and her heart was in her sigh.
The sound fell like a deep bass upon the realm she floated upon, sending invisible tremors everywhere. Heat gathered around her before coalescing to a burning hot point somewhere in the middle of her back. Wendy felt something explode, as though something large was at last released, but she was already fading fast asleep.
Wendy dreamed once more, but her dreams were not of pleasant limbos or even of Neverland and Peter, or her family back in London. She dreamt strange things: flashes of images and snatches of conversation spoken in strange tongue. It was as if she was riding a horse in breakneck speed on a busy street in London catching flashes of scenes in other people's everyday lives. But she knew that it was no horse ride nor was it anywhere remotely near London. For the images she saw were of a massive desert continent, of strange dwellings built amongst the very sand itself, of a lone river snaking its way across the heart of the desert before slowly choking and dying off, of swarthy people clad in strange robes marching in silent procession to a massive obelisk in the far distance. Foreign tongues spoke: shouting, clicking, laughing, singing, and praying. She dreamt these things. But the dream that stayed with her most was of a man standing upon a sumptuous balcony staring at a blood moon rising in a pitch- black night. For the moment his profile was upturned towards the blood moon, his image burned forever in her mind: Impressively tall with a muscular build barely concealed by long robes of rich burgundy and white, shoulder length jet black hair with body waves, eyes of jade green and stony gray, skin of beautiful olive, and breathtakingly alluring features impossible to ignore. Unlike the others she viewed, he noticed her. He saw her, and she felt surprise widen his eyes revealing a wealth of impossible shades of green and gray. He was gorgeous.
As soon as she glimpsed these, she was pulled away just as fast. Something drew her onward, something fast and hot tugging Wendy's body. She felt herself go at incredible speeds, break barriers, fall until at last, with a gasp and a jerk, the cornflower blue eyed girl awoke. Her hand at once registered the sensation of smooth sand underneath her palm as she flailed around in confusion. Focus, Wendy, focus, she told herself, you're not getting anywhere moving around like a lunatic. She closed her eyes, stilled her body's movements, and evened her breaths.
Once satisfied that she was calm, the chestnut haired girl opened her eyes and sat up. It was a dark night, and the wind blew menacingly. The girl shivered and was glad that her clothes were on. As she stood up, the gown fell to her feet in smooth, graceful waves, and Wendy touched her hair. It appeared relatively untouched but for the few loose strands that managed to escape. After she took stock of herself, the girl then turned to the inevitability of her surroundings. She was on the white, sandy shores of some cool dark ocean. The area seemed vaguely familiar, as though seen in a dream, and she could not dismiss the notion. After all, how on earth does one explain how one was instantly transported from ballroom to beach? And if the times were right (and days or weeks had not passed in between), this must have happened in the space of but a few hours. Something was going on here. And that man...
Wendy shivered again, but not because of the night cold. Her mind's eye reflected on the monster that had come to her in the ballroom. He would have hurt her if he could. Was this his doing now? And what of the other man atop the balcony? Unconsciously, her hand reached to touch the acorn hanging upon a chain around her neck. The beautiful acorn, ever eternal, warmed instantly to her touch.
Where was he? Where was he?
The sharp sound of a snapping twig alerted her to someone's presence and she swiftly whirled around. To her shock and fear, men were silently watching her from the foliage of the trees bordering the beach. They were a rough lot, dark of complexion though Wendy thought perhaps the gloom of the night colored her sight. But their cold, merciless eyes and tense postures were unmistakable to her. And what she might want to deny with all her heart was obliterated by the sight of gleaming knives and oddly curved swords that glinted from ready hands. At once, Wendy knew that all it would take was one well-aimed flick of a wrist and the English girl would be drawing her last breath.
The wind blew against the unlikely girl facing the menacing men. She shivered and pulled back, astonished and afraid. In the blink of an eye, they too drew back, weapons raised ever higher. To her utter shock, she found her own fear mirrored in their eyes. Were they afraid of her?
The cornflower blue eyed girl peered closer at the men. Indeed, they were afraid. She cleared her voice silently, praying that it didn't sound as shaky as she felt inside. "Who... who are you?" she questioned, trying to strike a reasonable note amidst fear, respect, and bravery.
The men shook, as though her voice had awoken them from a stupor, and they backed a step away once more, eyeing her warily. Someone said something but it seemed to be in another language or perhaps his voice was just too low.
"Um..." muttered Wendy, suddenly unsure as how to approach this situation. On the one hand, she was glad they were backing away. On the other, she was not happy they were leaving her. They were her only contact in this strange world after all. "Where am I? Please... tell me?" The men continued retreating in the background, and Wendy did not follow them. Instead, her eyes traced their backwards path. Only when the darkness swallowed the last glint of deadly metal did she sigh and close her eyes.
The fair girl felt drained from the nerve-wracking encounter. A cold fear gripped her heart in a viselike grip, but Wendy wouldn't let the tears fall. A little angrily, she rubbed her eyes roughly. There should be an explanation for all that happened! Things like this simply did not happen! And she would get find the answers! First things, first. Wendy bit her lip and looked at her clothes, then the ocean, then to the forested path the men had taken, and back again to her clothes. Her gown was absolutely wonderful in a party, but also absolutely horrible for trying to explore what seemed to be a mostly uninhabited island. And it seemed that the only path left open to her was the path where the men had disappeared. But what could she do? It wasn't as if she had a spare change of clothes at hand. In vain, Wendy searched for a sharp rock with which to cut her skirt so she could move a little more freely, but her beach seemed to be sharp rock free.
Feeling cross (the battle in heart between breaking out stark mad or coolly going on was tipped in the favor of panicking), Wendy huffed and sat down. She bit her lip, thinking furiously. Exhaustion was overcoming her again. Just a little rest, Wendy thought, five minutes will refresh me and I'll look for a new way again... Wendy curled up against a log that gave her sorry protection from the wind.
