Her eyes opened. She hadn’t budged an inch.
She closed her eyes again and pictured a tunnel. In her mind she flew through it. She imagined cold stone walls, a rounded ceiling, a muddy floor. She stayed a while in the tunnel, getting to know it. At the other end, she told herself, was the mainland.
She thought her strategy was succeeding. She thought she’d left Never Land.
She opened her eyes. Next to her, Rani rolled onto her side.
Prilla hadn’t gone anywhere, but, although she didn’t know it, she had made a beginning.
TWENTY-ONE
TINK FELL silent. She’d never felt so tired, and all she’d done was tell stories. She’d told Mother Dove about the adventures she’d had with Peter and about their friendship. She’d said how he used to tell her his jokes and ideas, and she’d admired every one. Extravagantly. She’d admired them extravagantly.
Of course, Peter hadn’t reciprocated. He wasn’t much of a listener, or much of an admirer of anything that didn’t come from him.
Tink had even admitted to Mother Dove that she’d neglected her pots and pans for Peter. She hadn’t said to Mother Dove, “I loved him,” but her meaning had been tantamount to saying so.
“His hair was so silky,” she’d said. “I used to perch on his head, just to feel it. And his nose! I could tell if he was smiling by looking at nothing but his nose. It would flatten when he smiled and wrinkle when he laughed. And when he wasn’t smiling or laughing, it was as nice as a frying pan.”
There was little left to tell, only the bit that made her feel the most betrayed. She didn’t want to tell it. It was too embarrassing and too painful.
“Go on,” Mother Dove said.
Tink tugged on her bangs. “But it’s sad,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to continue.
“Go on,” Mother Dove said. How sad could anything be, compared to the egg?
Tink nodded. “That first day, after I saved him from the shark, I showed him my workshop. I showed him everything. I fixed a pot while he watched.” Tears streamed down Tink’s cheeks. It could have happened yesterday, that’s how much it hurt.
“When I was done…” She had to stop and take a few deep breaths. “When I was finished fixing the pot, he said…” She hiccupped. “He said, ‘How clever I am to pick the very best fairy.’” Tink faced away from Mother Dove and sobbed.
“He couldn’t have meant it,” Tink continued while weeping. “If he really thought I was the best, why did he bring over the Wendy?” She collapsed on the sand, still sobbing. “Why did he spend all his time with her?”
Mother Dove was momentarily taken outside herself. Oh, my, she thought. Tink has carried that a long while. Poor Tink.
Rani and Vidia didn’t wake up until the sun was setting.
“Dear child,” Vidia said, “how could you let us sleep so long? Do you think we have time to waste? Do you think?”
Even Rani said Prilla might have used better judgment.
Prilla thought sadly that judgment was another talent she didn’t seem to have.
The three of them carried the cigar holder to the shed at the fairy circle. As Ree had promised, the egg was there, along with a balloon carrier, a low-sided wagon held aloft by dust-filled balloons. A cord was attached to the wagon, so a fairy could pull it along.
The queen had also left a surprise in the shed, a fig-chocolate cake that had been baked before the hurricane. It had been freshly iced, however. The icing was white with red letters that said, Congratulations on your first success!
Rani said they’d go to the hawk next. It was the obvious choice, because the lagoon is dangerous at night. The mermaids do their deepest singing then. Clumsies have been driven mad by the sound, and fairies have been turned into bats. Even fish avoid the lagoon at night.
On the other hand, night was the sensible time to go to the hawk, who’d be away hunting during the day. Rani lifted the dust satchel strap over her head. She opened the satchel and sprinkled dust on each of them.
Two days of dust remained.
The distance from the fairy circle to the hawk’s nest depended on the size of Never Land. Tonight the island was large, so the questers faced a long flight.
They flew over a banana-tree forest, which the hurricane had savaged. They flew over a village of tiffens, the banana farmers. Tiffens, who have ears like an elephant’s, are half the size of Clumsies. They don’t come into this tale, but the fairies trade with them.
