by Susan Adrian
“What do you want, and why haven’t you changed to sheep?” she snaps. “I don’t like visitors.”
I take a deep breath. I need to be calm. I need to get the words right. I need to save Clover. I clench my fists, so tight I can feel my nails digging into my skin.
“Scylla sent me,” I say. My voice is wavery too. “She’s down below, in the water, and would like to speak with you.” I breathe, clench my fists. Breathe, clench. I feel the pressure building in my chest. “But first you need to change my sister back.”
She opens the door wider and tilts her head. “Scylla. That is interesting.” Her voice is low and smooth, buttery. She has a little bit of an accent, but I’d never be able to place it. “It has been a long age since I had an appeal about Scylla. But you are a mortal. Are you not afraid of the monster?”
I swallow hard. “No, ma’am.”
She raises an eyebrow, and I wonder if I said the wrong thing. If she’s going to produce a monster I will be afraid of.
“You did not change, so you are protected. Herbs, no doubt.” She opens the door all the way. “Come in, and we will discuss it.”
Peter puts a hand on the door.
“Wait.” I stop him and shake my head. It feels like a trap. “We would rather stay out here, ma’am. Please change my sister back now, and then I will take you to where Scylla is.”
She laughs. “You’re a wily one. Won’t cross the threshold, eh? Very well.” She glances at Peter. “You should have known better also. I see you know the ways of things.” She smiles at him. “But you are eager and confident. You remind me of Odysseus.”
She turns back to me. “I suppose Scylla desires me to change her to her former shape as well?”
I nod. Clover bleats, which makes me shudder.
“Listen how prettily she sings for me now,” Circe says. I bite my lip. She knows Clover sings, somehow…that she sang for Scylla. I wonder if she knows everything.
She tilts her head again. “My flock is getting low,” she says. “You must answer a riddle correctly, or you will all stay and be my sheep.”
I swallow. Shoe gulps, her eyes wide. Peter nods once.
“A riddle,” I say quietly. “Okay.”
Because there’s always a riddle, in a story. I just hope I’ve read enough stories to know the answer.
Circe steps neatly out the door and sits on a bumpy mound of grass in front of her house. She opens one hand, and Clover trots over to her, like a dog, and lies down, her sheep legs curled under her. Circe idly strokes Clover’s wool. It makes me feel ill.
Peter steps forward, fists raised. “Stop that,” he growls. “She’s not a pet.”
Shoe steps up next to him. “Let her go.”
Circe blinks at us, eyes round and innocent, but then she shrugs, and Clover bounds up again, retreating to the edge of the mist. She bleats sadly. “When you fail to guess the riddle, you will all be my pets,” Circe says. She smiles, scary, like a shark’s smile.
I have a sudden image of her color, which isn’t really a color at all: bright, blinding white. With a little gold mixed in.
“What’s the riddle?” I ask.
She studies us again, then points at Peter and Shoe. “You two step away. The riddle is for the mortal boy, so he can save his sister. Not for you.”
Shoe scowls, and Peter turns bright red again.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”
Uh-oh. I feel like I’m losing my words, like my brain is starting to spin. But it can’t right now. I have to think, to be able to solve this riddle. I have to listen, and understand.
Peter and Shoe reluctantly move back a few steps.
Circe smiles again, all shark. “Are you ready? You will only get one answer.”
I nod. I probably look calm, though inside I’m screaming.
She folds her hands. “The riddle: The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space. The beginning of every end, and the end of every place.” She laughs. “One Fergus, one Clover. There, you have an extra hint from me, as a bonus.”
My mind blurs, and I want to run and hide somewhere quiet.
No. Not now. Focus.
I tap my fingers, trying to focus, to think. I’ve heard this before somewhere, or something like it. But I can’t quite connect anything. I look back at Peter and Shoe. Shoe gives me a half smile, encouraging.
Peter tugs on his ears. I hope that’s not a clue, because I don’t understand it.
Think.
