by Liz Braswell
Immediately, the golden glow zipped up and around her madly.
Peter is hurting somehow! They’re doing something to him or his shadow, like you said they would!
Wendy now saw that what had at first looked like a lazy, reclining Peter was actually a taut-faced, wan Peter, collapsed into his own skin somehow. He shivered on the burning beach but had sweated through his shirt as if he were in the grip of a great fever. Sometimes he grimaced, eyes closed, and clenched his stomach.
“Oh my goodness,” Wendy cried, rushing over and laying a hand on his brow. Tinker Bell didn’t even object. He wasn’t burning up—in fact, he was a little clammy.
Did you find them? Are they coming?
“Yes, though I’m afraid it will be a few hours before they get here. Are you managing to get any liquids into him?”
Tinker Bell nodded, pointing to a leaf she had been using for just that. A puddle of pink juice lay along its veins.
“Good. Well, that’s something.”
Wendy slowly collapsed on the sand next to them, exhausted and worried. The hard bark of the palm against her back felt like heaven, or at least something far softer than it actually was. She wiggled a bit to scare off any unicorn beetles—an opalescent one fell glittering to the sand, and without thinking, she scooped it up and placed it back on the tree next to her.
(Her shadow stood up against the palm trunk, watching Peter with worry.)
They’re taking the Cenotaph Caves? Tinker Bell jingled.
“Um, yes. Do remind me to ask you about what those are sometime. Has Peter been like this the whole time I’ve been gone?”
“Wendy—you’re back,” the ailing boy murmured, rousing a little upon hearing his name. Then his dreamy smile crumpled in a rictus of hurt.
Those terrible pirates! Tinker Bell wail-jingled.
“Well, we shall give them what for directly,” Wendy promised, summoning brightness into her features.
The three settled in to wait for the pirates—or the Lost Boys, whoever came first.
The sun beat down hard until it hurt to have the tiniest bit of skin exposed beyond the shadow of the palm trees. Waves of heat danced like spirits between the sand and the sea, the latter of which lapped appealingly against the shore and seemed endlessly far away. Hurdy-gurdy gnats droned and riffed their unending calls.
Wendy reached out and squeezed Peter’s hand whenever he went through a particularly bad bout of whatever was happening to him. Tinker Bell brought nectar, or sap, or—really, Wendy didn’t want to think about the alternatives; beetle milk?—and carefully poured it into his mouth. But silence reigned over all of them; even the fairy’s jingles were absent.
Wendy watched her shadow for a bit: she sat at the base of the tree, also apparently trying to keep cool.
“Really. Fat lot of good it did, you running off like that before,” she murmured. “We’ve all wound up back at precisely the same place. Again.”
Her shadow shrugged. Maybe looking a little sheepish. Then she stood up, straight and proud—not sorry at all.
Tinker Bell raised an eyebrow at Wendy.
Are you actually yelling at your own shadow?
“But what good did she do?” Wendy demanded, feeling a little childish.
She rescued me.
“All right, yes, but then…after…She could have been a help, or…I was so tired.…”
And yet here we are. You won. You beat the thysolits and the First. We found Peter.
“But—”
You’re different now. Maybe she is, too, in Never Land. Maybe drop it?
Of course Wendy was different. She was beat up and in tatters, although sometimes she had flashes of feeling heroic. That was something. She considered the black shape standing tall on the sand, her arms crossed. Maybe…her shadow wanted a chance to feel heroic, too?
“Maybe that’s right,” Wendy said slowly. “I’ve wanted an adventure my whole life—of course it follows that my shadow would, too. I suppose shadows have their own minds in Never Land. I’m not your master, merely your…I don’t know, solid object. Home, maybe?”
The shadow nodded eagerly.
“Whatever you are, I need you and you need me. And we all will most certainly need your help to rescue Peter’s shadow. So would you mind staying around at least until we get to the happily-ever-afters? I’ll wager you have a better insight into how to aid a fellow shadow in distress than we do.”
