Hi, my dear readers,
Thank you so very much for the reviews and messages. And a big thank-you to Snowdrop and the beautiful imagine she made for me. Thanks!
Yeah, we're nearing some new action now that will shake whole Neverland and its habitants. And not in a good way, mind you. Ashford and the others use the portal and arrive in Neverland.
Well, concerning the portal and its location: the ruins of the named abbey are really existing in North-Surrey. At the end of the chapter, in the little epilogue, I'll give you some links to have a closer look at them – for all, who are interested (smile). The yew, I mention in this chapter, is real, too and was named 'Tree of the UK' in 2022. And some disclaimer: the owner of the nearby Waverly Abbey House Dalton refers to in this chapter, was indeed that famous football/soccer-player and broker, and I refer tot his family with greatest respect.
And now, have fun with the new chapter,
Love
Yours Lywhn / Starflight
Chapter 20 – Crossing The Worlds
Dalton Ashford, paused, gaping at his former nanny. "You want the boy?" he asked, staggered.
"Yes," Brynna Lunette answered firmly.
He shook his head and snorted. "To what purpose? Bringing the boy here will only bring more trouble than he's possibly worth!"
Brynna smiled ruefully. "Yes, it's risky bringing him with you. If he is a changeling or not isn't important. If he was raised by fairies, they will defend him with everything in them. But in his veins flows the blood of eternal youth. And my time is running short." He frowned, and she sighed, "Dalton, I'm over seventy. How many years do you think I have left?"
Ashford shook his head as if to clear it. "You want to brew … something … from his blood to make you young again?" He sighed. "There's no such thing as a fountain of youth, Brynna. You know that."
"Such a 'fountain' doesn't have to be a place, Dalton." She was pacing now. "Mystical things were given many different names to confuse their history so that people search for the wrong things in the wrong places. The boy is many years old, yet he stays young. This is not simply because of his chosen home, this Neverland, but also with the fairies and the circumstance of his existence."
"That's just double-talk, Brynna. There's nothing there I can believe. And what will happen to him once he's here?" the viscount asked quietly. "I think I can capture him, even flying and fighting he is still only a boy. I have experienced hunters with me. But what about after our return? How much blood do you need? Don't think me ungrateful, but I won't allow you to kill a child for-"
"He isn't a child as you know it, Dalton. I don't even know if he is human, but- "
"But he is a boy! There are limits, Brynna!" Ashford said tightly.
The old Welsh woman rolled her eyes. "Don't fret, Dalton. I've no intention of killing the little freak. I need a few centilitres of his blood, possibly again after one or two days. He will be weakened, but in no danger. Afterwards you can take him to an orphanage, one of those that still are administrated with a … let us say, a firm hand. You would have to make sure that he remains there and doesn't ruin everything by playing the little hero."
"I don't like it," the viscount grumbled. "He's good friends with Wendy's brothers – and with Wendy herself. If they know that I've kidnapped him, they can make trouble for us, even call the authorities."
"And what would these authorities find? A wild child with no parents, no home, telling the most fantastic and unbelievable stories. In the end they would put him in an orphanage or an asylum as well, but if you do it, you can choose the place." The left side of her mouth curled. "By the way, we would be doing him a favour. A jungle is no place for a child, even an enchanted child. Perhaps he will grow again in the absence of the influence of the Fae. We would be giving him the chance to become a normal boy with a normal life."
"You're making lame excuses now. I've read Wendy's diaries," Dalton reminded her slowly. "He has chosen this life in Neverland, and refuses to grow up."
"When have children had a say in what is good for them and what is not? They have to be trained, raised with a stern hand to learn to master their future. You know yourself that most children want to remain children. It's far easier than facing the responsibilities that come with adulthood. But everyone's childhood must end. All children grow up."
"… except one," Dalton murmured. Seeing her raised eyebrow, he said, "That's how Wendy's first 'book' starts." He rubbed his temples.
"I have never asked much from you," she said calmly. "It may sound vain to you now, but it will help not only me, but also the boy, even if he won't see it for many years. And, by the way, if I brew a youth elixir, it can also lengthen your life. And that of your precious little writer."
Ashford groaned. He didn't like this one bit, but he knew he couldn't deny Brynna this one request. "All right," he snapped. "I'll do what I can. I can promise no more." He rose. "Come on, demonstrate to us what you tinkered together for us to use against the fairies." He gestured toward the door. Together they went to the green salon where Hutchings and the hunters waited. Lunette wanted to give them her last instructions concerning the defence against any fairy, pixie, gnome, bogey or whatever else was flying, hopping and swimming through Neverland and its waters.
Entering the salon, Dalton realized that Einar and the other hunters were already clad in their well-used brown khakis, looking quite ready to trek through a jungle. But Professor Archibald Hutchings, philosopher of culture, was a sight to behold.
He wore pale tan khakis with a brown leather belt, a cartridge belt around his left shoulder and a holster with a pistol. High brown boots and jodhpurs completed the outfit. All in all, he looked like an academic on his first exploration outside the library. Which was probably the truth. The clothes might have been appropriate, if only they had fit better. His girth had obviously increased since the time the professor purchased it. Especially the jacket, buttons straining over his belly. On the table beside him lay a high white pith helmet. Dalton wondered if the hat would fit on his large head. Despite his explorer's clothes, the professor looked completely out of place, as if he'd hopped out of one of those travel brochures showing rich Englishmen visiting Egypt, sipping their tea in large white tents served by servants clad in white. "All ready, I see," Ashford said, shaking his head and closing the door. Brynna poured him and herself a cup of tea; the others had already served themselves.
