Unhooked

by Lisa Maxwell

  “Show me,” I demand, heat beginning to pulse through my arms. “Give me my Queen,” I whisper.

  The heat in my hands grows, spreads, as I feel the island shudder beneath me, and as something deep inside me answers. The ground shakes in response. Beneath my palms, the soft green ground cover begins to transform, each tiny blade of grass going stiff and still, rippling as it hardens into glasslike shards. The transformation spreads like a wave, climbing over the ground, right up to the edge of the water.

  The ground quakes violently, and Rowan pulls me up and into the protection of his arms. “What have you done, lass?”

  I look up at him and see again the fear in his eyes. But I’m not afraid. I wanted this. I commanded it. And now I’ll see it through to the end.

  I lick my parched lips. “We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.” All around us, the landscape turns hard and brittle as the ground continues to rumble and shake, and Neverland transforms itself in answer to my call.

  The pool beneath the falls starts to churn and bubble, like it’s boiling. One by one, the jeweled bodies of the fish rise to the surface, motionless, the once-brilliant colors of their scales fading into a glossy black, like the light within them has gone forever dark. They look like strange floating pebbles now, and are so thick and plentiful that it almost looks like we could walk across the surface of them.

  Then, all at once, everything falls completely silent. The land goes absolutely motionless beneath our feet. The plants don’t shift and change, and the surface of the water goes as still as glass.

  Rowan releases me enough to draw his sword from its sheath. We wait for what will come next, holding our breath against hope, but nothing happens.

  “Well, that was—”

  An earsplitting crack shatters the eerie silence and drowns out the rest of what Rowan says. His arm tightens around me as the hilly land echoes with the reverberations of the noise, but otherwise, the world is still completely motionless and quiet.

  Afraid to move, we both search for some indication of what caused the sound, but at first nothing seems different. Then I see what is happening.

  “The falls,” I whisper.

  They aren’t coursing as they once did. Instead, the water level is steadily dropping, exposing jagged steps in the rock as it drains away. As the last bit of water trickles down, it reveals a dark crack splitting the mountain in two. As we watch, the fissure steadily grows, traveling down the center of the rock, like the dark lines traveled across the skin of the boy on the ship.

  The island rumbles again as the rock behind the falls begins to move apart, cleaving into two halves and exposing a dark crevasse. The remaining water of the falls drains into the yawning hole in the mountain, and the water left in the clear pool beneath the falls is also draining away, running back into the place where the island split itself apart.

  Rowan’s arms are still tight and protective around me as we watch, until all that’s left is the dark, muddy bed of the lake and a wide, deep wound in the land.

  I stare at the gaping fissure, horrified and awed by what I’ve managed to do. “Do you think that’s it?”

  “There’s only one way to be certain.” He releases me and offers his hand. “If you’re ready?”

  I’m not. I thought I was, but just looking at the dark gash in the rock makes my skin prickle in warning. Still, this is what we have come here for. This is what I demanded, and if Neverland answered my call, we need to see what it’s trying to show us.

  I take his offered hand, and Rowan leads the way out into the mucky basin of the falls. We avoid the gaping crack that runs down its middle as we make our way across it, toward where water had once cascaded down the mountain. Toward the place where the island has opened itself to us.

  The ground of the lake bed is soft, but the brittle bodies of fish crackle beneath our booted feet when we step on them, popping and snapping as we go. Each tiny body I destroy seems like another threat, and another reminder of what we stand to lose.

  When we reach the other side, the bare, wet cliffs loom above us as the dark split in the rock dares us to enter. Water still drips from the edges of the dark stone in an uneven rhythm

  “It could be a trap,” I say as I peer into the dark cave.

  “This whole bloody world’s a trap.” Rowan never takes his eyes from the newly formed opening before us. “We’re going to be needing some light, I think.”

