by Kara Swanson
Peter is standing there, barefoot and grinning. “Lily is outside fighting one of the other village blokes, and she’s making him look like a fool!”
Relief slows my hammering heartbeat. “Right now? Where?”
He grabs my hand, and we race out of the villa. I have no idea how Peter knows how to navigate these hanging villages, but somehow he does, leading me to the same section of the village we saw last night, where the bridge was cut off.
In the broad daylight, the hanging villages are still enchanting, but in more of a rustic way. I hadn’t realized just how massive this network of treehouses and bridges and platforms was. It spans on for miles in every direction. But as the sunlight brings clarity, it also sharpens into focus the fact that many of the trees are beginning to splinter. A few dark veins have crept even this high.
But it’s the single thick line of rope that has been thrown from one platform to another, spanning where the chopped bridge had once been, that really steals my attention. There are two people standing out in the middle of the long span, only a foot or two from each other.
One is Tiger Lily, her back to us, staff in hand and held horizontally for balance. The other stands opposite her, facing us. He’s a tall warrior, with skin a little bit lighter than Lily’s and hair cut closer to his scalp. His glittering brown eyes are locked on Tiger Lily, watching her closely, calculating. He’s wearing a pair of plain brown shorts and a tank top, no armor, but he’s spinning two batons in his hands.
Their ability to balance on the single rope is impressive, and something about the way they tentatively bat at each other, his baton clanging against her staff, and making the rope sway, but both holding their balance, makes me think they’ve known each other a long time. Neither really wants to hurt the other.
“Who is he?” I ask, moving forward to join the cluster of people standing at the edge of the platform. I catch sight of Tootles at the front of the crowd. There are dozens of villagers crowding the platform, and when I scan the surrounding houses and porches, I realize that hundreds of Lily’s people have come out of their houses, legs dangling off the edges of porches or sitting in branches or on rooftops, to watch.
“That’s Asher,” Peter answers my earlier question as he elbows our way to the front.
Tootles greets us and points to Lily. “She’s pretty amazing, huh? Asher is the only one who dared to challenge her. If she beats him, she’ll be entitled to have the respect of the whole village.” Pride fills every word, and it makes me smile softly at him. This Lost Boy is a good man, and I hope Tiger Lily gives him a chance, when the time is right.
“How does she win?” I ask him.
He shoves a shock of floppy brown hair away from his eyes as Lily spins her staff, striking at Asher again, this time a little harder but still holding back. “Whoever gets knocked off loses. That’s it. No other rules.”
I lean forward just enough to glance down. Even in broad daylight I can’t see all the way to the jungle floor. My stomach twists. I turn to Peter. “Shouldn’t they be wearing harnesses or something? If one of them falls won’t they—”
“Die?” Peter finishes. There’s a strange glint in his eye. “That’s why no one else has dared to challenge her claim to lead.”
I watch the warrior with the batons spin one of them and dart forward just enough to swing at Lily’s side. She jumps back, out of the way, and I’m amazed at how quickly her feet move, staff braced and toes gripping the rope to hold her in place.
“They don’t really seem like they’re trying to hurt each other. Why did Asher challenge her?”
Tootles coughs. “Stubborn rivalry? He’s been vying for her throne for years. If they weren’t rivals, they’d probably be good pals. But he told Lily that he felt like since she left Neverland, someone who stayed should rule.”
“Why didn’t he challenge Crescent months ago?”
Tootles shrugs. “Lily seems to always bring a bit of daring out of others.”
I glance around at the crowd that is filling the trees around us. “I’ll say.”
Tiger Lily swings at Asher again, and he leaps back to avoid the sweep of her staff and almost loses his balance, but teeters on the rope and narrowly manages to catch it again.
“We can’t keep going like this!” Lily’s voice rises through the ring of treehouses. Sweat glistens on her smooth skin. “Why don’t you just surrender?”
Asher flashes her a snarky grin. “I could say the same to you, Princess.” And then he charges at her. He swings one baton at her legs and tosses the other one at her head.
I can’t breathe as Lily vaults into the air, jumping over the lower baton. But the second one hits the side of her face. I watch her head snap back, her weight shifting midair. She lands on her side and scrambles for a hold. But the rope is swinging dangerously, and she loses her stability.
And falls off.
“No!” I scream as Lily’s lithe body slips away.
Asher himself still is fighting for purchase as the rope swings and twists, but he, too, loses his fragile footing and falls off.
But then I see two slender fingers still holding on. Three fingers. Then five. Then Lily is grasping the rope with both hands and pulling herself back up.
My mouth falls open as I watch her. She must have kept a grip even when she slid off. That’s impossible.