"Have the servants gone?" Anders asked, and Dalton nodded.
"Yes, only the cook and her assistant, as well as one of the chambermaids remain, together with Howard and Pryde. They will leave in the morning. Olivia will stay, too, to serve Miss Lunette while we're away."
Brynna smiled contemptuously. "The silly girl will not realize what is going on." She went to one of the credenzas where a heap of dried plants lay. "By the way, I ordered Kenley Fulsom to remain, too, Dalton. He can help you and the others to carry the equipment to the portal."
"Good idea. The boy is eager to earn some extra money," Dalton nodded and sat down. "And because we need both the car and the truck, you and he can bring them back to the manor."
His former nanny lifted her brows. "No. I think it better to leave the truck hidden nearby in the woods so that you and the others can return to the manor as soon as you're back. Perhaps … you should take Fulsom with you to Neverland. Like you said, he is eager and certainly useful. An extra pair of hands and eyes might be helpful. And after your return, he can drive you all back."
The viscount nodded, sighing resignedly. "All right, I'll take him."
"By the way, where is this portal?" Wickham asked. "You only said it is not far from here, but-"
"Among the ruins of Waverley Abbey," Dalton said, sipping his tea.
"Waverley Abbey?" Einar cocked his head. "A portal to a fairy realm is on holy ground?"
Brynna laughed aloud – a high, cackling sound. Glancing at Dalton, who already knew the details, she addressed the Dane. "Boy, portals between our worlds are not to be found in a cellar or in a tall building. They are ancient places, filled with power and magic since the creation of the world. Ours is found nearby, laughably easy to access, unlike many others."
"I'm not surprised it's there, for Waverley Abbey holds other secrets," Hutchings commented, leaning back in his seat. "The abbey's history is full of unusual events. The portal to a fairy realm would explain many of the oddments."
"Isn't it the old abbey in the neighbourhood?" Jackson asked, flipping a thumb westward. "I think I heard stories about it when I was younger."
"Yes, it is," Dalton nodded. "Approximately two or three miles from here. It was the first Christian abbey in England, built 1128. It was torn down in 1563 in the aftermath of King Henry VIII's wrath when the Vatican disallowed his divorce. Thomas Cromwell used this dispute to turn the king against Catholic churches and abbeys everywhere in Britain. Today only a few walls and ruins remain but there are legends that it is haunted. Of course it is haunted!" he added with a snort. "There are no English ruins without ghosts."
"And the portal?" Anders asked. "How does it come to be in the ruins of an abbey?"
'Boy, if you knew how many pagan artefacts and ancient powers linger in old churches and abbeys, you would be speechless,' Brynna thought, but did not say. She cleared her throat. "Spiritually sensitive people of all religions feel the special atmosphere of these singular places. Even in Rome you'll find churches which are built over ancient temples and those temples were built on even older ritual sites, often the builders unaware of the histories. Waverley Abbey is no exception. The ground there is full of ancient power, perhaps one of the reasons for the many troubles the monks endured. The portal is there, and it will be your path into the realm of the fae. You must be ready for anything that awaits you, so I have prepared weapons."
She lifted eight queues of braided straw in which dried leaves and dried yellow flowers were woven. "Marsh marigolds," she said. "Swing those queues through a swarm of fairies or pixies, and they will be deprived of most of their powers for a short time. The leaves are from the verbena plant. They increase the effect." She handed each man one of the queues. "Bind them on a stick to use them like a lash."
"If a few dozen fairies attack at once, the chances are we won't block them all," Oscar Alister murmured, still hampered by his disbelief of whatever beings could be waiting for them.
"I know, and so I made this for you." She lifted a cloth from behind the rest of dried plants and revealed a tray with eight small bottles with stoppers. "Don't mistake them for perfume, gentlemen, 'tis a mixture made of marsh marigold extract and absinth. Absinth is extracted from mugwort, another powerful plants used against the Little People. Spray it into the air around you or into the faces of gnomes, bogeys or whatever. I guarantee you, for the next hours you'll be left alone, and the little beasts will be unable to move." She placed the tray on the table and returned to the credenza.
"And now the third defence." She lifted eight leather straps, knotted to adjustable necklaces. Each had a pendant made of leaves and twigs. "Different forms of mugwort – absinth, ghost plant and wormwood. Wear them and you're protected against all magical tricks they might try on you. You'll be immune from the deliberate confusion of the pixies and Will-o-the-Wisps, the charms and dust of the fairies, the lies of the bogeys. You can even resist the call of a mermaid. I suggest you put them on before you pass through the portal. Just in case," she said slyly.
Hutchings nodded with approval. Dalton simply accepted his 'weapons,' the others were cautious. A few dried plants could protect them against the magic and tricks of an enemy? None were even sure of the existence of these beings, and now a few leaves and flowers would keep the little beasts in check? Who was this old woman?
Lunette saw the distrust and disbelief in the men's eyes and said calmly, "One thing you must never forget when dealing with Fae: they are part of nature. They are the true spirit of nature. And as the old saying goes, you fight fire with fire." She gave Archibald a pointed glance, and he nodded in agreement.
"Of course you refer to the dragons. We concocted a plan yesterday how to distract them to retrieve one of the eggs by using fire. In a way," he said slowly.
