by H C Storrer
“The dust!”
Jack whirled to the dark sprite’s call. “What dust?”
“I need the dust. Please, Peters, I need the dust.” Fering writhed on the end of the knife blade, his wings almost completely torn through. All about him his dark aura had turned from the most awful purple to nearly black, fighting desperately to consume the fairy once and for all.
“It is taking me, Peters, it is taking me. I need just a pinch.” Fering’s gaunt eyes bent upward as Jack approached.
“Well, my fine fairy friend, there are two things you should know.” Jack leaned upon the tip of his sword as it dug into the dirt at his feet.
“Please, Peters, please,” Fering continued to beg.
“You would have had a smidgen of dust if you had not been so greedy. After all, it doesn’t take a banker to figure you might have stashed away just a pinch for a time like this,” Jack taunted.
“Yes, yes, there are many things I would have done differently!” Fering screeched, the black aura pulling at what light was left of his being, his face and fingers nearly hidden in darkness. Lashing out, he spat as he yelled, “I should have killed you… you… Peters!”
“Ahh, that would be the other problem.” Jack leaned forward on his toes. “My name isn’t Peters, or Peter. I’m called Jack.”
Fering’s lips muttering with thought, he began to yell, “Betrya—” The last of the word cut off as the gloom enveloped him. One moment he was there, the next a shadow of his former self, then, nothing at all.
Chapter 34
T ristan flittered quite depressed next to his friend as they trudged down to the bay Peter called Pirate’s Cove. It was named for the conversations they had had on the subject—although odd to Tristan at first, it had stuck.
Tristan didn’t understand men, but he was starting to feel their emotions and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. He had to get to the bottom of what went wrong. “So why would you not stay with her people? I mean, if you were to be Pan, you would have had to make a life on Nisí Poté.”
“It’s complicated,” Jack swatted away the question. “Besides, what use is it to be lord of the isle when it is obvious the council makes the rules.”
“The council protects us all,” Tristan repeated the citation.
“I’m thinking Rata and Fering may have had it right. This is an island of never-ending nothing. That’s why I can’t stay. I know that’s what Tigerlily wants, but this Neverland is a prison, Tristan, the council its jailers,” Jack vented.
“Peter, you mustn’t say such things,” Tristan scolded.
“Or what, they’ll banish me a second time?” Jack rolled his eyes. Even after everything, Fering’s treachery and his own personal risk to recover the dust, the council would not relent. There was to be no other chance given. Somehow, they considered stumbling into the tomb his first attempt. What burned him most was that he had everything in his grasp. Just a sprinkle of pixie dust, that was all he needed to best the shadow, but he had squandered his chance on revenge. “That would be rich. If they banished me again, at least I would have to leave and come back,” Jack continued aloud.
Tristan shook his head; he didn’t know what to say. For once in his life, he felt true sadness.
“I thought Belle would see me off.” Jack looked up and down the beach, his hands on his hips.
“I was sure to tell her.” Tristan huffed. “She must still be looking.”
“Looking for what?” Jack asked.
“She says Hukupapa is worried about her father. He hasn’t been seen in many settings of the sun.”
“Nothing lasts forever. Not even on Nisí Poté,” Jack spoke under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Jack would always see Tristan as good man, but a product of a corrupt and unjust system. A system the poor fool undoubtedly believed to be cured the moment Fering had been dispatched.
Jack sighed, looking at the dingy bobbing in the surf as it rolled up the beach. Just off the shore sat his final triumph. He may have lost all sense of time on Nisí Poté, but not his pragmatism. Jack knew the fairies would eventually make good on their threat to banish him. Out in the water of his bay sat a fine little sloop, just big enough for one man to handle. Though he’d never admitted it to Sam, he’d had quite a few dreams back in London. When he wasn’t thieving with his boys, he would inevitably find himself sitting at the water’s edge of the Thames, daydreaming about pushing off for the sea. All those fond hopes had paid dividends. He knew the basic design of the boat and was quite proud of the work to get her seaworthy. It also had helped that when he needed it, the island produced every board, rope of caulk, and stitch of fabric to make her ready. It was as if it knew his mind and could pull from his memory details even he had forgotten.
