by Heidi Schulz
She removed a bottle, uncorked it, and stepped closer to the tree. Roger followed, curiosity written all over his face. The woman held up her offering, her faraway smile back in place. A tender new shoot wrapped itself around the bottle’s lip, tucking its end into the opening. The tree shuddered and made a slurping noise.
“It is drinking it!” Roger exclaimed. “Like some sort of plant food!”
More blossoms blinked open, closed, then opened again. A soft rustling filled the air. Jocelyn took an involuntary step back. Something seemed off. She noticed Evie doing the same, but Roger was fascinated.
He placed a hand on the tree’s trunk. “It’s warm. It feels more, I don’t know, alive than any plant I have ever come across.” The tree responded to his touch by dropping a tendril to his shoulder. Roger laughed. “I think it likes me.”
The woman smiled and carried on affixing bottles to the tree. “I’m sure it does.”
Roger continued his examination of the plant. “But why feed only this one?” he asked. “What about the others?”
She paused in her work to answer. “The trees here are connected by their roots. They all receive the nourishment.”
Evie reached for Jocelyn, clutching at her jacket. “I…I felt something brush against my ankle. I think there may be snakes in the leaves.”
Jocelyn pulled her sword, using the tip to push the forget-me-nots aside. “The roots are moving!” They writhed, slowly, like a serpent rousing itself from its cool den, waiting for the sun to warm its blood and enable it to strike.
Roger brushed the curling vine off his shoulder and joined the girls, stooping to look at the roots. “It’s amazing!” he said. “I’d like to take a few notes.” He fumbled in his pockets for a notebook and lead pencil, but Jocelyn placed a hand on his arm.
“It’s time to go,” she said. “Now.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere,” the guardian said dreamily. “You are so full of life, of possibilities, and my forest is hungry.”
The rustling grew to a quiet roar. Insistent. Ravenous.
A new silver dagger, an emerald-green snake, the barmaid at the Black Spot—I’ve found that the most beautiful things on earth are quite often the most sinister. Such it was with that lovely yet deadly forest. Like a honey-baited flytrap, it had drawn Jocelyn and her friends in, and there it held them.
Evie was the first to scream, as was her right. She was oldest, after all, and should have been first to do things. “Something is wrapped around my ankle!” she cried.
Roger made a move to help, but stumbled and nearly fell as a vine tightly gripped him by the legs.
“Both of you, fight back!” Jocelyn cried. She drew her sword and hacked at the vines now climbing up her calves. Roger and Evie set to work with their own blades, but the creepers were as terrible as the heads of a Hydra—sever one and two more seemed to take its place.
Jocelyn screamed, half in fear, half in frustration. “What I wouldn’t give to turn this whole forest into firewood!”
The vines withdrew, ever so slightly, then pressed in again more urgently, quite literally rooting the girl to the spot.
“Did you feel that?” Roger cried. “It loosened when you said fire!”
“Can you—” Evie began, but a root wound up her body, squeezing the air from her lungs and cutting off her speech. Jocelyn leaned over and slashed with her sword, freeing the older girl.
“It will be over soon,” the guardian of the forest crooned in a voice one might use to comfort a crying baby. “No need to fuss.”
Jocelyn felt a great need to fuss, but as the vines wrapped ever tighter round her legs, she decided not to waste the effort. Instead, she frantically looked about for something that she might use to start a fire.
The woman paid little attention to them, humming to herself as she continued to affix the colored glass to the tree.
That was when Jocelyn realized she still held the bottle she had taken from the basket. She turned it over and read TENDENCY TOWARD PUBLIC TEMPER TANTRUMS, JAMES HILL, AGE 7. It was merely the glimmer of a possibility, but if anything was more incendiary than a child’s temper, Jocelyn didn’t know what it was.
The vines crept ever higher, and Jocelyn furiously attacked them with her blade, hoping to buy a bit of time. When she had fought them back to her ankles, she replaced the sword in her scabbard and tore a bit of hem from her dress.
