Straight On Till Morning

by Liz Braswell

  But she was interrupted by a loud crowing, a resounding cock-a-doodle-do from Peter’s wide mouth.

  He was grinning and spinning, hands on his hips, laughing, dancing.

  “I get to fight the pirates for it!” he sang. “I get to battle old Codfish to get my shadow back! Oh, I’ve been meaning to give him another hook! This is a perfect opportunity! Well done, Wendy! You’re brilliant!”

  He grabbed her hands and spun her around, causing Tinker Bell to go flying head over heels through the air and then land with a hard thump on the sand.

  Wendy should have been over the moon that the legendary Peter Pan was delighted by her antics and was now dancing with her. She should have felt a happiness and satisfaction in her heart that she had never known before. Rather than earning his scorn or hatred, she had impressed her hero. It was a glorious, greedy feeling. One that Peter Pan particularly inspired; she could see herself doing anything to recapture that feeling, to make him feel that way about her again and again—if he couldn’t feel about her any other way.

  But…

  She looked over to where Tinker Bell had landed. The fairy was a little stunned and a little rumpled and glaring furiously.

  At Wendy.

  Not Peter.

  If her eyes had been coals, they would have lit what was left of Wendy’s dress on fire.

  Wendy quickly dropped Peter’s hand.

  “Well, yes, but I’m still sorry. The shadow was never mine to trade. It was terribly selfish of me.”

  “Oh, it’s all fine,” Peter said, waving his hands at her. “C’mon! Let’s go get the pirates!”

  He turned and went to dive into the air, but paused on the ground in a ridiculous tiptoe pose.

  “Little help here, Tink?” he asked.

  The fairy shook her head forcefully, crossing her arms and pouting.

  Wendy felt weariness descend upon her. This was the sticking point? This was where their quest ended? Despite the evolution of her and Tinker Bell’s friendship, Tinker Bell remained very much a fairy: prone to sudden passions, savage angers, swift tears, and whatever one moment demanded but the next moment forgot.

  Just like Peter Pan.

  Just like characters in story after story who never change because you don’t want them to. You want them to stay the same forever, like you wished your best friends or your relationship with your mother would.

  Wendy watched the two of them bicker with a strange mixture of feelings. They were both like children. Wendy wasn’t really, not anymore. Despite living in her parents’ house and taking on tasks like Mother in a game of pretend and dreaming out the window and making up stories no one wanted to listen to. She had started to want other things, even if she couldn’t name them yet, and had grown tired of her current life.

  But was that change so terrible, really?

  Would it be better to stay in Never Land forever and never change?

  To be the same talky, nervous Wendy forever? To always have the same desire to make others like her by taking care of them? To always be the same lonely girl who never fit in any world? To always dream and never do?

  Sometimes stories needed to be pushed along. Things needed to happen. People needed to accomplish things. And as long as Peter and Tink were somewhere in the world, never changing, and Wendy knew that, she would be happy with whatever happened to her. As someone who changed in the course of a story.

  As someone who changed the course of a story.

  “Actually, she’s right,” she said, her wonderful, storytelling mind coming up with a useful plan that would make everyone happy—and behave.

  “I mean, you should still give him the fairy dust, but he should really stay where he is. The pirates have been running all over the seas looking for him—it would be much easier to work this out by just having them come to us, don’t you think?”

  Peter and Tinker Bell frowned almost identically in confusion.

  “I’ve said this before: I really don’t think the three of us can go up against the pirates all by ourselves. I’m not that handy with a sword—a real one. I’m sure Tinker Bell can be quite dangerous in her own way. But as someone who has been actually captive to those seafaring hoodlums, I don’t know how much good fairy dust does against gunpowder and savage bloodlust.”

  “I don’t need help!” Peter protested. “All I need is to be able to fly! I can take on old Hook by myself!”

  “But can you, I wonder…” Wendy said thoughtfully. “I think I’m beginning to figure this all out. You’ve been tired and weak without your shadow, just like I was. And now Hook has your shadow, in a cage. A nasty one. And you were talking about strange pains and aches.…I think Hook is getting to you through your own shadow. Maybe he can’t kill you directly, but he can hurt it and affect you.”