“Is that enough to sail to your London?” Tristan didn’t know of anything else to say.
The question was like acid on Jack’s thoughts. They had been reduced to mostly meaningless chit chat for quite some time now. Whenever he got close to discussing his frustration with the council, the unjust rulers of Nisí Poté, Tristan would always change the subject.
“No. I was in the Caribbean when the Faversham went down.” Jack jammed the little rowboat higher into the sand and continued to load supplies of bread and fruit. “I should only need enough to make it to Barbados.”
Shaking his head imperceptibly, Tristan sighed. “You know I still don’t know how you are not the chosen one. No one yet has been able to create with the magic of Pan like this.”
“Tell it to Silette.” Jack stood and stretched. “She was with Fering, you know. You should watch out for her.”
“Peter,” Tristan argued, “you are… not everyone is bad just because they don’t agree with you.”
“You are at once naive and noble.” Jack put a hand on the fairy’s shoulder. “Never lose that. I will tell you the truth, Tristan. Gribanni is a feckless leader. It is Sillette who runs the council now. If anyone knows when a person… or fairy is lying, it’s me. Don’t trust her.”
Tristan huffed in exasperation. He could feel the distance between him and Peter, and he didn’t like it. “I don’t want you to go!” the words came out in a rush. “You are my friend, Peter. The coun… well, since the dark one’s gone, fairy time is back to normal. You could live almost forever here, with us!” He motioned with a wide arm towards Tigerlily, standing just past the roots of the mangroves on the white, sandy beach.
Jack followed his hand, for the first time noticing the native girl. “Almost forever. No matter how long that is, there is still a ticking clock on my time here.” Jack turned back and looked Tristan in the eyes. “You are my friend, but I need to get back while there’s still something to get back to.” Turning to Tigerlily, he plastered a smile on his face. “You’ve come to see me off as well, then. Not a grand festival, but I would only call you lot here my friends.”
“I wish you would stay,” Tristan tried once more. Jack answered with a silent resolve. Wrapping his arms about his charge suddenly, Tristan gripped Jack in a tight hug. “You have been a good friend, Peter. Safe travels and fair winds.” Wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes, he choked on the words and took a step back, “Well…that’s all there is for that. I must inform the council that our visitor has gone.”
Jack felt deflated as he watched Tristan disappear in a flash. Awkwardly, he turned back to Tigerlily. “I know why you are here, your Highness. But I have to go and—”
Holding her finger up to stop him, Tigerlily finished her procession through the white sand. “We may be wild, but we do recognize love, Peter. Your ghost-faced girl waits for you, yes?”
“Yes.” Jack nodded.
She looked down, avoiding his eyes, but unable to hide the hurt in her voice. “Then go to her, but always know my heart goes with you.” Lifting her arms, she opened her palms, revealing his leather pouch rolled up, the last remaining grains of dust glowing lightly.
“W
here?” Jack asked, shocked.
“One of my guards found it in the jungle while searching for my father. Take it and remember your time on Nisí Poté with fondness.”
Jack’s hand trembled as he reached out and took his pouch, his staid jubilation hardly containable. He stepped closer to embrace her, but she stepped back out of reach. With tears streaming down her face, she looked up like a kicked puppy. Spinning on her heels, she sprinted up the beach and was soon lost to the jungle.
When he was sure he was alone, he twisted in jubilation. Like being struck with lightning, his heart began to pound to his knees. Unable to stand still, his legs churned into the sand with a will of their own. His face stretched in a smile, he punched at the air as he dashed up the beach.