It was cold. Prilla and Vidia swung their arms and kicked to stay warm. Rani was hot as usual and wiped her neck with a leafkerchief.
Vidia flew backward for a while, watching the other two. “Darlings,” she said, “you use your wings so ridiculously, it’s a miracle you can fly at all.”
Neither Prilla nor Rani bothered to answer. They were both worrying about Mother Dove. Prilla hoped Mother Dove wasn’t too cold. Rani hoped she was drinking enough liquids. They both refused to think that Mother Dove might already have died. But the fear floated at the edge of their thoughts.
The golden hawk tired easily since the egg’s destruction. When it grew dark, he was glad to return to his nest atop an upright stone in a line of stones on the other side of the wide Wough River.
Vidia remembered all the hawks she’d seen, diving out of the sky, hardly slowing before they pounced on their hapless prey. She wished she could dive like that.
The golden hawk had flown disgracefully low all day, because he was worried about diving. He feared he’d crash.
Rani had heard that the golden hawk had a magic eye. He fixed you with that eye and you lost the will to move. You were half dead by the time he sank his talons into you.
The golden hawk’s vision was failing. Ordinarily he could fly as high as a cloud and still count the blades of grass below. But today all he saw was a green blur. Even worse, he had twice mistaken rocks for rabbits.
Prilla wondered how it would feel to be eaten and how long it would be before she died.
He’d finally pounced on a squirrel. But it had shaken him off by swishing its tail across his face. Then it had scampered away.
He’d never been so humiliated.
After three hours, the questers reached the river and began to follow it upstream. Vidia, who was flying ahead, saw the standing stones in a meadow surrounded by pine trees.
The questers descended into the treetops and approached cautiously.
And there was the hawk, a commanding silhouette against the starry sky.
There was the hawk, wide awake, chilled to the bone, terrified of falling off his stone.
TWENTY-TWO
SINCE SHE’D told Mother Dove about Peter, Tink had felt different. Her limbs were looser. Her chest was more open. Her mind was extraordinarily sharp. She even managed to think of more Peter stories, funny ones that lightened the look in Mother Dove’s eyes, if just for a moment.
But as night fell, Mother Dove seemed to stop listening. Her head tilted oddly, and when she fell asleep, her breathing was more labored than it had been the night before. Each exhale rattled, and her whole frame trembled. Tink listened and feared that each breath would be the last.
Only two days earlier, the hawk would have heard the fairies before they came close. But now he heard nothing.
They advanced slowly, eighteen brave inches forward, twelve frightened inches back. Finally, they were within a yard of him. He didn’t move.
“He doesn’t look golden,” Prilla whispered. He looked brown.
“It would be idiotic to be eaten by the wrong hawk, darlings.”
The hawk ruffled his feathers, showing glints of gold.
“Rani, sweetheart, who will pluck—”
“—him?” Rani knew she couldn’t pluck a live bird, even for a good reason. Vidia, with her plucking experience, was the logical choice. But Rani didn’t want to send her into danger alone.
Rani drew Tink’s dagger. “Vidia, you’ll pluck the feather. I’ll fly to his stomach. If he tries to a
ttack, I’ll stab him. Prilla, you’ll hover around his head. Pull down his eyelids or something, but stay away from his beak.”
How will I do that? Prilla wondered. But she didn’t complain. Maybe, she thought, my talent is for avoiding beaks. She took her place, her wings fluttering double-time with fear.
Rani positioned herself at the hawk’s stomach. Vidia touched a wing feather. The hawk didn’t feel Vidia, but he felt a bit of warmth at his belly and saw a blur of light near his face.
Vidia pulled. The hawk’s head jerked up. Someone was trying to kill him! He had one defense left, a single magic power. He shared his pain.
A bolt of pain surged up Vidia’s arms. She hung on even though the pain mounted. The feather wouldn’t come out. She gritted her teeth and tugged harder. It began to give. She yanked with all her strength.