"Good. I expect you all back in one piece." Brynna looked at Dalton, then straightened her thin figure. "And now, gentlemen, you should eat. It's the last decent meal you'll get before you return from Neverland. Dinner is served in the dining room in an hour."
The men rose, leaving the queues and bottles on the table. Dalton felt his nanny's hand on his arm, and waited behind. "You did a marvellous job," he told her quietly. "Thank you."
"That is yet to be seen. Those fools you're calling hunters don't take the threat of the Fae seriously, so beware. You might survive one lazy slip in your dealings with them, but no more. Fairies, pixies, even bogeys – they are quite attractive. But they're more dangerous than a whole pride of lions, so be careful."
"I will," Dalton replied and laid a hand on hers. "You'll see," he said with more confidence than he felt, "everything will be fine."
*** PP *** PP *** PP ***
Wendy ate a breakfast and lunch in one, straightened up and swept out the hideout, with John's help; then took her nightgown and a lemon to the stream to rinse out the spots from the night before. John stayed nearby, carving a piece of wood with a knife, perhaps creating a gift for Tiger-Lily. Wendy was appreciative that her brother had said no more about Hook's late-night visit, keeping his thoughts concerning her and the captain to himself. There wasn't much she could have told him. She herself was quite unsettled concerning their relationship.
The fear she had felt as Hook collapsed, her fierce desire to protect him as she held him, the butterflies as he kissed her (even if his kisses were light, chaste ones) and the feeling of safety she felt as she fell asleep in his arms told her that, indeed. something had fundamentally changed in her. Well, perhaps not so fundamentally at all. As she rinsed the delicate material in the cool stream, she thought. She remembered when Peter and Hook stayed back in the Mount of no Return to face the warlock together with the Elves, Indians and Firebolgs (little devil-like creatures who lived in the volcano.) It was then the younger Elf Nihal had taken her into his arms to comfort her. It was at that moment she wished for the first time that James Hook was holding her like this. And later, when she rescued him at the last moment and he embraced her, the strange tingling in her chest had become too strong to ignore anymore. But now the sensation had grown into heat, throwing sparks, and she knew what they meant. Her feelings for the man hadn't changed. They had grown. Grown into something only a young woman could feel, but never a little girl.
If she had been in London, she would have contacted Victoria, met with her somewhere, where no one could eavesdrop, and then pour out her heart and listen to how her friend reacted. But Victoria was far away, in another world. Her mother, to whom she could tell almost everything, was far away as well. Yet this was too precious, too personal to talk about with the boys, least of all John or Peter. And Bumblyn, as sweet and understanding as the little bogey was, would not understand this.
So, who was left for a heart-to-heart?
Tiger-Lily! Yes, the Indian princess was younger than she, but emotionally mature. And she'd lived among many families without the English/Victorian/Edwardian traditions of keeping everything private behind thick walls. Tiger-Lily certainly had witnessed far more of life than any other girl of her age in London, so she coveted the girl's insights.
It was already too late to go to the Indians and get back before dark. Their conversation would certainly last a good part of the day. She decided to visit Tiger Lily the next day. Wendy rose with the mostly clean but wet nightgown in hand, hung it over a low branch and sat down in the grass. Leaning her head against the trunk, she closed her eyes, suddenly missing her mother and Victoria immensely.
*** PP *** PP ***
Aboard the Jolly Roger, the day had been rather lazy, partly because the captain of the ship was downright tired. After returning from the meeting in the Indian village, Hook had eaten a late breakfast, freshened himself, changed clothes, inspected the vessel, and retired to his quarters to rest. He started to read a book, the one that had told him how long he'd been here in Neverland – or so he thought. That the publication date was already thirty-four years old had been the next shock.
Two centuries away from the Mainland … He could barely believe it, but the evidences were irrefutable. And as he began to read 'Around the World In 80 Days', he saw the many profound changes which had happened at home, not only in society but also in the scientific realm. After the first chapters, he had so many questions he would keep for Wendy the next time he saw her, he was about to write them down so as not to forget them.
Wendy … He hadn't seen her today, if you didn't count their walk to the hideout in the early morning. And he already missed her. … WAIT … By Neptune's salty wet trident, that was l-a-u-g-h-a-b-l-e! He was a feared and dreaded pirate-captain, for God's sake! Growing restless because he hadn't seen a little stick of a girl for a few hours? May all the mighty beings of the Seven Seas have mercy on him, but he was turning into a love-sick fool!
Grumbling at himself, he continued to read and forced his thoughts away from the memories of … two shining dove-blue eyes and a breathtaking smile. Finally, eyes closing on their own, too tired to busy his mind with all the new ideas anymore, he laid the book on his chest, reclined on the settee, surrendering. 'Only a few minutes…' he promised himself and promptly fell asleep. Yes, he was exhaust, but with everything he had learned in the last hours, and recovering his memories, his active mind gave him no peace, rather the opposite. Voices and pictures from the past arose in his memories.
… He was back in England…
… He looked down at smaller timber-framed houses along a pier made of stone, water slapping against it. It was rainy, but warm, and the ship beneath his feet moved gently on the waves, even though moored. The smell of the salt water and fish being unloaded, the cries of the gulls filled his senses. He watched a man of his own rank, a lieutenant clad in the blue and yellow uniform of the Royal Navy, running up the gangway, waving at him wildly. He recognized his friend, Arthur Thurgood, the second born son of a baronet. They had entered the Navy together and at first travelled on the same ship, but now they served on different vessels. Happy to see the other man, James went to him.
