“Stay here and you can fly whenever you like, as long as you like, all over the island.” His voice was low and urgent, like she’d never heard it.
Trying to lighten the mood, she said, “If you’re trying to get me to stay, I must say, you’re on the right track. But I do wonder why it’s so important to you.”
Something dark crossed his features, not unlike a rogue shadow. “Here,” he said for the second time that day, taking her hand in his. “Let me show you.”
Chapter 7
They landed on a wooden porch that wrapped around the entire house, and the house wrapped around the entire tree. It was quite unlike anything Wren had ever seen before. From this vantage point, she could see all the other treetop houses, even Archer’s all the way on the other side of their village. Unlike the rest of the houses, there was no rope bridge connecting Pan’s house to the others. It was isolated, just like he liked it.
She turned to him to find him studying her as she studied the houses. Suddenly nervous, she looked away again, pacing the length of the railing. “Can the other boys fly?” she asked.
“No, not without my permission.”
“So, they can fly,” she corrected him, “but they don’t.”
“I suppose.” He followed her around the curve of the trunk.
This house was not as crudely built as the others. It was larger, for one, and the boards were painted green to match the leaves in the canopy, for camouflage, she suspected.
“What do you do when the leaves fall?” she asked.
His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“In the autumn, when the seasons change, aren’t the houses exposed?”
He cocked his head to one side. “You forget—time is not the same here. The seasons do not turn on the island.”
“What a strange place,” she murmured, continuing her tour of the porch.
They reached a door finally, a fine, heavy door of dark wood, and he let her in. It was a two-story home, with a sitting room on the bottom and an open sleeping area up a set of wooden stairs that circled the trunk of the tree. Everything was decorated in dark greens and browns to match the forest, and on the wall above the couch was what appeared to be a map of the island.
“Beautiful,” she said. “Was this what you wanted to show me?”
“No.” He crossed the sitting room to a low end table and picked up a picture she had not seen there at first. It was small and framed in mahogany. He offered it to her.
She took it and examined the contents, which took her breath away. Looking at the image inside was like looking into a mirror. It was an old, yellowed photograph of a girl no older than Wren was now, and she was very nearly her spitting image. Closer examination showed her that the subject’s eyes were a little bigger, and the nose a bit sharper, and then it hit her who she was looking at.
“Granny,” she said.
He stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. “My Wendy-bird.”
“Your Wendy?”
“You haven’t figured it out yet?” he asked with a smile that she didn’t entirely like.
She stared at the photo a moment longer before cautiously returning it to the table and setting it back just as it had been. “You’re him. The boy who died. The boy she made this place for.”
He straightened almost imperceptibly. “Now you’ve got it.”
Without taking her eyes off of him, Wren felt around for the couch behind her and sat, needing to process this new information. “Who are you really?”
“If you mean, who was I before? My name was Petrov Panilovich, and I was heir to the throne of Astanrog in your grandmother’s time. She and I were betrothed to be married from a young age. We were just a year from the wedding when I became very sick and was stolen from her.”
Her mind was spinning and she looked away from him. “And the captain? How did he fit in?”
Pan smiled ruefully. “He was the son of your great-grandfather’s butler. He was mad for your grandmother, but she was mad for me.”
“And you?” Wren asked, finally meeting his eyes again. “Did you love her?”
He sat down and took one of her hands in his. “Very much.”
As much as it baffled her, Wren had no problem imagining what it had been like for her grandmother and the boys back then. They had this island, this private place of dreams and magic, where life was just a game, and her grandmother was in the center of it. They had no worries, no responsibilities, not a care in the world.
“Then, why did she leave?”
Pan released her hand and leaned back. “She went back to the Frostwater to do her duty. To marry, to raise children. I could not follow her, and she forbade the captain from returning while she still lived. She grew up, sticking us with eternal youth and freedom. A blessing or a curse, I’m still not sure.”
“And what do you want with me?”
“I want you to stay. I’ve been stuck since she left, the same, boring, day-to-day existence. I need fun; I need adventure. You have the blood of the creator in you. With you, we can use your dream-magic to restore Never Island to the way it was when your grandmother was here.”
“But I don’t have magic.”
“Don’t you?”
She bit her tongue to keep from objecting again as she remembered the sword appearing in her hand, the way she had known how to wield it just as she did in her dreams. A breeze slipped in through an open window nearby. The shadows of leaves danced across the hardwood floors. Beside her, Pan shifted on the couch, obviously trying not to be impatient but failing miserably. This wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly, though, and she refused to be rushed.
Perhaps he was right. Maybe she did have magic, and maybe she could fix things. Not just the island, but maybe she could free all those dreams locked in the castle in the sky. And there was Wren’s own future. She thought it would be nice to grow up someday and have a family of her own, but she wanted it to be on her own time and her own terms. In the meantime, maybe a little adventure wouldn’t be so bad, as long as she was free and independent.
“OK,” she said, turning to where he reclined on the couch.
“OK?” He raised his eyebrows at her.