Bells. Wendy heard bells. In the realm between sleep and wake, Wendy heard bells. Or was it bell like neighing? Something wonderfully white and glowing seemed to be coming near her and bathing her in its warm, soft light. When Wendy opened her eyes, she saw eyes of deep, deep ocean green flecked with shimmering lights gazing gently at her. It was so beautiful that Wendy's breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat. She held still. "If you are a dream," she whispered softly, "you are by far the most beautiful dream I have ever had." The eyes lowered to hers and Wendy felt a velvet soft muzzle nip her gently on the chin. A breath blew softly across her face and warmed her instantly. Strength returned to Wendy, and she opened her eyes fully. What she saw made her gasp, even as tears sprang to her eyes.
A unicorn stood before her, an impossibly beautiful unicorn of pearl white streaked with shadow and gorgeous eyes. Its silver mane flowed like silk water down its withers and its clean tail surpassed the springing froth of the waves. Delicate legs and hooves that manifested a grace no one could ever have were its limbs. But most beautiful of all was the horn. A twisted shell of purest white sprung forth to point to the heavens. A light twinkled upon its tip and fell down in shimmering luminescence down to its base where what seemed to be a diamond jewel rested as the only fitting base to the wonderful horn.
The girl sat up. "I've long dreamt of you," she whispered, "but I never thought you'd come to me." The unicorn whickered softly in response, in a manner that conveyed understanding. She reached out a hand, a steady hand, and the unicorn met it halfway there. She closed her eyes, reveling in the texture of the unicorn. The unicorn danced a little away, eyes both playful and serious at the same time. Wendy stood up, entranced. "You want me to follow you?" The unicorn whickered once more before slowly moving a way, a trick of the light in the gloom. Wendy followed hurriedly.
How long they moved in this dreamlike state, Wendy didn't know. But she felt safe with the unicorn, safe for the first time in long months. Shadows melted away and Wendy had no concept of fear. She would have followed the unicorn to eternity. But then...
A bolt flew in front of her face and landed upon the bark of a tree where she had been passing by. Jolted harshly from her trance, Wendy jerked back and gasped. Her eyes, wide with fear, flew towards the source of the bolt. A tall man wearing a dirty white cloak that encompassed his form had already reloaded his crossbow. "Hold your ground if you value your life!" he growled.
Wendy stepped back, much too surprised and dismayed. A quick glance to the front revealed that the unicorn was already gone, if it had even been there at all. Biting her lip and her fear back, Wendy faced the man with as much courage and dignity as she could muster. "Who are you?" she demanded, and her voice was a mask of command and bravery. "Identify yourself."
"I'll be asking the questions, missy," glowered the man back. He was heavily muscular despite that he looked to be in his late forties. Like the other men she had seen earlier, his complexion was dark, and he was every bit as rippling with danger as they were if not more. But unlike the others, his eyes held no fear. The crossbow was aimed straight for Wendy's heart, and Wendy's courage nearly failed her. But what she did deduce was enough to give her strength if only for a little while. The man could have killed her before, but he had not. He meant to keep her alive, but for what purpose she did not know.
"Very well," managed Wendy, raising her chin in a show of defiance she did not feel. "But you must tell me who you are and where we are in the bargain."
"Who are ye?" asked the man, and it looked like his heart was in this question. She felt his puzzlement over her, her appearance, her most likely bedraggled apparel, everything about her.
"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," stated Wendy, almost automatically. "Now who are you?"
He narrowed his eyes at her and ignored her question. "Is that one name or two or three or four?" he spat out.
Wendy stiffened. "To you I am Miss Darling," she responded tightly. "Now who are you?"
"My men reported seeing a goddess walking the southern coast of this island, but you're just a girl!" he exclaimed. "A crazy maid, at that." He lowered his crossbow, and allowed his lips to pull away in a fierce grin.
That explained the men's fears, Wendy noted in the back of her mind. But her questions had not yet been answered. "Who are you?" she repeated firmly. "Where are we? I assure you I'm no goddess otherwise I wouldn't be asking you these questions."
The man's prominent brows raised in passing amusement. "I am called Rahul, Avikan-Ayaka of the Basilisk," he responded and then added with that same fierce grin, "I come as destroyer and plunderer, and now you are my hostage."
Wendy's jaw dropped in surprise. "Pardon me," she began, infuriated and frightened but the man leapt, quick as a fish upon water, and twisted her arm behind her back. Wendy hissed in pain, and the man quickly bound her arms behind her with a thin but strong cord.
"My men had some problems kidnapping a goddess, but you are not one, are you my white flower?" he whispered to her, smiling a smile with a lot of teeth.
"Let me go you brute!" she snapped. "I am no goddess nor a white flower! I'm much worse!" That said, she stamped her foot on top of her captor's foot but received a lot of pain for her trouble. He was too deft for her to hit and he laughed richly at her struggles.
"Yes, you are. Some exotic white flower to sell in the markets," he grinned evenly. A hand reached across and smothered her with a dark cloth. Wendy screamed but as soon as the sickly sweet smell hit her nostrils she fainted, annoyingly, once again. Her last thought was, I'm getting sick of getting knocked unconscious...
Wendy awoke feeling very stiff and uncomfortable. To her expectations, she was tied against the mast of a large sailing ship. Dark skinned men were bustling all about, hauling cargo contained within a variety of boxes. Wendy identified some exotic animals, looking drugged, as she had been, dozing off in strong cages. All manners of plants and flowers were also transported in herb boxes, and managed most carefully. There didn't seem to be treasure of any sort, and this puzzled Wendy. After all, one never heard of pirates who went after just plants and animals.
Speak of the devil... Her captor was striding along the deck, giving orders to two people who followed him. His followers were dressed in similar fashion of long flowing robes but theirs were the color of rust brown and the other had one of dark orange. Rahul seemed to be listening intently to the one wearing dark orange who was pointing at a parchment he held out. Wendy was too far away to hear or see what they were saying.
A commotion occurred on deck. Somebody was being brought aboard, and the somebody didn't seem to want to go willingly. Five sailors dressed in loose fitting, baggy trousers and shirts were holding down someone who was screaming fiercely in a language Wendy vaguely realized. The English girl started. Why that was... that was Indian speech! She was sure of it!
True enough, as the men parted and swarmed over the person, she saw red skin, black hair, and Indian clothing covering a young body trying desperately to break free. The men were shouting back. Rahul raised an annoyed glance before saying, "Kill him if he's that much trouble." One of the men pulled out a sharp knife hidden from his boot.
