AN: Got another chapter up. Definitely some interesting stuff in this one I think.
Hope you enjoy, and please tell me what you think about the story thus far.
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The moment he opened his eyes, Hook knew that the world had changed.
His bed cabin was filled with morning light, bright and white. Snuggled against him, clinging to his arm, Peter still slept. The little boy's dark blond curls framed his face, his lashes resting against his soft cheeks in perfect contentment. It was enough to make Hook sneer in disgust, lest he let himself get soft and sentimental.
He moved, ready shove the child off the bed or grab him by the hair to shake him awake. But from the corner of his eye, he saw something bright, dazzling. He turned, and for a second he would have sworn he saw Alivia. He blinked, and only sunlight shone in the corner, but she had been there, in all her radiating, nearly-painful beauty.
Yet, something was in the air – he could feel it, smell it, breathe it. Like the tingling of excitement, anticipation of a kiss, waiting, buzzing, warning him something would happen.
Hook pulled away from the boy and got out of bed.
Peter whined in his sleep, his arms reaching out even though his eyes stayed closed.
"Quiet," Hook ordered, though not loud enough to wake him.
Peter slumped back into one pillow, continuing to sleep.
A crashing noise began outside, sounding like wood splintering and rocks thudded on sand. Dressing hastily, but once again neglecting his hook, Hook dashed outside to the upper deck. The sight there froze his blood, terrifying him to no end.
Just past the beach on land, the trees were falling. Already, huge trunks lay over the shore, branches and leaves covering the sand. And Hook could see the standing trees swaying violently in the wind, and half a dozen were crashing down as he watched.
His crew stood in a tight bunch, silent and fearful as they watched the destruction on the island. Hook felt sure he was dreaming; he could not be seeing the trees falling, the island caving in on itself.
It was not stopping – the crashing went on and on and on . . .
Hook whirled around and marched back into his cabin, all the way into the bed cabin where he grabbed Peter by the front of his nightshirt.
"Oh!" the boy's opened his eyes as he was being dragged out of bed. "What? What? No . . . tired."
"You're about to get the paddling of your life," Hook snarled as he marched the boy into the next room.
"What!" Peter squeaked. "But I wasn't bad. I was sleeping!"
Hook pulled him out the door onto the sun-bathed deck. Peter yanked against his hand, obviously not wanting to face the crew in his nightshirt, but the boy halted when he saw the trees.
"You see?" Hook released the boy to point to the island. "It's dying. Stop it. Stop it right now."
"Me stop it?" Peter's bottom lip began to tremble. "You stop it! Don't let them fall. Put them back up."
"I mean it, Peter," Hook warned. "If you don't stop the island from dying, I'll take my belt to your bottom, and you'll wish you had minded me."
"The island's dying?" tears filled Peter's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "You – you killed it. You killed it."
The crew had turned to watch both of them with silent and condemning eyes. Hook braced himself; he knew the danger of a crew suspecting a Jonas onboard, one person singled out to blame all their trouble upon. If they thought the Jonas was their captain, Hook knew he could handle them, beat them down, thrash them into obedience. If they thought it was Peter, Hook would have a real fight on his hands, trying to control his crew while protecting the boy.
Peter was whimpering, a sad noise of distress as he watched the angry pirates and the tumbling trees..
"I will deal with this one here," Hook announced in a loud voice to his crew. "And I will stop it."
He shoved Peter towards the door, kicking him in the rear to make him hurry. Peter tripped over the doorstop and tried to crawl out of the way as his sobs grew louder.
"I'll beat the evil out of him," Hook snarled to his crew. "No one disturb me for the next hour."
"Stripe the brat proper," one pirate shouted.
"Bruise him head to foot," another encouraged.
Hook stormed into the cabin and slammed the door.
Peter had backed away, his face frozen in absolutely terror as Hook stalked towards him.
"You stupid boy," Hook growled. "You are surrounded by pirates ready for blood, driven by their own fears. If you want to stay alive, you have to do what I say."