  This gave Peter pause.

  “A cage? He has my shadow in a cage?”

  “I’m afraid so. With all sorts of nasty barbs and pincers inside.”

  Tinker Bell watched Peter closely for his decision. As he considered this information, he unthinkingly offered the fairy his hand up.

  She grinned from ear to pointed ear.

  “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all,” he swore. “Using my shadow. That’s against the rules. That’s bad form. So I guess what you’re saying is that I need a crew. An army. All right then, to the Lost Boys! Yeah! Together we’ll all save Never Land! Let’s go get ’em!” He made to fly again.

  “You should stay here,” Wendy said, “remember? We decided that a moment ago? Even assuming you’re back to yourself enough to fly, Tinker Bell would be fastest. She’ll fly there, and you and I will…”

  Tinker Bell narrowed her eyes at Wendy.

  “I mean…I’ll go. Yes, that’s best,” Wendy said, correcting herself quickly. “Tinker Bell can stay here and look after you. If that’s all right? I’ll just need very precise directions. And some more fairy dust, if you don’t mind. For me and Peter.”

  Tinker Bell closed her eyes and bowed politely—of course. For you.

  She flew up in a dainty spiral around Peter, gracefully whisking showers of golden sparks over him. Peter laughed in delight.

  She threw the dust over her shoulder without looking at Wendy, getting her in the face. Not out of spite—it was just that the fairy’s eyes were still on Peter.

  “I’m not sure this relationship is very good for either one of you,” Wendy muttered, wiping dust off her nose. No one paid her any attention.

  “It’s easy to get there,” Peter said. He squatted down and pulled out his dagger to draw a map in the sand. “We’re here, at Pegleg Point. Then hang right at Blind Man’s Bluff. Then follow the river up—”

  “Sorry, which river?” Wendy asked, trying to understand. All she saw were vague lines and gashes and one sinuous, perhaps watery, track.

  “Whaddayamean, which river?” Peter said, laughing. He pushed his hat from the back so it dipped down over his face. “There’s only one river in Never Land.”

  Tinker Bell jingled, shaking her head.

  “There’s two now,” Wendy said. “I made one.”

  For perhaps the second time in his existence, Peter Pan was shocked into silence.

  “When we were with the First,” she continued primly, trying—sort of—not to be smug. Had Peter ever created anything from nothing in Never Land? Anything so grand?

  “You went to the First?” Peter Pan gulped.

  “The mermaids told us you went there to see about obtaining a new shadow.”

  “I did! Good-for-nothing jerks,” he growled, kicking sand over his map. “They wouldn’t even let me in. I had to walk the whole way and they wouldn’t let me in! Told me to deal with ‘my own piddling issues.’ Me! Peter Pan! I’m practically the king of Never Land.”

  Wendy turned this declaration over in her mind. How often did Peter say things like this? How often did he act like that? How true was it? No wonder Slightly was chafing a bit.

  “Well, consider
yourself lucky, perhaps. They tried to trap us there—we very nearly could have spent eternity in a desert maze, trying to find our way out.”

  “I can’t even believe you went there to begin with,” he said, turning to Tinker Bell. “Tink? That was incredibly dangerous. You know, for someone who isn’t me. You really did that? You went in there…for me?”

  Tinker Bell nodded shyly.

  “Huh. That’s some powerful stuff there.” He scratched his chin. “L—uh, whatever is you feel, I mean.”

  Wouldn’t you do the same for me? Tinker Bell asked, the tips of her wings quivering.

  Wendy felt her heart stop. She waited as anxiously as her friend for the answer.

  “Yeah, of course,” the boy said, shaking his head in disgust. “But that’s not ’cause of love, that’s ’cause we’re buddies. You’re my first mate. You’re the most important member of my crew. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, ever.”

  Tinker Bell clasped her hands in delight and looked at him with shining eyes. He smiled and patted her on the head.