She tucked the bottle in the crook of her arm, uncorked it, and stuffed the fabric inside, creating a wick. Jocelyn withdrew her flint and steel from its pouch, held her breath, and struck. The spark caught her wick and grew into a flame. The girl lobbed it toward the tree and covered her ears.
“No!” screamed the woman as the flaming bottle sped toward its target. “You can’t! You’ll ruin everything!” But it was too late.
The glass hit the trunk and exploded in a blaze of flame and heat. Little James Hill must have had quite a temper before he gave it up. The intensity of the blast brought tears to Jocelyn’s eyes. Roger, a few steps nearer to the source, had his eyebrows singed nearly off.
Roots and vines withdrew from the children immediately, and a wailing filled the air. Jocelyn couldn’t tell if it came from the woman or from the forest itself. She suspected it to be both.
Roger, Evie, and Jocelyn ran then, finding the path on the other side of the clearing. More explosions shook the ground, sending blasts of heat that blistered the backs of their necks. The trees around them twitched and thrashed. Branches tore at their faces and hair. They coughed and gagged as the air filled with thick, oily smoke. Still they ran.
At last, sunlight poked its fingers through the thinning leaves overhead, and they were out. The path gaped wide behind them, a mouth deprived of a meal, but the trio continued to flee, not stopping until they were well out of the forest’s shadow. Roger and Evie looked at Jocelyn, their breath as ragged and eyes as wide as hers surely were.
A flood of feelings coursed through the girl: relief that they had survived, guilt that she had led Roger and Evie into such a dangerous place, anger that things were not turning out the way she intended, and more than a little devious joy at the explosions she had created. She didn’t know whether to shout or cry or laugh. Roger’s face showed a similar mix of emotions.
Jocelyn turned to Evie, expecting she would now be ready to say good-bye to the Neverland and its unpredictable dangers. The older girl trembled from head to foot. Her eyes shone, perhaps with unshed tears? For a moment Evie was too overcome to speak. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out but a squeak.
Clearing her throat, she tried again. “That—” She swallowed. “That was…astounding! What do you think will happen next?”
Jocelyn’s hopes fell. She scowled and began marching onward, Craggy Peak in her sight. “Next? We simply keep walking.”
Have you ever ridden on a seesaw? I spent many a happy childhood hour on one, playing with my baby cousin, Hilda. As I was much older, and therefore much heavier, I had to take great care to get on my end in just the right way—in order to maximize the baby’s flight time after launching her into the ether.
Jocelyn and Evie were on a sort of emotional seesaw. The higher Evie’s spirits flew, the lower Jocelyn’s sank—and Evie’s sprits were dangerously high, so ready was she for more adventure. She didn’t even mind when a group of fairy schoolgirls flew by, each taking it in turn to pelt the three adventurers with volleys of pond-slime balls. (It appeared that news of Meriwether’s capture had spread.) Indeed, Evie seemed charmed by their pigtailed hair, dainty bluebell uniforms, and jangled curses.
Roger wiped the sludge from his face with the back of his hand and reached in one of his pockets for a handkerchief. Instead he pulled out a small blue bottle. “I guess I’m turning into quite the pirate, after all,” he said. “It appears that this has worked its way into my pocket.”
Evie took it from him and read the label: “‘Courage, George Watson, age nine.’ Oh dear. Poor George,” she sa
id with a smile.
“Not so bad for us, though,” Roger said, taking it back and tucking it into his pocket once more. “Never know when we might need some extra courage.”
“No indeed. Though I do hope it’s soon!” Evie replied, laughing. “I can’t wait to see what else this island has in store for us.”
Jocelyn glowered at them both.
Whatever the island did have in store for the young adventurers, it wasn’t dinner. Jocelyn was certain she had never been hungrier. Thus far, they had managed to subsist on nuts and wild fruit, but none had been found since before the forest. All they had eaten that day were a few dried-up wild turnips discovered along the way. Jocelyn supposed the turnips were better than death by starvation, but not by much.
