“Wait,” James said, holding out one arm to stay his companions. “I do remember her.”
“Yes, she was the one I told you about. The one who—” Tinkerbell began.
“No, not from your stories,” James interrupted, shaking his head. “I met her once. I did, didn’t I? When I was younger, in my father’s...in Peter’s house.” The instant James said the name, it was as if sadness had reached out and slapped each of their faces. Grief-stricken—that’s what they were. Which told me all I needed to know about poor Peter Pan.
“What happened?” I asked, brushing aside the implications of Peter’s death for the time being; he and I hadn’t known each other long, but in our brief time together he’d patched up my wounds, offered me sage advice as well as sanctuary, and had put both himself and his people at risk for my sake. No matter who I’d become since then, no matter how many lives I lived, I would forever mourn the loss of a man like that.
“Time happened here,” Tiger Lily replied, her response gruff and concise.
“How long was I gone?” I asked. “Do any of ye know?”
James cocked his head. “How old was I when we last met?”
“Eleven or twelve years old, maybe,” I shrugged, unsure. In my mind’s eye, I pictured the bookish child who’d helped his mother set the table, who’d disdained his adoptive father’s attempts at humor. He’d been young, yes, but I remembered how those blue eyes tracked me, how thoughtful his questions had been.
“And how old am I, now?”
I grinned but quickly realized the lad wasn’t joking. “Don’t ye know?”
James looked away and said nothing.
Strangely enough, it was Oberon who answered my question, his voice shattering the sudden silence. “It seems the boy has been living among our kind,” the Goblin King explained, gesturing at Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily with one long, crooked finger. “We don’t age the way Manlings do. He probably has no idea how old he is.”
I studied Hook’s son, taking Oberon’s point; in a realm outside of time, a realm without birthdays or anniversaries, it would be hard to keep track of something as arbitrary as one’s age. “I’d say you’re in your early twenties, if I had to guess,” I said to James. “Perhaps ten years older than when we met, give or take.”
“Ten years...is it a long time for us?” James asked in response—a question so odd it took me a moment to realize what Oberon had actually meant; thanks to his upbringing, not only was James incapable of determining his own age, but his grasp of time as a concept had been compromised.
“Not so very long,” Oberon replied, his voice soft and surprisingly gentle. “A tenth of a Manling’s lifespan, if he’s fortunate.”
James nodded, his scowl so deep I couldn’t help but see the resemblance between him and his birth father—a man whose grizzled aspect had haunted the dreams of many a child. Indeed, standing as he was, his feet wide, his arms crossed, with his face turned towards the island, I found a great deal of his father in him. He had the old man’s dark, wavy hair, his lean musculature, the pointed tilt of his nose and chin. How had Peter fared, I wondered, raising a child who so resembled his greatest adversary? Or had he even been around to see it?
“The island died,” James explained, answering my question at last. “The Hangman’s Tree was the first to go. Then the forests. The rivers and lakes of Tiger Lily’s people dried up next, but by then most of the Lost People were already gone.” He flicked his eyes to me. “Time had finally caught up to them. That’s what Peter said before he passed. It happened fast, I think. One day he was simply old, the next, gone.” James cleared his throat, but no tears stained his cheeks, nothing to show how much it had hurt to see his father fade and die. “Mother lasted longer. Long enough to find Hook and bargain for the rest of us.”
I frowned. “And where’s Hook now?”
“He’s gone, too. He made the mistake of stepping on the island, along with the rest of his men. Looking back, I think they knew what would happen. Anyway, they survived long enough to escort my sister and the other children to a safe place, but that was it.”
“And what about ye?” I asked after a moment of silence, fighting against a second wave of grief as I realized that the man I’d fought alongside—disreputable scalawag though he’d been—had also passed away. In some ways, this news hit me harder. It was difficult to imagine a world without Captain James Hook; I’d assumed he at least would find a way to survive—a trait I’d admired, even then.
“What about me?”
