~Chapter 15~
The sounds of soft, even breathing floated out of Peter's throat as he lay sprawled across the highest branch of an aged willow tree, his love of heights having lured him from his seat closer to the forest floor. A frown slowly bent his lips and his brow furrowed as his eyes darted back and forth beneath his closed eyelids. The boy's limbs began to twitch slightly and his head intermittently lolled from side to side. His breathing quickened and a quiet whimper slipped past his frowning lips.
With a sharp gasp the boy suddenly jolted upright, his head pivoting as he anxiously scanned his surroundings. Placing a hand above his racing heart, Peter took several steadying breaths, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply.
His nerves somewhat less frenzied, Peter slipped off the edge of the branch, steadily falling toward the ground several stories below. He landed a few meters from where Belle slept, her arm tucked beneath her head and her lips forming a small smile. Taking care not to disturb her, Peter walked past her in the direction of the tree line. A brief walk would do him good; Neverland always found ways to calm him.
Before venturing into the shadowed forest, Peter cast one more glance at the Indian camp.
Although most of them had retreated to their tents, several natives lay beneath the stars on beds of leaves and pine needles. Wisps of smoke wafted from the fire pits scattered across the ground, their upkeep long ago abandoned in favor of slumber.
Peter turned in the direction of the forest, letting his legs carry him forward into its welcoming shade.
He did not pay much attention to the direction in which he trekked, staring instead at his bare feet. When he did finally take in his surroundings, he was surprised to find himself in a small clearing amidst hundreds of towering, ivy-covered oaks. Although he was certain he must still be in Neverland—was it even possible to leave?—he did not recognize the distinct, uncharacteristic stillness that enveloped the area.
Silence wrapped the world in its embrace as the last stars slowly faded in the lightening sky. The wind did not sigh and the vines did not whisper; the birds did not chirp and the toadstools did not hum. All was still in the early morning air.
Flashes of brilliant green light suddenly danced before Peter's eyes, their harsh presence intriguing and frightening all at once. They seemed to call to him, beckoning him closer, and although the boy felt no wind, the air around him was filled with low, despairing howls. Even as he walked nearer to the bright beams and felt the dry leaves crunching beneath his feet, he heard no other sound.
As he approached, the flashes began to swirl, twisting and curling like a bizarre maelstrom of light. Everything around it grew dark, until the emerald vortex was all the boy could see. The dark, gaping center seemed to stretch infinitely, and a shudder of terror traced Peter's spine at the thought of falling into it. He wanted to flee, to put the entire width of the island between himself and the howling vortex, but his legs continued to drag him closer.
Suddenly, the maelstrom of light lurched toward him. Peter jumped back with a gasp, but the ground behind him had disappeared...
He was falling...falling...with no sign of ever stopping...
"Peter!" A shrill cry echoed in the distance as the boy hurtled through the empty air.
"Peter Pan," the distraught voice yelled again, "Wake up!"
Peter's eyelids snapped open. A rush of panic surged painfully in his chest as he watched the treetops above him soar farther and farther away. His mind blank with fear, the boy flailed his arms, hopelessly trying to grasp the hanging vines.
"Fly, Peter!" A tiny orb of green light whizzed past his head, and for one wild moment he wondered if it was a tendril of the vortex trying to reign him into its swirling center.
"Fly!" The voice shrieked in his ear. The small leaves brushed against his arms and torso as he continued to plummet to the earth. He was not going to stop, he was going to plunge deep into the ground that was waiting to swallow him up. Fly? How can I—
Peter froze, his back hovering mere inches above the forest floor. For a brief moment, it seemed as though everything else around him had frozen as well. His heart pounded painfully in his heaving chest, and all he could hear was the sound of his own labored breathing as he worked to control it.
When he could finally will his body to move, Peter tentatively reached a trembling hand down, his fingers grazing the leaves beneath him. He swallowed, a jolt of fear surging in his stomach as he realized just how close he had come to... Peter shook his head, willing his thoughts in another direction.
Slowly, he raised himself to his feet, hovering above the ground for another moment before gently settling himself upon it.
