“She lives, still. We’ve been communicating, she and I.” Eve plunged her roots deep into the earth beneath our feet, and I realized she’d firmly entrenched herself while we’d been talking. “The island has told me about herself, shown me the memories of this place. Wonderful, horrible memories. She shows me images, visions of the blood that has been shed on her soil, of the battles that have been waged, of the children she once sheltered.” Eve’s voice drifted as she spoke, becoming almost monotone, as if she were reading from a script. It reminded me of when I’d first spoken to her, of how artificial she’d once sounded.
“Does that mean ye can bring her back?” I asked. “Return the land to what it once was, somehow?”
“No, Quinn, I cannot. What Neverland once was can never be again. Her consciousness, awakened by the blood of Manling and Fae alike, is fading. As I am, now, it is all I can do to share her memories. To keep her company.”
“As ye are, now? Eve, please, I don’t understand.”
Eve shook herself, limbs rattling in the process, clearly agitated. “I see now that it had to happen this way. I see so many things, now. All these seemingly unconnected incidents, all designed to draw you here, one way or another. This island, this tree, in the land of Fae…” Eve drifted off. “I cannot believe he planned it, but the sheer coincidence is staggering.”
“He?” I echoed, feeling remarkably out of my depth. “He, who?”
“Merlin,” Eve replied. “The wizard who created this place.”
7
I stood in silence for a full minute, wheels turning as I played back Eve’s words in my head. The implications were, of course, mind-numbing—literally; I couldn’t begin to grasp the full extent of the revelation. I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. But every question seemed less important than the next, each “how” followed by a “why” followed by another “how.” Eventually, I settled on the simplest, most direct inquiry I could think of.
“He did what?”
“Well, perhaps ‘created’ is the wrong word,” Eve allowed. “The island itself existed long before Merlin arrived, merely another landmass among many throughout the Fae realm, occupied by pixies and a tribe of wild Faelings who would one day be called ‘braves’ by the mortals who encountered them.”
I frowned, realizing Eve was describing Neverland as it must have existed before the coming of Peter Pan and his Lost Boys, before Wendy Darling and her brothers, before Hook and his pirates. An island untouched by mankind. Since she’d essentially hacked the island’s brain, she must have accessed those memories—though how she was engaging with them, I had no idea.
“Alright, let’s say I believe any of this. And that’s a big ask, mind ye. What could have possibly brought Merlin here?”
“It seems Merlin had a unique interest in islands at the time,” Eve replied, tilting a bit as if to shrug. “Something to do with Arthur Pendragon and Easter Island. A derivative of Avalon, perhaps? Or maybe he was searching for something? I’m afraid he never shared his plans. Whatever his reasons, it was on this island that Merlin planted the seed which would create what you call Neverland. The undying island. An island outside of time. Perhaps Merlin thought to create his own paradise, here? Or perhaps he foresaw what this place would become? All I know is he came alone.” Eve tapped the side of the Hangman’s Tree. “It was he who brought her here to house the seed.”
“Hold on, just hold on.” I began waving my hands about, unable to process the wealth of information being thrown at me. I mean, Merlin wandering Neverland? Merlin creating a paradise in Fae? It seemed impossible. Not because it couldn’t be true, but because it felt like a storybook mash-up. Like one tale had bled over into another—as improbable as a “so-and-so walked into a bar” joke. And yet, was it so unlikely? Someone had altered this island—why not my father?
“Do you remember what Peter showed you when you were here last?” Eve asked.
“What he...” I drifted off as I tried to remember what all Peter had shown me during my previous trip to Neverland. Together we’d toured his settlement, stayed in his house, even met with his family. But that wasn’t what she meant, and I knew it; Eve had led us here for a reason. I found myself staring up at the pathetic remains of the Hangman’s Tree. Back then, it had stood tall and proud, almost impossibly large. Peter had escorted me inside—knowing it would be easier to show me than to explain. And it was there I’d discovered the truth, that I’d learned why time had returned to Neverland. “The missin’ grain of sand,” I muttered.