“Why are ye here? Why d’ye leave your sister?”
“He refused to leave us behind,” Tiger Lily answered, staring at the young man with an expression that went beyond gratitude. “He knew my people had nowhere to go and no way to get there, and so he returned with Tinkerbell in Hook’s ship.”
“Tink found me after Peter died,” James explained, perhaps sensing my next question as he glanced back at the pixie, on whose face sorrow and guilt warred.
“I should have been with him,” Tinkerbell said, though I could tell it was a line she’d repeated so often to herself that it had lost all meaning. “I always thought we would have our time together again. That he’d come find me, and we’d play like we used to.”
“James escorted my braves to new lands,” Tiger Lily continued as though Tinkerbell hadn’t spoken. “And now I stay with him, to honor the boon he gave us. Perhaps even repay him, one day.”
“Alright, but why not return to your sister, now? What’s keepin’ ye here?” I asked. Oberon coughed and nudged me with his shoulder, clearly suggesting I enlist the services of the young man and his motley crew of Neverland castaways. It wasn’t the worst idea; with Hook and Peter gone, my options were increasingly limited. But I wouldn’t. The three of them had been through enough already. I’d find another way. Somehow.
“I was told to wait here,” James replied.
“By whom?”
“He was a man. Like me, but older. He told me to sail the coast and wait for a tall woman with hair the color of flame to arrive. He even described your companions, though I’m not sure who is whom.” James began counting off on his fingers, apparently recalling a list. “The grieving god. The flower. The seducer. The guardian. And the savior.”
I cocked an eyebrow at the titles, unable to place them all, myself. “And what made ye t’ink he was tellin’ the truth?”
Tiger Lily pursed her painted lips. “I will admit I was suspicious, but what he promised us was too great a thing to ignore.”
“And what did he promise?”
“He said you would save Neverland,” James replied, eagerly.
I froze, startled. “He said what?”
James repeated himself, which only confused me further. I hated to think it, but I was fairly certain someone had blatantly lied to the poor kid—albeit someone with enough foresight to predict my arrival. I turned to study the barren landscape that had once teemed with life. For some reason, it seemed fitting to me that it should have died with Pan and Hook; with them gone, Neverland would never be whole again, anyway.
“Listen, James, I’m not sure who told ye I could—” I began.
“He was a Manling,” Tiger Lily interjected, as if she were afraid I’d leave Neverland to its fate without more information—and rightfully so, considering there was little else I could do. “A Manling who called himself a wizard. A Manling who could move through time. He had a Manling name. An odd one.”
“Merlin,” James chimed in. “He called himself Merlin.”
4
Oberon and I exchanged shocked glances, taken aback by the alleged name of the man who’d insisted I could resuscitate a freaking island. Merlin, arguably the greatest wizard of all time, if not the most notorious, was a figure known around the world for his role in King Arthur’s ascension, though accounts of his exploits varied to an almost comical degree. He was also my father, though that seemed to have been left off his list of achievements. Until now, I hadn’t even know
n whether or not he was still alive. In fact, the only person I’d spoken with who’d even crossed paths with my father—the enchantress, Morgan le Fay—had felt strongly that he’d moved on, content to let the world spin without his influence. Before leaving Ipswich, I’d learned the two had once been lovers, though I’d never pressed for more details; seemed a tad unkind, asking her to relive a centuries-old breakup. Not to mention inappropriate, given our respective roles.
Morgan le Fay had also been the one to identify Merlin as my father, citing my inheritance of time-bending magic and Merlin’s impressive height as evidence. Unfortunately, that bit of trivia accounted for everything I knew about the man physically; I’d heard his voice before, but never seen his face, which meant asking what the time traveler had looked like wouldn’t be much help.
“Well, what’d he look like?” Narcissus asked, plainly curious.
I sighed.
“What?” Narcissus shrugged. “I thought it was a great question.”