Jack’s mind filled with every possibility and thought, and he didn’t waste a moment dwelling on his surroundings until he stood over the mossy hole of the tomb. As if he was expected, a hollow laugh emanated from the gaping hole of the entrance, followed by a great rushing wind. Jack snatched up the soft leather pouch and took a deep breath as he poured the last remaining morsel into his palm. For a second, he stared at the golden stream as it danced across the lines in his skin. It was such a small amount. From experience, he knew it would not last long. The laugh from the tomb broke his silent contemplation, but this time Jack could hear something else in the tone—it sounded like hesitation. Smirking, Jack laughed to himself. “You should be concerned.” Tossing the dust over the opening, he jumped.
Chapter 35
J ack lifted his head and surveyed the cavern as it pulsed in golden light from the dust spreading over his body. From across the shallow pool stood the ghost of an image, its arms resting on its hips. The form shifted like it was made of smoke as it moved, billowing rather than running and not altogether complete as it went. Blowing toward him without warning, the shadow dashed into the crystal blue pool, sending a fountain of water gushing upwards.
What had been imperceptibly quick before, like the white flash of lightning that lingers with blindness when it has gone, suddenly become as normal as a summer breeze as the dust completed its investiture of his body. Jack grinned at the errant droplets spraying from the torrent of water frozen in midair. “Have you nothing new?” his mocking taunt echoed as he darted to the side in a burst of speed, his momentum keeping his feet glued to the wall of the cavern so that he dashed about the grotto without touching the lagoon. He was fast, but like Moremore, the being was otherworldly, and the dust seemed to imbue only enough power in making them equals. Before he could completely gain his bearings, the Shadow had outpaced him, grabbing him by the collar roughly and tossing him to the ground. Landing hard in a sliding sprawl, Jack struggled to gather his wits as his shirt jerked backwards, his feet flailing in the dirt as the shadow began to drag him towards the pool.
His ears burning, fury welled up in Jack’s gut, stronger than he had ever felt before. In that instant, he was a child once again, the dank, drunken smell of Nathan infiltrated his memory, the man’s fists driving against his face once more. “NO!” he barked. Jack’s sword raced from his hip as he kicked himself into a deft spin, swiping the air in a slice that severed, for the briefest of moments, the foggy mist that held him firm.
A deafening roar echoed from the walls of the tomb, more menacing than Moremore or any other sound that Jack had ever heard. The shadow seized him instantly by the color, a cloudy hand swallowing Jack’s grip upon his gladius. Against every effort, each digit peeled back one by one until his blade slackened and collapsed to his feet. In instinct, Jack reached out to where the specter’s arm should have been to stay its hand, amazed, he found he could grasp the air as if it were made of flesh and bone as the menacing growl returned. In golden sparks, the dust sizzled and popped where the two were touching, capturing both their attention as they wrestled for the upper hand.
“Aargh,” Jack gave a defiant yell, breaking the phantom’s grip and swinging his hand out with his might, striking where the chest of the being should have been. The nearly invisible body pitched backwards as Jack followed the specter in flight, both slamming against the wall with such force that it cracked the stone from the impact. With his forearm pinning the creature in place by the throat, Jack squeezed with every ounce of strength he had left, willing the shade into submission as his other hand fended off the phantoms attempts to scratch and gouge Jacks neck in a panic. Thrashing, it groaned and shook like a wounded beast when, at once, the muffled struggle turned to silence as an eerie pall reigned over their combat.
Sensing failure, Jack’s heart began to pound out a fever pitch, betraying his power as darkness encroached on the edge of his vision. His knees buckled, and they began to quiver the longer the battle of wills continued. Like the break of dawn, light shattered through cavern as the crawling arc of water breached the funnel of light from the opening, the prism of water reflecting its rainbow of color into the darkest reaches of the chamber, illuminating the vast size of the cavity.
To the right of their struggle, deeper than Jack had imagined the tomb would go, stood a vast dais with a solid gold throne perched on top a marble pedestal. With an explosion of flame, the golden rays it reflected caught within the walls of the tomb, revealing thousands of runes perfectly carved within the black basalt, their features sharp and ornate but paling against the magnitude of the opulent chamber. Jack’s eye followed the curve of the wall, distracting him from his battle and drawing his attention in a grand circle back to the great skeletal remains of a giant that sat atop the throne.