"No!" Wendy screamed. Everybody paused and stared at her, even the Indian. They hadn't realized she had awoken. Rahul looked mildly surprised. Wendy coughed a little, feeling a little abashed for her boldness, but knowing all the same she couldn't let them kill the Indian. "Don't...please don't."
Rahul folded his arms, grinning his fierce grin. "Why should we listen to you?" he asked insolently.
"Please..." Wendy bit her lip. "You shouldn't kill him; it's not right. Please... I'll do anything."
The man raised a brow. "Anything?"
Wendy glared at him despite the fear in her eyes.
The man grinned once more, "What could you possibly do that we would want?"
Surprised and a little relieved there had been no suggestions of a lewd nature, Wendy pondered a little. What did she have? Certainly nothing of value. They already had her captive, didn't they? She was surprised they didn't already take off her clothes and store it in some boxes. The thought chilled her. She pushed it back, and thought of the time back in Captain Hook's ship. She had, as pirate, been the one to tell stories. But, thought Wendy, her gaze roving at the men, they won't like stories. For unlike Captain Hook's pirates, these were men, both in mind and body. They were not going to be amused with childhood fairytales. But she had to try...
The Indian was staring at her in astonishment. He looked pale, almost as if he had seen a ghost. He was young, her age maybe, and he looked bruised and torn up. Her heart went out to him.
"I can clean, cook, sew, sing... dance, a little," said Wendy quietly. It was all she could offer. Oh how she hated Rahul's smile. It was mocking and patronizing.
"We have an excellent cook and I believe the Basilisk needs no cleaning," he said. "But how about this singing and dancing? My men have not seen cheer for a while. Yes, sing and dance. The native's life, and yours, now depends on it. Release her." His men hesitated. A large, hulking figure approached her and sliced cleanly through her ropes with a knife. Wendy stood up a little shakily, brushing her arms roughly to resume circulation. She had been bound tightly.
Everyone was staring at her now, and Wendy felt extremely nervous. But she couldn't fail. The Indian was gazing at her still, and his eyes were filled with hope. Wendy bit her lip, trying to think of a song. A song from the heart.
The chestnut haired girl drew breath, hesitated, before lifting her head and let the words go, words from a song she knew back home.
Think of me,
Think of me fondly,
When we've said goodbye.
Remember me once in a while
Please promise me you'll try.
When you find that, once again,
You long to take your heart
Back and be free -
If you ever find a moment,
Spare a thought for me...
We never said our love was evergreen,
Or as unchanging as the sea
But if you can still remember,
Stop and think of me...
Think of all the things
We've shared and seen -
Don't think about the things
Which might have been...
Think of me,
Think of me waking, silent and resigned.
Imagine me, trying too hard
To put you from my mind.
Recall those days,
Look back on all those times,
Think of the things we'll never do -
There will never be a day,
When I won't think of you...
It was difficult to describe the way Wendy's song became her soul. The song was slow at first, charming and modest, but as it progressed, it grew in power. It was sweet but deep, rich and compelling. It spilled from her and washed over the deck. It surrounded those who heard in beauty and suffused them in feelings, her feelings, the feelings that she kept inside her heart.
Wendy's bosom heaved as she finished. A little smile played on her lips even as a tear trickled downwards. Her cornflower blue eyes rested in the night sky, absorbed in memories of a wondrous past long ago, a past she could never forget. I'll always think of you, Peter, she promised. Even when I'm old and sick, lying on a bed some place far away, I'll always think of you.
The silence on deck finally registered in her mind, and she hastily backed away and gazed at them. The men were staring at her, eyes wide, in a stare of undisguised wonder and admiration. Even Rahul wore an expression of intense shock.
He took a step towards her, his hand clenched in tight fists. His eyes held an emotion that frightened her. He whispered, "You're a-"
Something exploded below deck. The ship rocked violently and men knocked to their feet from the force of the blow. Wendy herself landed roughly on her side before rolling to hit the railing of the ship. As the ship dipped and swayed, as if trying to regain balance, it afforded Wendy one earthwards glance and what she saw made her stomach drop. They were floating several hundred feet in the air, in ghostly reminiscence to what the Jolly Roger had done to deliver them home so long ago. But that reminiscence came with a sinking feeling of despair. She couldn't hope to get off now.
Rahul rose, once more in command and confidence. "You ten, go below deck! The others, round the prisoners! Keep your arms out!" he bellowed. The company on deck hastily complied with his dictates as best they could despite the bucking ship. Wendy was roughly gathered and set together next to the Indian prisoner. The boy looked battered, but he stood proud and without assistance. His eyes darted anxiously all over the ship and especially the men set near them. He gripped Wendy's arm firmly so that she might not lose balance again.
Once all the men were engaged, the boy whispered to her clearly but she could not understand his speech. "What?" she asked faintly. "I don't understand you." The boy bit his lip and his eyes darted all over the ship again. Shouts erupted from below deck and the crew swung around to face the portal leading downwards. Rahul watched with eagle eyes, his hand gripping his wicked scimitar tightly. Wendy held her breath.
Someone was floating slowly through the passage. Messy golden curls that simply begged to be touched. Dark brows framing eyes of sea blue green flecked with fairy dust. An ebullient smug smile that mocked all who gazed upon him. Long, graceful limbs and a body of copper bordering on gold encased by the customary vines and leaves. It was he in all his glory, exactly as Wendy last saw him.
A rush of jubilation swept through her, and she breathed, "Peter Pan." It was as if her whisper was the signal for action. The men reached for their knives, but Peter was too fast. His arms, which had hung down his sides, lifted up. To Wendy's surprise, he was carrying two crossbows. With careless grace and ease, he pushed the trigger and the crossbows immediately dispatched two men. By the time the others had recovered and were running towards him with their own weapons, he had withdrawn from their respective sheath his golden rapier and long, silver dagger. With a smirk, he blocked one attack with his rapier, plunged a dagger in one chest, and it drew red blood. With a surge of strength disproportionate to his age and size, he pushed the man off to two of the oncoming attackers forcing them to crash to the deck before Peter floated off to the air. He was a marvel, Wendy knew, always had been, and always would be. Up in the air, his body twisted in fluid elegance, the flying knives seemingly unable to come near him.
