John’s face flushed red as Abbott playfully nicked him behind the ear with the tip of his spear.
“Boys, Wendy, play nice.” Peter chuckled.
“John, you take a seat here. Abbott, begin packing up for our departure. Wendy . . .” He looked her up and down, trying his best to figure out how to quench her growing frustration with John.
“Wendy . . . you’re coming with us.”
“What?” John practically jumped up from the bench. “She can’t come! She’s not a Lost Boy or a General! She’s not even a boy at all!”
“And you weren’t a General until you arrived and I gave you the privilege,” Peter snapped, his eyes clouding navy and then returning to green. “If I say Wendy goes, then Wendy goes.”
Abbott stared silently at both of them, his eyes darting to Wendy and then back again. He wisely decided to say nothing.
Peter cleared his throat.
Wendy stared hard at John and then looked back at Michael. “Michael . . .”
“Michael will stay here with the other Pips. He’ll be safe. Thomas?”
The towheaded boy with bouncing ringlets scampered up next to Peter.
“Thomas! I have a very important job for you. Can you handle that?”
Thomas looked as though he was going to faint with excitement. “Yes, Peter. Of course, I mean, yes, sir, Peter, sir. Sir.”
“Can you watch over Michael Darling while we are out on the raid? Can you keep him safe and out of trouble?”
Thomas nodded, his huge blue eyes exploding with pride. “Yes, SIR! I will!”
Peter turned away. “Then it’s settled. Wendy comes with me.”
The anger simmering in John’s eyes could have set the Nest ablaze. He stared at his sister with unbridled contempt.
“You can take her, but she’s not going to be much help unless you need some hair ribbons tied or a piano played.”
Wendy shot daggers his direction and turned to Peter. “I’ll go.”
Peter leapt into the air, his mirrored armor sending shards of light all over the Nest as he pointed east. “Fantastic! Wendy, there are some extra clothes in the hut next to us, just past the Nest. Why don’t you change and then join us back here.”
It wasn’t a question. Wendy nodded her head and walked away just as Peter clapped his hands and began instructing the boys on what they were doing and where they were going. She climbed down the rickety wooden ladder and onto a thin wooden platform that linked to the rest of the tree. Pan Island was silent outside of the Nest, an eerie sound that she had never experienced here. Without the constant ruckus of boys, wind hummed through the tree branches, and she could hear the light crashing of the waves far below. Insects buzzed and fluttered past her as she made her way quickly down the walkway. Ducking her head, she entered a dirty hut filled almost to the roof with piles and piles of boys’ clothing, some clean, some dirty, all smelly. After a few minutes she found a semiclean long blue tunic and some loose gray pants that hit her at the shins and cinched with a white ribbon around her calves. She tied a purple scarf around her head to keep the hair out of her eyes. She jogged back to the Nest, where Peter was finishing up a grand speech.
“The pirates steal from the innocent people of Port Duette. They take from the Lost Boys, from the mermaids! Hook and his pirates are the withering disease of this island, and today we will strike a blow to them that will take the fun out of their frivolities. We will toast them as we toast ourselves! HA!”
His voice rose.
“Most importantly, without alcohol, we will hope that Hook’s loyal soldiers will realize that he is a coward and a limbless freak.”
He changed his voice into the signature growl of a pirate.
“And arrr, we will hope that by taking away their rum that we will slowly sow the seeds of a rebellion, deep into their thirsty veins! Now, let’s go, you landlubbers!”
He did a little jig before dropping his voice back to his captivating tenor. The Lost Boys erupted into wild cheers. Peter grinned.
“All righty, boys—are you ready to go risk life and limb for a drink of wine? Then let’s go have ourselves an adventure!”
The Nest filled with the wild chants of hundreds of boys. Peter rose slowly into the air, and the Lost Boys began reaching out their hands to him, raising them above their heads, their fingers splayed in worship. Peter rose higher, and the glittering dust around him seemed to be funneling down from his head to the tips of his fingers.
