The Navigator

by Sky, Erin Michelle; Brown, Steven;

  The plan John had laid out involved splitting the platoon into two groups. One, led by Michael, would follow the hidden path down into the cove itself, ready to attack from below. The other, led by John, would crawl on their bellies to the edge of the upper ledge and prepare to fire on the everlost from above. They would not be able to see each other, so the signal was simple. Michael’s team would fire a volley to begin the assault.

  John moved into place first, and Wendy followed. She crawled as far as she could without being seen and then dropped to her belly, her legs and abdomen pressing uncomfortably against the uneven floor of the rock. Three men came in behind them, including poor Reginald, who settled himself to her left. Wendy wanted terribly to peek her head over the edge, but she didn’t dare for fear she would give away their presence before Michael and the others were ready. Instead, she prepared her musket and held her position.

  The waiting was terrible. It seemed to last forever, as though the entire world was holding its breath, and then everything happened at once. The crack of gunfire exploded from below, echoing painfully off the walls of the cove. The everlost shouted in alarm. And then something roared—a voice that started out so deep it reverberated through her chest, rising into an enraged wail like nothing she had ever heard before.

  She thrust herself forward the last two feet until she could finally see over the lip of the rock ledge. Whatever that thing was, it definitely had not been there before. It stood some ten to twelve feet high, a massive beast shaped roughly like a man but with pale green skin, a bulging forehead, and no hair worth mentioning. Its chest was bare, as were its feet, and it wore only a rough leather kilt around its waist. For a long moment she could hardly move, staring at it in horror.

  But then it started lumbering toward the sound of the gunfire below, and it looked extremely angry.

  Wendy had no idea what it was, but she assumed its heart lay buried beneath its ribs, like every other creature she knew. She raised her musket, sighted down the barrel, and shot it in the chest with a silver bullet.

  The beast screamed in agony and fell to its knees. At first she thought she had fired the luckiest shot in the world, but then she realized the truth. The terrible roar, combined with the basic shock of it, had drawn all their fire—every single shot. And now the everlost understood what was happening and knew where they were.

  All of them.

  She started to reload, but she could see in an instant that there wasn’t time. The everlost crew spread their wings and launched themselves into the air, coming for them—both Michael’s team below and John’s above.

  Heading the charge for the upper alcove was the foreman she had seen that morning, the one who had shaken the little innisfay in its cage. He locked eyes with her and registered a brief moment of surprise, but then he bared his teeth in a cruel grin.

  Wendy barely had time to abandon her musket. She scrambled to her feet and drew her silver dagger from her belt, and then he landed on the ledge in front of her, flashing a calculating sneer beneath cold, dark eyes.

  ohn wasted no time. He plunged his own dagger into the foreman’s side before the creature could fully draw his sword. The everlost laughed, but when he twisted toward John, the laughter became a hiss and a sudden grimace of pain. His eyes widened and he looked down at his side, where the wound was still bleeding.

  Wendy had almost expected him to disappear, remembering the body of the everlost Hook had shot, but the foreman was only injured, not dead. He spread his wings and leaped backward, hovering away from the ledge, out of reach.

  “Silver!” he roared, and the closest of his brethren took up the shout at once, echoing it throughout the cavern.

  “Silver! Silver!”

  Then he snarled, thrust his sword before him, and hurled himself at John. Wendy’s heart leaped into her throat, but she couldn’t afford to watch. She had her own problems.

  Two more everlost had flown up from the ship behind the foreman, and now they drew their own swords. One landed to take on the two men from the platoon who were farthest to the left. The other came for Wendy and poor Reginald.

  Wendy backed up, drawing the everlost farther into the alcove. She needed room to fight—room to take full advantage of the fact that she and Reginald could work as a team, two against one.

  It was the only thing that could even the odds.

  “Flank him,” she said. Her eyes never left the everlost before her, but Reginald understood and circled toward his other side.