“Yes,” Eve replied. “The very grain Merlin placed here—back then merely one piece of a much larger, much more powerful whole. The grain he grafted to this very tree. The same grain the Temples later retrieved.” Eve fell silent for a moment, then spoke so softly it seemed she was talking entirely to herself. “They saw what he’d built here and were horrified by it. A paradise fueled by the blood of children. They must have thought themselves noble for removing it. And perhaps, in a way, they were.”
“Eve, wait,” I said, holding up a placating hand as I tried to process everything she was telling me. I mean, I knew they’d visited Neverland themselves when Nate was a child. Peter had told me as much. But Eve was insinuating they were the ones who’d stolen the grain of sand. And why? What was it Eve had said? “What d’ye mean, ‘fueled by the blood of children’?” I asked.
“That was the price. The cost of keeping the island and its inhabitants young forever. Blood. The fact that lost children were among the victims still haunts her. But it was for this task she was made, you see.” Eve’s tone sounded so distant, so impartial, that it might as well have been a robot with her voice. “Paradise is an expensive commodity.”
Struck by Eve’s take on the island’s alarming origin story, I glanced down at Cathal, wondering if he were as bothered as I was. But the hound hardly seemed interested; he’d closed his eyes, content to listen but not speak. Taking a cue from the faerie hound, I took a calming breath and turned back to my ward. “Even assumin’ it’s all true, what does this have to do with us? With me?”
“Don’t you see? It’s all tied to you. Always has been. You came once before, subconsciously responding to her call. But the grain was already gone, and the power inside you dormant. Indeed, it’s possible you were never supposed to use it, to awaken it on your own. Regardless, here you are again, against all odds. And she’s been waiting for you.”
“She? Ye can’t mean the island?”
“In a manner of speaking. This tree was left unattended, and her roots have grown. In this respect, she is both the tree and the island—a brain and a body.”
“And she’s been waitin’ for me, why?” I asked.
“Because she believes you hold the key to the island’s salvation. You are of the same bloodline, after all. Merlin’s blood, his power, his ability to bend time to his will—all of these you possess. It seems this undying island was designed for him, only he never returned to claim it as his own. But then you came along, and she hoped that you might find a way to halt the flow of time, as he did. Or at least set her free. Only it seemed you couldn’t hear her.”
I shook my head, trying to recall my time on this island, to think whether or not I’d heard or felt anything out of the ordinary. “I couldn’t, not that I’d have known what to do, anyway. I don’t know what I can do for her, now. But wait,” I interjected, nagged by a growing sense of confusion. “If the Temples took the grain, how is she still alive?”
“The grain held back the tide of time, but it didn’t sustain her, or this place. Neverland—the name she chose for herself so long ago—is a sentient creature, one of a few such beings living throughout the realms. It was her task to shelter the grain and pass along the power she drew from her victims, to facilitate the island’s perpetuity. But, with the grain removed, the sudden influx of time sought to ravage this place. And so Neverland used her own life force to delay, to slow the inevitable march of time. But the Manlings stopped coming.
The children grew up. The pirates grew old. The battles ended, and she was no longer able to sustain herself with their blood. Eventually, she was forced to draw on the island’s very essence. In the end, though she’d held back the tide as long as she could, it overpowered her. The island lives on beneath the surface, but barely.”
I had to step away with a hand pressed to my head, overwhelmed by the sheer scope of what Eve was suggesting. The notion that this timeless island—with its lust for blood—had somehow been created for a purpose, albeit an unfulfilled one, struck me as profoundly upsetting. And yet, who was I to gainsay the Tree of Knowledge? It was, as I’d mentioned to Cathal earlier, Eve’s thing. If she was certain of what had happened here, if she really did have that level of insight, then how could I argue?
