The Navigator

by Sky, Erin Michelle; Brown, Steven;

  “Because I never heard an infant,” he told her, his eyes holding her gaze. “I heard you. And I knew exactly where you really were.”

  fter another hour or so, things changed again, and when they changed, they changed completely, as they seemed to do in Neverland. One moment Wendy was in the warm, humid jungle, surrounded by eternal twilight, and with one more step she was in the full glory of day. She still stood in a forest, but this was a much more open forest, with very little underbrush. It reminded her of the woods near Hook’s estate, except there were far more evergreens.

  She could see now that the path rested upon on a kind of plateau, with a steep, wooded drop-off to the left and a river valley far below, the soothing vista peeking here and there through the trees. Wendy took a step back, into the blue twilight jungle, and she realized the drop had been there the whole time, just a few yards beyond the edge of the path. She simply hadn’t recognized it because of the height of the trees and the thickness of the foliage.

  She stepped forward again, and there was the pine-scented forest. The air was cooler (and not nearly as humid), and she could smell the subtle fragrance of woodsmoke carried on the gentle breeze, laced with roasting fish. She exchanged a smile with John and Michael, who had emerged from the jungle ahead of her.

  “The village!” she said. They couldn’t see it yet, but the scent on the wind told them it was close.

  “Remain vigilant!” Hook ordered from up ahead, his voice pitched deep and loud to carry down the line. “These are still unknown lands, and we don’t know what might be waiting for us.”

  Just then, something hit the ground at Wendy’s feet. She flinched and leaped backward, ready to draw her sword, then saw in the same instant that it was only a pinecone. She grinned at herself and glanced up to find Peter crouching on a tree limb above her with a second pinecone in his hand.

  “Remain vigilant, the Wendy,” Peter echoed. He laughed and leaped off the branch to fly straight up into the air. He performed several loops and spins against the bright blue sky, dropping the pinecone and swooping down to catch it over and over, whooping and hollering all the while. He sped off ahead only to return almost immediately, repeating this process several times. “Come on!” he yelled. “We’re almost there!”

  “Hold your formation!” Hook shouted to them all. “Remain vigilant!”

  Wendy ducked her head, casting her eyes to the ground and doing her best not to giggle as Peter burst into song overhead.

  Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh,

  If I could choose a lazy life,

  I just might be a bear.

  I’d sleep right through the winter

  and never comb my hair.

  But still I think an everlost

  a better thing to be.

  To sail beneath the starry skies,

  my heart forever free.

  Over land and over sea,

  a flying ship for me!

  Wendy whispered the words again, repeating them as was only proper for any seafaring shanty, “Over land and over sea, a flying ship for me.” She waited for the next verse, but Peter had flown ahead again, his words lost to the sky.

  They proceeded in this way for at least another mile, or possibly two. (Or, Wendy admitted to herself, it might have been as many as three. Normally, she was very good at keeping track of that sort of thing, but Peter’s antics were highly distracting.)

  They had left the forest behind and entered an open field of short grasses, white rock, and wildflowers. The trail had been sloping downward ever since they left the jungle, and the steep drop-off was nothing more than a gentle hill now, but the mountains still rose up to their right, their slopes inhabited by animals that looked for all the world like perfectly normal goats and sheep. Up ahead, the river took a slow turn in their direction and then a sharp bend away again, with a stand of tall trees that blocked their view beyond it.

  Overhead, Peter darted back and forth from the trail to the river bend and back to the trail again, laughing and whistling and telling them to walk faster while he dove or spun or sometimes merely lay on his side in midair, propping his head up with one hand and sighing in a long-suffering sort of way.

  At least they could all see each other now, but Wendy wasn’t sure whether that was a blessing or a curse under the circumstances. Hook led the way, followed by Starkey, then John, then Michael, then Wendy, then Thomas and the rest. So everyone could see the resigned set of Hook’s shoulders as he trudged steadily forward, setting the pace and refusing to acknowledge Peter’s presence despite the slight twitch in his neck whenever the everlost started shouting again.