Beside Wendy, the Indian boy had also leapt into action. Taking the preoccupation of his guards, he drew one scimitar and slit the throat of one pirate. It might have gone worse for the boy because the other pirate was quick to bring retribution but Wendy was too fast. She rammed her elbow in the man's guts. The blow did not have sufficient force to knock the wind out of the pirate, but it had served its purpose as a distraction. The Indian quickly gutted this one as well. Wendy recovered the fallen pirate's scimitar.
The deck was a maelstrom of chaos. Peter was busily engaged in a fierce play of swordfight between four of the pirates. The only way he was able to keep them from crowding him was his deft footings that lead them to stairway. Meanwhile, the Indian boy and Wendy had worked as a team to take down the guards surrounding them. There was a crowd of about ten left when Wendy noticed something strange. Rahul wasn't in the crowd, as she would have expected him to. She distractedly brushed away a stray strand of hair that fell over her eyes. In the dull gleam of her sword (she had avoided drawing blood, instead blocking or distracting the enemy while the Indian boy swept in for the kill), she saw a reflection of Rahul. He was just emerging from a cabin with an elaborately carved long bow that stood as high as he was tall. A long arrow was already fitted and notched. All he had to do was draw, aim, and fire. Wendy knew, in her terror, that if that hit Peter, he would be die as surely as the sun rose and fell every day.
With a harsh cry, she pushed away from the relative safety of the Indian's boy's vicinity. All Rahul needed was an opportunity, and it would be over. Peter was turning, laughingly taunting his enemies, his feet beginning to float. His back was turned towards them as he led his attackers to a circle. No...! The words died in her mouth as Rahul drew aim. It would be over in a few seconds. Wendy heard her blood roaring in her temples and her heart was thudding madly in her rib cage. She flew up stairs and covered Peter's back. Three things happened simultaneously. Peter had turned around just as Wendy cried out, "NO! PETER!" Her cry was cut short because the arrow had already been released.
Wendy drew breath, expelled it, and smiled. She had accomplished what she was going to do. And even as the pain was unbearable, even as the cruel arrow bit deeply and went through her flesh, she was still happy. Peter was safe; it would be all right. Besides, she thought with some satisfaction as she crumpled to the ground, he recognizes me. I was devastated when he didn't even acknowledge me, but now... I see remembrance in his eyes.
The world slowed down for Peter. The angel, the beautiful angel that sang such a heavenly song, had flown to protect him. But she had been struck down in trying to protect him, and to his utter horror, he realized that the angel was Wendy. She was different, somehow, of longer limbs, a confusingly attractive figure, and a face that would come to haunt his dreams for many, long nights, but her eyes... Her eyes, as she looked at him, was the same. The same shade of blue unique to Wendy alone and they still shone with the same emotion for him. They still shone with love. He caught her as she fell heavily and her eyes, her love, closed.
His consternation felt like a cold fog that descended over the ship and plunged all in darkness. But in a few moments, his grief had turned to blinding anger. And if his grief was cold, his fury was ice of the deepest winter. The Neverland sky turned stormy and menacing. The thick clouds now bunched together and thunder rumbled. Violent winds picked up and threatened to overturn the floating ship altogether. Flashes of lightning lit the dark scene. Firstly, the enchantress of unearthly clothing, chestnut brown hair, and cornflower blue eyes had disappeared along with the Indians. Then, with each flash of lightning, Rahul saw that his men were struck down one by one. He gripped his scimitar tightly in his hand.
"How dare you?" whispered a voice. Lightning spiked in the sky and rain tumbled down in heavy torrents. The Basilisk would fall apart completely in a few more minutes. "This is my home, my land, and you come here... " whispered that same bloodcurdling voice. Though given little volume, it reverberated across the air and sliced cleanly through the din of the storm. "You struck her down."
"You gonna do something about it, boy?" asked Rahul, smiling his fierce smile despite the hopeless situation.
"You are going to wish I had killed you. But you don't deserve death by my hands," continued the voice. Lightning flashed. The golden haired youth was standing right before him. Rahul swung his sword. It was dark. He hit nothing but air. Cold steel was pressed against his neck. Rahul stiffened. "As captain," whispered the youth mockingly, "you deserve to go down with your ship. I'll leave you to Neverland's judgment." Flash of lightning. The boy was standing upon the railing, his sword and dagger sheathed, and his hands placed on his hips. "Tell your men that it was Peter Pan who beat you, Peter Pan who will never let your kind set foot in Neverland, no matter where you come from or who you serve." He floated away, cold fire in his sea blue green eyes.
Lightning hit the ship and it detonated in an explosion of timber. Peter himself was thrown backwards from the force, and a wild laugh tore out of his lips. He boarded a piece of debris and let it carry him away, daring himself to ride the wind currents without flying.
Far below, Wendy opened pain-glazed eyes. In the darkness, Peter had gently floated her and the Indian to the side of the ship where a mass of fairies received them. About twenty carried her and boy each. She did not want to leave Peter, but his expression was so fierce she dared not. She slipped in and out of consciousness. But what she did see was a brilliant eruption and Peter riding a piece of debris safely away. Then her shoulder throbbed fiercely and the blackness ate her vision once more.
Dedications: The entire chapter is dedicated to my one and only Douggie. He's a sweetie that helps me up when I'm down and makes me even feel happier when I am cheerful. He's my inspiration at work, confidante, and dear friend. With all my love, Doug.
Chapter Two: Elsewhere
Wendy, curled in a fetal position, was suspended in a twilight canvas painted with cherry blossom lavender, wisteria purple, night blue, and ocean green. Stars twinkling like ruby, diamonds, and sapphires were sprinkled abundantly in the vast kaleidoscope of rich colors. A shimmering gauze of fine white hung in the air, very much like rain when the sun struck it just right.
The sixteen year old's lids flickered slightly before opening, as slowly as a flower would spread its petals, to reveal fathomless eyes of stormy blue. Fatigue chained her limbs, and she couldn't seem to move. Exhaustion sunk so deep inside her that she felt its weight drag her own mind. All her energy seemed spent, as though she had run miles without pause.