The Neverlanders looked at each other in turn as if trying to come to a consensus, as if Merlin were inexplicably hard to describe. Tiger Lily spoke first. “He was a very tall Manling, dressed in the hides of strange creatures. Like yours,” she insisted, gesturing vaguely at my black scoop neck shirt and dark denim jeans.
“He wore a hat. Like Hook’s, but shaped like this,” Tinkerbell added, gesticulating. “He used it to hide his face.”
“Anythin’ else?” I asked, unable to help myself; if they really were talking about my father, then this would be the first time he’d ever been described to me. As a young girl, I’d obsessed about such things. I’d drawn him, clumsily, the way a child would. Tall, like me. Dark, curly hair, like my Aunt Dez’s. I drew him in suits, like the men on the news, like the principal at my school. Later, I’d imagined him in a black leather jacket and sunglasses, behind the wheel a fast car or on the back of a throaty motorcycle. Eventually, I met a young man who resembled that—gorgeous and suave, he talked fast and lived on the edge. Only it turned out he wasn’t a man at all, but a vampire. A bloodsucker. It wasn’t until after he realized he couldn’t drain me dry—thanks to my immunity to all things supernatural—that he’d shown his true colors; starved for affection, I’d let the bastard treat me like shit for months before I abandoned him in a burning building.
Oddly enough, now that I thought about it, I realized I had no emotional attachment to that story, to that horrific period of my life. Not so long ago, looking back on those moments had felt like prying shards of glass from my palms. Now, it was as if I held a river-worn stone. Had enough time passed, or had I simply become numb to the traumas of my own life? For some reason, I didn’t think either of those were the case. Instead, it seemed as though those things had happened to someone else, someone I could only pity—a young woman so immersed in her own pain that she began lashing out at anyone who got too close, afraid to open her heart again, especially after discovering she could love with such abandon that she’d forgive her partner anything.
“He knew things,” James replied at last, startling me. “But most of what he said made no sense. He knew about Hook and my mother, but he called me someone else. It was odd. Sometimes it felt like he was looking right past me, like I wasn’t even there.”
“What did he call you?” Narcissus asked.
“What?”
“You said he called you someone else. Who was it?”
James shook his head. “It wasn’t even a name. He called me Shake Spear. And he called me Captain.”
“He called ye Captain Shakespeare?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Strange, right? Tiger Lily and I almost ran him off, after that. But then he began talking about the Lost People, about Neverland. He told us about you. Said you would save the island, that you would make it even better than it was before if I swore to aid you and your companions.” James seemed to be looking inward, now, wringing his hands together over and over again. “We’d lost hope, you see. Neverland was our home. Leaving it behind, watching it fade and die…”
I could tell James had more to say, but that it would be difficult for him to go on, so I reached out and squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. I’d felt as he did, once; after my battle with Balor, I’d returned to the charred remains of my aunt’s house, the memories of a caring home ruined forever by the sight of it in ruin. “I understand, but—” I began.
Oberon coughed delicately into his fist.
“What?” I asked, eyes narrowed.
“If it was him, then maybe it’s possible…”
I shook my head, finding the circumstances incredibly hard to swallow. Because, if it were true—if the great and powerful Merlin had indeed dropped by on a portentous errand—it meant my father had spent decades avoiding me, only to show up long after I’d given up hope, and then only to set me up for failure. Why couldn’t he have appeared the instant we arrived—or hell, years ago, when I’d actually needed him? “Did the time traveler happen to say how I was goin’ to restore your island?” I asked the Neverlanders, my infamous temper boiling to the surface at last.
The blank stares I received told me all I needed to know about the quality of Merlin’s divinations—not that I’d had high expectations. That was the problem with prophetic mumbo jumbo: it rarely offered practical advantages. More often than not, it wasn’t until after the portentous events unfolded that it all made sense, that you could sit back and feel properly stupid for not having puzzled it out sooner. Which meant the time traveler’s promises were worth about as much as the lifeless island he’d insisted I could revive.