"Aibreann," he breathed, his lips twitching into a half-smile as he took in the shimmering emerald appearance of the fairy flying before him. She was watching him intently, her russet eyes bright and her forehead creased in concern.
"I'm sorry if I startled you, Peter," she said quietly, still gazing concernedly at him. "You gave us quite a fright." She watched as Peter ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply as he strived to regain composure. "Are you alright?"
"Us?" Peter asked, slightly confused, and then felt his face grow warm as he realized Belle was also watching him, worry etched in her features. She stood to Aibreann's right, her hands clasped together in front of her.
"Yeah," he laughed nervously, absentmindedly pulling at one of the leaves on his tunic. "Just lost my balance, that's all," he added with a shrug. Belle seemed unconvinced, her lips pressed together in a small frown. Aibreann gave him a long, searching look, before shaking her head slightly and flying so that she stood before both of them.
"I've come to escort your friend back to the Drey while you search the Jolly Roger," she explained, her wings buzzing behind her as she hovered closer. "If you'd like me to," she added to Belle, bowing her head in the woman's direction and smiling softly.
Belle nodded and returned the smile, even though worry settled heavily in her chest at the reminder of that morning's plan. "Thank you," she said quietly, reaching out a hand so that Aibreann could clasp one of her fingertips in her own tiny hand, shaking it.
"We'd best be off now, so we can make sure we are there when Peter returns," Aibreann advised, placing slight emphasis on the word "when" as though she could somehow detect the fear undulating beneath Belle's composed expression, and wished to soothe it. She floated in the direction of the tree line, gently beckoning for Belle to walk beside her.
"Right," Belle murmured, though she did not move to follow the fairy, instead staring concernedly at Peter. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as the magnitude of what the boy was about to do, what they might discover, washed over her.
"I won't be long," Peter assured Belle, moving to stand before her. "I've been to Hook's ship loads of times. I probably know it better than he does," he added, grinning broadly. When Belle still hesitated to leave, he reached out to grasp her hand.
"I'll come back. I'll bring your friend, too," Peter promised, briefly squeezing her hand before releasing it and launching himself into the air. As he soared up to the treetops, he turned his gaze downward, watching as Belle and Aibreann began their trek back to the Drey. He waved as Belle looked up at him once more, and smiled reassuringly as she returned the wave, before her slight figure disappeared in the thick shade of the tree line.
Peter's smile faded as he focused his gaze on the dark water in the distance. With a deep breath he propelled himself forward, determination to fulfill his promise to Belle welling in his heart.
The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed in the belly of the Jolly Roger. Rumplestiltskin sat slumped against his prison's door, his right arm wedged through the bars to fiddle with the heavy lock.
Sometime around late afternoon Rumplestiltskin had managed to detach the handle of the tin pail and bend it into a makeshift key for the lock on the cell door. However, the threat of one of Hook's men seeing him attempt to pick the lock had prevented him from utilizing the self-made device until well past nightfall, when the men's heavy footfalls and grating voices were replaced by silence.
The continued absence of a guard to survey him throughout the night inspired both relief and suspicion within Rumplestiltskin. The duties aboard the ship were not so demanding that one man could not be spared. The short, pudgy one with the striped shirt certainly could not prove much help on deck. Why, then, had Hook not assigned someone to keep watch over the brig?
The answer was simple, and had in fact been the reason so many of Rumplestiltskin's deals had turned out in his favor: the man placed an excessive amount of confidence in the power of magic, and too little focus on the power of words.
Confident that his efforts to escape his prison would not be detected, Rumplestiltskin had then spent the next few hours plunging the tin handle into the lock and maneuvering it this way and that, listening for the telltale clink that would indicate his success. Several times throughout the night he had been forced to abandon the attempt when the wood above him creaked loudly, lest the noise be the product of one of Hook's men rising from his bunk.
Neverland's moons hung low in the night sky, their bottom halves submerged beneath the horizon. Dawn would soon arrive. If he did not escape soon, he would have to spend another day in the Jolly Roger's brig, hoping his compeller did not realize the flaw in his previous command. It was a risk he was unwilling to take.