It had the general features of a man, but even as it sat, Jack could see that it had been more of the size of Moremore. Beyond its girth, the most prominent feature was the twisted and curled ram’s horns protruding from its skull. In awe at the image before him, Jack’s grip slackened subtly. The shadow seized the opportunity, twisted free, and grasped Jack by his clothes. Lifting Jack into the air over him, the shadow leapt head-first into the plinth of the skeleton, growling with desire to smash the intruder. Jack was the first to connect with the marble stones, which crushed into gravel with the force of his impact as the shadow followed closely behind for greater effect. For the first time, there was a dull sense of pain as the dust worried under the blow.
The wild roar resurged as Jack tussled with the shadow, crashing into and dancing about the heavy bones raining slowly about them. Grateful that the thin layer of dust was still protecting him, Jack could sense its effects were diminishing rapidly. He knew he would not be able to withstand another blow and that thought alone, caused a well of fear to build at the base of his neck. This had become a battle for blood, and Jack knew the shadow’s wrath would not be subdued by simply throwing him from the chamber. Thrusting his opponent away with the remainder of his strength, Jack turned to flee as the speed of the world slowly began to overtake him. His face set to the exit, he focused on the crescent of water as his goal. In a final surge of power, the dust slowed the world back to a crawl as the splashing fountain of water sprayed out in a million different droplets refracting just as many rays of light. Instantly, the chamber lit completely with a blinding flame of green that ripped Jack’s head around to the source. He had only a fraction of a second but glowing out of the dark plinth was a golden ring wrapped about an enormous emerald, sitting over the curled pinky of the giant’s bony hand. As quickly as it had happened, the dust was gone as the world sped to normality for the final time. Knowing he would not be giving a second reprieve, Jack made the split-second decision, ignoring the glowing hole across the pool that called to his panic. The war between fight and flight tearing his thoughts, he turned to the pile of bones and gave a primal yell before diving into the dark.
His body may have been slowed to mortal proportions, but like lightning, his mind gripped upon the significance of that ring. Hukapapa wore a tattoo on the same little finger. Moremore, as well, had the same form upon his own hand. In a burst of memory, Jack’s mind filled with half a dozen more thoughts, insignificant
on their own, but as a whole, they screamed for him to gather that ring. Sliding into the pile of bones, he began to grope for the skeletal fist. Just as he felt the dry fingers, a sharp blow of a giant horn collided with his side, an audible crack echoing through the chamber as he flew off the dais, crashing into the wall of the cavern behind. Sucking in a heaving gulp of air, Jack grimaced as the agonizing pain in his side halted the breath in his throat. From experience, he knew at least one rib was broken.
Rolling over with shallow, panting breaths, Jack held the hand of the dead beast to his chest. A frigid chill where the shadow gripped his ankle spread goosebumps down his limbs. His mind fixated on the ring, he scrambled over the digits of the enormous hand as it lay upon his chest, half-heartedly kicking and struggling as he was dragged towards the placid pool. Ignoring the sensation of flying as his body lifted from the ground, Jack stripped the ring free of the skeletal finger. In the second of suspension at the pinnacle of his flight, Jack lost grip on the golden band as he tumbled back towards the ground, the ring dangling through the emptiness before him as he fell. In a moment of clarity, he could feel the anxiety of the shadow racing towards him, the smoky, outstretched hand crossing his body as he dropped. With one last stretch, Jack outreached the shadow by inches, pulling the ring from the air as his other arm braced for impact with the glowing pool beneath him. In a great, slapping crash, the water curled up and swallowed his body whole, stinging his face and extremities. His breath held firm within his chest the world slowed around him as he drifted deeper into the cold. Shocked he was still alive, Jack cracked the lid of one eye to see the golden band glowing firmly about his thumb.