  “Good enough,” Wendy decided.

  “Whatever river you choose, Hangman’s Tree is here.” He put an X on the ground.

  Can you remember from when we went there before? Tinker Bell asked. It’s southeast of the Black Dragon Mountains, about halfway to the coast. In a round clearing, like a fire or a meteor cleared it out.

  “Thank you, Tinker Bell,” Wendy said. “That was very precise and clear.”

  “Did you name it?” Peter asked suddenly.

  “Name what?”

  “The river! Did you name it yet?”

  He was deadly serious.

  “No—I don’t suppose I have,” Wendy said. “Hadn’t we better—”

  “We absolutely had better!”

  Peter put a finger to his chin, thinking.

  Tinker Bell furrowed her brow, trying to come up with something.

  Wendy looked at both of them in exasperation. They didn’t have time for this.

  Peter’s eyes lit up and he opened his mouth.

  “How about—”

  “We are not calling it the River Pan,” Wendy interrupted.

  “I wasn’t,” Peter said peevishly. “I was going to call it the River Peter.”

  Tinker Bell giggled, sparkles of dust falling around her.

  “No. How about…the First River? You should like that. It makes sense, but it makes absolutely no sense at all. It’s just Never Land’s style.”

  “The First River! It’s the River of the First…but it’s not really the first river! I love it!” He clapped her on the back—rather a little too hard, and she fell forward.

  But what if the pirates get here before you get back? What if Hook gets to Peter before we’re ready? Tinker Bell asked.

  “What about your fairy friends? Can you ask them to help? To at least—keep you company?” Wendy asked. “To keep an eye out?”

  The little fairy gave her a nearly uncomprehending look.

  “I know you aren’t the closest with them, really, but this is an emergency. You’re in serious need. All of Never Land is in trouble. Thorn might come—he seems a decent sort.”

  Tinker bell tossed her head and began to jingle something contemptuously.

  “Don’t,” Wendy interrupted. “Don’t let your ego get in the way of protecting yourself and Peter.”

  “I don’t need protecting by fairies!” Peter squawked indignantly.

  Wendy and Tinker Bell ignored him.

  Finally, the fairy nodded. All right. For Peter.

  “Good,” Wendy said with a sigh. “Well look, I should head out. Stay here,” she ordered, standing up and readying herself to go. “Tinker Bell, take care of him. Make sure he doesn’t leave. But if the pirates appear, fly—if you can—into the jungle and hide.”

  Tinker Bell saluted her smartly.

  But Peter just stood there gazing at her, mouth agape.

  Wendy looked down at herself; she hadn’t even realized how heroic a pose she struck. From her shadow—which took this opportunity to actually behave—she realized how she appeared: powerful, strong…with a scandalously short tunic cinched around her waist and improvised leggings that showed a prodigious amount of her newly tanned skin. Her hair was down around her shoulders. She bet she was the spitting image of an Amazon, short a bow.

  “Gosh, Wendy, you sure look different from when I first saw you,” Peter mumbled.

  Tinker Bell put her hands on her hips and started to jingle.

  “Well, I must be off,” Wendy said quickly. “Bye!”

  And she took off into the air, like Nike, triumphant.

  Wendy fell backward into the sky a little more rapidly than she intended. It felt like a dream she’d had once or twice: suddenly being pulled up into the air, snatched out of a narrative, away from monsters or loved ones.

  Her heart jumped at the unnatural movement but she didn’t stop.

  Barreling forward, she stuck her arms out and—there. Her fingertips brushed against the steady warm wind that Tinker Bell looked for when they had great distances to fly. It streamed almost directly due north, so she would have to get off it and take a right at some point, but it would ease the journey somewhat.

  She banked into the thermal, feeling important. For the first time in her life she was on a quest where people needed her for real things—for survival, not for a popped button or an emergency trip to the market for some dinner veg. If she failed it would mean disaster for her friends and all of Never Land.