The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space. Not the obvious, the big bang or anything like that. That’s not how riddles work. It’s a trick. Something small, hidden in the clue. The beginning of every end. Every end. End. Endings? The endings of places? Of stories?
The endings of words?
The beginning of every end. The end of every place. One Fergus, one Clover. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly: one…two…three. She should have said one in Fergus, one in Clover. One in one.
I glance down. Circe is watching me, smoothing her hair with one pale hand.
I smile, and the stress leaks away. I got it.
“You see two in every week,” I answer, “and one in every year, but never in a day.”
Circe sighs. Her face is still, like a mask. “Say it aloud.”
“The letter E,” I say, triumphant.
Circe pushes herself up. “Yes.”
Shoe and Peter cheer. I feel the happiness bubble up. I saved her! I solved it.
“I will only transform one,” Circe says slyly. “Clover or Scylla. Which will you choose?”
The bubble bursts. This is another trick, of course. A god’s trick. Scylla has been a monster for hundreds of years. Thousands of years. Clover has only been a sheep for a couple of minutes. If I choose Clover, Circe will not have lost anything. If I choose Scylla…
Obviously I can’t choose Scylla.
“My sister,” I say quietly.
“Very well.” She blinks, and Clover stands there again, unharmed, staring at her hands. Shoe rips the bag off her waist and throws it to Clover, and Clover swallows a handful of each herb fast, to protect herself from the mist.
Circe looks at each of us in turn. “Done. I believe that is the end of our dealings.” She steps inside and closes the green door again, with a click.
Shoe runs to Clover and hugs her, hard. Clover hugs back for a long moment, but then she lets go.
“That was my fault,” she says quietly. “You traded Scylla’s chance for me because I was too scared to come up with you, and then I was careless because I wanted to be part of the adventure. We have to try again. Scylla still has Jasmina and Allora trapped in her cave. She won’t release them unless we succeed.” Tears fill her eyes. “We have to try again.”
I shake my head. “Once the gods make a deal, it’s done.”
“She is right, though,” Peter says. “We must finish the adventure. We cannot abandon the mermaids now.”
Clover turns to me. “Circe made a deal with you. Your deal is complete. She didn’t make a deal with me.” She strides up and knocks on the door, even harder than I did.
“No,” Circe calls from inside. “We are done. Leave me alone, boy.”
“It’s not the boy,” Clover says loudly. “It’s the girl you turned into a sheep. And I want to make a bargain with you for Scylla.”
“You can’t make a bargain,” I say to Clover, the words spilling out. “It’ll go wrong. Don’t.”
She presses her lips together in a thin line and knocks once more. “You’ll want to hear it,” she calls.
The door opens, and Circe leans against the doorframe, her arms folded. “Yes?”
“No,” I hiss.
Clover glances at me. “I’ll offer you something in exchange,” she says carefully. “If you change
Scylla to her former self. I’ll offer you something that means everything to me.”
Circe raises her eyebrows. “Yes?” she repeats.
Clover clenches her fists, and takes a deep breath, then another. “I’ll give you my voice,” she says. “My singing.”
Circe tilts her head, like she’s considering. “You offer your singing?”
“I can sing,” I say. “It’s the one thing I can do.”
“Stop!” Fergus shouts.
“Can you?” Circe asks. She laughs, a mean, small laugh. “That would be more helpful with Scylla and her dogs, I would think. Or Ursula. I imagine that’s where you got the idea.” She shakes her head. “I have no need for a singer or a voice. What would I do with your voice?”
“What do you want, then?” I ask desperately.
Circe doesn’t answer.
Shoe looks at me for a moment, then steps forward. “I could stay with you here. I can fix things. Or I could…take care of the animals.”
“No!” I whisper.
“No one would miss me,” she says, soft. “Not really. And if it would help you and free the mermaids…” Her eyes are bright. “It would be an adventure.”
I reach out and take her hand, and she squeezes it. She’s a wonderful friend. But I can’t let her do that alone. It was my fault, not hers.