She reached out her hand and tried to place it on her shadow’s. It didn’t really work, but the shadow patted the air near where the flesh-and-blood hand was.
Tinker Bell sighed in relief.
And then, finally, something happened.
Tink was high in the sky on one of her lookout missions when she came diving back down like an angry bee (or thysolit).
I see them—the pirates! They’re not far off, rounding Bloody Neck.
“We should move into the jungle,” Wendy said, getting up. Tinker Bell looked skeptical. “Don’t worry! I told the Lost Boys that’s what we would do if Hook came first. We’ll keep an eye on the beach in case they look for us there instead.”
Mollified, Tinker Bell fluttered around Peter’s face, trying to wake him up.
“Tinker Bell?” he asked softly. “I was just dreaming about you.…”
The fairy’s face blushed in surprise—and pleasure—but that didn’t stop her from planting herself on Peter’s chest and gently slapping his chin.
Get up. The pirates are coming. We don’t have reinforcements yet.
“I don’t need no—”
Peter tried to stand up. Instead, he spun on his feet, falling back toward the sand. But Wendy was there to right him.
“No, there you go, easy now,” she said, throwing one of his arms around her shoulders. “Let’s just take it one step at a time.”
Despite his slender build, it was still hard going for the two across the sand. Wendy tried not to imagine baby turtles making their ungainly way to the safety of the sea as predators swooped and salivated overhead. All three of them were terribly exposed—but to what, she wasn’t sure. “If pirates can keep shadows as hostages and bees can steal bits of time,” Wendy murmured to herself, “who knows what other horrible things in Never Land are on the side of evil?”
When the moist air of the jungle finally hit her nose and lungs Wendy nearly collapsed in relief.
“Here, sit down, and we can keep an eye on the beach,” Wendy said, settling Peter on a soft tuffet of ferns which she hoped weren’t carnivorous or itchy. Tinker Bell just hovered back and forth around her beloved Peter, not saying anything, so Wendy assumed they were fine.
There was a rubyfruit bush close by covered in the voluptuous red fruit. They were small and not quite the right color yet, but still fairly juicy. She cracked one open and tried giving a piece to Peter.
“Bleh! It’s not ripe!” he cried, spitting it out.
“Stop being such a baby. It’s all we have right now.”
“Feh.” He opened his mouth reluctantly to be fed more.
“You’re welcome,” Wendy said dryly.
Tinker Bell tugged on her sleeve, pointing into the jungle.
“Is it the Lost Boys?” Wendy asked with excitement.
But bouncing slowly through the bushes with great determination was a strange—and familiar—amber glow. It quickly resolved itself into Thorn, who landed and strode through the leaves like a fearless king and giant.
You came!
“You came!” Wendy cried at the same time. Then she blushed—she wasn’t supposed to have known about the other fairy.
He gave her a knowing smile and the slightest wisp of a bow.
Someone gave the Call of Aid. Only someone with no honor at all would fail to respond.
Tinker Bell looked at the empty air around him and raised an eyebrow skeptically.
None of our kin will reveal themselves near humans, Tinker Bell. You know you are the exception. And you also know the Call is fo
r the aid of fairies—not humans. You don’t seem to be in trouble, so I can only assume it is your friend Peter again, and perhaps this mighty warrior human here?
Wendy didn’t think she had it in her to react to a man’s—no matter how tiny he might be—blandishments. But certainly mighty warrior wasn’t the normal sort of pretty pap fed to girls? And it sounded genuine. That was why she felt a blush, she decided. And exhaustion accounted for her weakened knees.
The pirates are coming for him, Tinker Bell said. In his state, they will surely get him this time.
I believe Peter “got” Hook last time—and left him without a hand, Thorn countered. Turnabout’s fair play, wouldn’t you say?
“Yes, but this time they are coming for all of Never Land,” Wendy interrupted as politely as she could. “No, they really are. It’s not just another one of Peter and Hook’s games. The First confirmed it. Once he has Peter, his plan is to destroy everything as a sort of payback, and then leave.”
What? That’s mad! Thorn jingled, horrified.