"Arthur, what a nice surprise. Did you come here for us or-"
"James, listen!" the other man interrupted him feverishly and gripped both of his arms as he reached him. In his eyes lay something James hadn't seen often: genuine fear. "You have to leave the ship and Portsmouth as soon as possible – now!" Arthur pulled him away from the ship, down the gangway.
"What?" Taken by complete surprise, James Andrew Shalford could only follow his friend, seeing that he wasn't joking. "Arthur, what has gotten into you?"
"Not here!" the other man answered and pushed him through the crowd that was welcoming home the returned ship. James tried to pull free, but his friend would have nothing of it. He only stopped when they turned into a small alley two streets away from the harbor. "Listen, James," Arthur began in a subdued voice, in haste and obvious anxiety, "the authorities think you're a part of a conspiracy against the new King George I."
Disbelieving, James frowned. "What? Me? Have you gone mad? Who told you this?"
"No, no, listen! Your family was accused of treachery and found guilty," Arthur answered, whispering, looking in all directions. But no one took notice of the two officers.
James felt the blood drain from his face. "My … my family? This … this is insane! We're as loyal and obedient as sheepdogs! Who-" He was interrupted again by Arthur's almost frantic words,
"The guards are only a few minutes behind me. They have orders to arrest you and bring you to London. They will execute you, James. You have to flee!"
James grew cold. "This is a bad joke, isn't it?" he asked almost pleadingly, feeling as if the pavement had just dropped away from under his feet.
Arthur shook his head and lowered his voice still further. "No, regrettably not. It happened six weeks ago. I'm … I'm sorry, James, but your father and your eldest brother are … dead. They were hanged."
It was like a punch to the belly. His father and his older brother … dead? Hanged because of a death penalty and … "What about Kenneth? My mother?"
Arthur gulped. "Your brother Kenneth … was killed during the arrest. He tried to protect your mother and … was run through by a sword. Your mother … she was spared a penalty because there was no proof that she was part of the conspiracy. But she was banished from England. I heard she went to Belgium, to your sister Anabel's family."
James' heart beat hard enough to make his ribs hurt. An icy fist had gripped his stomach and was twisting it around, as he began to realize the brutal truth. His family … was no more. And he could expect the same fate if no miracle happened, because someone had …
"Proof? What proof? Who did this?! Who accused our family!?" he asked hoarsely, while the blood buzzed in his ears. "What god-dammed bastard told those lies about us!?"
Arthur took a deep breath. "Ashford. Earl Gilbert Ashford.
"Gilbert Ashford? That little, envious, spiteful, slime-covered parvenu accused MY FAMILY of conspiring against the king?" His face was now red with fury, and he only lowered his voice, because Arthur gripped his shoulders and shook him.
"For God's sake, James, stay quiet! If someone hears you …" He moistened his lips. "Yes, Gilbert Ashford accused your family and some kind of evidence was found in your home. I don't know if it was real or false, but it was enough to send your father and your brother to the gallows. The Ashfords got your family's manor as a payment for their service to the crown." He tightened his grip around James' shoulders as the other man began to sway. "You have to flee – now! – or you'll share your father's and brother's fate!"
"My father … would NEVER do such a thing!" James rasped. His voice was leaving him. "That's … that's a lie! I have restore our good name and-"
"And you can't do it from prison or the gallows, so, for God's sake, come with me to the inn! I have a room. I have other clothes for you and a horse. You have to get away from here – unrecognized." He pulled his friend along with him.
"But… there has to be some kind of justice. I'm an officer in the Royal Navy and …"
"And your ship was chosen to accompany King George to England – the perfect moment for someone aboard who is after the king's life. That's what the authorities think, not I. If you want to stay alive for now, come with me!"
They tumbled through the crowd, turned down different streets and then around corners until everything became a blur…
Awakening with a gasp, Hook sat up, confused, heart pounding, breathing hard. Again. For a moment he didn't know where he was; his mind was still occupied with the last remnants of his dream. A dream that was a real memory.
He looked around and recognized his quarters aboard the Jolly Roger in the light of a few candles. It was dark outside and quiet on deck. Already night? Or, at least, late evening? Good God, a fine example of a watchful captain he was. Sitting up, he caught the book and laid it aside. He saw a tray with dinner on the table, and felt a smile forming, breathing returning to normal. Good old Smee. It was rare that he thought about it, but he could call himself lucky that the crazy Irish hen walked into his life all those years back … after his flight from Bristol ...
Bristol …
The pictures of his dream rose again and he pushed them back. Yet the bitter taste of his wild emotions from those hours haunted him. He knew what happened after Arthur warned him. 'God bless Arthur, he'd saved my life.' James made it out of Portsmouth – by a hair's width. He tried to get home. He knew that he rode up Charles Hill toward the manor, as … Well, his memories blurred at this point and only resumed as he was on his way northwest with a bleeding, mourning heart, determined to avenge his father and brothers and to clear their family's name. But he had to escape first – escape not only the new king's soldiers, but also Ashford's men, who also hunted him since he had approached the manor.
