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~Chapter XIII~
Rumplestiltskin stood near the edge of a rickety dock, gazing down at his reflection in the navy blue water, a warm breeze blowing lightly against his form. He wondered if any remnants of life lingered behind his eyes, or if like Hook's they had been smothered and replaced with inhuman bitterness.
The breeze tickling the hairs at the base of his neck suddenly gained in strength, sending a chill down his spine as it dried the perspiration on his head and back. He turned his gaze upward, watching as the tranquility of the sky melted into an expanse of red, the sun eclipsing so that all the world seemed to be bathed in blood. White-capped waves sloshed against the side of the dock, bubbling like molten tar. The notes of a dark chuckle suddenly echoed behind him. Rumplestiltskin whirled around, his shoulders tense at the familiarity of the laugh.
Hook stood coolly at the end of the dock, as though he had emerged from the ocean's dark depths himself, his lips curled in a primal sneer. The sinister captain's right arm was wound tight about the slender waist of Belle, pressing her back flush against his chest. She stared at Rumplestiltskin, unadulterated terror welling in the depths of her azure eyes. The curve of a silver hook gleamed against the pale flesh of her neck.
Rumplestiltskin lurched in their direction, fury roiling inside him. Before he could advance more than two steps, however, his dark compeller spoke.
"Kill the boy," Hook commanded harshly; Rumplestitlskin froze, the unbreakable chains of magic wrapped about his bones abruptly constricting. The captain curtly nodded his head in the direction of the shore. Rumplestiltskin's body obediently turned on its heel. Several meters in front of him crouched a boy. He wore a tunic sewn from a combination of cloth and tree leaves, and appeared to be drawing something in the white sand.
Rumplestiltskin faced Hook again, his mind frantically trying to find a way out of this murderous plot.
"Now," his compeller snarled, pressing his hook closer to Belle's throat. A small whimper escaped her lips as a crimson bead of her blood trickled from beneath the sharpened point.
The command felt like fire in Rumplestiltskin's veins, and he bit back a pained shout as his body once more turned itself in the direction of the boy, who was still obliviously tracing patterns in the soft sand. Horror at the crime he was about to commit twisted Rumplestiltskin's insides as his malediction forced his legs to furtively approach the shoreline.
He wanted to warn the boy, tell him to run, but the effort would be wasted. Once compelled, Rumplestiltskin knew he would not stop, would not rest, until the command was fulfilled.
Slowly his steps brought him nearer to the child. The world was completely silent; the only sound he heard was the low thud of his footsteps on the wood of the dock. His shadow seeped over the boy's figure, enshrouding him in darkness. The boy remained focused on his picture, his finger moving around and around in a small circle. Now standing directly behind his victim, Rumplestiltskin slowly raised the sword he had not realized he was carrying. He looked down, his heart leaping painfully into his throat.
The boy was drawing a spinning wheel.
Rumplestiltskin jolted upright, panting raggedly. His gaze darted about his prison, seeking but finding no sign of the mysterious boy or his hooked nemesis. The jarring notes of a rooster's crow suddenly echoed on the wind as the first rays of sunlight crawled over the eastern horizon. The low thuds of Hook's men pulling themselves from their bunks sounded above.
Rumplestiltskin stretched widely, his head throbbing painfully as another loud crow pierced the early morning air. He had fallen asleep slumped against the iron bars of the brig's door. His fingers were coated in grease and rust from picking at the lock through most of the night. He brought a slightly shaking hand to his forehead, pushing the damp locks of his hair back. His pulse thrummed in his veins as if he had just run a marathon. A dream, he assured himself, it was only a dream... Rumplestiltskin rubbed a hand over his eyes; the reality of his predicament seemed even more biting now with the vivid memory of the dream fresh in his mind.
Panic bubbled like hot oil in Rumplestiltskin's veins. He needed to get out of this cell before Hook delivered another command. He needed to find Belle and return to the land they had so foolishly left, the land where is son truly was. Stretching the crick out of his neck, he leaned sideways against the door to his prison and reached once more to fiddle with the heavy lock. The padlock was rusty, but not to the point of crumbling. It was a simple enough device; if he could only find something to use as a makeshift key...
The dull thuds of a pair of feet descending the ladder from the ship's deck forced Rumplestiltskin to abandon his task and retreat farther into his cell. A burly man with a thick brown beard sneered as he approached, carrying a tin pail and a small bundle in his grubby hands. He pulled a flintlock pistol from beneath his vest, aiming it at Rumplestiltskin as he shoved the key into door's lock. The pirate's beady eyes narrowed as he pulled the heavy door open enough to toss the small bundle inside. As it bounced on the floor, Rumplestiltskin saw that it was a stale piece of bread wrapped in a grimy handkerchief. The tin pail shortly followed, half of the water inside it sloshing onto the floor.
