Rafé sat on his haunches and looked over his shoulder, smelling something odd and alien in the air. His eyes narrowed as he searched the lush, green underbrush behind him, tilting his head to the side, listening for any sound that would betray any danger. He saw nothing, nor smelled anything, yet he could not shake the ever-present feeling of precariousness.
He was waiting for the change.
The change that would take him from human form, to the form of the wolf. The loup-garou. It was his curse, his burden, and his life. When the moon became swollen and full, as if with child, he was called to obey her wishes, become her slave. His brethren would be called upon also, and they were all staring up at the moon, in their own private areas deep within the jungle, breaths held, waiting.
The loups-garoux of the jungle had a past. A dark, secret, ancient past. The old stories said that by ritual, sacrifice, and sacrament, they had opened their souls to the Forest God, the great hunter who took the shape of the wolf. To reward their devotion, his lover, the Moon, gave them the gift to be more than human. Then they could throw aside the pelts of hunted animals and grow their own, abandon the knives of flint and use their teeth. Their children's children still carried the beast within, and all were subject to the Moon.
She came from behind a cloud then, and he felt a pleasant tingly sensation that crawled up his back, the beginning of his dark, brown pelt. He heard the sickly crunch of bones as his legs bent into shape and he fell forward, massive paws growing where his hands used to have been. His face elongated, and a snout pushed through, baring sharp, pointy teeth of ivory. His ears grew larger, and a long hairy tail sprouted from his hind end, the change was almost complete.
Rafé's voice burst emitted from his fanged mouth, though it was not his own. He let out a deep, joyful howl, praising the Moon for her blessing, her curse. More howls came from within the jungle, and he felt a strange rush as his voice joined theirs, as if singing a ballad of their appreciation of Her gift.
Then, just as suddenly as She had come, the Moon slinked back behind a cloud, seeing that Her job was done. The forest became silent again, a soft, warm breeze rustled the leaves, and Rafé reveled in the feeling of the wind ruffling his fur. The beautiful night was his.
He ran.
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She bounded over a fallen log with lithe agility, her black beaded braids flying behind her as she ran through the forest. Her tanned legs moved even faster when she heard the chilling cry of the Moon-Dogs errupt from the dark jungle. The change had ended, and it was dangerous to be out when the pack was on the prowl.
But Tiger Lily wasn't stupid.
She needed to find Rafé. And fast. Before something even worse could happen. Calm, levelheaded Rafé would know what to do. Great Spirit, she hoped she wasn't too late.
Tiger Lily paused, putting her hand out to support herself on a tall tree to catch her breath. A familiar sent passed her way, blown by a wind that had suddenly turned cold. Stilling her heavy breathing, she waited, listening intently, and smelling the air. Rafé. And he was near.
She took off again, in the direction that she prayed was the right one, running as fast as her feet could will themselves to go. The surrounding trees were dark and she found it hard to navigate through the thick, tangled growth. Rafé turned when he heard her crashing through the scrub like a noisy baby elephant, searching her face with his golden eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice deep and rough through his fanged mouth. Tiger Lily held her side, panting, a pained look on her face, "Peter…Kira…on the rock…"
"What?" Rafé asked, stepping closer.
"…James…killed her…"
"James?"
"No time to explain…" she said, starting to run again, "…Must…get to the beach…"
Rafé caught up with her and brushed against her arm, "Climb on, and we'll fly," he ordered, for after the change he had grown large and strong, about as big as a pony that the Indians bred at Big Cliff. Tiger Lilly nodded and swung her leg over his back and gripped his fur tightly in her fists.
"Then, fly!"
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The ocean lapped gently at the mermaid's scaly fins as Rafé and Tiger Lily stepped onto the white, sandy beach. They saw Kira lying there, half of her body in the water, and Peter crouched over her, hiding her face from view. The moon shone bright as the children ran up behind Peter, and Tiger Lily could not stifle her gasp.
"She won't stop crying," Peter said, moving away so that they could see the deep wound just above her heart, crimson blood darkening her gauzy sashes, staining Peter's hands. Her eyes seemed to stare blankly at the sky, no life was to be found behind them, and her mouth was slightly opened, as if she was singing one of her mermaid songs.
Rafé lowered his nose to sniff at her, then licked at her cheek, tying to wake her up, unable to understand, like Peter, that she had died. Tiger Lily just fell to her knees, and grabbed Kira's hand, her face expressionless. She was the only one of them who knew of loss before this.
"Her tears are dark…" Peter said, his face blotchy, and he had obviously been crying.
"Those aren't tears," Tiger Lily said, and she reached over to comfort, but he recoiled from her touch.
"James did it," he said, his tone had changed. A stormy look now passed over his usually cheerful features. Rafé did not try to hide the angry growl in his voice, "Where is he?"
Tiger Lily stood, looking out at the water, now choppy, and said, "Out there…"
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He hadn't meant to stab her.
Peter was the one that had meant to die. Rightfully so, for he had stolen the very thing that was worth anything to him, the only thing that kept him alive. He had stolen the only thing that was his.
Kira.
James had seen them on the rock that night, in the Mermaid Lagoon. The sun had just set, turning the water purplish, and the sky a tranquil pinkish-orange. Kira had looked so beautiful, perched on the rock, splashing her fish-like tail through the water. The way she threw her head back when she laughed, spilling her long, blond locks over her shoulder, made him love her even more. He loved every single freckle on her nose, and every single scale on her body.