“I don’t disagree.”
Peter suddenly crumpled up, whimpering and breathing too quickly to be able to cry out. Wendy grabbed his hand and squeezed. Tinker Bell looked bleakly at Thorn.
See? They have his shadow captured in a strange golden cage on their ship. I think they’re torturing it somehow. Hurting Peter.
Black magic? The warrior fairy frowned. The tips of his long brown ears seemed to quiver in thought, or maybe it was a stray breeze. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, almost thoughtlessly. That’s…new. And disturbing. Hook really is out of control. Peter may be a nuisance at times, but he’s no blackguard. At times he has even done favors for us. All right, Tinker Bell, and Madam—
“Miss,” Wendy interrupted. “But you can call me Wendy.”
Wendy, then, although it is a meaningless name, he said, bowing. Better you were named Windy, Mistress of the Winds. And what in blazes happened to you? Since I last caught sight of you—yes, I saw you hiding in the bushes—it looks like you’ve been through hell.
She helped me escape a trap of the First, Tinker Bell said proudly. And fought off an entire colony of thysolits.
Wendy was gratified to see his honey-brown eyes widen in surprise.
I knew you had the bearing of a warrior, but…the First captured you? And you escaped? Truly?
Wendy gave a slightly ironic curtsy.
“Aww, quit all your palavering and chitchat,” Peter moaned. His complexion had brightened a little and his whole countenance had improved—whether it was the rubyfruit, moving to the jungle, something finally happening, or all three, it was hard to say. “When do my boys come? Is there any sign of them yet?”
They should be here soon, Tinker Bell promised, fluttering over to soothe him. She even made little jingly cooing noises.
Thorn watched this, then sighed and looked over at Wendy: what can you do? Wendy couldn’t help smiling. She didn’t feel like she was betraying her friend; the boy fairy wasn’t being snarky or obnoxious. More resigned, like a big brother. And she was relieved to see someone shared her feelings about Tinker Bell’s obsessive relationship with Peter.
“Do you know, there’s a rather popular—though scandalous—story called ‘The Great God Pan,’” she ventured, desperate to keep their conversation going, “by a fellow named Arthur Machen. His Pan is an actual blackguard.…”
I’d rather hear the stories of your escape from the First and then the thysolits, Windy.
“Quiet!” the less godly Pan ordered.
Wendy turned, about to give him a piece of her mind—then saw the expression on his face. He was serious for once. The the tips of his ears twitched, like a dog’s in its sleep or a cat’s when it isn’t paying attention to you. Thorn frowned, also listening.
I hear it, too.
Wendy, the only one without pixie hearing, turned and cocked her head and strained.
After a few moments she finally caught the faintest sound of twigs cracking and something crashing through the underbrush. She grabbed her dagger.
“It’s the Lost Boys!” Peter cried with delight. He leapt up, his cheeks growing rosy with excitement. “They’ve come!”
Luna came crashing through the underbrush first, leaping exultantly into Wendy.
“Good girl. How are you, girl?” Wendy hugged the wolf, wondering who was getting more dirt and mud on whom.
Now even she could hear the Lost Boys’ approach: they were marching, singing some sort of military song—familiar in tune, the original lyrics replaced with something rude and unrepeatable. When they broke into the small clearing where Wendy, Thorn, Tink, and Peter waited, it was with glad eyes and weary triumph.
They were all streaked with blood and makeup. Skipper made for a particularly scary whatever rodent she was with dark blue woad streaks above her eyes and on each cheekbone. Slightly’s jacket was stained with unsettlingly large dark brown splotches and his arm was bandaged with a strip of leather over gauze. But he also had a new necklace with the face of a hideous demon or god on it. The twins had new weapons to go with their slings: short, elaborately carved batons. Cubby and Tootles alone looked more or less the same, with just a few rips in their outfits and blue dots on their faces.