“Listen, James...” I began, preparing to let the young man down as gently as I could. Afterwards, I’d talk to Oberon, see if I could use one of the ships from the armada he’d amassed to fight Balor. If not, maybe I’d try and call in a few favors in the mortal realm. See what turned up. With the new Jack Frost at least a week ahead of us, I couldn’t afford to sit on my hands, but this was clearly a dead end.
“Quinn!” Eve yelled before I could say more. Surprised, I glanced over the side of the ship only to find my uprooted houseplant waving at me with several of her limbs. Cathal lay beside her, ears cocked. Had they heard everything we’d said?
“What is it?” I called down.
“I need you to come with me, but leave the others. They’ll just be liabilities.”
Taken aback by her tone, it was all I could do not to ask a dozen questions. But, unlike Oberon and his chosen guides, I trusted Eve; if she had something to say to me, I knew it would be important. Still, judging by the expressions of those around me, I could tell the others weren’t happy being called liabilities. Or maybe it was the bit about being left behind. Either way, the situation called for a little comedy. Something to lighten the mood.
“Oh? D’ye say ye want me to leaf ‘em behind?” I asked, grinning, one hand pressed comically to my ear.
“Is she always like this? Or does it get better?” Cathal asked, plenty loud enough for everyone to overhear.
“She used to be worse. I’ve been working on it,” Eve replied.
I glared down at them both, then let out a long, ragged sigh as though I were being put upon. Then, shoulders slumped, I turned to the others. “She can be a real pain. Anyway, let me go see what she has to say, alright? Maybe she has an idea.”
The Neverlanders brightened at that, but I could tell Oberon wasn’t buying it. Narcissus simply pouted. If Helen thought anything out of the ordinary, I couldn’t tell; safe behind her cowl, it seemed the face that launched a thousand ships had nothing to say regarding this one. Funnily enough, I wasn’t sure why I’d felt the need to put on an act in front of the others, only that I did. Confusion to my enemies might have been a little extreme under the circumstances, but I wasn’t certain I had any friends on board, either. Never hurt to play with my cards close to my chest.
“And am I supposed to just wait here?” Oberon asked as I approached the ladder, clearly ticked off. “I have...” the Goblin K
ing drifted off and glanced at his audience, apparently disinclined to reveal his true identity to James and his friends—though why that was, I had no idea. “I have a job to do, as you well know,” he concluded.
I nodded, acknowledging Oberon’s gripe; I’d kept him from his duties as a ruler for several days amidst the potential outbreak of a war that could see his subjects caught in the crossfire, and he had brought the guides he’d promised. It would be unfair to ask him to linger on my account, even if our goals paralleled each other’s. Maybe that was why I didn’t trust him, plain and simple; the Goblin King had his own agenda, and I wasn’t yet sure whether that agenda aligned with my own. Stop the new Jack Frost? Steal back the devourer I’d recovered from Balor’s ashes? Find the first Jewel of the Tuatha de Dannan? It all sounded reasonable, if a bit implausible, and yet—even if I somehow succeeded—what would I do, then? Would I take on Mordred, or confront Nate Temple? What if, by the time I returned, there was no war to be fought? Or worse, what if someone had already won?
“I promise not to be gone long,” I said.
“See that you aren’t. We each have a great deal to do, and very little time to do it in.”
“And what happens if I fail?” I asked, studying Oberon’s face, searching for the faintest sign of doubt. “Let’s say I save the island. We sail away from here, follow the path, and find Atlantis. What if Ryan got there first? What if we fight, and he wins? What then?”
The Goblin King favored me with a humorless smile. “Then we’re doomed. Or maybe something else happens, something we can’t predict.” He shrugged, a raw pain flashing behind his eyes, his expression unnaturally tortured, like a cracked mask put on display. Power, a great suffocating wave of it, rode my skin for an instant before dissipating. “Whatever happens,” Oberon continued, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, “I’ll stand with my subjects and lead them on a Hunt they’ll never forget.”
Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 3