Yet the boy who had made her laugh had to die.
Peter sat on the very peak of the rock, reclining against it's coolness, his carefully whittled panpipes in one hand, and the other moving in graceful movements through the air, as he told a story. James hated everything about the flying boy. His quick wit, his obnoxious smile, his spiky red hair, and that he loved the prettiest mermaid in Neverland.
And she loved him back.
He didn't blame her, any woman could fall under the charms of his perfect, pearly-white grin. He didn't hate her for being blind to his advances, ignoring his sweet gestures, seeing him as only a friend. She was flawless in her beauty, and he couldn't get to her until Peter Pan was out of the picture. Forever.
And this was the night that he'd chosen to strike.
He swam out to the rock, his dagger hidden in his belt, under his tunic. They had both smiled at him, welcoming him to join in on their conversation.
"James…where have you been?" Peter asked, with his stupid grin plastered on his face.
"I've been around," he said, acting cool, and hefting himself onto the rock. Kira smiled sweetly at him, "Glad to see you away from the clan."
Oh, how he loved her with every molecule of his being. Those few words were music to his ears, and made his heart sing. And she would love him even more after the Pan was dead. James reached into his tunic and drew the dagger, standing as tall as he could on the wet rock.
"Ready for a fight, friend?" Peter raised an eyebrow, thinking it a game.
"I've been ready," he said darkly, watching Peter raise his own dagger.
"Oh, I hate this game!" Kira pouted, sinking back into the water, as if to go.
"Don't leave," they both said together, reaching their hands out to her. Kira bit her lip, "If only I get to play too."
James had begun to object when Peter floated off the ground, giving a little hoot.
"That's a great idea!" he said, standing with his hands on his hips, his typical stance, "You can be the damsel in distress…"
"Ooooo, goodie!" Kira clapped her hands in delight. James smiled to himself. He could make this work in his favor. Playing along, he asked, "And what is my role?"
"Why, you're the evil sorcerer," Peter said, scowling at him playfully, "And I am the knight, fighting you for my lady love."
"Why do I always have to be the bad guy?" James tried to hide the whine in his voice.
"Because you're so good at it," Kira purred from the water, and James decided that being the evil sorcerer wasn't so bad.
"On your guard, Sorcerer," Peter said.
"No, you should be on yours…"
And battle ensued. Peter was being fair by not flying, and they scrambled over the rocky terrain, exchanging blows. At first, James was letting him win, but Peter tripped him, and he fell down the rock, into the water. He laughed as James crawled, dripping from the lagoon.
"I would not laugh if I were you," James said darkly, glaring at him. But he kept on laughing. It was the most contagious of gurgles that even Kira was laughing behind her hands. James drew his dagger back, and shouted, "Stop laughing."
"James?" Peter asked, staring at him, confused by his change of mood. Kira watched worriedly from her place in the water.
"Die, Pan!" James yelled furiously, and let loose the dagger, throwing it straight at his chest.
"No!" Kira screamed, and using all her strength, she lunged out of the water and threw herself in the weapon's path, trying to save Peter, who was frozen in place.
He hadn't meant to kill her.
The sharp dagger had struck her in the chest, and she fell into Peter, sending them both tumbling down the slippery rock, into the water. James hadn't stayed to watch them surface. He fled.
James lugged one of the fishing boats through the white sand, down to the water in the darkness. He had to get away. Putting all of his belongings into a small satchel and a sack of tropical fruits and flat bread in another, he threw them into the crudely made boat. He shoved off the beach, his hands shaking, and slipped the oars silently into the dark water, not wanting to wake the clan.
They wouldn't miss him, so he didn't say goodbye.
Using all of his strength, James rowed himself out farther from the sleeping island, praying that the boat could carry him all the way to the mainland. Wherever that was. The clan told of stories of a brave young man who left the island once, searching stupidly for a new life, and new adventures. They said he didn't even make it twenty yards from the shore, for his boat was eaten whole by a Kell-Shark, one of the most ferocious beasts to inhabit Neverland.
James hoped the Kell-Shark was napping elsewhere.
He looked back at the island, his last sight before turning his gaze away, not wanting to be reminded of the terror that had just been unleashed. He saw a small figure, on the beach, far away in the Lagoon's cove, standing, her hair blowing in the harsh wind about her. He knew who she was, but ignored her silent plea to come back.
He would never come back to Neverland. And never is an awfully long time.
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Bella pitched forward in her ice throne, suddenly overcome by a burst of hot pain. Gasping for breath, she gripped the armrest to help her up, but was taken by another sharp spasm. Her head spinning, the Queen of the Fairies tried to call out, but her voice cracked, her throat strangely dry and exhausted. She opened her cloudy grey eyes and saw all.
The Protectors had crumbled.
They had failed her.
They had divided.
And it would send Neverland into despair.
Another shock of pain ran through Bella's body, and she tumbled down the steps, sprawling in an awkward position. Her breathing slowed, and her celestial light began to fade…her hair losing it's softness, her hands losing their gracefulness. Reaching out to the sky, Bella whispered, "Neverland is falling into darkness…"
And she fell into darkness herself.