But for all her weariness, Wendy was sharply aware of her surroundings. Her gaze drank the scene of otherworldly beauty, her chest heaving in wonder. The colors unfolded before her and stretched on to the endless horizon, and the English girl thought that she might be on the doorstep to Heaven. A soft yet strange sensation was permeating her being. It was a feeling of weightlessness, almost exactly as though she were underwater. Her hair, once tied up, floated in the air free and unrestrained, a wave of glossy, shining, chestnut brown. Stray strands tickled the flesh of her back.
Her back? With a start, she realized that she wore nothing. Her hair was her only cloak. With what little strength she had, she pulled her knees closer to herself, and secured her arms more securely around her.
What was she doing here? Where was she? Where had she been?
As these alarming thought began to surface, languor reached its hand to draw her in its realm. Wendy was powerless to resist, but as her eyes began to close once more, she felt the pressure of the acorn, Peter's magic kiss that never faded, beating against her breast, almost like a heart. Then, as many times before, the boy of dirty golden hair and copper tanned skin was the subject of her thoughts, first upon waking and, like now, last before sleeping. "Peter..." she breathed, and her heart was in her sigh.
The sound fell like a deep bass upon the realm she floated upon, sending invisible tremors everywhere. Heat gathered around her before coalescing to a burning hot point somewhere in the middle of her back. Wendy felt something explode, as though something large was at last released, but she was already fading fast asleep.
Wendy dreamed once more, but her dreams were not of pleasant limbos or even of Neverland and Peter, or her family back in London. She dreamt strange things: flashes of images and snatches of conversation spoken in strange tongue. It was as if she was riding a horse in breakneck speed on a busy street in London catching flashes of scenes in other people's everyday lives. But she knew that it was no horse ride nor was it anywhere remotely near London. For the images she saw were of a massive desert continent, of strange dwellings built amongst the very sand itself, of a lone river snaking its way across the heart of the desert before slowly choking and dying off, of swarthy people clad in strange robes marching in silent procession to a massive obelisk in the far distance. Foreign tongues spoke: shouting, clicking, laughing, singing, and praying. She dreamt these things. But the dream that stayed with her most was of a man standing upon a sumptuous balcony staring at a blood moon rising in a pitch- black night. For the moment his profile was upturned towards the blood moon, his image burned forever in her mind: Impressively tall with a muscular build barely concealed by long robes of rich burgundy and white, shoulder length jet black hair with body waves, eyes of jade green and stony gray, skin of beautiful olive, and breathtakingly alluring features impossible to ignore. Unlike the others she viewed, he noticed her. He saw her, and she felt surprise widen his eyes revealing a wealth of impossible shades of green and gray. He was gorgeous.
As soon as she glimpsed these, she was pulled away just as fast. Something drew her onward, something fast and hot tugging Wendy's body. She felt herself go at incredible speeds, break barriers, fall until at last, with a gasp and a jerk, the cornflower blue eyed girl awoke. Her hand at once registered the sensation of smooth sand underneath her palm as she flailed around in confusion. Focus, Wendy, focus, she told herself, you're not getting anywhere moving around like a lunatic. She closed her eyes, stilled her body's movements, and evened her breaths.
Once satisfied that she was calm, the chestnut haired girl opened her eyes and sat up. It was a dark night, and the wind blew menacingly. The girl shivered and was glad that her clothes were on. As she stood up, the gown fell to her feet in smooth, graceful waves, and Wendy touched her hair. It appeared relatively untouched but for the few loose strands that managed to escape. After she took stock of herself, the girl then turned to the inevitability of her surroundings. She was on the white, sandy shores of some cool dark ocean. The area seemed vaguely familiar, as though seen in a dream, and she could not dismiss the notion. After all, how on earth does one explain how one was instantly transported from ballroom to beach? And if the times were right (and days or weeks had not passed in between), this must have happened in the space of but a few hours. Something was going on here. And that man...
Wendy shivered again, but not because of the night cold. Her mind's eye reflected on the monster that had come to her in the ballroom. He would have hurt her if he could. Was this his doing now? And what of the other man atop the balcony? Unconsciously, her hand reached to touch the acorn hanging upon a chain around her neck. The beautiful acorn, ever eternal, warmed instantly to her touch.
Where was he? Where was he?
The sharp sound of a snapping twig alerted her to someone's presence and she swiftly whirled around. To her shock and fear, men were silently watching her from the foliage of the trees bordering the beach. They were a rough lot, dark of complexion though Wendy thought perhaps the gloom of the night colored her sight. But their cold, merciless eyes and tense postures were unmistakable to her. And what she might want to deny with all her heart was obliterated by the sight of gleaming knives and oddly curved swords that glinted from ready hands. At once, Wendy knew that all it would take was one well-aimed flick of a wrist and the English girl would be drawing her last breath.
The wind blew against the unlikely girl facing the menacing men. She shivered and pulled back, astonished and afraid. In the blink of an eye, they too drew back, weapons raised ever higher. To her utter shock, she found her own fear mirrored in their eyes. Were they afraid of her?
The cornflower blue eyed girl peered closer at the men. Indeed, they were afraid. She cleared her voice silently, praying that it didn't sound as shaky as she felt inside. "Who... who are you?" she questioned, trying to strike a reasonable note amidst fear, respect, and bravery.
The men shook, as though her voice had awoken them from a stupor, and they backed a step away once more, eyeing her warily. Someone said something but it seemed to be in another language or perhaps his voice was just too low.
"Um..." muttered Wendy, suddenly unsure as how to approach this situation. On the one hand, she was glad they were backing away. On the other, she was not happy they were leaving her. They were her only contact in this strange world after all. "Where am I? Please... tell me?" The men continued retreating in the background, and Wendy did not follow them. Instead, her eyes traced their backwards path. Only when the darkness swallowed the last glint of deadly metal did she sigh and close her eyes.
The fair girl felt drained from the nerve-wracking encounter. A cold fear gripped her heart in a viselike grip, but Wendy wouldn't let the tears fall. A little angrily, she rubbed her eyes roughly. There should be an explanation for all that happened! Things like this simply did not happen! And she would get find the answers! First things, first. Wendy bit her lip and looked at her clothes, then the ocean, then to the forested path the men had taken, and back again to her clothes. Her gown was absolutely wonderful in a party, but also absolutely horrible for trying to explore what seemed to be a mostly uninhabited island. And it seemed that the only path left open to her was the path where the men had disappeared. But what could she do? It wasn't as if she had a spare change of clothes at hand. In vain, Wendy searched for a sharp rock with which to cut her skirt so she could move a little more freely, but her beach seemed to be sharp rock free.