  When Peter began practicing his trick of slamming into the ground hard enough to leave knee prints, Hook’s shoulders rose dangerously. He turned to look behind him, catching Wendy’s eye with a very particular look that said, Do something about him or I will take care of it myself, once and for all.

  “Peter,” Wendy called out, when his next landing came close to her, “come walk with me.”

  The everlost flew to her at once, landing gently to walk alongside her as though he had not only moments ago been crashing over and over into the ground.

  “Look!” he told her. “You can see it now!”

  As the trail bent farther toward the right, they could finally see past the trees that grew on the spit of the left bank. There, along the near shore, was a simple but sturdy wooden dock, and moored to the dock were two small ships that looked exactly like the illustrations of Viking ships Wendy had seen in her history books. They had seats for rowing down each side, but they also had masts for sails, and their carved wooden prows reached proudly toward the water.

  “Are those … oh!” Just then, the village itself came into view. There was a large building in the center—a longhouse, Wendy thought—with several homes around it, each with a timber foundation and a thatched roof. There were smoking racks drying fish, and cooking fires roasting fish, and dozens of villagers of all ages sitting around the fires, licking their fingers, having just finished eating fish, watching uphill toward the trail for Peter’s arrival.

  The men, women, and children wore a mix of wool and leather clothing, and Wendy could see a field of crops extending behind the farthest houses. The goats and sheep on the mountain must be theirs, she thought. She looked up again, thinking of the flocks, and she caught a hint of movement at the very top of the peak.

  Snaggleclaw.

  She felt him before she saw him—suddenly, she realized she had always felt him, this entire time, without knowing what she was sensing. But he did not seem to be moving from his perch, just shifting in his sleep. She could barely make out the vague outline of his massive head against the camouflage backdrop of snow and rock. She waited a moment to make sure he wasn’t waking up, but Peter didn’t seem to be concerned in the slightest. (Not that he ever was.) So she turned her attention back to the village.

  It looked for all the world like a Viking village, frozen in time, with one small exception. What Wendy had thought at first to be sparks from the cooking fires now moved with the villagers as they stood. The embers zipped and whirled around them, but, as Wendy drew closer, she realized they weren’t sparks at all.

  They were tiny fairies, even smaller than the innisfay, with hair of fire and lightning.

  The villagers swarmed out to meet them, surrounding Peter with smiles and big bear hugs, and the fairies swarmed his body, standing upon his shoulders, his wings, and his hair, and even clinging to his leather clothing. They all seemed tremendously glad to see him.

  All, that is, except one.

  A young woman stood apart from the others, not much older than Wendy was herself, and she glowered at Peter with a stern look of disapproval.

  “Hello, Tiger!” Peter said cheerfully.

  “Peter,” the woman replied. “What have I told you about bringing new people here?”

  “You said not to bring so many,” Peter told her. “But last time I brought eleven, and this time I brought only ten. I
was very careful. Nana is a dog, and you never said anything about dogs. Charming only followed us here. I didn’t bring him.” Peter pointed straight at Charming when he said this last bit, and the innisfay darted behind Wendy’s head, peeking cautiously out from behind her neck to see what might happen next. “The Wendy, I present to you Tigerlilja. Tiger, this is the Wendy.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” Wendy said, and she gave Tigerlilja a small curtsy, just to be on the safe side of politeness, which is usually the better side, especially when one is first meeting people.

  Tigerlilja eyed Wendy up and down but otherwise ignored the introduction.

  “Why. Are. They. Here?” Tigerlilja asked, sounding very much like Hook, Wendy thought.

  “They’re from England,” Peter told her. “They want Blackheart off of Neverland, just like you.”

  Hook stepped forward at this, but he had not yet been introduced, so Tigerlilja turned to Wendy to reply.