“More!” he whispered to the boys. “More.”
The cheers of the boys rose to a deafening chant, John and Michael among them, screaming and shouting Peter’s name. John had tears on his face, as did some of the younger boys, their cries reaching a fevered pitch. Peter’s fingers began curling all the silver dust circled his forearms now, rushing up and down his arms, throbbing with each breath he took. It began to glow, a white heat that filled the Nest, until the shimmering dust pulsed with the same white glow that she had seen Peter give Oxley the day before. It ran up and down his veins, cracking through the pores of his skin.
Peter Pan was made of light.
The voices rang throughout the Nest as Peter’s hands slowly opened. Then the voices fell silent, and after a moment, Peter forcefully clapped his hands out in front of him with a loud crack. The white light shot out through his hands and filled the Nest, pouring out in a single giant wave that rushed over every Lost Boy. It filled every corner of the Nest, racing from one end to another, a circle of light that crested before pouring out through the holes in the branches. Wendy felt it hit her body, felt the power of it rush through her, over her, around her. It filled her with its warmth, sinking into her cold bones, a warm feeling of sky and freedom, a comforting warmth, an exhilarating breath. Her eyes flitted around the room to find Michael.
Something at the edge of the Nest caught her eye. With a quick glance she saw Tink heave herself over the branches and let herself fall down into the tree. A trail of glittering silver dust ran up the side of the Nest, a splattered pattern of stars that stopped at the cusp of the branchy cup. The fairy had moved so fast that she was gone before Wendy had even blinked. She looked back up at Peter. He was grinning, laughing now, his hands clutched at his stomach, pointing at the Lost Boys who were now all rising off the floor, bouncing off the walls of the Nest with delight. Michael squealed as he turned over his feet and bumped into the thatched wall face-first.
“Wendy! Look at me! I’m flying!”
“I see you!”
She gave a careful push off her feet and then was soaring upward, up toward the burrowed, curved nest of branches overhead. Unable to control her excitement, she let out a squeal, grabbing hold of an outstretched branch to watch the others. Boys were everywhere around her, dirty feet in her face, hands reaching for something to hold, bumping into her. While some soared excellently, others threw up over the barrier of the Nest. From below she heard a disgusted “OY!” With envy, she watched as John flipped easily from corner to corner, using his force to propel other Lost Boys into a drifting circle. He twisted and turned in the air, learning quickly how to manipulate his body in flight. He tossed his new sword into the air, flipped over his feet, and then pushed off the ground, meeting the sword in the air, catching it expertly. Then he flipped again and flew backward toward the ground. He spun Michael around and left his brother circling in the air as he flew circles around him. Michael giggled.
“John! Stop it!” Wendy narrowed her eyes and let out a sigh as her hand continued to clutch the branch. Some things just came so naturally to him—mathematics, astronomy, and now flying. Of course. Of course John was good at flying. While she wasn’t as bad as the boys who were stuck in the branches of the Nest, squawking for Peter to help them, she wasn’t great either. She had a hard time turning her body in the direction she wanted it to go and often ended up whirling right when she meant to go left. Her feet were drifting upward, pulling the rest of her body up with them, when she felt familiar hands slide across he
r shoulders.
“You can fly by me,” Peter said, laughing, his proud voice instantly making her smitten, even here while she drifted in a room of flying boys. As she twisted around to meet him, she felt a sharp pang of guilt in her heart. She couldn’t imagine why as she gazed deep into his green eyes, lighting up at the sight of her. For a moment, it felt as if it were just them, drifting above the world, their eyes locked, boys floating silently by like stars in the sky. But then Michael flew up and grabbed Wendy’s leg, giggling uncontrollably.
“Wendy! Watch this!” He pushed himself off her leg and managed to fly awkwardly across the Nest, his elated laughter filling the room as he unsuccessfully chased his toes.
Peter’s eyes met hers. “Are you nervous to come?”