Remember the worst pain you’ve ever felt. Close your eyes and think of it. Perhaps Vidia’s and the hawk’s pain was less than yours. Perhaps more. But it was the worst either of them had ever felt.
They screamed so piercingly that a star flickered.
Then the pain receded, and Vidia had the feather. The fairies flew away as fast as they could.
Prilla called back, “Thank you, Mr. Golden Hawk!”
He didn’t hear. He swayed on his stone, dizzy from the plucking.
Vidia soon outpaced the others.
She could have acknowledged then and there how much plucking hurt. She could have admitted she’d been cruel to pluck Mother Dove. She could have recognized that pain is pain, whether it’s pain to others or pain to oneself. She could have sworn not to inflict pain on purpose ever again.
But instead, she convinced herself that the hawk was the one who’d been cruel. She decided he’d made the pain worse than it really was.
It was almost dawn when the questers arrived at the fairy circle.
Vidia laid the feather on the ground and stepped away from it. She wondered if it could make fairy dust, extra-fast fairy dust.
Rani and Prilla came to look. The topside of the feather was brown, but the underside was gold. Prilla touched it. It felt metallic and cold.
Prilla deposited the feather next to the egg and the cigar holder. The three fairies curled up in the shed, where no hawks would come.
Prilla thought, We succeeded twice. Maybe we can save Mother Dove.
Before she fell asleep, she tried once more to transport herself to the mainland. She closed her eyes and pictured herself in the tunnel again. She pictured the mainland at the far end. She flew along, imagining a Clumsy girl in a bed, hugging a stuffed walrus.
She landed on a real girl’s pillow.
This girl was hugging a stuffed pelican. She opened her eyes and said, “Do you know how much thirty-five times nine-point-four is?”
Prilla shook her head, wishing she were a mathematics-talent fairy. Even on the mainland, she was disappointing.
TWENTY-THREE
IN THE MORNING, there was frost on the ground around the hawthorn. Mother Dove felt old, a thousand years old.
Tink began to feed her breakfast to her, spoonful by spoonful. After a few bites, Mother Dove said, “Put it aside.”
“Just three more spoonfuls.”
Mother Dove accepted them. Tink’s nursing had improved. Wonders never ceased. In the midst of everything terrible, they never ceased.
When they emerged from the shed, the questers found that a basket of food had been left for them. There was also a note from Queen Ree.
I am so proud of you for achieving your second goal. Our thoughts are always with you.
The queen is proud of me, Prilla thought, even if I don’t have a talent. Me! And I’m only four days old. She did a handstand. Rani smiled at her. Prilla caught the smile and grinned back.
After breakfast, the questers flew to the lagoon. Rani kept trying to think of a way to get the mermaids’ attention.
You see, the hard truth about Never mermaids is that they’re snobs. If you don’t have a green tail and a siren’s voice, you’re not worth bothering with.
They have no use for fairies, or for most Clumsies, although they like Peter. After all, he’s the Peter, which has snob appeal. And he’s so good at pretending to have a tail that the mermaids can actually see it.
Mermaids always dive when fairies approach. Laughing, they swim to their castle under the sea.
This castle is as delicate as a goldfish skeleton. It lacks walls, and you can see from the dining room clear to the servants’ quarters.
There is one walled room, however, and it is the mermaids’ secret shame. The room holds no water, only air. You see, Never mermaids cannot go on forever without air. Eventually their gills tire. If they prefer not to rise to the surface, they visit the wind room, as they call it.
When the questers reached the lagoon’s beach, they could just barely make out two mermaids sunning on Marooners’ Rock. The two were gossiping in Mermish, a language with thirty-eight vowels and no consonants. When they want to, however, mermaids can understand and speak to fairies and Clumsies.
Vidia said, “Loves, they’ll dive if we go—”
“—to them. But what else can we do?”
Prilla wished she had a talent for mermaids.
“Dear heart, we need a note.”
Rani nodded. A note was a good idea. The mermaids might read a note.