  It takes him only a moment to find a branch thick enough and strong enough to serve as a torch. He takes his shirt off from beneath his coat and wraps it around the branch. With the tip of his metal finger, he manages to get enough of a spark on one of the drier surfaces to light the makeshift torch. Then he looks at me, nervous anticipation glinting in his eyes. He doesn’t like this any more than I do, but he wants it to be true just as much.

  “Let’s be getting on with it, shall we?”

  I give him a tight nod and follow his lead into the gaping jaws of the cavern.

  Once we’re inside, the air is immediately cooler. We hesitate, both of us waiting and listening for the unmistakable sound of the Dark Ones. But the cavern is silent. There is no scent of moldering leaves, no rustling of far-off wind. The air is thick and wet around us, but it is not dangerous—not yet, at least.

  This is no normal tunnel, though—the walls are not the smoothly hewed stone of Pan’s fortress. The walls here are all sharp edges and jutting corners that tell of the violence that created them. We don’t speak as we walk, but my hand slides into his as we make our way deeper into the heart of the island.

  Deeper into the mountain, the tunnel grows even narrower. It’s all unexpected switchbacks and hairpin turns that make me feel like we’re going in circles, spiraling farther and farther into the heart of Neverland. My skin prickles with the certainty that at any moment the rock will once again begin to vibrate and rumble, crushing us beneath its weight. But the island remains disconcertingly quiet. The rock around us remains cold and dead.

  Finally the tunnel opens, flaring out to reveal a large roomlike cavern that is a dead end. The ceiling is higher here, and it glows like a miniature night sky. Rowan notices the strange starlike lights at the same time I do and raises the torch higher so we can make out what’s causing the effect. Dark crystals embedded into the rock glow like tiny false stars, but they aren’t randomly scattered. There is a pattern to them, like tiny constellations.

  Familiar constellations. The crystals in the ceiling form lines and angles that remind me of the runes on my mother’s stones. The runes carved into Pan’s skin.

  “This is it,” I whisper, afraid to disrupt the silence around us by speaking too loudly.

  Rowan’s face is all grim concentration as he raises the torch from one side of the room to another, searching for some sign that I’m right. “It’s a dead end, Gwendolyn. There’s nothing here save some bits of rock and more dampness.”

  My heart sinks, because he’s right—this is a dead end. I don’t know what I expected to find, but there is nothing in this chamber but the glittering constellations above us and the silent rock surrounding us. Still, I can hear the sound of water rushing somewhere not so far off, and air is moving through the passage. It can’t be a complete dead-end.

  “Look at the ceiling. This is it.” I can’t shake the sense that the Queen is here . . . somewhere.

  I let go of Rowan’s hand and step away from him, beyond the light of his torch and to the smooth walls of the cavern. These walls aren’t damp, and when I press my hands to them, they feel almost warm. If I focus, I can feel the heartbeat of the island racing at a dizzying speed, faster than I’ve ever felt it before. But it’s softer than I’ve ever felt it too, as though it’s buried somewhere deep below.

  Show me. I channel the demand—not the request—through myself, into the rock. Rowan stands near me again, the heat of his torch warming my face as I concentrate on speaking to, listening to the world beneath my hands.

  As I’m listening, my hea
rt beating in time to the distant pulse of Neverland, I hear a noise in the darkness of the cavern behind me. A sharp plinking sound, like a penny striking a table, and the echo of the sound rings in the silence.

  “What was that?” Rowan whispers, holding his flame aloft.

  I don’t let myself look. I don’t let myself do anything but focus on the feel of the stone beneath my hand, on my desire to see the Queen. I allow myself to let go of all my fear, all my misgivings, and to want.

  To free her.

  To free all of us, because if we can do this, I can go home—I can get Olivia home. If I can do this, I can make everything right.

  But a voice inside me whispers, Not everything.

  The heat building beneath my hands falters, and for a moment all I feel is the coolness of the rock and the certainty that I can’t save him—No matter what I do, I won’t be able to save the boy beside me.

  I shove that thought out of my head. I won’t let myself be distracted. Not even for Rowan.