“Assumin’ this isn’t a delirious fever dream you’re sufferin’ from after putting your roots in some strange island,” I said, choosing my next words carefully, “what now? How are we supposed to save the island? And, more importantly—knowing what we know now—should we? What if more children show up, and she starts feeding again out of habit?”
“Do you think her evil, Quinn MacKenna, for being what she was meant to be? For doing what she was tasked to do?”
The question caught me off guard. Did I blame the island itself for being a staging ground for decades worth of brutality? No, I blamed my father. Knowingly or unknowingly, if what Eve said was true, then he was the one responsible for what had happened here. “That isn’t it,” I replied. “I just want to be sure we’re doin’ the right t’ing. Even if ye know how, we can’t revive the island if she means to harm people. It’s not fair, I know, but I won’t have blood on me hands.”
“Then would you free her, instead?”
I scowled, wondering what freedom might mean for a creature who'd fed on blood for centuries, if not longer. “Depends. What would she do if she were free?” I asked, warily.
Eve shuddered, a fraction of emotion spilling into her voice. “She’s become a being whose sole understanding of the world is pain and pleasure in equal parts. For so long, all she’s known is violence. Violence and joy. She sees war as a game and associates it with the laughter of children. Setting one of her kind free would be dangerous enough, but, given her predispositions, the consequences could be catastrophic.”
“Well, then I’d have to say no, obviously,” I said, simultaneously horrified and exasperated. Frankly, I wanted to know where all this was going; Eve had to have known I’d have reservations when it came to reviving the island, not to mention how unlikely it was I’d free Neverland under those circumstances, and yet she’d insisted we come all the way out here. What was she playing at?
“And what if you could bring her back from the brink under your rule?” Eve asked. “What if you could bind her, as your father once did?”
“Think carefully before you answer,” Cathal interjected, opening one eye. He raised his head a bit to stare up at Eve, his expression impossible to read. “You should tell her what it means to say yes.”
“It is in your power,” Eve explained, drawing my attention back to her, “to not only save Neverland, but to redress her wrongs. To show her a different way. But first, you will have to subjugate her. If you do not, if she in turn defeats you, then Neverland will drain you of everything you are. After that, she could use her newfound strength to break her own shackles.”
“Define ‘drain me of everythin’ I am’,” I said, discernibly concerned by the metaphor.
“She will devour you. Your mind, your spirit, and your power. You will become a catatonic shell of yourself, assuming your body survives.”
I gulped. “And if I win?”
“If you win, she will be yours to command.”
“And the island? Would I be able to return it to what it once was?”
“If you wish it, the island will flourish once more,” Eve replied, cryptically. “Of course, that would be but a small thing compared to what all you might achieve. A bond with one of her kind is like attaching yourself to a massive battery. It would bolster you in ways you could not begin to imagine.”
I cringed, shaking my head reflexively at the notion of amassing more power than I already had; before breaking my vow, I’d been endowed with an unprecedented degree of potential, so much so that I’d only begun to scratch the surface of what I was capable of. “I don’t care about that, Eve. I just want to give the Neverlanders their home back. Preferably one that won’t feed on ‘em.”
Eve seemed to shrug, her limbs rising and falling almost imperceptibly, as if to say it was my decision. “As I said, it would be in your power.”
I frowned, realizing it felt as though I had no choice; if I wanted to keep my promise to James and his friends, to honor the commitment the time traveler had signed me up for, to chase after a Jewel of the Tuatha de Danann, and confront Ryan, I had to do this. And yet, part of me railed against the notion that I had to do anything. Hadn’t I earned the right to say no, by now? Especially if it meant I wouldn’t have to risk my life? I ran a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to curse, to cut and run. But I knew I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t, not and live with myself. “Fine,” I said, at last. “How do we do this?”
“I’ve already prepared the way,” Eve replied, gesturing at the furrow she’d gouged into the earth. “Though there are a few additional things I must prepare. Your role, however, will be to provide Neverland with what she craves, with the only form of energy she understands.”