  “If you’re from England,” she said, “you don’t just want Blackheart off the island. You want him dead. He intends to destroy your homeland, and he’s building a fleet and an army to do it.”

  igerlilja invited them to join her in the longhouse. When they entered, they discovered a huge table set for thirteen and piled high with food. Even Tigerlilja hesitated when she first walked through the door.

  “Interesting,” Wendy heard her mutter, but the woman recovered quickly. She was dressed in simple leather leggings and a wool knit sweater with a knife at her belt—the only other woman Wendy had ever seen dressed like a man. Nothing about her clothing indicated her position as the head of the Norse clan, but Wendy had no doubt she was in charge and was not surprised at all when she strode forward and took the seat at the end of the table.

  One of the other Norsemen—a tall man with broad shoulders and long braids in his hair—entered with them and sat to her left.

  “My brother, Vegard,” Tigerlilja announced, and then she looked expectantly at Wendy.

  Apparently, this was all the introduction they were going to get.

  Wendy bit back the long list of formalities she had been preparing in the proper British etiquette and instead said only, “Our captain, James Hook.” She turned and nodded at Hook, who strode to the table and sat to Tigerlilja’s right, across from Vegard.

  Wendy wished she could have sat next to Tigerlilja herself. She was mesmerized by the woman—tall and strong, more fierce than beautiful (at least by English standards), and so clearly the leader of her people. Wendy blushed in embarrassment. Her own place in her ship’s company was so uncertain that she didn’t even know where she was supposed to sit. Fortunately, Gentleman Starkey came to her rescue.

  “Navigator Darling,” he said, taking her gently by the elbow. “If you please, ma’am.” He led her to the seat next to the captain—the seat designated by her new rank rather than her gender—and Wendy smiled at him gratefully. The rest of the men filed in, sitting along the table more or less according to their station, and it was only then that Wendy noticed a fourteenth plate at the far end of the table.

  A very tiny plate, just right for an innisfay.

  Wendy couldn’t see what was on it, but Charming’s face lit up as he sat cross-legged in front of it and dove right in with his hands, bringing fistfuls of the stuff to his face and stuffing his cheeks with obvious relish.

  “Please,” Tigerlilja told them all once they were seated. “Eat. Drink. I will tell you what I can.”

  Wendy discovered what looked and smelled like roast pheasant with gravy on the dish before her, and she smiled in delight. Roast pheasant was her favorite. There was a goblet etched with a single raindrop set above her plate and another etched with a small cluster of grapes, holding water and wine respectively.

  Hook, to her left, had what seemed to be duck with orange sauce. John, across from her, had a bowl of meat stew. Michael, to her right, had a plate piled high with pork ribs. Thomas, across from him, had a plate of mashed potatoes. Nothing but mashed potatoes. He looked as happy as she had ever seen him.

  As Wendy glanced down the table, she realized that everyone had something different—even Nana had bowls of food and water near the door—and most of the men had pints of ale. Both Tigerlilja and Vegard had roasted fish, but Tigerlilja’s plate also held a small piece of toasted bread smothered in butter and honey, which somehow made her seem at least a little less intimidating.

  Peter, down at the far end next to Charming, was devouring a stack of pancakes.

  “To understand the true danger of Blackheart,” Tigerlilja began, “we must begin at the beginning. And everything in Neverland begins with Peter.”

  Hook scowled at this and skewered a piece of duck on his hook. Peter looked up and grinned, his mouth full of pancakes. Tigerlilja rolled her eyes.

  “The land itself is tied to Peter,” she continued, “and he to it. It is his sanctuary. Quite literally. And because of the nature of his heart, the land has expanded to become a safe haven for those who need it. We, meaning our clan, were among the first he brought here. Since then, there have been others. Many others. People. Creatures. Both magical and mundane. Peter finds those who are lost or forgotten—those who are out of place—and he brings them here. When he discovered the orphanages of England, well, you can imagine the treasure trove of lost souls that opened up.”

  Some of us don’t have to imagine it, Wendy thought.