As soon as they found a place to camp—a mostly dry clearing in a thicket of sugar maples dressed out in their most colorful autumn finery—Roger offered to forage for dinner while Jocelyn and Evie got a fire going.
He wasn’t gone long. “We’re in luck,” he said, joining the girls around their campfire. “I found us something to eat.” He gave each of them a handful of green leaves, with a few stems mixed in. “Wood sorrel, chickweed, and dandelion leaves. Let’s call it a salad.”
Jocelyn had been hoping for something more substantial. “Let’s call it a bunch of weeds,” she mumbled under her breath.
The evening was cool and damp, the ground was hard, their stomachs were empty, and yet Evie seemed happier than ever. Jocelyn’s plan to make the older girl miserable had backfired.
In fact, no one seemed to be more unhappy than Jocelyn herself.
“Eat something,” Roger told her. “You are always out of sorts when you are hungry.”
“I have plenty of other reasons to be ‘out of sorts,’” she grumped at him, but she did put a few of the leaves in her mouth. They tasted as bitter as she felt.
“I think I saw some berry bushes while I was gathering firewood. I’ll see if any are ripe, and we can have them for dessert,” Evie said.
“Don’t go far,” Jocelyn told her. Knowing Evie, she’d likely find a den of tigers and decide it would be fun to wrestle them. Still, Jocelyn let her go. She wanted a moment alone with Roger.
As soon as Evie was out of sight, she took a deep breath and dove right in. “That was a close call back there, in the forest. It never should have happened.”
He looked up from where he sat, poking his fire with a stick, and gave her his just-for-Jocelyn grin. “I’m glad to hear you say that. It’s not easy to admit when you have been wrong. I accept your apology.”
She frowned. “My apology? I wasn’t wrong. I was talking about you. If you had left when I said to, instead of being so wrapped up in learning about that ridiculous tree, we wouldn’t have gotten so, well, wrapped up in that ridiculous tree.”
“You think that was my fault? If you’d listened to me and gone the easier route in the beginning, we might be at the Jolly Roger finding the key behind your father’s portrait and cracking the map’s code even now.” He softened his voice. “Look, Jocelyn, I understand why you want Evie to go home, but why the sudden urgency? Instead of trying to make her hate the Neverland, why not let her come along with us and hunt for the treasure? Maybe once she’s had enough adventuring, she’ll be ready to go home on her own.”
“She can’t come on the treasure hunt! The treasure isn’t on the Neverland.”
Roger frowned at her, confused. “What? Where is it? And how do you know?”
“Starkey told me it’s in England—right under Miss Eliza’s school, of all places. Evie can’t go with us because it’s not in her When. Who knows what would happen to her if she tried. And if she stays here, while I go, I’ll snuff out like a candle! Is that what you want?”
Roger’s voice was quiet. “Of course not, Jocelyn! Why didn’t you tell me where it was before?”
She fiddled with her locket, popping it open and snapping it closed. “I didn’t want you to worry. I’m the captain—that’s my job.” She scuffed her boots in the dirt. “I also didn’t want you to think I was trying to be rid of Evie merely so I could go after the gold.”
He squinted his eyes at her. “Aren’t you? A little, at least? Are you more concerned for her, or about not getting the treasure?”
“For her, of course! I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want her to have to go home and die young, but Roger, that is what happened. My mother died. Or, at least, she will. I wish I could change that, but I can’t.” Sudden tears stung her eyes, but Jocelyn dashed them away. “All I know is, if she stays here, she’ll grow to be miserable—and I’ll be trapped. I’m trying to set things right…to put them back the way they are supposed to be. But don’t fool yourself into thinking I like it.”
Roger blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. Maybe that was unfair of me. But Jocelyn, can’t you see? You have to tell Evie the truth. Isn’t that the whole point of you wanting the treasure? So you can decide your own future? Why not give her the same option?”
