Toadstools of epic proportions cropped up from the earthy floor, and they looked to be the perfect size for a child’s seat. There was a small tree in the center of the room, not far from the foot of the bed. It was just a sapling, but Gwen could see some bird—or other creature—had already built a nest amid its green, heart-shaped leaves.
An apple core startled her as it fell from the ceiling and crashed down beside the sapling. Gwen looked up and finally saw Peter almost directly overhead, lounging in the hammock after having finished his apple. His arms were stretched out, his hands under his head. He glanced down at Gwen, smiling when he saw her look of amusement. He said nothing to her.
“She’s too big!” Newt complained as Sal climbed up onto the bed. Newt was smaller, and he had to leap up acrobatically in order to get on top of the bed. “She won’t fit!”
Rosemary perched on the headboard of the bed, like a happy little hunchbacked gargoyle. “Of course she will.”
Jam pointed and gestured as she informed her bedmates, “Newt and Sal, you two can sleep on that side, and then Gwen can sleep to my right and Rosemary can sleep to my left.”
“We want to sleep on that side,” Sal announced, crawling over the bed with Newt.
“If she’s on the left side, what if she kicks me in my sleep?” Newt added.
“I want to sleep next to my sister!” Rosemary said.
“I’m not sure I will fit…” Gwen admitted.
They squabbled just long enough to tire themselves out, and then totally reversed everything Jam suggested. Sal and Newt slept toe-to-toe with Jam and Rosemary, for the bed was big enough for small children to do so. Gwen slept next to Rosemary on one side of the bed, so she wouldn’t have to worry about squishing anyone else. As the conversation died down, so did the lights, which would only glow as long as people were awake.
The tired Neverlandians fell right asleep, but Gwen held onto consciousness. She’d spent all day sleeping, and she needed to let her overworked mind unwind before it could ease into sleep again. She scratched Rosemary’s hair, and Rosemary murmured, half-awake. Gwen snuggled away from Rosemary for a moment, but she grabbed her sister’s hand. She wanted to be alone to think, she wanted to be close to someone for comfort, and she wanted to stay awake and be asleep.
Rosemary wasn’t quite asleep yet. Whispering quietly, Gwen told her little sister, “Peter’s going to fly us home in a week.”
Rosemary mumbled a quiet protest.
Gwen kissed her sister’s head and wrapped an arm around her. “We’ll go home then, and it will be nice. We’ll have to go home, Rose, but we can stay and play until then.”
Rosemary didn’t object. She only whispered, “Let’s have an adventure tomorrow,” before falling asleep and making a sweet little humming noise as she breathed through her nose.
It had been years since Gwen had woken up before ten in the morning without the belligerent assistance of an alarm clock. However, that was a function of how late she stayed up most nights, surfing the internet like an incessant series of waves she felt obligated to meet, one after another. There had been no cat videos or Facebook pictures of Jay to keep her up last night. She’d gone right to sleep, and had dreams untroubled by visions of school corridors and homecoming anxiety.
Consequently, she woke up right at dawn. She didn’t know it was dawn, buried deep in the burrow. She initially assumed, from how well rested she felt, that it must have been noon.
The others were all still sound asleep, curled up in the strangest positions, as children are wont to do when sleeping. The only other soul awake seemed to be Peter. He was sneaking through the underground home, breathing on all the lily lights to wake them up to start glowing for the day. His belongings were shuffled and tucked away in every corner of the oblong, corner-less room. His knife was stuck in the wall, helping pin up a tightly woven tapestry, his flute was left on one of the toadstools, and the particular hat he wanted for today was buried at the very bottom of their traveling chest of clothes.
He had been quiet up until he rustled the chainmail in the trunk. Gwen wondered if that was what had woken her up. The other children weren’t disturbed by it though. He looked like he was about to take off on some kind of escapade. Worry-free now that she had a return date for reality, Gwen wasn’t going to let a single adventure pass her by in the next week.