  Wendy continued to back up, leading the everlost as far as she could from the others. She stepped to the right, giving Reginald the left. They held their silver blades out before them. The everlost—a bit shorter than the rest, thin and wiry—spat on the cavern floor.

  “Since when did the Royal Navy start playing with dolls?”

  Wendy said nothing, refusing to be distracted, but then a flash of intensity crossed Reginald’s face. He was about to lunge.

  Wendy flexed her knees and raised the tip of her blade, holding the everlost’s attention. “What makes you think I’m playing?”

  She feinted to the right, trying to draw his guard away from Reginald, but the creature was too fast. He realized the ruse just in time, spinning to knock Reginald’s blade away. Before he could retaliate, Wendy attacked again. The everlost spun once more, and their blades caught at the hilt.

  He snarled and tried to push her away, but Wendy held her ground. She flowed with his movement, dodging to the left and sliding her blade away. She plunged it toward him again, but he fell back howling before she could connect.

  The everlost gripped his side where Reginald had wounded him. Enraged, he turned again, pulling his sword back and preparing to thrust it straight through Reginald’s chest.

  In the blink of an eye, Wendy stepped forward and swept his leg out from under him, knocking him off balance. Instead of skewering Reginald’s chest, the everlost fell right in front of him. Reginald raised his dagger and plunged it deep into the base of the creature’s neck, just behind his collarbone, where his neck met his shoulder.

  The creature’s eyes flew wide. He dropped his sword and grabbed at his neck with a strange gurgling sound. Then he fell to his knees, toppled forward onto his face on the cold, hard stone, and slowly vanished. His body dissipated before their eyes into a thousand sparks of light that rose as a mass, hovered for a moment in the air, and then winked out, one by one—like smoldering ashes rising from a fire, only to extinguish themselves in the night.

  Wendy looked up to find Reginald staring back at her in wonder, but there was no time for amazement. Shouts rang out throughout the cavern.

  “Help the lieutenant,” Wendy told Reginald. “The same as we did. Flank him. Work together.”

  Reginald nodded and ran back to the ledge. That left four men fighting two everlost in the alcove, but most of the crew had remained below, attacking Michael, where Wendy couldn’t see what was happening.

  She didn’t like leaving John, but he had the help he needed now. And from what she could hear, things didn’t sound good for Michael and his men. She glanced wistfully at her musket, which still lay at the forward edge of the rock, but the everlost fought to each side of it. Her pistols and her dagger would have to do.

  She raced to the far boulder and peeked around it. Sure enough, there was the path Michael and the others had followed.

  In truth, it was little more than a ledge—a cramped shelf of rock along the wall that descended steeply toward the floor. It was manageable, if only just. There were stone walls to either side, almost like a tunnel, so she pressed her hands against them for stability. Then she stepped onto the narrow path and began making her way down. The right-hand wall protected her from view until she was close to the ground, when the entire cavern suddenly opened up.

  Michael and the others were in trouble.

  It seemed like forever since she had stood on the lawn at Dover Castle, watching Peter and his men fall upon them from the sky, but seeing th
em fighting again here brought it all back in a rush—their rough, swashbuckling style, and the way they used their wings to dart in and out from above. The ceiling of the alcove overhead had been an advantage in Wendy’s favor. Here, the everlost were free to fly, and it was all Michael and the others could do to hold on.

  He had organized them in a wide arc with their backs to the wall, protecting each other’s flanks. It would have been a defensible position, despite the flying, if the men had been able to use their swords, but the silver daggers limited their reach. The everlost were only toying with them now, and the men were already tiring.

  Wendy had just drawn her pistol when a shot rang out and a bullet slammed into the rock right next to her, missing her by mere inches. She snapped her head toward the ship to see an imp on deck holding a pistol of his own, with more of the small creatures emerging through the hatch behind him. They must have hidden at the first sign of trouble, Wendy realized, only to emerge when they thought it was safe to help.

  She was loading her weapon when another shot echoed though the cavern, this one coming from the sea. The imp that had been standing on deck screamed and then fell out of view behind the ship’s railing.