The pirate glared at Rumplestiltskin, his pistol still pointed in his direction as he slammed the brig's door shut. Rumplestiltskin smirked; it was foolish for the pirate to expect him to make an attempt to escape in broad daylight, when the entire crew and their captain were awake.
Shoving the pistol back beneath his vest, the pirate turned about and clambered up the ladder to the deck. Once his booted feet disappeared through the hatch, Rumplestiltskin scrambled toward the pail, pulling it up to his lips and gulping down a third of the remaining water inside. He reveled in the cool sensation of the liquid sliding down his throat, grateful that it was still too dark inside the cell to see if it was blood. Grimacing slightly, he shoved the morsel of bread into his mouth, chewing without tasting and taking another gulp of water to wash it down.
Replacing the pail on the floor, Rumplestiltskin once more resumed his task of picking the lock. He ran his fingers along the door's hinges and pulled hard on the bars, testing for any sign of weakness. A sign of movement outside of the small circular window caught his eye. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, craning his neck to peer outside of the porthole.
Two tiny figures danced on the wind in the distance. At first Rumplestiltskin believed them to be two birds, sparrows perhaps, but as they neared he could make out the shadowy shapes of two tiny pairs of arms and legs. Squinting, he could detect the merest hint of a colorful aura surrounding each of them: one orange and one violet.
Cursing inwardly, he flattened himself against the darkest corner of his cell, letting the thick shadows curl around and conceal him. He had been betrayed twice now by the winged cockroaches; he would not be fooled again.
His ears could just detect the low hum of the fairies' wings as they approached the port side of the Jolly Roger. No doubt they were checking to ensure that the Blue Fairy's ploy had been successfully executed. Grateful that the porthole was too miniscule to allow much light through, Rumplestiltskin pressed himself closer to the bulkhead.
The little creatures alighted on the circular rim of the porthole, cupping their hands against the glass to peer inside. The orange one turned to face the purple one, apparently saying something. The latter shrugged, and they both glanced once more into the belly of the ship. Rumplestiltskin held his breath, itching to launch a burst of magic at the tiny devils, but willing himself instead to remain silent and motionless in the shadows. He held his breath as the purple one stared intently in the direction of where he hid. After a moment her gaze wandered away, and Rumplestiltskin bit back a sigh of relief.
Seeing nothing, the fairies took off once more, flying low to avoid passing too close to Hook's cabin window. He watched as their diminutive figures disappeared in brightening morning sky.
With a sigh that was half-relieved and half-exasperated, Rumplestiltskin slid to the floor, nearly overturning the tin pail of water. With his brow furrowed slightly, he reached over to pick it up, examining it intently. He wrapped his fingers about the thin handle, tugging slightly. His lips stretched into a small smirk as he realized that, should he manage to detach it from the pail, the handle would be the perfect size for a makeshift key.
"Pssst!"
The annoying hiss of a lone Neverbug creeped through Belle's walls of blissful unconsciousness. Frowning slightly, she rolled onto her side, halfheartedly waving at the air to encourage the insect to fly off.
"Psssssst! Tinker Belle!"
Belle's eyes shot open at the whispered sound of her peculiar but charming nickname. Oh, it was not a Neverbug. Grinning broadly, Peter stood above her head, a large burlap sack slung over his shoulder. Belle smiled lightly at him, pushing herself up on her elbows and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with a fist. She had fallen asleep beneath the window in the lowest cabin, using her folded green jacket as a pillow. From her seat she could see Neverland's sky just beginning to lighten as dawn approached. A gentle breeze wafted through the window, carrying with it the sweet fragrance of Neverland's flowers as they sleepily opened their petals.
"We'll check the waterside first," Peter explained, walking over to the small table and heaving his bag atop it with a slight grunt. "It's not far from where we found you, and you said you two were looking for water before you got separated."
Belle nodded, rising to her feet and stretching widely. She raked her fingers through her curls a few times, forsaking the attempt when it became evident that their wild tangles were completely untamable. She watched as Peter overturned the burlap sack, dozens of smooth skipping stones clattering on the table's wooden surface. Shooting Belle a beaming smile, he snatched up a handful and began hiding them throughout the cabin.
"What are you doing?" Belle asked as the boy hovered a foot off the ground to place one of the rocks in a hollow knot in the cabin wall.