“I’ll stay.” She’d thought at first to ask him for conditions. That she could leave after a certain amount of time, or that she be given her own place, things along those lines, but then she realized she didn’t have to. She was her grandmother’s descendant, after all. She didn’t have to ask him for anything, but she would play nice, at least for now.
“You will?” He sat forward, green eyes sparkling. “Say it again.”
“I will. I’ll stay,” she said, laughing as he pulled her to her feet before she even finished speaking.
They were out the door and on the porch in a heartbeat. Far below, torches lit the path they had taken to get to the house, and she could see some movement there. Before she could ask him what was happening, though, Pan cocked his head back and let out a mighty noise that sounded exactly like the crow of a rooster at dawn. She very nearly clapped her hands over her ears before remembering herself.
Shouts and snapping branches filled the otherwise quiet woods. Pan wrapped one arm around her waist and, without an additional infusion of fairy dust, jumped both of them over the railing.
Wren held on for dear life, her heart in her throat, expecting to tumble to the ground. Instead, they floated down gently, landing gracefully in the middle of a circle of Lost Boys. They had nearly all painted their faces and donned what seemed to be animal skins. She was not a bit surprised to see Wolf with gray fur, his eyes peering out at her from beneath a wolf’s open maw. Cub wore a small bear suit, and Toots was dressed as a skunk. There were others there, her eyes scanning the gray and brown and black furs until they landed on the only one who wasn’t a predator. Archer, with his tawny skin and light hair, wore a deer hide. A crown of antlers reached up from his head, making him seem even taller.
None of this seemed to faze Pan, who held up a hand f
or silence. “Boys, I am pleased to announce that Wren Darlington has decided to stay.”
There were mostly jubilant shouts, though Wolf stayed noticeably silent. She could have sworn his eyes glowed yellow just like those of his namesake, but maybe it was just the firelight.
“Before she gets her skins, though,” Pan said, holding his hand up again, “she must complete a challenge as all Lost Boys do.”
This time, instead of excited shouts, there were anxious whispers.
“Challenge?” She looked at him. “What kind of challenge?”
He ignored her. “Boys.”
Hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her forward, west, away from the village. She stumbled along, doing her best to keep her feet under her and trying not to be afraid. She had to remember that this was, in part, her island, and there was nothing to fear.
At least, she hoped not.
Wren stood just inside the hut at the edge of the lagoon and tried to calm herself. The pounding of drums outside did not help. They seemed to be beating to the very rhythm of the blood rushing inside her ears. All Pan had told her was that she should dress ready for adventure, and so she had changed into a green romper that she had conjured for herself, and tied it at the waist with a rope belt. Again, her mother would faint at the sight of her daughter’s legs in pants, btu Ms. Darlington always had been faint of heart. Wren, for one, was tired of constantly worrying about her skirts. No one else on the island had to, so why shoud she?
Outside, the boys were shouting and dancing around a fire they had made. Beyond them was the lagoon, the water black and still. She didn’t like this, but she had to remember that her grandmother wouldn’t have made anything too nefarious, right? She was a dreamer, but not a great adventurer, at least not that Wren knew.
The door opened to the hut.
“Ready?” Pan asked, peeking his head in.
“Oh, Pan, tell me what it is,” she begged, fisting her hands in her pockets.
“I can’t,” he answered. “It would be bad form.”
“Isn’t it bad form to send me into a challenge without telling me what I’ll be facing.”
He came into the hut then and grasped her hands between them. “It is nothing you cannot do. All the boys face a challenge that I invent before I welcome them into the Lost Boys, even Cub.”
“Will it be very dangerous?”
“Life is dangerous,” he answered cryptically. “But no, not very. Not for you.”
She didn’t like that, and it didn’t make her feel any better. “You are a very difficult boy, Pan.”
“That’s why Wendy liked me so.”
Wren rolled her eyes and followed him out to the beach just as Wolf threw his head back and howled at the full moon that was rising over the mountain. Cub let out a little growl, and then they all fell into silence.
“Wren Darlington, I present to you your challenge.” He held his hand out toward the lagoon. The moon cast enough light that she could make out the rock in the center, but nothing else.
“What?” She glanced at him. “The lagoon?”
He smirked. “Something beneath the lagoon.”
He couldn’t be serious. She was a decent swimmer, but it wasn’t drowning that concerned her. She had no idea what sort of animals lived there—sharks, rays, snakes. Mermaids.
When he spoke, his voice had taken on a sort of announcer quality. He was definitely putting on a show and she didn’t like that it was at her expense. “Many moons ago, before the pirates were banished from the island, the mermaids and the Lost Boys were allies, united against a common enemy. I entrusted to them a treasure for safekeeping, which they hid in their underwater lair.”
“Am I to retrieve this treasure?” Wren asked, still disbelieving.
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “When the mermaids and the Lost Boys were later set against one another, the mermaids refused to return this treasure to us. They told us that they will only return the treasure to the creator or her descendants, and that is why you are to retrieve this lost treasure.”
Once again, her blood was to dictate her worth. She did not wish to be defined by her creator’s blood for the rest of her time here, but she wouldn’t bring it up, not now. Not until she’d proved she had more value than her last name. “How?” she asked. “Will they come to the surface? Do I summon them somehow?”