She scurried out of bed, doing her best not to disrupt any of the sleeping children. Newt and Sal were pressed up against each other, back to back, the covers thrown completely off. Rosemary was snuggled securely in the quilt, but Jam was sprawled out underneath it, her mouth agape as her little chest rose and fell with each sleeping breath. Peter saw Gwen’s intention to come with him, and he waited for her. “Nice Phrygian cap,” she said, proud of herself for recognizing the red cap of liberty she’d learned about in her history class.
“No, it’s a hat,” he told her.
He jumped up and caught hold of one of the strong oak roots like a monkey bar. Pulling himself on top of it, he stood up. He had to hunch, but he stepped aside so that there would be room for Gwen to pull herself up as well. She had a much harder go of it. There were many years between her and the last time she’d done whimsical acrobatics like this. She managed to kick her feet up well enough to grab the root with her toes, and then kicked her legs over it from there. Peter extended his hand and helped her to her feet. “Just breathe in as we go up. Ready?” Gwen nodded, exhaling with Peter before they both drew a deep breath and shot up, holding hands as they headed for the top of the oak. Daylight trickled in from the top, but Gwen could just barely make out the shape of Peter’s face as they rocketed up.
They stepped out of the tree and onto a limb, Peter stretching and yawning as he did so. He struck a triumphant pose, enjoying the morning as if it were his and his alone.
“Going up is a lot easier than coming down,” Gwen announced.
“That’s because you had my help,” Peter told her. “You wouldn’t have been able to get out at all if it weren’t for me.”
“I think that’s a little presumptuous,” Gwen answered, stung but not hurt by the implication of ineptitude.
Peter launched off the oak tree with a running start, throwing himself into the air and flailing in free fall until he started flying, halfway to the ground already. Gwen descended with more grace, still getting used to the sensation of flying, or at least the taking off and landing bits. It had become immediately obvious to Gwen that the hardest parts of flying were the transitions. Once you were in the sky, you felt as though you could continue that way forever. It was having the confidence to start or the restraint to stop that made it hard.
Peter landed on the ground of the grove. The tent and colorful clothes were packed up again, exactly as they had been when Gwen first arrived. “Where are we going?”
He strode across the grove and went over to where Gwen had been enclosed in a teepee for her nap the day before. The satchel she had sloughed off was still in the grass. “I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m going to the lagoon.” He picked up the purse and handed it to Gwen. She took it, thinking that no adventurer should ever be without their full arsenal of trinkets and doohickies.
“If you’re coming with me, then you’re going to meet the mermaids.”
They flew in the forest, not over it, but through it. There wasn’t much fun in flying high over the island when there were trees and vines to swing from, strange birds to call to, and the occasional perfect piece of whittling wood to be found. Peter had a very impish way of traveling, and took his time flying when he was not in a hurry.
They passed several fairies who flitted, chuckled, and gossiped as they witnessed young Peter and his companion heading for the infamous Mermaid Lagoon. When they passed by Hollyhock, Peter invited her along, but the orange fairy could not be tempted onto an adventure when she knew that Peter was only going to the lagoon. Fairies and mermaids were very different creatures, and although fairies could usually understand E
nglish, the way in which mermaids spoke somehow baffled and confounded them. Without a water nymph to translate, fairies and mermaids could have no natural communication. Consequently, Hollyhock found it terribly dull to go to the lagoon and only hear Peter’s half of the conversation.
So Peter ambled on with neither a fairy nor any apparent concern for them. He flew happily from tree to tree, playing with anything that looked the least bit inviting. Gwen was content to meander in the same way, but she stayed closer to the ground, watching golden snakes slither away and inspecting the multitude of flowers she found deeper in the forest. She asked every question that flitted into her mind. For once, she felt free to admit her ignorance without facing judgment. Peter already thought she was foolish and stupid, and that didn’t seem to impede his opinion of her. He answered every question with the same enthusiasm she asked it. He had just finished explaining the explosive nature of the pale purple popping flower when it occurred to Gwen that he might just be making everything up. By that time though, they were already at the lagoon.
