Hello everyone! I'M BACK!!! Phew, school's done (YAAAAAAY!!!!!), I've had some gooooood resting time, and I leave for a 2-month study abroad trip to Scotland next week!!!! WOOOO!!!! Okay, sorry for not updating in a while (especially sorry to Alexandra, who has left me FIVE reviews begging for an update!). There were looong papers and portfolios and an exam...you all know the deal. And then I went on a road trip and then got lazy. Yeah...So, anyway, this chapter is dedicated to Alexandra, because her consistent reviews are really what got me to edit this chapter and put it up! I didn't want to keep disappointing her, and I hope I won't with this chapter. Thank you Alexandra, your support means a lot to me! I will try to update more often! :-)
Disclaimer: J.M. Barrie owns Peter Pan.
Chapter Nineteen: Sword Morphing
"You found your rock, I see," Peter said, suddenly beside me. I grinned at him with a sense of victory, having found what was rightfully mine.
"Yes, this is definitely it," I told him with finality.
"Then it's time to make your sword," he replied with a wicked grin. I looked at my rock, which seemed to be trembling with anticipation in my hands; I could feel and recognized the energy it sent flowing into me.
"You're going to be my blade," I said to it, not feeling in the least bit silly talking to a rock. Peter left my side and turned back to the gray patch of lava steam, and I followed suit, clutching my rock, which was jumping with energy in my hands, causing me to laugh. I didn't notice the minutes pass en route to the lava, distracted by my rock's energy tickling my fingers, right up to my shoulders. Which meant that I nearly knocked into Peter when he slowed down. Actually, I flew right over his head, as he ducked out of the way, and I had to turn around and come back. He was laughing at me when I landed next to him. I was trying not to tear up again from the lava steam. Even with it cooling into the ocean, it smelled (and felt to my eyes) quite toxic. Far worse than any onions or regular bonfire smoke.
"You get used to it," Peter told me, as tears defied my efforts and spurted into the world. Then he turned around and started to search for something.
"What are you looking for?" I asked, agitatedly wiping my cheeks against my shoulders.
"A rock," he said.
"Again?" There was no disguising the annoyance in my voice, as I did not wanting to start another rock search.
"Yeah, but not the same kind. There's a hiding place…" his voice trailed off.
"A hiding place? What kind? For what?"
"Just a minute," he said shortly and held up a hand. He evidently was losing patience for questions. Peter scanned the rocks close to us and then hovered in the air, studying them closely. His left hand rested on a bent knee while his right hand scratched his head. 'His position of concentration,' I thought to myself and laughed inwardly. "Where is it…?" he whispered to no one. I was helpless and my insides were dancing with anticipation for making my sword. My foot tapped, but Peter didn't notice. And then…"Ah HAH!" The boy threw aside a bunch of medium-sized rocks to reveal a long rock that was in the shape of a rolled piece of clay, which he dragged back. "Hid it really well last time," he muttered. I walked over and looked closer at what now appeared to be the strangest looking rock I'd ever seen. It looked just like a loaf of bread—rounded at either side, with a small groove going along the middle. Peter then retrieved some sort of a hammer tool, as well as a leather pouch the size of a tennis ball. Peter lifted the hammer thing and I got a closer look. It was made from a bundle of large bamboo rods woven tightly together with thick vines. At one end was a large flat rock, strapped by leather that fit into small grooves along the rock's face and sides. The middle of the rock was exposed and scratched, very flat. Peter handed this to me, and as I struggled to hold it in one arm, I found that it was surprisingly light--at least light enough for me to hold it up without too much difficulty. I looked back at Peter to find him dragging the long rock towards the lava flow, with the leather pouch in one of his hands.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"You'll see," he grunted. He laid the long rock with its groove facing the sky, while one end reached the tip of the bank along the lava. "Give that to me," Peter said, startling me.
"Huh? Oh…"I handed over the hammer tool, but he shook his head.
"No, your rock." I had the strangest hesitation to part with it, and I handed it over with my hand curled in protection around it and caution written on my face. "Don't worry, you'll get it back!" Peter laughed, making me blush. I was being silly. It was a rock for goodness sake! But my eyes refused to wander from it as Peter got to work. He put it in the middle of the groove of the long rock and then asked for the hammer tool. He handed me the leather bag to hold, which I found to be filled with a glowing substance that was more delicate than dirt or fine sand or even clay. I looked inside and saw something glittering. Pixie dust, I realized. I heard a sliding noise and looked up again to see Peter using the hammer to push my rock towards the lava.
"Hey!" I cried and rush to stop him from pushing it in, but he put out his arm and held me back.
"Just trust me, already! Have I let you down yet?" he said in annoyance.
"No," I muttered, and forced myself to succumb to letting him do whatever he needed to do. I stepped back. Peter turned back to his work and pushed my rock to the end of the long rock, so that the tip of one side of my rock was directly in the heat of the lava. That's when, as if things that day couldn't have gotten more peculiar, I saw the side of my rock…shimmer. Like water was reflecting on it, except brighter. I gasped and watched in amazement as Peter used the edge of the flat rock to roll my rock backwards and then forwards again, exposing a different side and getting the same effect. He did this a few times at a quick pace and then rolled my rock back to the middle of the groove of the long rock. Most of my rock was shimmering now, but not as brightly as when first exposed to the lava's heat. Then Peter raised the hammer and struck my rock with the flat area. I flinched and gritted my teeth. My rock was now flat on top. Peter struck it again, causing me to whistle in breath through my teeth. Was he hurting my rock? More flatness resulted…and then I noticed my rock begin to expand along the groove of the long rock. My jaw dropped open, and I watched in fascination as Peter continued to strike it.