And somehow he managed it. Being a well-trained naval officer with a talent for battle tactics, he was able to lay false trails and sent his pursuers on proverbial wild goose chases. He made it to Bristol and immediately hired on a merchant ship under false name; a ship that set out to the Caribbean where he planned to go into hiding for one or two years until he dared to return to England with a new identity to clear his family's honour. Only it never came to that. The ship on which he travelled was raided by pirates. Not by any simple buccaneers, but by the infamous and dreaded Edward Teach, also known as Blackbeard.
It had been a decision of seconds – fight a lost battle and die or join the pirates. He did the latter for two more reasons besides staying alive. One: the English crown suffered enormous costs which went hand in hand with the pirates' raids. This suited James just fine as his former loyalty to the throne that he had grown up with, depended on, preached to others, had been destroyed when the new king, who hadn't even set foot on English shores, had simply allowed the death sentence of his father and brother on the nod. And two: he could fill his empty purse, because he would need money – a lot of it – to avenge his family and restore their honour. He had carved a reputation across the seas earned in bloody battle and despicable actions. He was a feared man, and he would use that along with a hold full of treasure against the Ashfords.
But even this plan was scuttled. Fate had another destination for him in mind – Neverland; an island not found on any chart, where the laws of the universe didn't exist. Here he lost a hand, his body now mirroring his hurt and crippled soul and turning his heart to iron by the mangled flesh and metal claw on his right arm.
But then God showed him sweet mercy in the shape of a witty pretty girl-child whose fierce courage, shining smile and gentle compassion mixed with those adolescent feminine charms soothed the pain and bringing light to the darkness of his world. This girl had changed into a beautiful young woman, whose newly awakened desire was directed toward him. He knew it! He saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice, felt it in the soft shivers that ran through her when he kissed her.
And in the middle of this first birth of happiness, the first inkling of hope for him, a dark phantom of the past arose from the shadows in form of a descendant of the man who robbed him of his family and home, his entire life. If Dalton Ashford dared come to Neverland to steal Wendy from him, Hook would destroy him. He wouldn't allow an Ashford to take the young woman who had been brave enough to uncover the man in the sinister shell he, James Hook né Shalford, had become. Yes, he wanted her for himself – desperately – but even more importantly, he had to prevent his sweet kitten getting entangled in a marriage with a member of the family that ascended in society by lies and murder.
He knew he was far from perfect, that he had killed. And lied. And plundered. And he had no right to regard himself as someone worthy; someone Wendy deserved. Far from it. He knew that he was a criminal. But he would never cage her in, would never force her to do things she loathed – and that was more than Ashford could ever offer her, because society wouldn't permit any breaches of common behaviour or breaking away from the role women had to fulfil. Wendy would be completely unhappy, and if there was one tiny thing James could do better than any nobleman of the whole word, it was making her happy, letting her be what she was: a free spirit.
Hook rose from the settee and moved to the mullioned windows, tossing the book aside. His gaze took in the island, its shape was dark against the star-filled sky.
"You won't get her, Ashford," he whispered. "I will never allow it." He bent forwards and braced himself on the sill. "Don't you dare to come to Neverland – it will be your downfall! I swear it by everything I hold dear!"
*** PP *** PP *** PP ***
The dim headlights of the truck and Lunette's Wolseley wove their way along the dark, muddy Waverley Lane that curved between the trees and crossed the river Wey, then continued between the river and the low hillside. Not far away Mother Ludlam's cave was located. Lunette pulled off the road, switching off the headlights. Behind her Kenley Fulsom did the same to the truck. Parking the car, Lunette left it. Hutchings, Anders and the others descended the loading ramp. Behind them was the forest and in front of them, four hundred feet away, they saw a great house lying in the pale light of the moon that shone past scuttling clouds. The windows were all dark, except for two.
"We are fortunate to have the moon," Brynna said quietly. "We only need small pocket lanterns for the path to the old abbey." She gestured towards the foot path that branched off the clearing where the vehicles parked, leading southwest.
Everyone grabbed their part of the equipment, keeping the truck between them and the manse, desiring to remain unseen. They all bore backpacks, rifles fixed; even Dalton. He wore brown gear with higher boots, a straw hat now in fashion for the summer, and a waistcoat with many pockets. All of them wore pendant repellants made of absinth, ghost-plant and wormwood around their necks, and everyone had a flask with the fluid made of marigold and absinth tucked in the pockets of their clothes.
After unloading, Fulsom drove the truck off the road, parking it behind a copse of trees where it was unlikely to be seen this time of the year. At least not while there was snow on the ground. It was to remain hidden until their return. Wearing simple dark clothes and a cap, he melted with the darkness as he jogged back to the others. He glanced over the peaceful scene of the mansion, a lake, fields to the left, he once again thought this was an odd location for a 'safari'. "This is where you're going on safari?" he asked no one in particular.
The others looked at each other. "Wasn't our young friend here informed what this 'safari' will be?" Einar asked.
Brynna lifted her brows. "No, I thought Dalton would-"
"You hired him for the job. I thought you would tell him everything he needed to know." The viscount glanced from the old woman at the young man beside him, who blinked in confusion.
"Well, I got this odd leather pendant, but-" Kenley stopped as his employer lifted a hand.
"You'll see everything soon enough," Ashford interrupted him, and started down the footpath; shielding most of the light. "Come on, everyone, we can't waste any more time."
They walked along the footpath that ran between fields and a few trees. The lake began to their right. The mansion was on a slight elevation behind the water, partially hidden behind large bushes and trees that belonged to the estate's park. Waverley Abbey House had been built 1725, mostly with stones from the ruin nearby – a practice that had been done since the dissolution of the abbey. Many houses in the area were made of those old stones.