I swallow hard. Don’t think. Don’t worry. Just do. “I…I could stay too. We could be your companions. Helpers.”
“No!” Fergus yells. “No no no!”
I look at him. “I’m sorry,” I say. But it’s clear that he doesn’t need me anymore, not in Neverland. He would be all right.
I can’t think about Mom. About home, about everything I’d be letting go. I just can’t let Jasmina, Allora, Shoe—and even Scylla—lose their whole lives because of me.
Circe’s face changes, intent on mine. “You would sacrifice yourself for the monster, truly?” She nods at Shoe. “You would sacrifice yourself? This is not a trick or a joke. Pan will not come rescue you in a week’s time.”
Peter grimaces, like he was thinking that.
“It’s not a trick,” I say.
“We promise,” Shoe echoes.
Peter steps forward, next to me. “You have no need of them, Circe,” he says. “You know it. I will give you something of Neverland instead, something of power.” He draws the sword from his back and lays it flat across his hands. “It is the magical sword Skofnung. It is harder than any other sword, does not rust, and is always sharp.” He winks at Fergus. “I stole it from the Danes. It has been in Neverland for nearly ever. Take it instead, as payment for Scylla.”
“But why?” Circe asks. “Why would any of you offer these things? You could ask to go back to Neverland—or home—right now, and never see Scylla again. Why offer your life, or even your sword, for a monster?”
Everyone turns to me, and I take a sharp breath. Again it feels like being called on, like a test. It’s important how I answer. I think hard about what to say.
Scylla is a monster on the outside. She dragged me under the water. She blinded me. She used to kill people.
But I feel for her. She didn’t choose to look the way she does. She was cursed. After everyone rejected her because they were afraid of her, she still tried to stop hurting others. She hid herself away in a cave with her art. Even when she stole us, she was only trying to get rest.
“She’s holding the mermaids,” I say slowly. “But also, she needs help. I don’t think anyone’s ever tried to help her.” I look at Shoe and Peter and Fergus. We’ve helped each other every step of the way. Scylla deserves that too.
Circe looks at us for a long time, all four of us, then lifts her chin and stares off into the distance, at the sea. None of us speak, or move. Shoe holds my hand tightly. At last Circe sighs, raises one finger, and disappears into her house, letting the door swing slowly shut behind her. The sheep bleat in the distance, and the mist swirls around our feet.
“You can’t stay here,” Fergus whispers. “You can’t.”
“I don’t want to,” I say. Tears burn my eyes. “But we have to save Allora and Jasmina. And Scylla…” I sigh. “Like I said, she needs someone to help her. I can’t steal her one chance.”
Circe is gone for a long time, long enough that I start to worry she won’t come out again. Then the door opens and she’s there, a green glass bottle in her hand.
“This is what I want,” she says quietly. We all wait, breathless. “This kind of loyalty. That is what I have always wanted.” She starts walking toward the cliff ladder, fast. We follow her, tumbling after her as well as we can.
“You know the story of Odysseus?” Circe asks. “He was happy on my island. I was happy, feasting all his men. But they abandoned me and left me alone. And all the others: they came, they visited, and then they left, moving on with their lives. No one stayed. No one was loyal to me.” She stops and smooths the hair on her shoulder, studying Fergus and Peter, then Shoe, then me.
“You”—she points at Fergus—“you would sacrifice yourself for your sister. And you”—she points at me, and my heart skips—“you would sacrifice your voice, then yourself, for what everyone else sees as only a monster.”
Circe looks at me a moment longer. Then she points at Shoe. “You offered to give up your life for your friends. And you…” She points at Peter. Then she laughs. “You are Pan. You have no loyalty to anything but Neverland, in truth. Yet you offered the sword of Skofnung. It is no small gift, for Pan.”
Peter grins, like they’re sharing a secret.
Circe starts walking again. “Now it is time for all of you to leave. I am tired of visitors.”