Feeling cross (the battle in heart between breaking out stark mad or coolly going on was tipped in the favor of panicking), Wendy huffed and sat down. She bit her lip, thinking furiously. Exhaustion was overcoming her again. Just a little rest, Wendy thought, five minutes will refresh me and I'll look for a new way again... Wendy curled up against a log that gave her sorry protection from the wind.
Bells. Wendy heard bells. In the realm between sleep and wake, Wendy heard bells. Or was it bell like neighing? Something wonderfully white and glowing seemed to be coming near her and bathing her in its warm, soft light. When Wendy opened her eyes, she saw eyes of deep, deep ocean green flecked with shimmering lights gazing gently at her. It was so beautiful that Wendy's breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat. She held still. "If you are a dream," she whispered softly, "you are by far the most beautiful dream I have ever had." The eyes lowered to hers and Wendy felt a velvet soft muzzle nip her gently on the chin. A breath blew softly across her face and warmed her instantly. Strength returned to Wendy, and she opened her eyes fully. What she saw made her gasp, even as tears sprang to her eyes.
A unicorn stood before her, an impossibly beautiful unicorn of pearl white streaked with shadow and gorgeous eyes. Its silver mane flowed like silk water down its withers and its clean tail surpassed the springing froth of the waves. Delicate legs and hooves that manifested a grace no one could ever have were its limbs. But most beautiful of all was the horn. A twisted shell of purest white sprung forth to point to the heavens. A light twinkled upon its tip and fell down in shimmering luminescence down to its base where what seemed to be a diamond jewel rested as the only fitting base to the wonderful horn.
The girl sat up. "I've long dreamt of you," she whispered, "but I never thought you'd come to me." The unicorn whickered softly in response, in a manner that conveyed understanding. She reached out a hand, a steady hand, and the unicorn met it halfway there. She closed her eyes, reveling in the texture of the unicorn. The unicorn danced a little away, eyes both playful and serious at the same time. Wendy stood up, entranced. "You want me to follow you?" The unicorn whickered once more before slowly moving a way, a trick of the light in the gloom. Wendy followed hurriedly.
How long they moved in this dreamlike state, Wendy didn't know. But she felt safe with the unicorn, safe for the first time in long months. Shadows melted away and Wendy had no concept of fear. She would have followed the unicorn to eternity. But then...
A bolt flew in front of her face and landed upon the bark of a tree where she had been passing by. Jolted harshly from her trance, Wendy jerked back and gasped. Her eyes, wide with fear, flew towards the source of the bolt. A tall man wearing a dirty white cloak that encompassed his form had already reloaded his crossbow. "Hold your ground if you value your life!" he growled.
Wendy stepped back, much too surprised and dismayed. A quick glance to the front revealed that the unicorn was already gone, if it had even been there at all. Biting her lip and her fear back, Wendy faced the man with as much courage and dignity as she could muster. "Who are you?" she demanded, and her voice was a mask of command and bravery. "Identify yourself."
"I'll be asking the questions, missy," glowered the man back. He was heavily muscular despite that he looked to be in his late forties. Like the other men she had seen earlier, his complexion was dark, and he was every bit as rippling with danger as they were if not more. But unlike the others, his eyes held no fear. The crossbow was aimed straight for Wendy's heart, and Wendy's courage nearly failed her. But what she did deduce was enough to give her strength if only for a little while. The man could have killed her before, but he had not. He meant to keep her alive, but for what purpose she did not know.
"Very well," managed Wendy, raising her chin in a show of defiance she did not feel. "But you must tell me who you are and where we are in the bargain."
"Who are ye?" asked the man, and it looked like his heart was in this question. She felt his puzzlement over her, her appearance, her most likely bedraggled apparel, everything about her.
"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," stated Wendy, almost automatically. "Now who are you?"
He narrowed his eyes at her and ignored her question. "Is that one name or two or three or four?" he spat out.
Wendy stiffened. "To you I am Miss Darling," she responded tightly. "Now who are you?"
"My men reported seeing a goddess walking the southern coast of this island, but you're just a girl!" he exclaimed. "A crazy maid, at that." He lowered his crossbow, and allowed his lips to pull away in a fierce grin.
That explained the men's fears, Wendy noted in the back of her mind. But her questions had not yet been answered. "Who are you?" she repeated firmly. "Where are we? I assure you I'm no goddess otherwise I wouldn't be asking you these questions."
The man's prominent brows raised in passing amusement. "I am called Rahul, Avikan-Ayaka of the Basilisk," he responded and then added with that same fierce grin, "I come as destroyer and plunderer, and now you are my hostage."
Wendy's jaw dropped in surprise. "Pardon me," she began, infuriated and frightened but the man leapt, quick as a fish upon water, and twisted her arm behind her back. Wendy hissed in pain, and the man quickly bound her arms behind her with a thin but strong cord.
"My men had some problems kidnapping a goddess, but you are not one, are you my white flower?" he whispered to her, smiling a smile with a lot of teeth.
"Let me go you brute!" she snapped. "I am no goddess nor a white flower! I'm much worse!" That said, she stamped her foot on top of her captor's foot but received a lot of pain for her trouble. He was too deft for her to hit and he laughed richly at her struggles.
"Yes, you are. Some exotic white flower to sell in the markets," he grinned evenly. A hand reached across and smothered her with a dark cloth. Wendy screamed but as soon as the sickly sweet smell hit her nostrils she fainted, annoyingly, once again. Her last thought was, I'm getting sick of getting knocked unconscious...
Wendy awoke feeling very stiff and uncomfortable. To her expectations, she was tied against the mast of a large sailing ship. Dark skinned men were bustling all about, hauling cargo contained within a variety of boxes. Wendy identified some exotic animals, looking drugged, as she had been, dozing off in strong cages. All manners of plants and flowers were also transported in herb boxes, and managed most carefully. There didn't seem to be treasure of any sort, and this puzzled Wendy. After all, one never heard of pirates who went after just plants and animals.