Brynna frowned. "I hope no one will see us from there," she said, nodding towards the building.
"I telephoned our neighbour this afternoon," Dalton said quietly over his shoulder. "Rupert Anderson is traveling with his family to Torquay along the English Rivera during the Easter holidays. Only a few members of the staff are still there. The chance of anyone seeing us is very low."
"Rupert Anderson? That famous football player of the Old Etonians, on the National Team around 30 years ago?" Hutchings asked.
"You're interested in football?" Jackson asked.
"Young man, I may be a bookworm with an unusual interest in folklore, yet even I like to get out of the house. And football is not the worst of sports."
"It's overvalued," Brynna scoffed. "I don't understand it: twenty-two grown men running over muddy meadows after a ball, then kicking it away again the moment you reach it. A game for boys, no more."
Dalton smirked. "You can grouse all you want, Brynna, but our world would not run without football anymore. This sport is one of the most popular for the past fifty years." He glanced at the professor. "Yes, our neighbour is Rupert Anderson from the Old Etonians," he answered Archibald's question. "But over the last two decades, he has become a very successful fruit broker and a very nice gentleman. Just now, I'm grateful that he and his family are not here. The fewer prying eyes at Waverley Abbey, the better."
Alister whistled quietly. Jackson and Wickham glanced at him and he nodded to the left ahead. And there it lay, Waverley Abbey – or, regrettably, the rest of the once large and very impressive abbey complex.
As clouds cleared away from the moon again, its light revealed the remains of a vast structure. All were momentarily captured by the sight to the northwest. The layout was visible in the remainder of the low walls, no higher than a foot or two. The vestiges of three tall arched windows showed where one of the church wings connected to the refectory and the hospital that the monks established fifty years before the abbey was torn down. Higher walls and arches which attached to nothing stood weathering away. Opposite, in the southeast where the River Wey made a large curve, other remains of the monks' dorms stood. They still had their gables. The moonlight showed where the windows had been and in the domain of the lay brothers. Even a part of the once beautiful arched roof was still present, yet ivy and other plants had begun to regrow after scientists had examined the ruined buildings three years ago and had freed them of vegetation.
Thin fog rose from the river and the lake as the eight men and the old woman left the footpath and made their way towards the ruins. It blurred their passage, despite the lamps picking out their way. Dalton, now walking beside Brynna, looked down on her. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he saw her lips moving but heard no sound. Her eyes peered into their surroundings, and he was certain that the pendant she always wore was softly glowing beneath her scarf. The glimpses he got of her face in the occasional flickers of moonlight showed him a face he barely recognized. He shivered again as a thought intruded: Brynna calls herself a 'wise woman', but once again he suspected that she held far more unholy power than she admitted. He didn't want to call this woman, who had raised him, lived in his home, whom he now served, a witch, but ...
The ground was soggy; the endless rain and the melting snow had turned the soil into sludge wherever they left the path. The grass was grey and brown, and Dalton could see how marshes formed in the area every time the river Wey occasionally flooded in spring or autumn.
As they entered the area of the former abbey, Dalton turned, hearing Russell and Alister cursing softly. Then he saw what unsettled the two hunters: tiny lights rose from the banks of the Black Lake. The viscount frowned. Will-o-the-Wisps were usually seen during the summer months, and not in this weather. Yet there they were. If any of the other men had sincerely believed in the Little People, they would have seen the tiny faces and bodies encased within the bluish auras. Some of them appeared nude, others clad in the most delicate and ephemeral garments that came and went in their evanescence. Their alien countenances revealed no discernable expressions, no anger, no openness, no curiosity. Both Dalton and Brynna avoided staring. The others only saw their encasing blue lights.
"I don't like this," the old woman grumbled. "These little beasts can mean only trouble."
"What beasts?" Wickham asked, while he kept a wary eye on the dancing lights.
"Will-o-the-Wisps. Ignore them," Lunette said, turned and headed toward the remains of the church and the adjoining refectory and the hospital. As they drew nearer, it was deathly quiet, the echoes of the monks' choruses and prayers long gone.
"This is most interesting," Hutchings said suddenly. He was whispering as if he didn't want to disturb the deathly peace that lingered between the old walls.
Dalton glanced, seeing Archibald pointing to their left. The viscount followed the older man's outstretched finger 'til his eyes came to rest on a large impressive yew. Its roots grew over the low wall, embracing it. "This tree is more than four hundred years old," he murmured.
"A yew is one of the holy trees from the Celtic belief," the professor also murmured. "There is a sayin' that it has magical powers and watches over the dead, which is why you find it even today in graveyards."
"It self-seeded after the Dissolution," Lunette mumbled. "Very fitting. Not only that it watches now over the former site of the abbey, but also that it grows on stones which once were the cemetery wall." Dalton and Hutchings were sure they heard mockery in her voice, but they dismissed the thought immediately, as it didn't fit the woman. She suddenly stopped. "There is the portal," she said, pointing ahead towards a lower rounded arch. In earlier times it had been the door to the cemetery, now it stood alone, only attached at one side to a wall of the former rectory.
"This is-" Dalton began.
"- your road to Neverland," Brynna nodded.