  Plink. The sound comes again, and again it echoes. Plink, plink.

  “It’s the ceiling,” Rowan tells me. He holds up the torch again, and in its flickering light, I see what he means. The glittering crystals in the ceiling are falling one by one, a solid, steady shower of stone. “Get back,” he says, pushing me against the wall as more fall.

  Rowan covers me with his body as the noises steadily increase, rising in speed and volume, but still I concentrate on my task, calling to the world. Asking Neverland to heed my desire. As the crystals fall like dying stars, they throw debris into the air around us. I can smell the metallic, almost mineral scent of the dust they kick up from the floor when they land. I can taste it—the heart of Neverland coats my tongue with its bitter taste.

  Then the falling crystals slow until, finally, the cavern is quiet. Nothing else tumbles from the ceiling, and after a long moment we right ourselves and shake the dust from our hair.

  “What was that?” I look up at the ceiling, thankful it hasn’t collapsed completely, but it’s pockmarked now and no longer flickers with diamondlike shards.

  I start to step toward the center of the room, trying to figure out if anything else has happened, but my foot falters when the ground beneath it crumbles away. Where once there was flat, solid rock, the ground is now carved out into a deep crater. The floor is gone, and in its place a narrow path winds down, spiraling into the center, and in the center of that crater someone or something is huddled, a clumped mass of dirty rags that seems to be moving.

  I step back as something within the pile of rags moves again. It can’t possibly be the Queen. There is no way this crumpled bit of blackened fabric is what we need to save ourselves and this world.

  “Bring the torch.” I turn to Rowan, but before he can reach me, the world explodes in light.

  Sometimes, though not often, he had dreams, unlike the other lads who slept deeply, like the dead. On those nights, he could not raise himself from the horrors held in his sleeping hours, though he wailed piteously in them. But when he woke, he could not remember the things he had forgotten. . . .

  Chapter 36

  I SQUINT AGAINST THE BRIGHTNESS that saturates the cavern, until my eyes adjust to the unnatural glow lighting the space. When I can finally see again, I notice that a figure stands in the center of the crater—a woman.

  I know at once I’m in the presence of the Queen. Like Fiona, she is tall and slender, with long, graceful limbs and skin that glows like alabaster. Like Fiona, her face is both beautiful and terrible to behold. Her eyes are alert and, while they are the same deep, glossy black of Fiona’s, the irises glow as though they’re ringed in fire.

  Her voice, when she finally speaks, is also similar to Fiona’s, but where Fiona’s voice had the threatening buzz of a hive of bees, the Queen’s voice is purely feral, wild and almost unintelligible.

  The world around us throbs—once, twice—then the steady, heartbeat of the island begins again.

  I thought Neverland had been teeming with life before, but I’d been wrong. Now even the air seems alive, brushing against my cold skin like an electric current. Like the world itself is welcoming the Queen back.

  Unbidden, a pulse of excitement and anticipation races through me.

  The Queen tips her head back and inhales deeply, rolling her neck on her narrow shoulders, stretching and reveling in her new freedom. Behind her a flash appears, like a flame leaping from the ground, and when the light eases, Fiona stands there. Then another flaming column of light, and another of Fiona’s brethren appears as well.

  Rowan steps forward to protect me, and the movement catches the Queen’s attention. She turns her terrible, beautiful face to him, her glossy black eyes narrowed in hate. Her lips pull back, exposing her wickedly sharp teeth, and she lets out a chilling hiss of warning. But before she can strike, she notices me.

  Every muscle in the Queen’s body goes completely, unnaturally still. For a moment, it looks as though she is a statue carved from alabaster, but then the moment passes, and her expression flashes with such hate, I take an instinctive step back.

  “Abomination,” the Queen snarls at me. Then she whips her head around as fast as a snake striking, and steps toward Fiona. “How did this come to be in my presence?” she hisses.

  Abomination? I think, my chest tight. I don’t know what I expected when we unearthed the Queen, but this is not it.