Wendy made a mental note to ask them about their adventures later. When she had tossed around bloody and blood and terrible wound in her stories (or, say, the idea of losing a hand in battle), she hadn’t really thought about it. She had even basked in the praise when Michael and John said she could tell a good story “unlike most girls”—one full of violence and victory. But now that she was viewing the real thing and had experienced some fighting herself she found her zeal for the lurid somewhat tempered. She wondered about the strange wound on Slightly’s arm.
“Well then, Slightly,” Peter said, straightening himself up and regarding the other boy gravely.
“Well then, Peter,” Slightly said back, trying not to sound wary.
The tension between the two of them was more palpable—and uncomfortable—than the humidity in the jungle.
“Looks like you’ve had a bit of an adventure,” Peter said, nodding at Slightly’s arm.
“The caves are still inhabited, don’t you know.”
“You showed ’em who’s who, though, right?”
“Oh, we showed them all right!”
Slightly couldn’t resist grinning, the whites of his teeth glistening like a real fox’s.
The smile was infectious: Peter smiled back proudly.
“I’m awfully glad you made it, Slightly. I’m not in top form at all. Things would be pretty grim without you all here to help me against the pirates,” Peter admitted.
“Well, things would be pretty grim without you around ever again,” Slightly said softly.
Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but then Tootles broke in excitedly.
“We fought! And won!” he cried, pushing his way into the middle of the two older boys.
Peter grinned and swept him up into the air. “Of course you did! You’re the best fighters a captain could ever want!”
But he looked at Slightly as he said it.
The fox boy smiled back.
Then all the tension was gone, and everyone was talking and shouting excitedly about what had happened and where Peter’s shadow was and what the plan was next.
Peter looked grim. “Fact is, men, it could go down at any time. Hook’s got my shadow and he’s been holding it prisoner, torturing it. And when he does that, it hurts me. They’re rounding the Bloody Neck, or were a little while ago, and should be here any moment. They plan to get all of us, me first. Then all of Never Land. We need to be ready.”
“We need to come up with a plan,” Wendy added.
“All right then!” Peter said. “All together now—fairies, Lost Boys, Wendy, and me! Let’s do this!”
Look, the pirates, Tinker Bell jingled nervously.
And there it was: riding a fair wind from the west, th
e Jolly Roger swept into view, its ghastly flag—and Peter’s shadow—snapping in the breeze.
The Lost Boys and Wendy immediately crouched down behind the bushes. The two fairies hid their glow behind a tree and peeped out.
The ship came near enough to the beach that Hook could clearly be seen in his blazing red jacket marching up and down the deck, gesticulating and shouting orders. Pirates scurried everywhere frantically, dropping anchor and readying the skiffs.
“What is that?” Slightly whispered in horror. He pointed at the glinting golden cage and the black formless mass within.
“That’s my shadow,” Peter growled.
“That’s why you haven’t had any…attacks in the last few minutes,” Wendy realized. “Hook has been too busy making preparations for landing to pay attention to your shadow.”
That is an ugly desecration of nature, Thorn said in disgust. I half thought you were wrong. That no one, not even pirates, would consider such a thing. My apologies. Anyone who would do this is capable of anything—including wiping out Never Land.
Hook suddenly stopped and pulled out a spyglass, aiming it at the shore.
The little group immediately hunkered down behind the bushes again.
“Should we wait until they’re all in the smaller boats?” Slightly asked. “They’ll be easy pickings for Skipper with—uh, his bow, and the twins with their slings.”
I cannot fly well over the water, Thorn said. For us, it would be best to wait until they’ve landed.
“I don’t know how much good I could do,” Wendy admitted. “Even on land. A bunch of bees without stingers is one thing—a bunch of pirates with swords…Well, I could try.…”
Me too! Tinker Bell put in. I’m not a warrior like Thorn, but any good I do would have to be on land.
The pirates had begun boarding the skiffs and lowering them down. There were at least a dozen of the men, all armed to the teeth.
Hook remained behind on the ship, one booted foot up on the railing, a triumphant leer polluting his face as he watched his men row toward the beach.
Peter’s face darkened.
“Here’s what I think we should do,” Wendy said. “When Caesar was invading Gaul, he—”