Speak of the devil... Her captor was striding along the deck, giving orders to two people who followed him. His followers were dressed in similar fashion of long flowing robes but theirs were the color of rust brown and the other had one of dark orange. Rahul seemed to be listening intently to the one wearing dark orange who was pointing at a parchment he held out. Wendy was too far away to hear or see what they were saying.
A commotion occurred on deck. Somebody was being brought aboard, and the somebody didn't seem to want to go willingly. Five sailors dressed in loose fitting, baggy trousers and shirts were holding down someone who was screaming fiercely in a language Wendy vaguely realized. The English girl started. Why that was... that was Indian speech! She was sure of it!
True enough, as the men parted and swarmed over the person, she saw red skin, black hair, and Indian clothing covering a young body trying desperately to break free. The men were shouting back. Rahul raised an annoyed glance before saying, "Kill him if he's that much trouble." One of the men pulled out a sharp knife hidden from his boot.
"No!" Wendy screamed. Everybody paused and stared at her, even the Indian. They hadn't realized she had awoken. Rahul looked mildly surprised. Wendy coughed a little, feeling a little abashed for her boldness, but knowing all the same she couldn't let them kill the Indian. "Don't...please don't."
Rahul folded his arms, grinning his fierce grin. "Why should we listen to you?" he asked insolently.
"Please..." Wendy bit her lip. "You shouldn't kill him; it's not right. Please... I'll do anything."
The man raised a brow. "Anything?"
Wendy glared at him despite the fear in her eyes.
The man grinned once more, "What could you possibly do that we would want?"
Surprised and a little relieved there had been no suggestions of a lewd nature, Wendy pondered a little. What did she have? Certainly nothing of value. They already had her captive, didn't they? She was surprised they didn't already take off her clothes and store it in some boxes. The thought chilled her. She pushed it back, and thought of the time back in Captain Hook's ship. She had, as pirate, been the one to tell stories. But, thought Wendy, her gaze roving at the men, they won't like stories. For unlike Captain Hook's pirates, these were men, both in mind and body. They were not going to be amused with childhood fairytales. But she had to try...
The Indian was staring at her in astonishment. He looked pale, almost as if he had seen a ghost. He was young, her age maybe, and he looked bruised and torn up. Her heart went out to him.
"I can clean, cook, sew, sing... dance, a little," said Wendy quietly. It was all she could offer. Oh how she hated Rahul's smile. It was mocking and patronizing.
"We have an excellent cook and I believe the Basilisk needs no cleaning," he said. "But how about this singing and dancing? My men have not seen cheer for a while. Yes, sing and dance. The native's life, and yours, now depends on it. Release her." His men hesitated. A large, hulking figure approached her and sliced cleanly through her ropes with a knife. Wendy stood up a little shakily, brushing her arms roughly to resume circulation. She had been bound tightly.
Everyone was staring at her now, and Wendy felt extremely nervous. But she couldn't fail. The Indian was gazing at her still, and his eyes were filled with hope. Wendy bit her lip, trying to think of a song. A song from the heart.
The chestnut haired girl drew breath, hesitated, before lifting her head and let the words go, words from a song she knew back home.
Think of me,
Think of me fondly,
When we've said goodbye.
Remember me once in a while
Please promise me you'll try.
When you find that, once again,
You long to take your heart
Back and be free -
If you ever find a moment,
Spare a thought for me...
We never said our love was evergreen,
Or as unchanging as the sea
But if you can still remember,
Stop and think of me...
Think of all the things
We've shared and seen -
Don't think about the things
Which might have been...
Think of me,
Think of me waking, silent and resigned.
Imagine me, trying too hard
To put you from my mind.
Recall those days,
Look back on all those times,
Think of the things we'll never do -
There will never be a day,
When I won't think of you...
It was difficult to describe the way Wendy's song became her soul. The song was slow at first, charming and modest, but as it progressed, it grew in power. It was sweet but deep, rich and compelling. It spilled from her and washed over the deck. It surrounded those who heard in beauty and suffused them in feelings, her feelings, the feelings that she kept inside her heart.
Wendy's bosom heaved as she finished. A little smile played on her lips even as a tear trickled downwards. Her cornflower blue eyes rested in the night sky, absorbed in memories of a wondrous past long ago, a past she could never forget. I'll always think of you, Peter, she promised. Even when I'm old and sick, lying on a bed some place far away, I'll always think of you.
The silence on deck finally registered in her mind, and she hastily backed away and gazed at them. The men were staring at her, eyes wide, in a stare of undisguised wonder and admiration. Even Rahul wore an expression of intense shock.
He took a step towards her, his hand clenched in tight fists. His eyes held an emotion that frightened her. He whispered, "You're a-"
Something exploded below deck. The ship rocked violently and men knocked to their feet from the force of the blow. Wendy herself landed roughly on her side before rolling to hit the railing of the ship. As the ship dipped and swayed, as if trying to regain balance, it afforded Wendy one earthwards glance and what she saw made her stomach drop. They were floating several hundred feet in the air, in ghostly reminiscence to what the Jolly Roger had done to deliver them home so long ago. But that reminiscence came with a sinking feeling of despair. She couldn't hope to get off now.
Rahul rose, once more in command and confidence. "You ten, go below deck! The others, round the prisoners! Keep your arms out!" he bellowed. The company on deck hastily complied with his dictates as best they could despite the bucking ship. Wendy was roughly gathered and set together next to the Indian prisoner. The boy looked battered, but he stood proud and without assistance. His eyes darted anxiously all over the ship and especially the men set near them. He gripped Wendy's arm firmly so that she might not lose balance again.
Once all the men were engaged, the boy whispered to her clearly but she could not understand his speech. "What?" she asked faintly. "I don't understand you." The boy bit his lip and his eyes darted all over the ship again. Shouts erupted from below deck and the crew swung around to face the portal leading downwards. Rahul watched with eagle eyes, his hand gripping his wicked scimitar tightly. Wendy held her breath.