The rope wobbles beneath her as she crouches, but she holds on tightly with her toes and slowly rises back to her feet. She lifts her hands over her head in triumph.
The woods around me erupt into loud cheers and screams. Feet thudding into the porches and hands slapping tree trunks.
The entire village is applauding her. She won.
But then Lily does the last thing I’d expect. She takes a moment to survey the uproarious applause around her, making eye contact with the crowds, capturing their attention—and then she dives off the rope.
She drops like a rock.
I grab at Peter. “What’s going on?”
His face is white. “I have no idea!”
Please tell me Lily did not just plunge to her death?
My heart is beating wildly. Suddenly a faint glow shines far below us. It rises through the cluster of branches and leaves crisscrossing across the trunks that feed to the floor. The light grows as it gets closer, until I can make out the tribal princess, coated in pixie dust, shooting back up through the trees.
And bringing Asher with her.
The treehouses explode with more cheering, this time even louder.
My pixie dust coats Tiger Lily’s lithe form, its gold clinging to her enchanting skin and flecking her long eyelashes. She shoots upward, flying toward us.
We all scoot back, making space for her. She lands in the middle of the platform, surrounded by a circle of whooping warriors and a grinning Tootles. Beside me, Peter just shakes his head. “Blooming heck, Lil. Why do you have to give me a heart attack?”
But I can’t stop smiling. She looks like a queen with the gold dust studding her features and the proud lift of her chin. The roar of her people drowns out the ghost of her mother’s harsh words last night.
Beside her, Asher looks a little sheepish but undoubtedly grateful to be alive.
Raising her voice, Tiger Lily addresses her people. “I am not here to fight you or force you into submission. I want to be here to catch you if you fall. To protect you. I believe that if we stand together . . .” She turns toward Asher, reaching out a hand. He hesitates. But finally, with a dimpled grin, he grips her hand. Lily raises their clasped hands above their heads for all to see. “If we stand together, we will be stronger!”
More cheers ricochet around us, and the platform shakes underfoot from the amount of stomping and clapping that echoes through the space. Tiger Lily beams.
The crowd closes in. Tall warriors with fierce, silver tattoos scramble down from the trees, filling our porch and pressing in around hers. Peter and I drift to the back as Lily is swallowed up by her people. This whole vill
age has definitely accepted her as their leader.
I bump into the tree trunk behind me as I reach the back of the circular porch. I smile at the glimpse of Lily through the crowd. “Pretty amazing, huh?”
Peter has stayed especially close to my side, and he presses his shoulder against mine. “Yes. And you know what? This is how we win.” His eyes shine, and he looks more Peter Pan than he has in a good while. “Not by trying to beat Connor with force—but by saving those we can and not letting him get his blasted shadow anywhere near that star.”
I put my hand in his and entwine with his fingers. He’s come so far from that selfish boy who tried to push me off the roof of his flat in London. While I wish I could wipe away the grief that tints his gaze, I’m also pretty insanely proud of the leader this Peter is growing into.
“Do you really think we can do this?”
He leans enough to whisper in my ear, warm breath skimming my neck. “I think with a bit of faith, trust, and magic . . . anything is possible.”
I give a little laugh. “I’ve missed your optimism.”
Peter gives a lopsided grin. “Me too.”
I had no idea just how much he needed this. To not be alone. To find a part of Neverland that isn’t destroyed. It has certainly buoyed his spirits.
A part of me wants give him a tight hug and kiss that freckled nose, but before I can debate the idea, I hear Lily calling my name.
“Claire! Claire!” She’s pushing through the crowd toward us, dragging Crescent behind her. Lily’s face is absolutely beaming, and it’s not just the afterglow of dust. She pushes Crescent forward, words tripping over themselves. “Tell her what you told me, Cres!”
I look puzzled at Tiger Lily’s sister. “What’s going on?”
A slow smile spreads across Crescent’s face. “Well, now that Lily is the leader of our village, I guess it’s safe to let you in on the secret we have been holding. If it ever got out and the pirates found out, we would be—”
“What secret?” Peter cuts in, practically on his tiptoes.
Crescent tosses her braids over her shoulder. “When we saw that Connor was tearing apart the island and just how sickly it was becoming, we knew the pixies would be the most at risk. Especially after Tink was—” She pauses, glancing at Peter. “Well, the pixies are also very susceptible to any kind of emotional upheaval. Connor’s mood swings could have been enough to cripple most of them. So we decided the only thing to do was . . .” She pauses.
I can’t breathe, eyes riveted on her. “Yes?”
“Hide them. Connor thinks they’ve all died and that the hollow was destroyed, but actually”—Crescent turns away from us, glancing up at the thick foliage of leaves overhead—“they’ve been hiding among us in the hanging villages for months. We share our food and keep them safe from the pirates.”