Wendy looked down and blushed. “Of course not. I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “Between you and me, I don’t actually think that there will be any fighting. We will take the liquor and get out. See, that’s not very exciting, now is it? No reason to be nervous. I’ve always wanted to see the Vault, and I’m so excited to see it with you.”
He let a finger brush carelessly across her cheek, and then he was off, soaring quickly to the front of the room, occasionally batting floating Lost Boys out of his way. Kitoko floated silently nearby, watching the boys and Wendy with observant eyes. Wendy floated up next to him.
“What should I do now?”
Kitoko looked over at her. “Whatever Peter tells us.” He kindly pointed to the right. “In the meantime, I would take a weapon and then assemble over there. Then we fly.”
His eyes then turned up at the corners. He was smiling. It was the first time Wendy had seen it. “Then we drink. I prefer reds.” He gave Wendy a friendly pat on the shoulder.
A weapon? Such a task seemed intimidating. She pushed herself down to the wall of weapons, where the dangerous instruments sat. Wendy frowned as she looked at a huge silver sword, its hilt the open mouth of a dragon. She could hardly see herself swinging away with this sword, let alone any sword. She didn’t even know the first thing about holding a sword. She pulled herself hand over hand toward the end of the line of weapons, carefully placing her fingers in between the thick branches that surrounded the Nest. When she reached the end of the line, she turned back with a sigh. Nothing. She pulled herself backward over the line of weapons, deciding that maybe nothing was a better option than something that would make her look, at best, quite idiotic. Her hands came to rest on an enormous golden bow, easily the largest weapon of the bunch. She was smiling at the thought of lugging this behemoth anywhere when something winked at her in the filtered light of the Nest, nestled in a thick tangle of branches behind the ostentatious bow.
Wendy’s nimble fingers—the fingers of a piano player—skillfully untangled the bramble around the winking metal, thorny branches scraping under her nails. Finally, they reached into a leafy cluster and pulled out a petite dagger with an ivory handle. Intricate carvings marked the sides of the handle: ships at sea, tossed about by the waves; trees curled into patterned wings; a sun and moon connected by whorls of wind on opposite sides of the pommel. A small blue gemstone, the shape and size of a feather, marked the center of the hilt. The stone seemed to have a great depth to its blue, as if it were a portal to the deepest part of the sea. Wendy loved it immediately, turning it over in her hands, marveling at how it fit perfectly in her palm, how light and lovely it was. She blinked twice. Though it couldn’t be possible, she was sure that for a moment she saw the leafy cluster that had once held the dagger give a shudder and curl back into itself. She looked again. Everything was still. Perhaps she had seen it because she was moving, slowly floating upward, which was what happened when she let go of anything grounding her. Shyly, unsure of where exactly one put a dagger, she tucked it into the waistband of her pants and prayed that she wouldn’t accidentally stab herself. Even now, with the blade cool against her skin, Wendy felt like an imposter. She was not a warrior, or even a boy. Everything about holding this dagger was reminding her that she was a well-mannered lady who had no place here, and yet—she would rather be nowhere else. For a reason she couldn’t fully explain to herself, she knew the dagger was her secret. Perhaps it was the thrill of a potential adventure working its way into her mind, thread by tiny thread. She felt a whoosh of air pass below her, and then Peter was beside her, pulling her down from the top of the Nest, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Shall we?”
She nodded. With that, the redheaded boy brought both hands up to his mouth and crowed at the top of his lungs. The Lost Boys all began circling around him, like a swarm of crows fluttering around a tree.
“It’s time to leave the Nest!” he yelled, and then he signaled above him with both hands.