Someone was floating slowly through the passage. Messy golden curls that simply begged to be touched. Dark brows framing eyes of sea blue green flecked with fairy dust. An ebullient smug smile that mocked all who gazed upon him. Long, graceful limbs and a body of copper bordering on gold encased by the customary vines and leaves. It was he in all his glory, exactly as Wendy last saw him.
A rush of jubilation swept through her, and she breathed, "Peter Pan." It was as if her whisper was the signal for action. The men reached for their knives, but Peter was too fast. His arms, which had hung down his sides, lifted up. To Wendy's surprise, he was carrying two crossbows. With careless grace and ease, he pushed the trigger and the crossbows immediately dispatched two men. By the time the others had recovered and were running towards him with their own weapons, he had withdrawn from their respective sheath his golden rapier and long, silver dagger. With a smirk, he blocked one attack with his rapier, plunged a dagger in one chest, and it drew red blood. With a surge of strength disproportionate to his age and size, he pushed the man off to two of the oncoming attackers forcing them to crash to the deck before Peter floated off to the air. He was a marvel, Wendy knew, always had been, and always would be. Up in the air, his body twisted in fluid elegance, the flying knives seemingly unable to come near him.
Beside Wendy, the Indian boy had also leapt into action. Taking the preoccupation of his guards, he drew one scimitar and slit the throat of one pirate. It might have gone worse for the boy because the other pirate was quick to bring retribution but Wendy was too fast. She rammed her elbow in the man's guts. The blow did not have sufficient force to knock the wind out of the pirate, but it had served its purpose as a distraction. The Indian quickly gutted this one as well. Wendy recovered the fallen pirate's scimitar.
The deck was a maelstrom of chaos. Peter was busily engaged in a fierce play of swordfight between four of the pirates. The only way he was able to keep them from crowding him was his deft footings that lead them to stairway. Meanwhile, the Indian boy and Wendy had worked as a team to take down the guards surrounding them. There was a crowd of about ten left when Wendy noticed something strange. Rahul wasn't in the crowd, as she would have expected him to. She distractedly brushed away a stray strand of hair that fell over her eyes. In the dull gleam of her sword (she had avoided drawing blood, instead blocking or distracting the enemy while the Indian boy swept in for the kill), she saw a reflection of Rahul. He was just emerging from a cabin with an elaborately carved long bow that stood as high as he was tall. A long arrow was already fitted and notched. All he had to do was draw, aim, and fire. Wendy knew, in her terror, that if that hit Peter, he would be die as surely as the sun rose and fell every day.
With a harsh cry, she pushed away from the relative safety of the Indian's boy's vicinity. All Rahul needed was an opportunity, and it would be over. Peter was turning, laughingly taunting his enemies, his feet beginning to float. His back was turned towards them as he led his attackers to a circle. No...! The words died in her mouth as Rahul drew aim. It would be over in a few seconds. Wendy heard her blood roaring in her temples and her heart was thudding madly in her rib cage. She flew up stairs and covered Peter's back. Three things happened simultaneously. Peter had turned around just as Wendy cried out, "NO! PETER!" Her cry was cut short because the arrow had already been released.
Wendy drew breath, expelled it, and smiled. She had accomplished what she was going to do. And even as the pain was unbearable, even as the cruel arrow bit deeply and went through her flesh, she was still happy. Peter was safe; it would be all right. Besides, she thought with some satisfaction as she crumpled to the ground, he recognizes me. I was devastated when he didn't even acknowledge me, but now... I see remembrance in his eyes.
The world slowed down for Peter. The angel, the beautiful angel that sang such a heavenly song, had flown to protect him. But she had been struck down in trying to protect him, and to his utter horror, he realized that the angel was Wendy. She was different, somehow, of longer limbs, a confusingly attractive figure, and a face that would come to haunt his dreams for many, long nights, but her eyes... Her eyes, as she looked at him, was the same. The same shade of blue unique to Wendy alone and they still shone with the same emotion for him. They still shone with love. He caught her as she fell heavily and her eyes, her love, closed.
His consternation felt like a cold fog that descended over the ship and plunged all in darkness. But in a few moments, his grief had turned to blinding anger. And if his grief was cold, his fury was ice of the deepest winter. The Neverland sky turned stormy and menacing. The thick clouds now bunched together and thunder rumbled. Violent winds picked up and threatened to overturn the floating ship altogether. Flashes of lightning lit the dark scene. Firstly, the enchantress of unearthly clothing, chestnut brown hair, and cornflower blue eyes had disappeared along with the Indians. Then, with each flash of lightning, Rahul saw that his men were struck down one by one. He gripped his scimitar tightly in his hand.
"How dare you?" whispered a voice. Lightning spiked in the sky and rain tumbled down in heavy torrents. The Basilisk would fall apart completely in a few more minutes. "This is my home, my land, and you come here... " whispered that same bloodcurdling voice. Though given little volume, it reverberated across the air and sliced cleanly through the din of the storm. "You struck her down."
"You gonna do something about it, boy?" asked Rahul, smiling his fierce smile despite the hopeless situation.
"You are going to wish I had killed you. But you don't deserve death by my hands," continued the voice. Lightning flashed. The golden haired youth was standing right before him. Rahul swung his sword. It was dark. He hit nothing but air. Cold steel was pressed against his neck. Rahul stiffened. "As captain," whispered the youth mockingly, "you deserve to go down with your ship. I'll leave you to Neverland's judgment." Flash of lightning. The boy was standing upon the railing, his sword and dagger sheathed, and his hands placed on his hips. "Tell your men that it was Peter Pan who beat you, Peter Pan who will never let your kind set foot in Neverland, no matter where you come from or who you serve." He floated away, cold fire in his sea blue green eyes.
Lightning hit the ship and it detonated in an explosion of timber. Peter himself was thrown backwards from the force, and a wild laugh tore out of his lips. He boarded a piece of debris and let it carry him away, daring himself to ride the wind currents without flying.
Far below, Wendy opened pain-glazed eyes. In the darkness, Peter had gently floated her and the Indian to the side of the ship where a mass of fairies received them. About twenty carried her and boy each. She did not want to leave Peter, but his expression was so fierce she dared not. She slipped in and out of consciousness. But what she did see was a brilliant eruption and Peter riding a piece of debris safely away. Then her shoulder throbbed fiercely and the blackness ate her vision once more.