She would have looked the very same, with not a week’s worth of aging to change her, except for the burn she’d endured in yesterday’s bombing. The newsprint tattoo was blurred now and hardly legible, but it was not fading quickly. Gwen suspected she would carry the ink on her arm for several more days, and that she’d have to wear long-sleeved shirts for a while in reality to obscure it. She did not know how long it would take the scar from the burn itself to completely fade, or if it ever would. She tried not to let this bother her.
For some reason, they were not leaving from the grove. In a group decision that Gwen had not been part of, it was determined that they would parade out to the weastern shore before Peter and the girls left.
Rosemary volunteered to accompany them back to reality, but only because she was eager to help Peter find the aviator and meet the piper. Gwen had no illusions that she would be able to convince her sister to go home. Rosemary was not so little. She could make a big decision and stand by it, and Gwen had to respect that. The only reason Rosemary wanted to go back at all was to deeper entwine herself with Peter's mission.
Rosemary was happy here, and Gwen knew that there was no way to argue against happiness itself.
Blink had her drum that she pounded contentedly at the head of their parade. Newt and Sal trailed after her, carrying colorful banners of no significance. Everyone marched, skipped, or trotted to the steady beat Blink set. Jam sang a song no one listened to, and Bard collected flowers while Spurt constantly searched the ground for the perfect hiking stick. Peter and Rosemary were the only ones who allowed themselves to actually fly with the fairies. Dillweed and Hollyhock, good to their word, were still resolved to traipse into reality with Peter. Gwen trailed after everyone else, meandering purposefully with the knowledge that this was the last time she would ever walk these woods of youth and dreams.
There was something subtly magical about every tree and plant in Neverland. All fallen logs seemed to be hollow hiding places, every fruit tree was laden with perfectly ripe fruit, the vines that tumbled down from the jungle canopy were always strong enough to swing on, and every tree held its branches out as if inviting her to come climb. The forest was a patchwork of foliage, and the sun flooded down into it through every crack in the canopy.
The children cheered and laughed when they reached the edge of the jungle, running down the rolling, green hill they immediately found. Newt and Sal waved their flags while screaming a made-up battle cry. Bard and Jam fell instantly into a series of giggles and somersaults. Hollyhock and Dillweed plucked up flowers from Bard’s bouquet when she dropped it. Fluttering with those, they chased each other down the hill as well. The contagion of joy infected Gwen, too, and she found herself racing down the hillside just to see how fast she could go without tripping over herself.
Her dress fluttering at her knees, the feeling of the wind against her body took her back to a time when she had known no greater pleasure. She remembered the park her father used to take her to, racing all over the playground with her. There had been a hill there, too, and Gwen had raced down it so many times, wishing the wind would carry her away before she ever reached the bottom of it.
So long after it was abandoned, Gwen’s wish came true as she willed herself up toward the sky, flying unburdened by any maturity that had been forced on her in the past ten years. It was a brief validation of everything she had once wanted. She landed peacefully.
Goodbyes were a fitful ordeal. Jam tugged on her hand intermittently, whining, “Don’t go, Gwenny! Don’t! Stay!” as if her desire alone could persuade Gwen to remain.
“We’ll miss you,” Bard remarked, giving Gwen an adorable, almost convincing, puppy-dog look.
“Who’ll tell us stories?” Spurt was worried, as if this was a pressing problem that had only just come to his attention.
“You can stay,” Sal told her. “We don’t mind. We like you.”
“Right, Peter?” Newt asked.
The children all looked to Peter, mistakenly thinking that his charisma would have more pull over Gwen then their simple pleas. “Of course,” Peter said, “but that doesn’t mean she will.”
The only one who didn’t make an effort to convince her was Rosemary. The sisters had called an unspoken truce between themselves, and neither lobbied the other to remain in the world of the other.
“You’ll come back, someday, right?” Blink asked timidly, afraid of the answer.