Fingers grimy with rust and grease, Rumplestiltskin doubled his efforts to pick the lock, closing his eyes and lending all of his attention to his sense of touch and hearing.
When he was seconds away from tossing the makeshift key aside and simply blasting the lock away with the little magic he possessed, a soft clink met his ears.
Rumplestiltskin's eyes shot open, and he could not withhold a smirk as the lock fell open into his waiting palm. Pulling himself to his feet, Rumplestiltskin wrapped his fingers around the bars of his prison's door. Slowly, lest the hinges creak, he pushed it open, listening intently for any sound of approaching footsteps.
No such sound met Rumplestiltskin's ears, and with a satisfied smirk he stepped past the bars of the brig, his feet carrying him in the direction of the ladder.
A loud creak in the floorboards above made him freeze in place, adrenaline soaring through his veins. He remained still, his senses on high alert as he waited for any indication that his escape attempt might be interrupted.
Several minutes passed without further incident, and with a steadying breath and a slight shake of the head, Rumplestiltskin continued once more toward the ladder.
He ascended the rungs cautiously, listening and watching for any sign of Hook or his men. When he reached the deck, his eyes took in the soft teal of the eastern horizon lightening as dawn approached. It would not be long before the sinister captain and his crew awoke. If he had any hope of retrieving his dagger and escaping the confines of the Jolly Roger, he must act before the first rays of sunlight fell upon the land.
Taking care to conceal as much of himself as possible in the shadows of the ship's masts, Rumplestiltskin shuffled toward the doors to the captain's cabin. As he pressed himself against the ship's mast for a moment, he saw a sign of movement above the water in the distance. It looked as though something, or perhaps even someone, was soaring toward the Jolly Roger. A jolt of fear raced through him at the thought that it could be the boy Hook intended for him to slaughter. Rumplestiltskin rushed toward Hook's quarters, seized by a more urgent determination to find the dagger and flee. Throwing a furtive gaze about the ship's deck, he slowly pried them open, prepared to run and hurtle himself over the gunwales should his compeller sit awake inside.
Finding no sign of the captain, Rumplestiltskin vigilantly walked inside, his feet carrying him straight to the mahogany desk in the center of the chambers. Taking care not to upend the candlesticks or ink well resting on the glossy surface, he lifted the piles of maps and spare parchment. His hands shook slightly as they sifted through the thick papers. Locating no weapon beneath them, he pulled open the desk's sole drawer, flinching as the wood creaked loudly in protest. His gaze darted to the curtain hanging at the northern end of the cabin, behind which he presumed his compeller slept. When no sign of movement met his eyes, Rumplestitlskin continued his search.
Finding no dagger concealed amongst the drawer's contents, his attention turned to the elaborately decorated scarlet coat draped over the high back of the chair. Rumplestiltskin tentatively slid his hands beneath the lapels, checking first the right breast pocket, and then moving to check the left.
"Running, are you?" The snide but undoubtedly familiar voice of his dark compeller echoed behind him. For a moment Rumplestiltskin did not move or speak, staring down at the desk and coat before him as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Slowly, he straightened his posture and turned around, forcing his breathing to remain even and his face blank.
Hook stood several feet from him, dressed as though he had not slept. His dark eyes bore into Rumplestiltskin's, the expression contorting his features unreadable. Rumplestiltskin wondered if he had been there the entire time, watching silently as his prisoner desperately rifled through his belongings. The hook attached to the end of his compeller's left arm gleamed as the first golden rays of the morning sunlight slid over the horizon.
"Always running," Hook hissed, his lips pulling back in a primal leer. Before Rumplestiltskin could even think to react, the captain lunged forward, slamming the older man against the nearest wall. Hook pressed his right arm just below his prisoner's neck, pinning him in place.
Smirking slightly, his eyes black with fury, the captain trailed the point of his hook down Rumplestiltskin's neck, scratching but not fully breaking the skin. He paused at the collar of Rumplestiltskin's shirt, before jerking his arm so that he tore his prisoner's shirt down to the middle of his chest.