"To where?" Kenley Fulsom asked from the rear of the group. He carried one of the larger boxes and a backpack. Red-faced and confused by the night's wanderings, he stared at his employer and the old woman, who, he was sure, was a genuine witch.
"Neverland," Wickham repeated, moving forward to stand beside the viscount. "Don't get me wrong, Milord, but it looks like an old arch in the middle of old ruins."
"What did you expect, Mr. Wickham? A tunnel of light? A doorway with a golden knob? A shining window showing what lies on the other side?" she asked. The mockery in her voice was very evident this time.
"No, for surely then the whole world would know that there are faery realms," Morton growled, shooting the old woman a glare.
"Faery realms?" Fulsom blurted, staring at the hunter, who only shrugged; the scar on his left cheek jerked in a scornful glance. Kenley looked at the viscount, who ignored him, then at the professor and finally at the others. But all the men now concentrated on the old archway.
Brynna stepped forward and took a small spray bottle out of her cloak pocket. "Dalton, come here!" she demanded, and Ashford advanced to her side. "Listen, I will close the portal after you and the others are through it." She pulled a second little spray flask out of her pocket and offered it to him. "Take this with you and remember very well the location where you enter Neverland. There might be other portals besides this one, and but only this one will you lead you back to Waverley Abbey. Spray the content of the flask on the threshold – on the ground, or floor or whatever there is – and the portal will open again." She pulled off the cover and as she began to spray it on earth. He saw that it was dark.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Miss Darling's blood mixed with a … special brew. So be careful that you don't lose your flask. The girl's blood alone will not open it again."
Dalton frowned. He still regretted sedating the young woman and taking her blood, but what was done was done. He frowned and supressed the regret.
Brynna looked at him in mild disgust, as if she could read his mind, then she turned back toward the archway – and stopped. There, beside the ruins of the monks' dormitory, stood someone. In the light of the waning moon, she could make out an old woman, wearing a medieval dress with a scarf. Her white hair was tied into a thick braid that lay over her shoulder. Even at that distance Brynna could see that the woman was old, very old. The stranger looked at her with piercing eyes, accusing, angry. Then a cloud moved in front of the moon and as the light vanished, the old woman did also.
Brynna pressed her lips into a thin line. She was almost sure whom she had seen: Mother Ludlam – or her ghost. There were a few legends of ghosts haunting the ruins of Waverley Abbey, so why not also that of the white witch? But whatever – or whomever – she had seen, the apparition was gone. Shaking her head, she returned to her task. She painted a line from one side of the opening to the other beneath the archway and sprayed the rest on the stones around the arch. And everywhere the fluid touched, the ruin and the ground beneath, light began to flicker. Within moments, the opening of the archway glowed with light. And in the middle of the light…
… they could see trees, bushes and other undergrowth, bathed in the twilight of a waning moon. The night was alive with the sound of chirping of crickets, a breeze, the cry of an owl, the rustling of the leaves. It was a nightly idyll, completely different from the dark, cold evening around the eight men and the old woman.
"Now there's a proper sort of portal, Mr. Wickham, is it not?" Lunette asked sardonically.
The hunter crossed himself, as did several of the others (despite the fact that none of them was Catholic), but none answered, staring at the image before them. He was looking into another world – not in a crystal ball but life-sized inside a magical portal. Fascinating!
"God and all the angels preserve us!" Fulsom whispered, wide-eyed.
"This is the island of youth. Neverland," Brynna said calmly to the boy. "And you're going with the others to this island to … fulfil three tasks." She looked at him. "You – all of you! - wear your pendants the entire time in Neverland! Never take them off! The dried plants will keep the Little People away."
"Little People?" It was clear as mud to Kenley.
"Pixies, fairies, gnomes, bogeys – they may appear as attractive little beings, but their mischief can turn into wickedness. They can even be deadly, so be warned!" she said casually.
"Am I hearing her right? Instead of having a safari – or training for a safari in Africa, like you told all of us, you … you're going to … to a mystical world?" Fulsom was now addressing the viscount.
"Yes, and you belong to the chosen few who will set foot on another world." Dalton placed a firm hand on the younger one's shoulder. "I'll pay you three times as much as I usually pay you."
This sounded satisfactory to Fulsom's ears, yet he glanced at Brynna. "The cauldron you… got. You needed it for the magic here, didn't you?"
Lunette only smiled, then she glanced at Dalton. "It's time. The portal will close in moments. As soon as you have passed through, I will destroy the line on the ground and the gateway will close. When you return, do the same when" she glanced at Kenley, "everyone you want to take with you has passed through the portal. The interruption of the line," she pointed at the wet line made of Wendy's blood and magical herbs. "will close the portal instantly."
Ashford nodded. "Hopefully it won't come to that. But we don't know if we'll be pursued." He touched Brynna's arm and whispered, "I'll do my best to bring you what you want." Then he straightened and glanced at Einar. "Mr. Anders, let's go first, then the others."
He approached the shimmering light within the weathered archway, took a deep breath and stepped through it. He didn't know what to expect, but there was little difference beside a ruffling of his clothes and hair. And then his feet stood on soft moss and grass that hadn't been drenched in rain and melting snow, but was dry and smelled of summer. The heavy scent of tropical flowers hung in the air, mingled with the cool dampness of a late night and the salt smell of the sea. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against cliffs some distance away reached him as well.
"Come along, men, the weather's fine!" Moving aside, he made room for the others who followed one by one. Looking behind, he saw Brynna standing at the threshold of the portal and behind her the dreary landscape of the end of a northern winter.