  Fiona bows low. “She was necessary, my Queen,” Fiona explains, more humble than I have ever seen her. If I’m not mistaken, she might even be shaking.

  The power in the cavern swells, pulses, until it feels as though a thousand needles are stabbing at me. “And is she still necessary?” the Queen hisses, her voice a dangerously unleashed buzz I feel as much as hear.

  Fiona looks up then, a satisfied smile curving at her mouth. “No, my Queen. She is not.”

  Rowan takes my hand and begins backing away from the two of them as the Queen turns to me.

  This is not how I’d expected her to react. After all, if Fiona is right, I’m her son’s daughter—her own blood. “I don’t understand. . . .” I whisper. “We freed you.”

  The Queen turns back to me in a single fluid movement that exposes her as the predator that she is. “Did you?” she asks, cocking her head at an unnatural angle as her glossy eyes burn into me.

  “Aye, she did. In fact, she’s risked everything to save you,” Rowan adds, moving closer to me, as though intending to protect me if the Queen decides to strike.

  The Queen’s eyes flicker to him before coming back to stare at me with unconcealed distaste. “Has she?” the Queen asks, and then her eyes narrow. “Or has she something else in mind. Has she come to do her sire’s bidding?”

  “I don’t even know my father,” I tell her truthfully. “And besides, if Fiona’s right, he’s your son. Your blood.” Which makes me her blood too.

  The Queen’s lips pull back into a snarl. “But he was not only of our blood,” she snaps viciously. “Why do you think we cast him out of this world? Why do you think we abandoned him to his fate? The Dark King was his sire.”

  I blink, confused. “But you killed the Dark King,” I say, remembering the story that Pan had told me.

  “Yes,” the Queen hisses, looking far too pleased with herself. “We did. Because his devotion to us was naught but an act. He promised we would rule this world as one, but we soon enough learned that the Dark King never intended to rule by our side. Once he knew he had a son, he betrayed us. And so, we brought down his reign and made his court our slaves,” the Queen says, smiling that awful smile.

  “Why not just kill the child as well?” Rowan asks, pushing me back. He’s trying to distract her, to divert the Queen’s attention from me.

  But the Queen doesn’t fall for it. Her cold dark eyes are still on me. “Because the True Child held our own power as well.” The fiery glow in her dark eyes flares as she considers me. “But we could not risk the Dark King’s court using our own True Chi
ld against us. And so we left him in the world of men, where he was no danger to our rule.”

  “The Dark Ones did rise against you, though,” Rowan charges, more desperate now as he pushes me back, away from the Queen and her wicked smile.

  Her face flashes with fury, horrible and beautiful all at once. “They shall pay for that, as shall the one who led them,” she growls. “But you shall not be here to witness our final victory.”

  Then the Queen turns to Fiona. “Go and prepare the others. We shall finish them, as you should have long ago. Then there is much work to do.”

  Fiona hesitates only for a moment before she and the other Fey disappear in a flash of blinding light. It is only us and the Queen now. Instantly Rowan straightens, his hand already on his blade.

  “For ages we have been a prisoner in our own world. For so long we have dreamed of this moment, and now it is here. Once we finish with you, my people shall wipe your kind from our world like the vermin they are. And when we have made our world whole again, we shall turn ourselves on yours.”

  The prickling sensation sears across my skin in warning as the cavern starts to shake.

  “We need to get out of here,” I tell Rowan as chunks of the ceiling begin to fall, but Rowan doesn’t move. He’s still staring at the Queen in fury. “We really need to go,” I repeat, nodding toward the corner of the cavern.

  There, at the edges of the Queen’s light, shadows are gathering. We are too deep in the ground, and the darkness beyond her glow is too deep, too absolute here. I don’t know what the Queen’s revelation about my father means for me, but if the Dark Ones feel anything like she does, if they still want to kill us, it will be too easy here, cornered as we are.

  “Go?” the Queen says, cocking her head at an awkward angle. “Oh, we think not, Young One.”