"You…" slam…"don't…" slam (flinch)…"want the whole thing…" slam…"shimmering…" bang (flinch)…"or it becomes…" slam…"too…" bang…"soft," he groaned out between strikes. "You still need some…" bang…"hard rock…" slam…"in there." He looked up for a moment, breaking from his striking. "Want to try?" he huffed in a pant. I quickly nodded and took the hammer from him. "Try to hit it with the flat part of the hammer. Otherwise your sword could get a dent in it," he said, as I raised the hammer. My first strike was a little off, hitting to the side of my rock and pushing it out instead of forward along the groove of the long rock. I looked at Peter worriedly, but he just told me to strike the side of it back into place. I did, my aim a little better the second time. I proceeded to hammer the top of my rock, watching it spread into the groove on the long rock supporting it. I realized that the groove was formed in the shape of a sword, pointed at the tip, about a foot below the end of the long rock. The groove continued back, past me, with even depths once it had descended from the sharp-looking tip. After a few feet, it squared off into a neck that was more rounded than the rest of the groove and several inches, which I assumed served as the hilt. Under Peter's guidance I hammered my rock into something of a sword, watching my glowing stone sink snuggly into the groove. "Stop," Peter told me within some minutes. "That's long enough for you." My rock-sword hadn't yet reached the part of the groove that looked like the hilt, but it was a good length of perhaps a couple of feet. I supposed that Peter had made enough swords and various blades that he knew a suitable length for me without having to take measurements.
"Okay," I said, withdrawing the hammer and about to lay it down, not sure what else to do with it.
"Oh, you still need that," Peter said, kneeling forward toward my almost-made sword. "Give it to me." I handed it over and watched him again use a corner edge of it to drag back my rock-sword by the chunk of un-hammered rock left at the end facing us. He pulled the chunk onto the hilt-end of the groove and then handed back the hammer. "Just lay it down somewhere."
"But I thought you said I still need it," I protested.
"You will in a minute. But first, this," he explained, and I watched him quickly float through the air back to the ditch where he had retrieved the other tools. This time he brought out another hammer-like tool, the same as the first, except that the rectangular stone on its top was small and arched, like a tiny half-pipe. "I forgot this one," he said as he passed my side again. "Watch." And he took the arched hammer and pressed it down over the last hunk of rock, pushing it into the hilt of the groove. "Here," he said, handing me the bamboo stick supporting the stone arc hammer. Suddenly, Peter's arms were around me, startling me. His hands enclosed mine in a firm hold and his head hovered over my left shoulder. I turned my eyes to look at him, craning my neck back a little so as not to be too close. My eyes were wide in surprise at this out-of-the-blue close position, but the boy looked back at me innocently and smiled, and then returned his eyes to the job at hand. I studied his face for the next few seconds in fascination, observing that he was completely innocent to how close we were huddled, certainly within distance of…I closed my eyes and shook my head to rid myself of further thoughts. I didn't want that with this boy who would never grow up. 'I shouldn't be thinking about it when he clearly didn't even notice anything. Not to mention that I had a boyfriend back home anyway. At the thought of him, I felt a twinge of homesickness, but only for a moment. I was in too amazing a place to feel those sorts of things. Forget them all. I was in Neverland for a reason.
I felt Peter tilt my body towards my shaping rock, and then we were sort of standing in a lunge together, front knees bent, back legs extended. We pressed the arc down hard against my rock, and when we lifted it, I was pleasantly amazed to see that the rock was very nearly a sword. The sides of the arc had fit into the groove's hilt, and around my rock so that it was now rounded and shaped into a handle. The rest of it was indeed in the shape of a proper sword. I understand even more now the magic of the connection I had with my rock and its morphing, because it had adjusted itself within the long groove into a sword that would be perfect for me, in size, in weight, and soon in appearance without the extra pounding and careful shaping that one would expect for the job of sword-making. But that understanding came later. For the moment, I was content to stare and smile at it, until I felt the warm of Peter's arms and torso leave me. I wanted to smack myself for acknowledging disappointment when Peter disappeared from behind me. Maybe it really was true that all girls who visited Neverland got a crush on him; maybe I was just another victim of his charms. My thoughts groaned at me to stop this nonsense, refusing to admit any attraction. And then he was at my right side holding a thin smoothed, rounded stick that was pointy on both ends.
He laid this into the middle of my blade, between the hilt and the point, and briefly pressed it into the stone, which it sunk into like mud. Then Peter took care to use the half of the stick not submerged to lift it out again, and I saw that it had left a very thin delicate groove in my sword's blade. He handed the stick over to me and picked up the leather pouch of pixie dust, which he had set down some feet behind us. Peter scooped up a bit of the magic dust and sprinkled it over the whole of the sword, like one might sprinkle flour over dough. Then at the boy's instructions, I picked up and handed over the flat hammer and he started just under the hilt and ran an edge of the hammer over the rested of the sword. This brought about a small wake of pixie dust, the remainder of which seemed to settle into the stone, though still sparkling. He did the same thing to the hilt, only this time using the arced hammer edge to keep the roundness of the hilt. After tapping his foot for part of a minute, during which I thought the stone and dust must be settling into place, Peter gingerly lifted the edge of the hilt and the whole sword followed it. He turned it with speed and grace to the other side of the blade, and laid it down again. Peter repeated the process with the stick making the thin groove in the other side of the blade, and then with the pixie dust and the two hammers settling the dust into the sword. My sword.
OKAY! So many events in this story to come, but not sure how to get to them from here...I'll figure it out. Please keep the reviews coming, and no flames!! Thank you!!