"Keep watch!" Lunette's voice echoed through time and space, then smudged the fine line on the ground, destroying the portal. The light bloomed up a moment, then it died, and within a blink of an eye the old woman, the enormous yew to her left and the field were gone.
They were alone now, on a strange, mystical island, with three assignments to fulfil. And with a few Will-o-the-Wisps that had come along, or belonged to Neverland; none of the men knew, nor cared. The little creatures flew around them one last time and shot away, clearly nauseated by the smell from the 'pendants' the mortals wore.
"Now, this is truly fascinatin'!" Archibald Hutchings' words were understandable. There, where a few moments ago the passage to England had stood, a stone archway remained, weathered and slightly mouldered like Waverley Abbey, but constructed of dark stones and a taller than the one they had used in Surrey. Two rusted gates hung open on rusting hinges, and as Alister shoved against one, it creaked, but barely moved. The archway was a part of a ruined wall that was the height of two men. In its cracks, flowers, ivy and moss had become very comfortable.
"This must be fair old," the professor stated, and Anders sighed.
"I can guess where we are," he mumbled, glancing at the viscount.
Dalton nodded. Lifting his lantern, he looked around. Behind them was, indeed, a deep forest, wild and primal. It was one rarely a man sets a foot into. A small grey animal with a long thin tail was caught in the light and glanced with dark eyes at them from a low branch – a dormouse. From somewhere an owl called again and the dormouse took the hint to vanish between the leaves, reluctant to become dinner for the owl.
The forest ended at the old stone wall that seemed very long. The light of the lamp didn't reach its end to their left, but it made a turn to the right, perhaps fifty feet away. Yet the viscount was curious as to what lay behind the wall. He signalled Wickham and Fulsom to come with him and forced their way through the old gate.
It was a kind of inner courtyard. The foliage had won the stones a long time ago. There were barely any visible stones beneath their feet, yet Dalton saw that it must have been a kind of graveyard. A few of the tombstones, mostly overgrown now, were still visible. On the other side of the courtyard was another wall with a smaller gate that was closed. In the light of the lamp Dalton could see a chain with a padlock that secured the entrance.
Entrance to where? He was almost certain where they were, yet he lifted the handlamp and the light revealed the dark walls up to the remains of higher buildings and a tower with battlements. Behind it was another tower revealed in the moonlight. Walls of defence had been constructed between them.
"The Black Castle," he said quietly. "This is the Black Castle Wendy mentions in her diaries."
"Then let us hope that the current master of the castle isn't at home," Wickham grumbled. "Let us avoid a gun battle with a few pirates."
Ashford lifted a brow. "If we should meet those sailors and their captain, I want to speak with them." He glanced up at the walls again, frowning. 'And I'm really curious to find out if this captain is indeed a Shalford.'
"So, the theory is true," the professor had followed them. "The portal in Surrey is an archway that once led to the Abbey's graveyard. And here it is an archway to the castle's graveyard. So, both portals are each other's counterparts – quite amazin'." He looked up the walls. "I think this castle has to be five or six hundred years old. Earlier castles were simple residential towers with defensive walls about them. The first four-corner castles were built during the high middle ages, not earlier." Archibald smiled. "This is a find worthy to be examined!"
"If it is your desire to meet a bunch of Hobgoblins, pirates and possibly ghosts and redcaps, be my guest," Dalton sighed. Why had Brynna insisted on taking this bookish fool with them? He glanced up at the sky, now showing the first hint of sunrise. "Come on, let us see what lies in this direction." He pointed to the south. "The sun will rise within one or two hours and then we must be out of the open. The longer we stay undiscovered, the better."
He couldn't know that he and the others would be found by pixies and fairies soon, who had been alerted by the Will-o-the-Wisps which had crossed over from the Mainland, still disgusted by the ugly smell the men carried with them. And Dalton could not know that this twilight would last longer than usual. With their invasion, time in Neverland had paused, and would start again as soon as that of the Mainland was synchronized …
TBC…
Yes, Neverland was really thrown out of balance – and it will get worse for the island, as you certainly can imagine. But for now only the night will last longer than usual…
In the next chapter, everybody realizes quickly that something has changed and will act on it. The intruders get a first impression of Neverland and Dalton will meet the Indians. And Wendy gets a visit from a certain mystical powerful being she had already met during her last stay in Neverland, and will make a fateful decision, while Peter and the others are searching for the invaders…
I hope, you liked the new chapter and I deeply hope for more reviews.
Here are the promised links concerning Waverley Abbey:
maps/contrib/112597694098524297408/photos/ 51.2000826,-0.7598046,17z/data=!4m3!8m2!3m1!1e1
maps/place/Waverley+Abbey/ 51.2008385,-0.7594706,3a,64.5y/data=!3m8!1e2!3m6!1sAF1QipMmz5gv7F_x_C56OMVmUXzYWR0Pql6jRkXiLijZ!2e10!3e12!6shttps:% .com_x_C56OMVmUXzYWR0Pql6jRkXiLijZ-h141-k-no!7i3760!8i2616!4m7!3m6!1s0x48742d3d217c50fd:0x4ae46f5dfb07dead!8m2!3d51.2000549!4d-0.7596438!10e5!16zL20vMDNkM2pu
Have a nice rest of the weekend,
Love
Yours Lywhn / Starflight