  And what precisely would Hook do if she failed? If he succeeded in catching Peter? How would he end Never Land rather permanently? Would he use dark powers to call up a titanic storm and sink it like Atlantis? Could Peter’s shadow have something to do with that? Would he somehow rain down fire and lava?

  Well, Wendy didn’t intend to find out. She stretched and frowned, flying a little faster.

  Was that her shadow down there, also gliding? Rippling over the trees?

  Feh! She wouldn’t look. At least now she could return to London.

  And speaking of…

  What would she do, once Hook was defeated?

  (As he must be.)

  Wendy had wanted adventure; now she had gotten herself one. She could go back home and live the rest of her life on recollections from the past several days, spooning out carefully meted measures of memory to live on when existence grew dull. She could write an entire book on what had happened. She could actually try to get it published and watch with amusement as readers drank up her “fantasy.” Or she could just keep it in her notebook, to be taken out and read to eventual children in her life.

  She could stay in Never Land forever.…

  No, that didn’t feel right. She had grown up a little. And, like Slightly, she chafed at some of the unchanging and arbitrary aspects of Never Land.

  Maybe Peter Pan was king of the island in his own way. They were similar, or maybe even dependent on each other, just in the same way Never Land was dependent on London—and the rest of the world.

  So the real question was: What could Wendy do with her life? Back in the real world? What lay in between household and mermaids? What would give her adventure (of the London sort) and challenges, and a change for the better for both worlds?

  John knew that he could choose between being a doctor, banker, academic, or barrister. Even shipping, if he had any ability that way (he didn’t). These were known, potential futures.

  But despite all her reading Wendy hadn’t been exposed in any real way to the idea that there were any possibilities for her at all beyond unhappy spinster or unhappy housewife.

  These were odd thoughts, and uncomfortable ones. She felt a little stirring of self-recrimination: Why hadn’t she even thought things like this before? Why hadn’t she even noticed the invisible prison she was in?

  “Because,” she told herself gently, “I’ve never been able to fly before.”

  Below her Never Land unrolled in shades of gre
en except for the misty, unavailable area to the northwest. Wendy gave that place a salute.

  The First had said there were people whose idea of Never Land meant a single warm meal for the day. There were girls who weren’t held back by well-meaning parents or society, but by poverty or genuinely terrible parents who treated them like possessions to trade. There were girls who had no chance simply because of the color of their skin.

  Sometimes stories needed to be pushed along. Things needed to happen. People were needed to do things.

  Sometimes whole societies needed to be pushed along in the right direction.

  The landscape below changed and the Black Dragon Mountains came into view, as blurry and smoggy as ever. It was time to turn east. Wendy felt her heart clench. She so wanted to see the mountains—and a real dragon. She wondered if maybe she would have time to dip by on her way back from talking with the Lost Boys. Just a peep.

  She sighed and banked right. Probably not. It would be something for her to dream about later, to wonder about and imagine on dark days.

  Hook took long and precise military steps up and down the deck, his back straight as a knife blade while he inspected each cannon and musket, sword and dagger. Everything had to be perfect.

  The pirates, more used to going into battle by the seat of their pants, were a little unprepared for such a military-style drill—and completely unfamiliar with the particulars.

  Screaming Byron, for instance, had thought he had done a very nice job polishing the cannonballs at his station, and presented them to the captain with a bow and a proud smile.

  Hook just stared at him.

  “What good is a shiny cannonball?” he finally roared. “Is the barrel of the machine cleaned out? Are your powder cartridges stacked, dry, and ready to go? Is your friction primer up to snuff? In short, will your cannon actually fire your very pretty and shiny cannonball when it is loaded?”

  “I think it looks very nice,” Smee said sympathetically, upon seeing the poor pirate’s downcast look.

  “We’re looking at the final battle here,” Hook reminded Byron, leaning forward so he could look the other pirate dead in the eye. “Our very last run-in ever with Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. We want to look good, absolutely, but we also want to finish it for good. I want their bodies washing up on the shore, bloodied and broken. All of them. And I want Peter Pan to see it. Do you hear me?”