With his one hand, Hook grabbed the back of the boy's nightshirt and hauled him backwards as Hook sat down. Peter went into a panic as Hook pulled him towards his lap, trying to squirm free. He calmed the moment Hook hoisted him up on his lap, face up, in a sitting position.
"Now you just listen to me," Hook sat sternly, feeling the boy's heart hammering through his chest. "Something is happening out there. I thought it was about you – if I let you go free, everything would return to its original state with the animals and the fairies and the Indians coming back. Now I see that this state of affairs has nothing to do with you. The island is dying, and I have to stop it."
"But –" Peter started to protest, but Hook tightened his arm the least bit.
"Sit quietly," Hook ordered. "I'm about to go to the shore and see what has happened. You're going to stay here in the cabin, quietly, and wait for me to come back."
"No, don't leave me," Peter shook his head.
"Peter," Hook warned in a deep voice.
"I'm coming with you," the boy insisted.
"Peter, you are staying here."
"No!"
"You are staying here. Now, you can be a good boy and take your bunny and climb up on my bed and spend a nice morning in bed, playing with the bunny and resting until I come back. I know you're tired from your late night out and need more sleep. Or you can fight me, and you can spend the morning crying in bed because you know by now what I do to disobedient boys."
"Meanie," Peter reached over to hit Hook's knee.
"Enough of that," Hook gave him a rough shake. "Make your choice. Quickly, too."
When Peter didn't respond, Hook tried to help him make the right choice. "If you want the latter, tell me now as I need time to spank you for a long, long time . . ."
"Be a good boy," Peter whimpered. He slid off Hook's lap and went to get his bunny.
Hook felt a small satisfaction as the boy climbed back in the bed, holding the bunny tight as he sunk into the pillows. Peter was starting to do as he was told and was not pouting quite as much. Hook was about to suggest that he could brush Minty's fur, but Peter was already yawning.
"Don't get out of bed," Hook warned. "I'm going to lock you in. No one should bother you, but if they do, you pretend to be asleep."
"Come back," Peter said softly.
Hook nodded and went to strap his hook on. He went back into the bed chamber to remind Peter to stay in bed and stay quiet. The boy was pouting, but he looked exhausted, minutes away from falling asleep. Hook locked the door to the bedchamber, testing the door twice before he strode away.
When he stepped onto the deck, the pirates looked at him expectantly.
"Well," Hook said smugly, "didn't take an hour to break him. Children are so gullible, so easily manipulated. He told me what we need to do."
A buzz of curiosity rose from the pirate, and Hook took advantage of their talking to rack his brains for a plan. He was about to say something to distract them, maybe get them to think the island was attacking them and they needed to arm themselves to go fight the trees. Suddenly, something sounded by his ear, like a tiny bell tinkling. He looked to left and stepped back when he saw a gold-sprinkled flying creature. At first, he thought it was a fairy, but then he realized it was a mutated creature with four legs and four arms, huge winds, and a face like a mouse.
Hook wanted to smash it, to swat furiously at it, but as he watched it, it split right into two, becoming two flying creatures, each with two arms and two legs.
They made an odd metallic noise, like bells, but Hook would have sworn he heard the words "Follow us."
He was ready to hit the things back when he remembered her words. Alivia with her hand on his face, her eyes blazing – "Follow them wherever they go."
"I'll come," Hook told the creatures in the whisper. He doubted the crew could see them; some of the pirates were looking right at him and didn't seem to notice anything different.
"All right," he bellowed to the crew below. "I'm going ashore, and I'm taking control of this island. We will conquer this place once and for all. The brat is in my cabin – leave him there. We may need him later to – to sacrifice to the island. Wait here for me."
To the cheers of the pirates, Hook went to the main deck and walked to the gangplank which was still out from the night before. Before him lay a shore of ruin, covered in the fallen trees, but Hook followed the buzzing creatures which flew before him.