"It's a sort of scavenger hunt for the boys. It'll keep them busy while we're gone," Peter explained, returning to the ground and crouching low to place a few under the table. "Keep them out of trouble," he added quietly, sitting back on his heels to inspect his work, his gaze briefly traveling to the carving of Scout on the wall.
Belle watched him for a moment, touched by how much he cared for his friends. Though not even the eldest, he seemed to assume the role of their guardian. Smiling softly, Belle picked up a handful of the stones herself and helped the curious boy conceal them about the room and the vine staircase.
The first golden rays of the morning sun were just peeking over the eastern horizon when they had hidden the last of the skipping stones. Turning in place to admire their work, Peter grinned toothily at Belle. With a wink, he somersaulted out of the window and soared to the tops of the oak tree. Laughing lightly and shaking her head, Belle leaned out of the window to watch him.
Through the gaps in the tree's vibrant green leaves, she could see Peter with his hands cupped around his mouth. He inhaled deeply, and a moment later the long, loud notes of a rooster's call echoed all throughout the Drey. The boy's crow sounded remarkably realistic, and Belle found herself laughing more loudly as she heard the yawns and groans of the other boys as they stirred awake. She heard Peter wonder aloud about the whereabouts of an entire bag of new skipping stones, hinting that they must have been hidden by a pair of elves all throughout the tree house. His words were quickly followed by the sounds of trampling feet and laughter as the boys scrambled from their platform beds and started racing down the vine staircase.
Peter flew back down to the lowest cabin, climbing through the window and flashing Belle another broad grin, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Shall we?" He asked, gesturing grandly to the stairs. Shaking her head and smiling at his antics, Belle followed him out of the cabin.
She could hear the triumphant shout of Tootles echoing from the Drey as they walked into the surrounding forest; he must have found the first skipping rock.
"One down, forty-nine to go," Peter laughed, looking back over his shoulder at the tree house.
As they walked farther into the forest, Belle could not help but notice the affection with which Neverland seemed to react to the boy's presence. Dangling vines whispered excitedly against each other and flowers turned their pretty, multi-colored heads as he passed. Tiny finches hopped between the branches above, tweeting merrily as they followed the pair down the forest path. Occasionally Peter leapt into the air to swing on a low-hanging branch, hovering slightly longer than natural when he let himself fall back to the ground. One time he came back down with a white magnolia blossom in his hand.
Bowing dramatically and sniggering, he presented it to Belle with a falsely portentous, "For you, my lady, if you'll have it."
His actions seemed so terribly familiar in that moment that Belle almost felt dizzy with the sense of déjà vu.
"Thank you," she said after a moment, laughing softly. She curtseyed daintily and tucked the flower behind her ear, smiling broadly at the boy's laughter. They walked in silence for a while, their eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of Belle's missing companion.
"Belle?" Peter spoke quietly as they climbed over a large fallen tree.
"Hmm?" Belle responded, frowning slightly as she focused on trying to scale the log without slipping on the lichen that covered its bark.
"Why did you and your friend come to Neverland?" He asked, holding out a hand to help her.
"We're looking for his son," Belle explained, smiling gratefully as she grabbed his hand and pulled herself over.
"His son?" Peter repeated, his brow crinkling slightly. "Is he one of the Lost Boys?"
Belle looked over at him, unable to translate the emotion she saw in his eyes; it seemed like a mixture of both hope and dread.
"I don't know," she responded quietly, chewing her bottom lip. "I'm not sure how old he is. They were separated a long time ago," she explained. Peter nodded, fixing his gaze on the grown before him as they continued walking.
In truth she had found herself often wondering during her short stay at the Drey if one of the boys could possibly be his son. She and her love—oh, if only she could remember his name!—had been separated before he could tell her more about his child. She had originally assumed that his son would be much older, but from what Peter had told her, it seemed that the boys did not age-or perhaps aged very slowly-in Neverland. Although the possibility that one of them could be his son now existed, she had no idea how she could go about determining which one was, considering they did not remember their parents. Peter had said Slightly still remembered his a little; perhaps she could talk to him when they—
"Hear that?" Peter suddenly asked, cutting off her train of thought, his face brightening and a slow smile stretching his lips. Belle closed her eyes, listening closely. She could hear the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, and then sliding gently back out to sea. When she opened her eyes Peter was grinning more broadly, his eyes glinting in excitement.
Reaching for Belle's hand, Peter led them at a brisk pace toward a narrow opening in the tree line. When they cambered through it, Belle's jaw dropped at the beauty of the sight that greeted them.