Someone snickered.
Pan did not. “No, you must go to them. The mermaids will not answer to anyone, not even the creator.”
Well, that didn’t sound promising. She looked over to Archer, who had been suspiciously silent throughout this whole ordeal. She desperately wanted to ask him what his challenge had been. He didn’t seem the type to do something stupid or dangerous just because Pan told him to, but maybe she had him all wrong. He must have done something to join the Lost Boys, proven his worth somehow.
“Are they very terrible?”
“Certainly not,” Pan said at the same time someone else shouted, “Awful!”
Pan glared at the group, and then looked back to her. “They don’t like the Lost Boys very much, but they won’t mind you. They did love your grandmother, so it stands to reason they will at the very least tolerate you.”
Tolerate. And hopefully not drown. It was looking bleaker the more they talked. She was ready to be done with it.
“Be brave,” she whispered to herself.
She removed her slippers and waded into the lagoon, glad for the pants romper she wore. The drumming started up again behind her. She dared a glance back and saw that most of the boys had returned to their revelry. All except Pan, with a feather in his hat, and Archer, with the antlers winding around his head. The two of them stood watching her, expressions carefully blank.
When the water reached her waist, she took a deep breath and dove, hoping against hope that it would not be the last time she felt air in her lungs.
Chapter 8
She cut through the water with strong strokes and powerful kicks, going deeper and deeper until the light only barely reached, and then deeper still. Once, her fingers brushed something slimy and she nearly screamed, losing her breath, until the face of a giant fish came into view and then disappeared just as quickly. Her chest burned and her arms ached when she finally reached the bottom. She considered giving up and returning to the surface just to save herself.
But she was blood of the creator. Why should she suffer so? Couldn’t she dream herself into another form, or was that beyond her capabilities?
Sudden pain in her neck made her cry out, and all the air she’d been holding escaped between her lips. She put her hand there to see what had gotten her and was surprised to find long slits in her skin.
Gills.
She’d accidentally given herself gills.
As strange a sensation as it was not to have to breathe, it certainly made moving below the surface easier. She swam along the bottom of the lagoon, running her fingers through the sand and stirring up little creatures that scampered away from her. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark—that or she had dreamed herself up some fish eyes without meaning to—and she could see a drop-off ahead. It looked terrifying but also promising. If mermaids were to live anywhere, surely it would be somewhere not easily accessible.
When she reached the ledge, it was just as she feared. The ground dropped away and plunged into darkness very far below her. She would need more than gills to explore down there. She would need night vision and fins and—
Something streaked past her out of the pit in a rush of bubbles and a blast of water, and before she could move away, something knocked her in the face so hard that she stumbled back, flipping once before grabbing onto some type of rooted plant that kept her from tumbling away. She brought her free hand to her face and touched it gingerly. It was already sore and would almost certainly be bruised.
When she looked up, though, the state of her face became the least of her worries. For she was suddenly face to face with three mermaids, though they were
not like the mermaids in her dreams, not really. They had fins, yes, and long hair of different colors drifting down to cover their breasts, but their skin was tinged blue. Their faces were ferocious, with hard lines and pointed ears, and fangs protruded from their mouths. In their webbed fingers, each of them held a sharp-tipped spear angled toward her.
Wren held her hands up in a gesture of peace.
The mermaid in the middle, the leader, perhaps, screamed and thrust forward with her spear, its tip coming within an inch of Wren’s stomach.
“Wait, wait,” Wren said, not worrying about whether or not she could speak underwater, but simply believing that she could. It worked. The sound was muffled, but it was there. She could only hope that the mermaids understood her.
Indeed, they looked stunned that she was able to speak at all. They began murmuring to one another instead, and one of them touched her own neck and she knew they were discussing her gills.
“If I may—” Wren began, but the middle one lunged forward again, her blue hair swirling around her face.
The spear pricked Wren’s skin, but she reached down and caught it. In one movement, Wren jerked the spear from the mermaid’s grip and turned the weapon on its master. The other two converged on her, but instead of fighting, Wren dropped the weapon. It fell to the sand, landing in a cloud of dust.
“If I may introduce myself,” she said, starting again, “my name is Wren Darlington, the granddaughter of Wendy Darlington, and I am here to retrieve a treasure that is rightfully mine.” She didn’t know for sure that it was rightfully hers, but that sounded better than the alternative—that she was here on an errand for His Royal Highness the Never King, whom they apparently did not like.
They conferred again, their voices only murmurs to Wren’s ears. She wasn’t even sure they were speaking in any language that she knew. Finally, the middle mermaid came forward and put a hand to her own chest.
“Mara,” she said. Then, she pointed to her friends. “Tal.” The smaller of the two who had pink hair and darker skin lifted her hand. “Assana.” The other one, with hair as black as coal and eyes to match, nodded in Wren’s general direction. Then, the one called Mara put her hand on Wren’s chest. “Wendy.”
Kingdom of Crowns and Glory Page 39