He had no idea how he would get the past the fallen trees, but as the creatures flew forward, the trees began to shift. They parted slightly to make a walkway, branches lifting or scraping to the side to allow foot or two of space for him to walk, but closing the space once he walked past. Inward he walked, cutting through the trees. Hook had the fleeting thought if the flying things left him, he would be trapped in all the tree trunks, branches, and leaves. But he kept up with the creatures, and the trees kept moving for them.
The farther in they walked, not all the trees had fallen. The huge oaks were leaning on each other as if for support, but Hook could see the rotting trunks under green moss that was turning a sickly shade of black. The sky loomed over them, but instead of a bright blue, it had faded to a dull gray.
On and on, Hook walked, past familiar sights that had changed. He passed a clearing where he had fought the Indian chief one cool day, both using two clubs, nearly killing each other until they decided to go home and nurse their bruises, living to fight another day. Rocks had circled the clearing, but now the trees covered the whole area. Next he saw the spot where another path crossed over, the pole of the marker sticking up from the branches, with the arrows still pointed to Mermaid Lagoon and the Indian grounds.
Hook felt something welling up inside him, a desperate longing to change the island back to the way it had been, to return to the idle hours of drinking, smoking, and complaining, content then in the knowledge that nothing would ever change. Fear, like a dark stalking monster, kept crawling closer and closer. Hook knew it was his pride, his fierce, resilient pride, that kept him from breaking into hysterical screaming and running for his life in a panic.
He forced himself to keep putting one booted foot in front of another, walking stiffly like man condemned but steadfast to the end. Even if this were the end, he resolved not to go begging or whimpering, but with a stoic face.
After what seemed like an hour, the creatures finally stopped at the base of an enormous gnarled tree. It took Hook a moment to recognize Hangman's Tree with its holes for children to slide down and peer out of, its high branches perfect for climbing. The flying creatures stopped and turned towards Hook.
"I can't fit in there," he said quite frankly. "I've tried before – I get stuck halfway, even in the biggest tunnel. They're for children, not me."
The creatures came at him. Hook thought they meant to hurt him, and he backed up immediately, ready to swat them away. But once he stepped back a few paces, the ground began to shake. He stumbled to the side, ready to run or simply hold on to anything for balance.
The huge tree shook violently, and then it split right in two. Spewing pieces of bark, a large crack ran up the entire length of the trunk.
Hook started back in fear, afraid the trunk might crush him, but the fallen trees behind him pushed right back, a solid wall of brush and leaves. But the trunk broke apart without hitting him. When both sides of the trunk hit the ground, the earth shook so hard Hook fell to his knees, catching himself on his hand and the curve of his hook.
He expected to see the living space below the tree, an underground hollow large enough for a dozen children to live and romp. Yet, before he could catch sight of any space, boulders began breaking through the ground. Hook watched breathlessly as the rock grew higher and higher – ten feet, twenty, thirty – until they dwarfed him and hid half the gray sky.
The rock stopped growing abruptly, and for a moment, the world went silent except for Hook's harsh breathing.
A cracking noise sounded from the rocks. Hook looked up – up, up, up – to the top of the high rocks. Cracks were spidering at the very top, shooting horizontally across the boulders.
Water suddenly spurted of the rocks, spraying from the cracks. The boulders quickly turned dark with water, and the cracks grew bigger and bigger as water poured out. Soon Hook found himself staring at a waterfall, nearly fifty feet long and thirty feet high.
He looked around for the flying creatures, but they were gone.
The water pooled at the bottom of water fall, but rather than flood all the ground, it stayed in a small pond-like area. Flowers began to bloom alongside the water, bright splashes of red, blue, and yellow.
Hook reached down to touch a flower, and the waterfall began to divide. An opening in the rock appeared, a dark space between the roaring water. Hook looked at it and knew he was supposed to walk through it.