  The Tiger had arrived.

  With another resounding crack from the ship, and another after that, two of the everlost fell and disappeared, which evened the odds considerably. The imps scrambled back belowdeck, having decided things weren’t nearly as safe as they had believed, leaving only a handful of everlost to contend with.

  Wendy felt an overwhelming surge of relief to see that the tide had turned in their favor, with all of her platoon still standing. But then the imp that had been shot staggered to its feet, sighting down the barrel of its pistol. The Tiger was only a few yards beyond the mouth of the cove, just to Wendy’s right, giving her a clear view of the deck. But she had no way to stop the imp from firing.

  She had no way to warn Hook, nor did she have any way to stop Nicholas, who saw the danger at the exact same time. And despite everything he had just been through, despite knowing exactly what it felt like to be shot, and exactly what it could cost him, Nicholas leaped in front of his captain just as the imp fired.

  So she could do nothing to stop the look of pain that spread across his face, and she could do nothing to prevent him from toppling over the rail into the sea.

  icholas!” The scream tore unbidden from Wendy’s throat, and she dove into the water without a thought, boots and all. She shoved her dagger into her belt so she could swim more easily, and then she stroked hard and sure, heading for the spot where she had seen him go in.

  At the same time, Hook vaulted the ship’s railing. He dove beneath the surface of the sea, but he came up moments later, empty-handed.

  “Nicholas!” Wendy screamed again, but there was no sign of the boy. Hook sucked a huge breath into his lungs and dove once more.

  Wendy stopped to tread water, but she wasn’t waiting on Hook. She was watching the current. She seemed to be drifting to the right, which meant Nicholas was drifting in the same direction. She took three more strokes, making the best guess she could, and then she flipped head down and dove.

  The boy’s body would be weighed down by his clothing, his boots, and any ammunition he had been carrying. He would be sinking fast. So she swam down … down … as hard as she could, ignoring the fact that she was moving farther and farther from the surface. The water was relatively clear, but the sun was setting. The light was getting dim. And the cove was deep. She couldn’t see anything. No coral, no fish. She had no idea how far the bottom was, but she already knew it was deeper than she could go.

  Her lungs were starting to ache when she saw it. A hint of hair, flowing freely in the sea. Just as she had once imagined Peter’s—just like the hair of the everlost Hook had killed, before his body disappeared. Wendy started to exhale, only the smallest bit at a time, trying to relieve the pain in her chest, and she kept swimming down.

  Down.

  Until she had him.

  Her fingers snagged his hair first, then reached for his chin, his shoulder, his arm. She grabbed him and started pulling for the surface, but she had already come too far. She wouldn’t make it. She knew she wouldn’t make it. She saw the surface, and she had never wanted to reach anything so badly in all her life. But her lungs were screaming and tiny black spots were beginning to appear in the corners of her vision.

  A part of her had started to accept it. She and Nicholas were both going to drown beneath the waves. Not every adventure has a happy ending, after all. But it wasn’t in her nature to give up. So she swam for the surface anyway. She swam until her body finally betrayed her. And the last thing she saw in this life, besides the faint light at the surface of the sea, was a man diving toward her.

  A man with forget-me-not blue eyes.

  “Miss Darling!”

  The words drifted toward her from someplace very far away. She tried to make sense of them. Who was calling her?

  “Miss Darling! Wake up! That’s an order!”

  She wanted to answer, but there was a terrible pressure in her lungs. She tried to breathe in, then came half-awake into a panic when she couldn’t, and finally coughed what felt like a bucketful of water out of her lungs.

  “There. She’s back. She’ll be all right now, I think.” A different voice.

  She was going to pass out again. She tried to fight it, the panic returning, but then she finally understood where she was. She felt the deck of the ship beneath her, and never had anything so uncomfortable felt so welcome in all her days. She was right where she was supposed to be. It was her last thought before she slipped once again into the dark.