  But her childhood in the orphanage had not been without hope. She had had Charlie and Mr. Equiano for company. And Mrs. Healey had treated them as kindly as she could, given how many children there were. Wendy had often been cold and hungry, but she knew there were many orphans in England who suffered far worse. She cast her eyes down to her plate, suddenly feeling guilty over the meal she was enjoying, and Tigerlilja seemed to read her thoughts.

  “Peter tries to save the ones who have it the hardest. The ones treated with the most cruelty. Beaten. Starving. The ones with the loneliest hearts. And those too weak to survive. He offers them a place, and of course they come.

  “The moment they set foot in Neverland, they leave the past behind. That’s the true magic of Neverland. The magic of home. The land itself creates a place for every creature that comes to its shores.”

  “That’s why everything’s so different!” Wendy blurted out. She didn’t mean to interrupt, but she was too excited not to. “The desert and the mountains and the jungle and the fields, all right next to each other! And the night and day at once!”

  “Yes,” Tigerlilja acknowledged. “If Peter brings a lion, the island creates a veldt. With all the grasses and sounds and heat of its native land. Even its prey. The lion still hunts and eats to survive. Neverland can be a very dangerous place. But the magic here creates a home for everything that needs one. And for most of Peter’s orphans, it might as well be a paradise. A home is all they ever wanted. But then Blackheart came.”

  Tigerlilja cast her eyes down to her plate. She picked up the bread idly but did not eat it. She seemed more to be considering it, lost in her own thoughts. She put the bread down without taking a bite and began speaking again.

  “At first, he seemed like any other lost boy. He loved Neverland as much as anyone. Maybe more. He took to Peter’s games with more enthusiasm than anyone Peter had ever brought to the island, and soon they were inseparable. Peter taught him to use a sword and fire a gun and made him his first mate. Then Blackheart convinced him to capture another ship and make it fly, so they could have two ships and battle each other. The best game they had ever played.”

  When Peter heard his name, he looked up, but as Tigerlilja spoke, Wendy saw his eyes lose their focus, and he returned to his meal.

  “For a while,” Tigerlilja continued, “they were happy together. Blackheart was the captain to Peter’s admiral, and they brought both ships on their English raids, which were partly to find more orphans and partly just for fun. A child’s idea of adventure. Playing at war, not waging it. Or so I alway
s thought. But then Blackheart became more violent. He started killing the orphans’ caretakers. He stopped following Peter’s orders. And, finally, he stole the ship for himself, using it to capture others, to build his own fleet.

  “By the time I realized the truth, it was far too late. Blackheart had never wanted a home to live in. He wanted a home to rule, and that desire took root, feeding on the magic of Neverland.

  “Some of the orphans who had left their anger and resentment in the past found that it had reawakened in their hearts, and they chose to follow him, becoming his crew. Eventually, things began to appear here that shouldn’t exist anywhere. Just as Neverland creates antelopes for the lions, it created wicked things for Blackheart—creatures formed of cruelty and hatred, ready to serve his will. An army that he intends to take to England, to destroy it forever.”

  “What kind of creatures?” Hook demanded. “How many? And how big is his fleet?”

  At this, Peter finally spoke up. “It doesn’t matter how many ships he has! I can battle a thousand ships and win!”

  Tigerlilja and Hook both ignored him, refusing to acknowledge that he had spoken at all.

  “He has at least five ships and one hundred times that many creatures,” Tigerlilja replied. “Vile things of all kinds. And his numbers continue to grow. As for us, we have only Pan’s ship and his crew, who still think of everything as a game. We’ve been trying to work out a strategy, but we have yet to come up with anything that has even a hope of working.”

  She shared a glance with her brother.

  “We’ll think of something,” he told her, but his expression was grim.

  “We have another ship,” Pan said cheerfully.

  Tigerlilja, Vegard, and Hook all turned to stare at him.

  “What?” Tigerlilja asked.

  “The Wendy has a ship now,” he clarified, pointing at her with a butter knife.