"Did you honestly think I would forget to command you to stay in the brig?" He sneered, pressing the sharpened point of his hook down until a bead of blood welled beneath it. Rumplestiltskin clenched his jaw at the stab of pain, wincing as his compeller began to slowly drag the weapon down his chest.
"Did you think I would be so foolish?"
Rumplestiltskin stared at him, a muscle jumping in his temple as the hook pressed deeper into his flesh, blood now flowing freely down his chest. He tried to lurch forward to relinquish the captain's hold on his shoulders, but Hook merely shoved him back against the wall, smirking.
"Are you a coward, Rumplestiltskin?" He asked snidely, tilting his head to the side as he withdrew his hook from Rumplestiltskin's flesh and glanced casually at the blood partially coating it. Rumplestiltskin ground his teeth, glaring at his compeller and fighting back the strong urge to spit in his face.
"When I ask a question, I expect you to speak," Hook commanded with a snarl, "You owe me that much." He pressed the point of his hook at the top of the cut he had made, trailing it down as he retraced the bleeding wound.
Rumplestiltskin inhaled sharply through his teeth, biting back an enraged shout as he felt the cold chains of magic constrict for the first time in days. Inhaling a steadying breath against the anger and revulsion roiling inside him, Rumplestiltskin spoke.
"Tell me," he began, his voice raspy from lack of use, "Have I offended you in some form or manner of which I am woefully unaware, Captain?"
Hook's eyes narrowed at the sardonic question. "Greatly," he growled, digging his hook farther into the man's flesh.
Rumplestiltskin grunted slightly, and then, much to his tormentor's surprise, chuckled condescendingly. "My, what a temper you have. All this over a simple escape attempt—"
His words were cut off as Hook pulled him forward slightly in order to slam him once more against the wall, his hook sinking even deeper into Rumplestiltskin's chest. "Wrong!" He snarled, his black eyes practically ablaze with barely contained fury.
"To what degree is my offense to you?" Rumplestiltskin forced the words past his lips as the pain of the impact with the wall slightly ebbed.
"Punishable by death," Hook responded, harshly retracing the wound he had made once more. Rumplestiltskin could not stifle another grunt as he felt more of his blood slide down his chest.
Nearly half of the sun rested above the eastern horizon now, bathing the cabin in its golden light and glittering of the bloodstained hook. The captain continued carving the flesh of Rumplestiltskin's chest, watching attentively as his prisoner merely grit his teeth and occasionally winced at the pain.
"Well, well, quite the masochist, aren't we?" He taunted as a quick flick of his hook split another centimeter of skin.
"Coming from a sadist?" Rumplestiltskin spat back, trying to lurch away from the wall again and flinching as he only succeeded in further impaling himself on his compeller's hook. The captain merely leered in response.
"What are your intentions?" Rumplestitlskin snapped; regardless of how much pain the captain had caused him, the wound remained superficial, and could easily be mended. Hook's lips stretched into a smirk, though his eyes remained filled with black rage. He removed his hook from the groove on his prisoner's chest, smirking more widely at Rumplestiltskin's gasp of pain and pulling a white handkerchief from beneath his vest to casually clean some of the blood off of it.
"Intent is meaningless," the captain finally responded, quirking an eyebrow at Rumplestiltskin's resultant glare.
"Do you mean to kill me after you have me hunt down the boy?"
His compeller turned slightly to gaze out of the window, leaning the curve of his cleaned hook against his chin as though deep in thought.
"No. That would be redundant."
"What do you mean?" Rumplestiltskin asked, his brow furrowing as confusion now joined the frustration building within him.
Hook's smirk widened into a dark grin at his prisoner's question. He indolently stepped closer, pausing only when his face was mere inches from Rumplestiltskin's. Refusing to back down, Rumplestiltskin did not move, staring unblinkingly into the dark gaze of his compeller.
"You see, you are already dead to me," Hook sneered, before more anger than Rumplestiltskin had ever seen him display suddenly filled his normally lifeless eyes.
"You were dead to me the day I fell through that vortex."