Wendy’s breath caught in her throat as the canopy high above the Nest slowly began to inch open, pulled open by the willing hands of about a dozen Pips, each one tethering themselves to it with thick pieces of rope that attached to rusty pulleys above. The canopy separated in the center, cracking open like an egg, light exploding through the branches as the cloudy sky poured in above them. Peter looked down at Wendy and winked before shooting up into the sky. “Okay, Lost Boys, let’s FLY!” With that command, fifty Lost Boys fluttered out into the open air in a rush of mad energy, birds released from a cage. John zoomed past Wendy without a second look as she struggled to keep up with the boys trailing into the sky, Peter the head of his flock. Wendy frowned and with great focus increased her speed, finally catching up to Peter, who was at a standstill, his eyes on the troops below him.
“John, Oxley: do you have your baker’s dozen?”
John nodded with a confidence that Wendy could see was shaky at best. Her brother was nervous. As he should be.
“Take your boys, then. Remember what we planned: first the sky, then down against the sea once you are within eyesight. The clouds should hide you well. When you push against the ships, use a gentle hand, like you’re touching a lady, boys!” Wendy blushed. Peter affectionately ruffled the hair of one of the Lost Boys, who positively glowed with the attention. “I look forward to many great stories of puking pirates. If we do the job right on our end, Hook’s pirates won’t even know that they were robbed until we are already gone. Perhaps they will think Blackbeard’s ghost took their liquor!”
The boys broke into rowdy laughter. It occurred to a silent, nervous Wendy that this was a lot of work to steal some wine. Peter saluted John and Oxley, tapping his feet together as he rose into the air.
“All righty, boys, you have my blessing! See you on the other side of Neverland!”
With that command, John’s group began to circle and rise slowly to the north, flying swiftly away from Peter’s group—and John away from Wendy’s protection. As she watched her brother’s form fade slowly into the mist, she felt a painful tug in her chest but dismissed it as an overabundance of childlike sentimentality.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WENDY TURNED BACK, finding Peter beside her. He brushed her hair away from her ear.
“He’ll be fine. It’s just a silly game, Wendy. There is no need to fear. It’s time for our great adventure to begin! Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“Then up we go!” Peter climbed upward, pulling them both high into the sky at a rapid pace with the two dozen older Lost Boys following behind, each one handpicked for this mission by Abbott, who served as the bookend for the group, looking unhappy as always as he soared quickly, cutting a line through the clouds. Wendy let her arms fall to her sides as she enjoyed the feeling of flying, slowly making her way through the endless sky, clumsy at best. The crawling lower mist of the morning thinned out the higher they went, and soon they were soaring across the miles that separated Pan Island from the main island, Peter twisting and swooping around Wendy, pulling her hair and tickling her foot as they flew, then disappearing into the mist that lazily embraced them in its folds.
The joy
that was rising up in her chest overtook her, and she found herself laughing hysterically as she gained speed, plummeting through the clouds, the sensation of absolute freedom overtaking her. Wendy breathed in the cold air on her face, relished the rush of wind that pushed through her outstretched fingers. The air up here was clean and wet, the mist caressing her body as they whipped through its foamy gray, so thick she could almost hold it in her hand. She lost herself in the exhilaration, minutes passing before she felt Peter’s absence, felt her own lack of direction in the churning sea of thick mist. Was she going the right way? Had they turned without her knowing? A grip of panic pulled at her stomach.
“Peter?” she whispered, before raising her voice. “Peter?”
She slowed down, suddenly very unsure of where she was going, looking up and then down. Which way was down again? She couldn’t see anything. Where was she? Her heart rate increased as the lovely mist that had been her plaything moments ago became a choking fog. She turned over her feet and began flying downward (she hoped), crossing her fingers that she would come out over the turquoise waters separating Pan Island and the mainland. Up ahead, the clouds were clearing, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. Something whooshed past her on the right, moving so fast that it sent her spinning in its wake. It passed again on the left. Wendy stopped moving completely, hovering silently in the air, her eyes alert. Peter’s face appeared above her. Then he disappeared again into the mist. She laughed.
“Peter!” There was another brush of air, and he materialized underneath her, flying faceup, as if he were lounging in a stream. He winked at her and then sank below the clouds where she could not see him anymore.
“Peter! Stop this silly game! Stop it!”
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