Gwen neither had the will to mislead tiny Blink or the gumption to tell her the truth. Instead, she ruffled the girl’s dark hair and told her, “You take care, Blink.”
Hollyhock and Dillweed buzzed excitedly, tugging at Gwen and Peter. “We’d better go,” Peter announced, standing up from where he was crouched in the uncut grass. He had the deer-hoof rattle Old Willow had given him, firmly clutched in his hand. “The earlier in the night we get there, the better. It will probably take some time to convince the piper to come once we find him.”
Gwen wondered briefly about the logistics of time zones in relation to Neverland, but her thoughts were lost in a slew of goodbyes that she and the children threw at each other. The lost children chased after them on foot, running in the little valley and making a vibrant commotion even once Peter Pan, Rosemary, and Gwen were out of earshot. The redskin rattle shook as they flew, reassuringly jingling.
“I’m thinking we’ll head up through the cloudgate. What say you, Holly?”
Peter looked to his impish friend, whose miraculous wings carried her just as fast through air. Flinging fairy dust with each quick beat of her wings, she agreed, helping Peter guide the girls up into a bank of bulbous, white clouds.
Passing through the threshold of the cumulus giant felt like diving into water, but not as intense. The cool, damp cloud felt wonderful against Gwen’s arm, soothing the burn like a wet cloth. “Peter, where are you?” Gwen called, still flying, but slowing as she lost her sense of direction in the puffy whiteness. She batted away bits of cloud with her hand, pushing through it in a way that she was fairly certain was meteorologically impossible.
“Just keep flying!” he called.
The rattle shook lightly, and she heard Rosemary’s laughter. Dillweed weaved ahead of her, drifting in and out of view like a light in a bank of fog. He flew unsteadily, and Gwen questioned whether she should be following him. She was unaware of his tendency to favor the grape, the honeysuckle, the bluebell, and whatever else would leave him in a glowing stupor, but definitely knew that he was unreliable and often confused.
Gwen didn’t really worry; she just chased after any familiar sound or glimpse of her comrades. Although she was certain she was going the wrong way, she never lost them. Her wet breaths grew uncomfortable as the cloud began to grow dark. A shiver blew through her body, and she began to wonder when they would emerge on the other side of this endless cloud. As it further darkened, the blackness of her surroundings gave her an unfortunate sense of claustrophobia.
“Is it getting darker for you too?” She didn’t care who answered, as long as someone confirmed it.
“We’re almost there!” Peter yelled back.
Gwen held to those words and the confidence they gave her. When Peter spoke, every word sounded like a promise.
At last, they broke free of the cloud and into the night air of reality. The moon fought back the darkness, and the city and suburbs glowed beneath them. Peter and Hollyhock were waiting for her, smiling as she burst through the edge of the moist cloud. Gwen shivered again, but she hardly had time to wonder where Rosemary was before the younger girl came tumbling out of the cloud herself.
Peter spun around a little, studying the intricate pattern of suburban lights beneath them. “Your house is that way,” he said, pointing. “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. It’s where you live. We’ve got to get to the airfield.”
Gwen followed his finger to the cluster of yellow lights flat against the face of the earth. “I’ll go with you first,” she offered. “I’m in no hur
ry.”
Peter floated, wearing nothing more than his tattered shorts, a patchwork vest, and his hemp jewelry. Gwen marveled that he did not shiver the way she did in the October night. She was digging her white cardigan out of her satchel for the first time—she hadn’t needed it once in summery Neverland—but Peter was utterly immune to the reality of any situation.
He grinned. “Alright, what are we waiting for then?”
Peter led the way, Dillweed and Hollyhock at his side as the Hoffman sisters followed.
His eyes scanned the town, reading it as if he did not know where to begin. Had the trip through the thick cloud cover left him disoriented too? The deer hooves rattled on their bone though, and the sound guided them. They stayed high in the sky, letting themselves float down only as they actually descended onto the airfield. They could not risk being seen by any prying adult eyes. The runway of the private airport was illuminated, but other than that, it remained a long stretch of unlit property, level and dark. Gwen folded her arms in front of her, hugging her warmth to herself. The cardigan didn’t do much to ward off the autumn night chill.