“Blood,” I muttered, feeling silly for not seeing it sooner. “Ye mean blood.”
“Yes.”
“How much blood?”
“Depends which of you wins,” Eve replied, matter-of-factly.
8
I sat with my back pressed against the dead trunk of a storybook tree my father had allegedly created to house a magical artifact which had absorbed the blood of children and pirates for decades, all to create some sort of timeless oasis—a design he’d clearly abandoned. If I looked at it that way, I felt for Neverland and her burden; we’d both been discarded, in our own ways, forced to make do with what we had. Eve had gone on to clarify a few concepts I hadn’t entirely grasped, though she’d made it clear most of it was conjecture. Like the notion that Neverland and I were somehow linked through my father, that she and I had been drawn together for a reason. Maybe it was the residual time magic echoing my own innate abilities, or maybe it was Merlin’s deteriorating bond with Neverland calling to me. Whatever the cause, she doubted circumstance alone had led me here of all places, and even I had to admit it was unlikely. Hell, if I hadn’t been so damn busy lately, I’d have come back to honor my promise to Peter months ago. Maybe then none of this would have happened.
“That might not have been for the best,” Eve had admitted. “Neverland was dying, but not yet as weak as she is, now. She might have sought you out proactively, forcing herself on you the way a drowning man grabs at anything he can.”
“So, what, you’re sayin’ she’s vulnerable, now? That I wouldn’t have stood a chance before?”
“That depends. If she’d tried when you first arrived, she would likely have won. But you’re different, now. You’ve awakened your birthright since then. And what your mother bequeathed to you before you returned to Fae was far more than power. In many ways, it as though you have ascended.”
“Ascended?”
“Best to think of it like the tiers of a pyramid. On the bottom, occupying the most space, you have mortals. Above them, what you call Freaks, all of whom are internally ranked, depending on their skills and reservoirs of power. The Fae run parallel in this analogy, though in their element many can seem more powerful than gods. Next, you have godlings—beings with immense power, on par with gods, but who are able to exercise them freely in the sense that there are no natural impositions. The man you call Temple is one of these, though the more I hear about him, the more I suspect he belongs in the tier above.” Eve hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted
to say something else, but quickly moved on. “Anyway, those above godlings are what you might call gods, at least in terms of their influence, their power. Some belong to pantheons, some do not. Some are immortal, some aren’t. There are those who demanded blood sacrifice, and those who never had a single worshipper. They range from the omniscient and all-knowing to the petty and spiteful. All any of them really have in common is that they belong on this top tier, forming the pinnacle in which resides a catastrophic degree of power. So much so, in fact, that a cosmic balance has been enforced upon them, either internally or externally.”
I held up a hand at that point. “Wait a second. I get the bit about the tiers. Humans, here. Freaks, here.” I’d put my hand low, then higher, then higher still. “But that third level? Ye mean, what, demigods? Angels? Demons?”
“No, not really. There are a few powerful enough to be considered godlings among them. Michael and Gabriel, the Fallen princes, perhaps a few others. Similarly, there are some minor deities I would put in the third tier. Gods who are often so overlooked they can get away with influencing the realms.” Eve had rattled her limbs, swaying them back and forth. “That’s not important. What matters is that you see the distinction between checked and unchecked power.”
I felt a suspicion tickle the back of my mind, snagged on something Eve had said a moment ago. “What makes ye t’ink Temple is a god, and not a godling?” I asked, stressing the difference between the two terms.
“The same thing that makes me wonder where you fall,” she confessed.
“Go on...”
“Imagine a balanced scale. Or the symbol for yin and yang. Whatever image comes to mind, the reality is the same. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. It is a law of the universe that some might argue gods are exempt from, and yet they bow to the necessity of it more than any other group. For every God, there must be a Devil. For every savior, a destroyer. Without those poles, the cosmos cannot turn. And turning—the inevitability of change—is what makes consciousness worthwhile.”
Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 5