The water of the ocean glittered like sapphires in the early afternoon sun. When the waves collided with the white sand of the shore and sent plumes of mist into the air, the beach was suddenly filled with dozens of tiny, vibrant rainbows. Not a single cloud lingered above, and the sky was such a radiant blue that it was almost impossible to distinguish where it ended and the ocean began. Releasing Belle's hand, Peter started walking toward a wooden dock that stretched several meters into the sea, rising only about a foot above the water. Belle followed him, watching as a flock of seagulls soared above, squawking a fond hello as they passed the boy.
They stopped at the edge of the dock, Peter still smiling widely as his eyes took in the breathtaking view before him.
"This is my favorite part of Neverland," he whispered after a moment, reaching down to quickly brush his fingers along the cool surface of the sea. A tiny minnow jumped happily into the air.
"I can see why," Belle said, letting her eyes trace the tranquil scenery once more as she deeply inhaled the salty air.
"This is where I learned to fly," Peter revealed quietly, stepping closer to the dock's edge. "The fairies taught me. I don't think I've ever been happier," he added, letting himself hover a few inches above the wood, grinning. Belle smiled at him, and after a moment he alighted once more on the dock. He crouched down, dipping his hand once more into the water.
"There used to be mermaids around here, you know. They used to sit on the rocks by the cove over there." He pointed to a cluster of boulders lying in the water near the ledge of a cliff.
"You would have loved them," he said, smiling over at Belle. "They had the most beautiful singing voices I've ever heard." He glanced at her then, blushing slightly, "That is, until I heard you sing," he added quietly, his ears turning red. Belle smiled at the sweet boy, ruffling his dark hair with her hand.
"What happened to them? Why don't they sing here anymore?" Belle asked after a moment, leaning forward to look more closely at the cove. Peter's gaze darkened slightly; his eyes scanned the expanse of the ocean, glaring.
"Hook and his men hunted them," he explained angrily, and Belle wondered why she had not arrived at that conclusion herself. The villain seemed to be behind any tragedy that took place on the island.
"Mermaids are clever, but they don't have weapons, or magic like the fairies," Peter added, peering down at the water. "It wasn't long before they were all...gone."
Belle felt a new wave of horror surge in her veins at the boy's mention of Hook, a murderer of children and, apparently, mermaids. If this man was holding her love prisoner... She shuddered, willing the panic she felt rising in her chest to subside.
"There might be a few left, hiding somewhere," Peter said hopefully, misinterpreting Belle's reaction. She smiled feebly at him, and they started back toward the beach to search for signs of her companion.
They walked along a wide stretch of the shore for hours, climbing the dunes and glancing into the trees for any indication that someone had recently been there. The sun was starting its slow descent toward western horizon when they finished inspecting the rocky cove for a second time.
They sat down on one of the boulders, Belle sighing and running a hand tiredly through her wild curls. Peter watched her, frowning slightly.
"The fairies are still searching. Maybe they've had better luck," he offered, his lips twitching into an assuring smile that did not quite reach his eyes. Belle shrugged, trying, but failing, to find comfort in the boy's words.
"Let's go back to where we found you," Peter declared abruptly, rising to his feet. "It's not far from here, there might be something there we didn't notice before."
They left the beautiful waterside in slightly lower spirits than before, but with a renewed determination to make some sort of progress in their search. Peter was right, the hillside where they found Belle was not far from the shore. They reached the top of the steep slope within an hour, and Belle's stomach twisted slightly as she realized just how far she must have fallen that night. She reached a hand to the bruise on her forehead, both immensely grateful she had not suffered a more serious injury, and terribly worried that her love may not have been so fortunate.
They scoured the area, brushing leaves and shrubbery aside to see if anything valuable to their search lay underneath. After a while, Peter's triumphant cry met Belle's ears. She turned around to face him, her heart thudding frantically with hope.
Grinning, he pointed to a low-hanging branch. Belle's eyes followed his finger. A long arrow with a colorful feather dangling from the end stuck there. The sight of a lethal weapon in the place where she and the man she loved had likely been separated replaced her hope with a painful rush of fear. She felt her throat begin to constrict.
Seeing Belle's fearful response, Peter quickly plucked the arrow out of the tree and approached her.
"Don't worry, they're not bad people. They just don't trust strangers much," he explained hurriedly. "If they have him, they won't hurt him. It's probably all a misunderstanding. We can go to their camp today; they know me, it'll be alright." He smiled as Belle nodded shakily.
"We can head there now. You'll be back with your friend by nightfall," he said confidently, reaching out a hand for her to take. She clasped his hand, shooting one last apprehensive glance at the lethal arrow resting in Peter's other hand.
Oh, she hoped the boy was right...
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