They came down like planes, soaring over the length of the runway before touching down. The landing lights guided them to the end of the field, near a large airplane hangar, which Rosemary referred to as the plane garage.
Hollyhock buzzed curiously. She would not have left Neverland today if not for her curiosity, something which compelled her to accompany Peter so that she could get a first look at this ally he had spoken of.
“I don’t know…” Peter answered her, panning his gaze across the dark airfield. “He should be here somewhere.” He shook the rattle and stepped forward, listening as it got louder little by little.
The planes stood like skeletons, eerily towering over the children in ordered lines. They were motionlessly parked for the night in the deserted field.
“Look there,” Gwen said, pointing back down the runway. A tall figure stood just far enough away that she could not tell anything more about him than that he was an adult. She did not think this bode well for their cause. She nervously held her burned arm, stroking it softly and methodically, remembering the danger adults posed to them as she felt the inflamed and inked flesh.
“Good eyes, Dollie-Lyn,” Peter replied, and began striding toward him. The man waved, but the gesture was barely visible. Once they began heading toward him, he retreated away from the middle of the runway and back to his plane. The past week had taught Gwen to be skeptical of anyone over twenty, but Peter’s confidence in people was never misplaced. She thought of Old Willow and Dark Sun, and decided that there were some adults worth trusting—and maybe even some adults worth growing up to be.
As they approached, Gwen saw that he was smoking a cigarette and wore a pair of old-fashioned aviator goggles on top of his balding head. He couldn’t have been younger than forty by Gwen’s estimation, but he felt like a relic from some other century. With his cigarette and trench coat distracting her, it took a moment before Gwen even noticed how ancient his plane was. It looked perfectly functional, but the huge propeller and low-resting tail of the plane made it look as anachronistic as he did.
“If it isn’t the aviator himself!” Peter declared, marching up to the man.
The man smiled a worn-out smile. “Bonjour, Peter. It is good to see you again. I see you’ve brought friends.”
“Are those goggles on your head? Do you wear them when you fly?” Rosemary asked, feeling her questions were a more pressing matter than proper introductions.
The questions put life into the aviator’s smile. “You always did keep the best of company, Peter.”
Hollyhock had already settled on the top of the propeller, scooting down one end of it like a slide. Dillweed watched and laughed.
While Rosemary ogled his goggles, the aviator turned to Gwen. “And who is the one who doesn’t ask questions?”
Gwen felt herself blushing. “I’m Gwen.”
The aviator held out his hand, and she shook it. “A pleasure to meet you, Gwen. I’m Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.”
Gwen was stunned, but Rosemary was quick to answer. “Hello, Mr. Day Saint Extra-Perry.”
He seemed pleased, but he requested, “Call me Antoine.”
Gwen found it unlikely that Peter had anything more than a tangential relationship with someone so old, yet she knew who this man was. Two weeks ago, she was reading his book and trying to mesh The Little Prince into a speech on fairy tales for her speech and debate class. “You’re Peter’s ally?”
He seemed to find her question amusing. “Me? I’m just an old pilot.”
“Is the piper with you?” Peter asked.
Antoine drew another long breath of smoke and bemoaned the question. “Oh Peter, if you were only more patient, I could have delayed disappointing you. No, he’s not with me. I haven’t seen the piper since he disappeared six years ago.”
Gwen had not yet had the experience of seeing Peter in a temper. He stomped back and forth flat-footedly, his brow knit and his scowl cemented onto his face. He was not destructive, and the wrath he was desperately trying to convey was still only the make-believe of his peaceful spirit.
“But the mermaids told me you’d know!”
“You should know better than to trust mermaids,” Antoine reminded him.