  “Excellent! You’re coming around. That’s excellent.”

  Wendy groaned and opened her eyes to find Thomas smiling down at her. Her lungs burned, making her cough, and all at once her memories came slamming back, filling her heart with dread.

  “Nicholas!” She tried to say the boy’s name, but it came out as more of a croak and started a new round of coughing.

  “Just breathe, Miss Darling. Don’t try to talk yet.”

  But she sat up immediately nonetheless. She was in the infirmary, just as she had expected, and Nicholas was there on the other cot. She managed with considerable effort to stand up, pushing away Thomas’ attempts to assist her, and she stumbled over to the boy.

  It was much worse than she had realized. He was unconscious and barely breathing, his lungs rattling with every inhalation.

  “Where’s the innisfay?” Wendy managed to ask.

  “Oh! Oh, of course! He’s in the cabinet. There.”

  Thomas pointed toward a cabinet that Wendy now noticed was missing a door. In its place, a linen shirt hung across the opening on a small length of rope. Wendy rushed to it.

  “Hello? Sir? Oh, please wake up! We need you! Please!”

  She was so distressed that she was about to dispose of all decorum and just thrust the shirt-curtain aside when she saw the bottom corner move a little, and then the innisfay’s tiny head peeked out around it.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m so sorry to trouble you. But I’m afraid we need you desperately. Nicholas has been shot again.”

  At this, the innisfay raised both eyebrows, and then he frowned. But he flew out of the cabinet to take a look, his hair the pearlescent silver of curiosity.

  Wendy watched as the innisfay approached the boy. He hovered above his chest, clearly listening to the sounds of his breathing, and then he motioned at the blanket that covered him.

  “Of course!” Wendy said immediately, and she rushed to turn down the cover so the innisfay could see the wound.

  He flew closer, and then closer still, until he hovered just above the bandaged wound itself. He frowned again, and then he lifted his nose and sniffed delicately at the air.

  Instantly, his hair flamed red with anger, slowly shifting into blue as he turned to Wendy, shaking his head in sorrow.

  “What is it?” Wendy demanded, wringing
her hands together. “What’s wrong? You healed him before. I know you can do it!”

  But the innisfay only shook his head again. He jingled at her, but of course Wendy still couldn’t understand a word of the innisfay language. Realizing that he wasn’t getting anywhere, the innisfay flew to the small desk and lifted the silver chain that Wendy had cut away only hours before.

  “You’re angry? I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t—”

  The innisfay only shook his head harder. He wasn’t angry. It was something else. Turning an even deeper shade of blue, he flew with the chain over to Nicholas and held it over the boy, gesturing over and over. First to the chain, and then to Nicholas.

  “What? Oh, what is it? I don’t—”

  The innisfay stopped her by holding up a tiny hand, and then he pantomimed a little scene. He held out an empty hand in the air, pointing it toward Nicholas. He cocked his thumb, an invisible weapon, and pretended to fire it at the boy. Then he held his own thumb between his fingers and rushed toward Nicholas, coming so close to the wound that he almost touched the bandage.

  The innisfay flew to Wendy with the silver chain in his hand, pointing first to his thumb, then to the chain, and then to the boy.

  “The bullet,” Wendy guessed out loud. “Something to do with the bullet he was shot with.”

  The innisfay nodded dramatically. He held up the chain and rattled it back and forth.

  “Silver,” Wendy realized. “He was shot by a silver bullet, and you’re saying you can’t heal the wound—no more than you could heal a silver wound on your own person.”

  The innisfay nodded sadly.

  “Would you try anyway?” Wendy whispered. “Please?”

  The innisfay held her gaze for a long moment. Then he shrugged just the tiniest bit, and he nodded. But he was still a terribly sad shade of blue.

  “Thank you,” Wendy told him, but if there was any hope left in her eyes, you wouldn’t have seen it. She moved to retrieve the needle, moving much more slowly now, and she placed it on Nicholas’ pillow, opening the boy’s mouth for the innisfay.