But they had nothing to write on, and nothing to write with.
Vidia said she’d get a note from Ree. “I’ll be back before you—”
“—think.”
“—blink.” She flew off.
Rani said to Prilla, “Let’s try to talk to them anyway.”
They flew out over the lagoon. Rani touched Prilla’s arm, and they stopped just beyond where the mermaids would notice them.
Prilla gasped in astonishment.
Think of flute music. Think of the scent of pine needles. Think of ice-cold lemonade sparkling down your throat. Now you have it—mermaids.
Rani watched a mermaid dribble water on her face. She watched another dive, deep, deep. She watched one laugh as a wave lapped over her head. Oh, to feel a wave!
Prilla watched three mermaids bat a huge bubble about with their heads and their tails. Oh, to fly over and join their game!
She and Rani resumed flying. Rani shouted, “Help! Don’t dive!”
The mermaids dived.
Rani and Prilla headed back to shore.
Prilla said, “They’ll read the note. They probably don’t get letters very often.”
They reached the beach just as Vidia returned with Ree’s note, written on linen in colorfast raspberry ink.
Dear mermaids, please give my fairies a comb, which we need to bring back Never Land’s magic. Many thanks from the queen of the fairies.
They looked for something to weigh down the note. Mermaids love pretty things, so they looked for something pretty. After a few minutes, Prilla spotted a glittery blue rock sticking out of the sand.
The fairies wrapped the note around the rock and tied it with the yellow ribbon Vidia had brought back with her. Then the three of them lightened the package with fairy dust and carried it out to sea with them. When they reached the spot where the mermaids had been playing, they let it go.
They flew back to shore to wait. Rani sat and stared out to sea, thinking of Mother Dove. Vidia paced in the air, thinking of Mother Dove’s feathers.
Prilla began to build a sand castle.
She was at a beach on the mainland. She flew here and there, observing Clumsy children’s sand castle–building techniques.
Back on Never Land, she knew what her castle needed—wet sand. She went down to the ocean’s edge.
“Dear child, if you get your wings wet, you’ll be completely useless.”
Prilla retreated from the water. She knew Vidia was right, but she wished Vidia didn’t have such a talent for making her feel stupid.
Mother Dove’s legs felt all pins and needles. She rose to shift her po
sition, but her legs gave out. She collapsed with a squeak.
Tink didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t strong enough to lift Mother Dove into a more comfortable spot. And she didn’t have any more stories to tell.
But then she thought of her finger harp. She took it out of her skirt pocket. Her fingers wanted to play a dirge, but she forced them to pick out Mother Dove’s favorite tune, “Fairy Dust Melody.”
Mother Dove clung to the thread of music and closed her mind to her broken body and her ruined egg.
Two hours passed, and the mermaids didn’t surface. The questers began to lose hope.
They didn’t know it, but the mermaids weren’t being snobby this time. They simply misunderstood, and one can hardly blame them.
Imagine you’re a mermaid. A wrapped package drops down to you, tied with a ribbon. Which do you focus on? The wrapper? Or what’s inside the wrapper?
It never occurred to the mermaids to examine the wrapper. They untied the ribbon and saw the pretty blue stone. They admired it and passed it from one to another. Then they brought it to their treasure room.
The note wound up on the ocean floor, where a starfish used it as a blanket.
On shore, Prilla said, “Too bad we can’t go down there and make them listen.” She wished she had a shouting-through-water talent.
Prilla’s remark gave Rani an idea.
“Sweethearts, let’s stop wasting—”
“—time. Hush, Vidia. I’m thinking.” Rani considered her idea. Could she do it? Could she make the sacrifice? She tried to think of another way.
More time passed. No mermaids. Rani couldn’t think of another way.
She took out Tink’s dagger and began to weep. She handed the dagger to Vidia. “I’ll dive to the mermaids. I’ll beg them for a comb. Cut off my wings.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Fairy Dust and the Quest for the Egg Page 7