“But they said it! They said it was true. And Old Willow! The redskins—they gave me Deer’s hooves so I could find you and get you to tell me where Piper was! You can’t not know!” As Peter fumed, Dillweed and Hollyhock sought refuge on the shoulders of Rosemary and Gwen. Pools of fairy dust accumulated on their shoulders as the fairies waited for Peter’s temper to pass. He moved from denial to vengeance with admiral swiftness. “You’ve betrayed our cause. I’ll never speak with you again. You’re a traitor.”
Antoine smiled. “I’m a traitor for not knowing?”
“Exactly!” Peter exclaimed.
“Peter!” Gwen hissed, ashamed of his childish behavior in a way he could never be. “Antoine just flew all the way here to meet us! That’s no way to talk to him.”
“No, no, no,” the aviator answered, sweetly silencing Gwen. “It’s quite alright. In these trying times, I completely understand his frustration. But perhaps I have something that can help make it right.”
Peter calmed down quickly, and as Antoine reached into his trench coat's inner pocket Rosemary excitedly leapt up into the air. “What is it? What is it?” She tugged on Antoine’s trench coat as if to expedite the process of finding out.
Antoine’s warm smile persisted as he handed several poorly folded and crinkly papers to Peter. “I do not know where Piper is—but I know how to find him.”
“Well, that’s the same thing,” Peter happily announced, beginning to peruse the papers.
“Perhaps for you. Piper doesn’t want to be found though, and he’s made it hard for anyone to find him—adult, child, or otherwise. You’ll need to do a lot to hunt him down, not the least of which is to find someone who has heard his song. Those are few and far between these days.”
“This will be tricky,” Peter admitted, yet there was a hint of joy in his voice as he realized the challenge that lay before him.
“He won’t be happy to see you,” Antoine warned. “After they caught him helping you for that last invasion eight years ago, they threw him in prison. He escaped in a hurry, but you know how he nurses his grudges.”
“He’ll help,” Peter declared. “He’ll help Neverland.”
Antoine’s face was lined with a very grown-up skepticism of Peter’s certainty. Rather than argue the point with one so sure of himself, Antoine asked, “How is Neverland?”
“There was a bombing yesterday.”
At this remark, Antoine became deeply interested in the conversation. He flicked his cigarette down and ground it out under his shoe. “What sort of bombs are they managing to get past the Neverland boundaries?”
“More Molotov Newsprint. It comes in flaming and coats
the place. It can’t burn for long, but it does its damage.” Peter nodded to Gwen and eyed her arm. When she checked the burn, everyone’s eyes turned to it, even the fairies’. Her forearm was still red and tender, and although the newspaper tattoo seared onto her skin was fading, it was still possible to distinguish the words.
Peter crinkled the papers in his hand as his grip tightened, which caught Rosemary’s flighty attention. “Peter, what do they say?” She rushed over to see it, leaving Gwen and Antoine to a quiet exchange of their own.
“May I?” Antoine asked, gesturing toward her arm.
“Uh, sure,” Gwen replied, pushing up her sweater sleeve farther and holding her arm out. She'd taken the bandage off yesterday. She was finally getting used to the burn on her arm, but it was a novel, new thing for Antoine. He took it in his hands, touching it very gently and turning it over in his hands.
“It was painful, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.”
He looked at her, his confusion finally manifesting into a tactful question. “You’re about Peter’s age, aren’t you?”
“I’m sixteen,” Gwen responded.
“Awfully old for Neverland, aren’t you?” Antoine pulled a slender box out of the inner pocket of his trench coat. Gwen didn’t realize what it was until he drew a cigarette out of the silver case.
He lit a new cigarette as she told him, with a trace of teenage snark, “I’m on my way home.”
“Hmm,” he murmured. “That’s a shame.”
“What about you?” There was accusation in her voice. “Aren’t you awfully grown-up to be rendezvousing with flying, ageless children?”
He laughed and took a happy drag off his cigarette. “There’s more than one way to fly away and never come back, ma cheri. And it’s never too late to stop growing up.”
The Neverland Wars Page 21