He thought about refusing, simply standing his ground and staying right where he was. But he could see no way out of the fallen trees other than going straight forward.
He stepped over the flowers and into the pool of water. As he strode forward, the water came up to the edge of his high boots, but it didn't flood the boots. Though he thought the ground under the pool would be loose, ready to suck him down, he could feel rock underneath his feet.
Once to the waterfall, Hook eyed the dark space between the tumbling sheets of water. He had the awful image of himself going into the crevice and the rock closing together, crushing him in between –
Hook bared his teeth in the same snarl that had made him such a fierce pirate for so many years. He pushed himself into the narrow, wet passage, silently daring the rock to move.
The walls stayed still, but Hook could barely see as he pushed forward, groping his one hand on the cold, damp stone. He found himself swallowed in utter darkness. Blackness, deeper than he had ever known, pushed against him, and he fought panic off as he kept moving. He cursed himself for not bringing a lantern – if he could just see a single ray of light, a way of knowing that he wasn't lost forever in darkness, wasn't already dead.
The next step he took landed on nothing, and he fell through the air. Before he even had time to realize that he was falling, he tumbled into foot of water.
But this water was lit from underneath with white crystals that made the water glow. Lifting his head, Hook gazed up at a huge cave, lit by crystals.
Across the rocky floor of the cave, small fountains of water bubbled up, reflecting the light in dancing patterns on the cave walls. Hook stood and began to walk around, turning to take it all in.
At the center of the cave, a fountain pushed water straight up into the air and collected the falling water inside a circular wall two feet tall. The outside of the wall had vines growing upon it, pulsing with life and blooming flowers over and over again.
Hook approached this main fountain warily. Unlike the other small fountains, the water of this one seemed silvery, catching the light as it rose and fell. He was close enough to see his reflection inside the vine-covered wall. He leaned over, but before he could see anything, the main strap of the contraption holding his hook broke.
He felt the contraption start to slide off, his hook not longer anchored against his stump.
Hastily, Hook ripped off his coat and shirt to allow the metal device to fall off. It splashed to the wet floor of the cave and lay there, an ugly twisting of metal and leather in a place so pure and holy.
Free of his hook, with his torso and arms bared, Hook turned back to the main fountain. He didn't know why but he knew he had to feel that water, to let it run over his skin, to sense its beauty and vitality.
"Fountains of joy," he whispered Alivia's words.
And then he put both his maimed arm and his right arm deep into the gushing water of the fountain.
For a moment, he felt nothing but the cold water sweeping over his skin. It grew colder and colder, like ice, but still he kept his arms in there. Somehow, he knew he had to withstand the water, to prove himself worthy.
Just when he thought he could bear the ice no longer, the water grew warmer. Warmer, warmer, hotter, until it felt like bathing water. He prayed it would not grow boiling hot, but it suddenly turned cool again. Something nipped at his fingers, and Hook drew out his arms instinctively.
The fingers of his right hand were red, but he froze as he looked down his left arm. The ugly scar of his stump was gone. The skin of his lower arm ran smooth and clean, all the way down to a hand that glistened with the silvery water.
Hook held up his left hand, staring at the four fingers and the thumb, staring at the skin over bone that rose and fell as it outlined his entire hand.
Was he dreaming? Did he actually have his left hand back?
Hook reached down and cupped up two handfuls of water. He let the water fall through his fingers, running in rivets down the back of his hands.
He was not dreaming. He had his hand back.
He had found the fountain. Exactly which fountain he was not certain. The fountain of youth? Fountain of life? Perhaps even redemption? All possibilities that he could not answer for certain.
He wanted to laugh, to yell, to fall into the water, to scream that he was alive, now and forever.
At that moment, he heard the ticking. The steady, rhythmic ticking that grew louder and louder.
Whirling around, he found it standing a mere six feet from him.
A brute of a beast, covered in dark scales, standing upon four clawed legs, its mean eyes glittering, and sharp teeth shining.
Hook faced the crocodile.