They landed and moved slowly through the jungle for the last few hundred feet, giving Peter time to explain to Gwen as she walked at his side.
“If you’ve never met a mermaid before, there are a few things you should know about them.”
“Like what?”
“Like they are the most cunning and conniving creatures you will ever cross paths with.”
“Really?” Gwen asked, astounded. “I would have thought mermaids would be… I don’t know, beautiful and sweet.”
“Sirens, all of them. They’ll do anything to get what they want. Mermaids have no qualms about the means to the end, so long as it’s their end they get to.”
“Well, what do they want?”
“It’s always some kind of trouble… not that they’ll ever tell you what they want.”
Peter barreled through a clump of vines, hanging low in his way. Gwen followed after him, her curiosity compounding with every moment. “Are they dangerous then?”
“Terribly,” Peter responded. “So there are three rules for whenever you confront mermaids. First, don’t get too near to them; second, don’t get too close to them; and third, don’t ever get in the water with them.”
“Alright. Easy enough,” Gwen said, wondering if there was a working difference between the first and second rule.
“The best thing to remember,” Peter continued, “is that mermaids will never tell you what they’re after, and it’s best to assume it’s something dastardly. Whatever they want from you, whatever they want you to do, just don’t.”
“Well, if they’re so terrible, why are we going to meet with them?” Gwen asked, not seeing what good could come of the encounter.
“Because mermaids know things, and they can learn things you and I couldn’t ever possibly learn, even if someone spent a hundred years trying to teach us… and they have information right now that I need.”
Peter caught sight of a papaya tree and reached up to pick its fruit. It seemed impossible for Peter to pass up ripe fruit, so he beckoned to Gwen and filled her satchel with a few. He found a mango tree, and tossed Gwen a few of those fruits as well.
“Will the mermaids tell you?” Gwen asked. “If you’re so bent on thwarting them, what’s to stop them from giving you misinformation to spite you?”
“They’re very easy to coerce,” Peter said, his mouth full of mango, “and the one good thing about mermaids is they can’t lie.”
“They can’t?”
“Nope. Not even a tiny white lie. Mermaids don’t go against their word, and they stick to the bargains they strike. But that makes them even more dangerous, obviously.”
Gwen didn’t see how that was obvious at all. If anything, it seemed like that would make them less of a threat, but there wasn’t time to press the conversation further. They broke the tree line and found themselves on the edge of a small cliff. Crude steps carved into the cliff's face led down to a rocky lagoon. Below, the beautiful bay of blue-green water was so clear and still that it was easy to make out the silhouettes of the slender, aquatic nymphs swimming beneath the surface.
Peter and Gwen climbed down the cliff’s weathered path. From moment to moment, Gwen changed her mind as to whether she thought the uneven steps down were intentionally formed, or simply the fortunate product of nature. It didn’t take them long to descend, and when they reached the shoreline, Peter climbed onto large rocks that led out to deeper waters. He settled on one that would keep them just high enough that the mermaids would not be able to reach out and grab them. Gwen crawled beside him. She knew better than to venture any closer than Peter did, but she stayed on her hands and knees, staring down into the water, searching it for the mysterious mermaids. Their shadows moved with seamless smoothness, and Gwen’s heart raced. Flying and fairies were one thing, but mermaids presented a whole new strain of magic and fantasy.
Peter had picked up a few pebbles from the stony shore, and now chucked them gently into the water. One after another, he threw the small stones into the lagoon, letting them slip into the water and mark their point of entry with thin, graceful ripples.
Gwen gasped—out of delight or fear, she did not know—as the first of the shadows rose to the surface.
It was a gradual lift into a dead man’s float. Gwen could only see the pale white flesh of the mermaid’s back and the mass of rich, brunette hair. She lifted her head up slowly, as if only now coming to life, and then flicked it back with dramatic flourish, sending her hair flying behind her. As soon as she laid eyes on Peter, she smiled, all toothy and sly.