Jocelyn shook her head. “No. We’ve been over that. I can’t do that!”
“Why not? Aren’t you tired of lying to her? I know I am.”
“Not telling is not the same as lying! Besides, if I do tell her who she is, I know she’ll go back.”
Roger rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes, but not like that. If I tell her who she is and what her staying here means for me, she’ll go home. For me. And when she dies, it will be my fault. She has to choose it on her own.”
“All right,” he said, suddenly looking very tired. “What would you like me to do?”
“Part of what makes having adventures so fun is having them with friends. I hate to do this…” Jocelyn hesitated. “We need to stop being so friendly to her.”
Roger shook his head. “That’s not fair. I won’t be unkind to her.”
Sometimes it’s better to just let things lie. For example, sleeping dogs, long-dead bodies, and disagreements with your best friend. However, Jocelyn felt that too much was at stake. She employed a surefire friendship tactic, used by children the world over: coercion.
She stood and took a breath. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but need I remind you that I am your captain? You signed on to my crew the very day we met.”
Roger stood as well, using the extra inch of height to his advantage. “That’s funny. I remember it a little differently. I remember becoming your friend on that day. Sure, I said I’d be on your crew, but that was only pretend.”
“Well, maybe you were pretending to be my friend, too!”
Roger visibly recoiled at her words. “I can’t believe you would say that. After everything we have been through together—” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do, Roger. And I am ordering you, as your captain, to stop being nice to Evie. If you don’t, perhaps you are not part of my crew or my friend!”
He stared at her for just a moment, hurt and anger written all over his face, then stormed off on his own. Jocelyn wished she could take back her words, but why didn’t he understand that she needed him to do this? She would love for the three of them to go on having fun and adventures together, but they just couldn’t—as much for Evie’s sake as for her own.
For centuries, philosophers the world over have debated whether doing something wrong for the right reasons justifies that act. Morals can be such burdensome things. That is precisely why I am happy to remain unafflicted by them.
Jocelyn had no such luck. The girl sat alone at her fire, waiting for Evie to return with her berries and for Roger to simply return. She alternated between anger at him for not going along with her plan and shame that she had tried to force him to.
After what seemed like hours of waiting, but in reality was likely no more than ten or fifteen minutes, Jocelyn decided to storm off herself, though she regretted no one was around to witness it. Had someone been, the girl was certain hers w
ould have gone down as the most dramatic leaving in history. Being alone robbed her of that honor and she added it to the list of reasons she should be irritated with Roger.
Jocelyn wandered the woods, most certainly not searching for him—even though it was growing dark and he had been gone a very long time. She decided it likely that Roger had caught up with Evie and made her his new best friend. They were probably laughing together over some rich, warm, meaty stew.
Jocelyn imagined the scene so clearly, she could smell the stew meat. Her stomach growled and her mouth watered in response. As she walked on, peering around trees and up game paths—not looking for Roger—the smell grew stronger. Perhaps it wasn’t her imagination after all!
She scrambled to the top of a boulder to get a better look around. Through the trees, not far in the distance, she spied a flicker of firelight. It couldn’t have been Roger and Evie, for several figures were silhouetted around the crackling flames. And judging from the delicious smell on the air, whoever they were, they had something far better than twigs and leaves for supper.
Normally, approaching an unknown group in the dead of night is a bad idea, unless, of course you are planning on ambushing them—which, if it came down to it, Jocelyn most certainly would have done. She was determined to share that meal by invitation or by force. The girl was a pirate, after all; it was time she began acting like it.
Jocelyn crept ever closer, near enough to spy a leg of venison rotating slowly on a spit, its juices dripping into the flames with sweet little pops and hisses. Her stomach rumbled and she prepared to strike, but before she could formulate an attack, an attack came to her.
A small, fierce creature dashed out of the circle of firelight and leaped on the girl, knocking her over. It focused its attack on Jocelyn’s face—not with bites, but with a vigorous and violent licking.