My stomach tightens. She’s rejecting our offers. We failed, and it’s my fault.
“Please,” I start, but Circe waves a hand, cutting me off. We get to the cliff, the place where the rope ladder is slung under a boulder. She steps right up to the edge, her toes curling over.
“Scylla!” Her voice booms, cracking across the waves like thunder. Fergus covers his ears. I want to. “Scylla! Show yourself.”
Far down below, by the shore, Scylla pops to the surface like a cork, dogs barking madly. She raises both hands, palms high, like she’s praying to Circe. “Please, great goddess—” she says.
“Stop,” Circe interrupts, still in that thundering voice. “These children have done the arguing for you. Stay where you are.” She pulls the stopper out of the green bottle, raises it up, says something I don’t understand, then tosses it down, the bottle curving into the water next to Scylla. It lands with a tiny splash. Scylla looks at it, gasps, and dives underwater.
“Did you—” Fergus starts, but Circe interrupts again. “Watch,” she says.
We watch, silent. The water thrashes and churns. Fergus reaches out and touches my hand. I touch back, lightly, then let go. After a very long time—my feet go numb—Scylla’s head pops up again.
It’s a normal head. No eels. No dogs barking either, just perfect silence. Scylla looks down at herself, rubs her hands along her waist, and squeals in glee. She raises both arms again to the cliff. “Thank you!” she calls. “Oh, thank you. Thank you too, Fergus. Clover. Neverland folk.”
Circe waves a hand, and Scylla is gone. Disappeared.
I spin to Circe. “Where did she go?”
She sighs and slides the stopper into a pocket. “I sent her home to her father. They have much to catch up on.” She smiles. When she means it, she has a smile that makes me want to grin back and dance. Like Peter’s, but stronger. “Your mermaids are home too, sight restored. It was easily done.”
“Thank you!” I say. Fergus, Shoe, and even Peter echo me.
Circe tilts her head. “You were loyal, when you did not have to be. And you saw through to her inside, to the person she was before I meddled. I decided it was time to let her
be that again.” She sighs and brushes her hands together. “Now I would like to be alone. It is surely time you returned to your home also, is it not? Your mother is worried.”
“How do you know about our mother?” Fergus asks.
Circe laughs. “I am a goddess, and a witch besides.” She touches me under the chin, then Fergus. “I will send you, brave ones. To Neverland, or England?”
“Neverland,” Fergus says before I can answer.
The sadness grips me again. He really is going to stay in Neverland, isn’t he? He’s going to send me home alone.
A moment later we’re surrounded by blinding white light. When I open my eyes, the four of us are on the beach at Neverland, the lagoon sparkling in the sunlight.
The breeze from the lagoon is warm and wet against my cheeks. I laugh. I lean my head back and howl, and Peter and Shoe join in, the three of us in chorus like real wolves. It feels amazing, letting everything out. I howl again, long and loud. We did it!
Clover goes down to the shore. A few of the mermaids pop up, crying out in what sounds like happiness—then all of them come, including Jasmina and Allora. Clover talks to them, her arms waving, telling them of the adventure. Shoe goes too, running down with her arms wide. I stay high up on the beach with Peter, so I won’t want to go in the water. I’ve had enough of water for a while.
“Lost Boys!” Peter calls. “Come!”
In the next minute the pixies find us, a whole swarm of them, flitting around Peter and me. I let my hands fly, zipping in and out around the pixies, like a dance.
I’m so glad we saved Scylla. But I’m more glad Clover and I came out okay, as people and not sheep. Now I just want to celebrate with Peter, and Friendly, and Shoe, and the rest of them.
When I hear the footsteps thundering over the hill and see Friendly with his sun smile, and Jumper and Swim and Rella and George, joy surges inside me. I hold on to it, grasping the joy tight.
The Lost Boys surround me, whooping and shouting. George starts a dance, and Rella and Swim join in. I dance too, waving my hands, jerking my feet, moving however I want. It’s free, open. It’s so easy to just be, here.