“Peter,” Cynara cooed, swimming closer, “you’ve come to see us again.”
Gwen could hardly keep her eyes on the creature as others surfaced. The red-headed Eglantine came straight up, keeping only her eyes above the water. She hung back, but eventually did rise up. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Eglantine said, her accent soft and aquatic. They both seemed to have high, feminine voices. “You so rarely come around.”
“I thought I would today though,” Peter casually replied.
“Who’s this you’ve brought with you?” Cynara asked, glancing only briefly at Gwen. The mermaids seemed far more interested in Peter, but the third and final mermaid surfaced closer to Gwen and stared at her with uncanny interest. The blonde mermaid remained quiet, but Gwen tried not to stare back, or betray how intimidated she was by her blue eyes. They were a lighthearted blue, surreal only in how human they were.
“This is Gwen.”
“Gwen…” Cynara echoed, feeling the word with her tongue and hearing it in her own voice. “Is that so?”
“What is she?” the blue-eyed mermaid asked.
Peter didn’t miss a beat, which was good because Gwen wasn’t even sure how she could have answered the question. “She’s a girl, Lasiandra.”
That answer seemed to pacify her. Lasiandra retreated a ways, swimming to and fro as she followed the conversation. Her hair was much less voluminous than the other mermaids, and she seemed less engaging.
“What brings you to our lagoon, Peter?” Eglantine asked, her red curls bobbing in the water.
“What can we help you with?” Cynara sweetly cooed, pulling herself up just a little on the rock, making Gwen very uncomfortable. Kelp was woven together over her chest, slick and clinging to her wet body.
Peter did not react. “Have you been watching the sky?”
When she saw that she could not entice either of them closer, Cynara retreated into the water. Floating on her back, she splashed her tail playfully, her slender fins like whispers and spider webs as they fanned out and flexed in the water. Her scales glittered with a metallic sheen, catching the light and glittering beautifully. The whole motion gestured, come here, but as if that was not enough, she invited Peter in with her. “Of course I have watched the sky. I have seen it take shape and color every dusk and dawn, I’ve watched the clouds drift through it, and the planets amble by, murmuring their secrets to
me and speaking of what’s to come through their motion. Come into the water, Peter, come swim with me, and I will take you out past the horizon to the place where the stars sleep by day.”
“Stars don’t sleep,” Gwen declared, although she doubted herself as she spoke. She was not trying to assert her own knowledge, so much as hoping Cynara would disprove her.
Eglantine laughed and swam nearer. “Silly girl. Peter, why do you have such a foolish girl with you today? The stars sleep the same as everything sleeps, and the moon rests with us in the time betwixt its set and rise. Deep within the waters, at depths you’ve never dreamed of, it sinks into our waves and plays with our tides.”
They were enchantresses, and every coy word was designed to entice Gwen.
“You can swim with us too, Gwen,” Cynara promised. “It’s shallow… where your dreams sleep. You could see it.”
“The water is fantastic,” Lasiandra added, her voice sounding far more honest in contrast to the affected tone of the other sirens.
“No thank you,” Gwen answered, knowing that this—much like the you-have-already won emails that piled up in her spam box—was simply too good to be true. Too vague an offer, too grand a promise. It wasn’t worth finding out what the catch was. She was glad Peter had warned her. The mermaids and their propositions were appealing. People paid hundreds of dollars to swim with the dolphins and giant sea turtles in Hawaii, and here Gwen had a chance to swim with mermaids. If only she could have accepted the offer, confident that nothing would befall her!
“Oh, what a sore sort of girl,” Eglantine said, pouting and turning all of her attention to Peter. “But you’re more fun. You’ve got an adventurous heart, don’t you, Peter? You’ll come swim with us, won’t you?”
The Neverland Wars Page 10