I gasp. “Are you saying they’re here?”
Crescent just tips her head and lets out a long, shrill whistle. “All safe!”
And just like that, the entire jungle lights up like a grove of Christmas trees. Hundreds of gleaming, golden lights ignite the foliage and begin to rise, bobbing and floating and drifting down toward us.
They draw closer, and there are more pixies than I can count. I soak in the sight of their tiny bodies and their iridescent wings and the windchime sound of their voices and I just . . .
Melt.
My knees go weak, and I collapse to the floor, tears of utter relief and joy streaming down my cheeks. They’re alive, they’re alive, they’re alive.
I don’t even have to reach out for them because the pixies all flock to me. They land on my arms and shoulders and burrow into my hair. Warmth and light and familiarity.
Hope.
Peter is sitting beside me, pixies all over him. He’s calling them by name and grinning from ear to ear, and all I can do is weep.
Because for the first time, for the first time since I saw Neverland . . .
The world actually feels whole.
And it pours into my soul and chases out the cold that has become such a part of my chest. The cold that has soaked into my lungs and weighed my breathing for so long.
I nuzzle the pixies and cry big happy, heaving sobs all over them. Several of them chide at me and the crowd of Lily’s people move back to give us space.
The tears just keep coming, and I don’t try to stop them. Instead I just give a sort of hiccupped, shaky laugh. Because if my family is alive, if Lily’s people are still safe, if these trees still stand, if Peter can still throw his head back and laugh like a little child . . .
Maybe we can be okay after all.
Neverland
“Let’s all take Claire to go see the star!” I propose.
Lily’s people have finally dispersed to go prepare weapons and discuss strategy for guarding it. Claire and I will take the first post after I introduce her to the spinning ball of silver heat that beats like a pulse in the center of Neverland. Tootles wandered off several minutes ago, leaving just Claire, Lily, and me on this wraparound porch. As soon as I announce my plan, I catch Tiger Lily’s wince.
I sigh. “You’re not coming with Claire and me, are you?”
She shuffles her feet. “Uh—I was going to go meet up with Tootles and the rest of the clan leaders. I should actually be there already, but I wanted to make sure you both were settled.”
I waggle my brows and flick her on the nose. “Oh, meeting with Tootles, eh?”
Lily colors, smacking me. “Not like that! After we discuss the best way to protect the star, we’re going to do a sweep of the outer perimeter of the villages and make sure everything is properly fortified. I also want to see what shape the trees at the edges are in.”
I snort, giving her a grin. “Sure, sure.” I wave her off. “Go find your Lost Boy. I’ll show Claire the star myself.”
Lily rolls her eyes but gives Claire a quick hug and then takes off down a swinging bridge. She climbs up a dangling ladder, which carries her out of view.
I turn toward Claire, rather enjoying the fact that we are finally alone. “So, what do you say?” I lay a hand beside hers on the rail, letting my fingertips brush hers and enjoying the way her face goes pink. “Want to see the star at the core of Neverland?”
Flakes of dust drift from her cheeks and catch in her thick golden curls. “I’d love to, especially since this star is apparently the only thing between Connor and total control of this island. But first the pixies said they have something for me. Do you think it’s a gift of some kind?”
As if on cue, a dozen of the little gleaming, glowing figures appear. They flit down through the overhang of branches lighting on Claire’s shoulders and tugging on the hem of her shirt.
“Okay! I’m coming, I’m coming!” She lets them pull her away from me, around the porch and toward another intersecting bridge. Claire’s eyes find mine. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes? Does that work?”
I watch the pixies continue to tug her away. “Okay! But you better not be gone long!”
Even though she’s several feet away now, I can hear her silvery laugh. “Don’t worry! I’ll come back to you.”
There’s something raw and deeper in those words, and I can’t tear my gaze away from her until she has ducked around another tree trunk and is out of view. I heave another sigh, drifting a little further along the circular porch to sink down on a swinging bridge that connects to another treehouse opposite us. Sitting with my legs hanging off the edge of the curve of woven-together slats, I let the bridge sway like a large swing.
She’d better come back to me. Can’t lose that girl again.
I close my eyes and let out a long groan. “I’ve become such a bloomin’ softy!”
But part of me—most of me—doesn’t hate it.
In fact, part of me is hoping that if we can manage this, manage to hang on to the last shreds of this island that we have, maybe I can carve out a better life for myself in the end. A world where Claire is still there, bring
ing light into an island that is no longer tangled up in my mistakes but blooms into something new. Something more whole.
I sit on that bridge, swinging lazily, humming pirate shanties to myself, until Claire returns. It’s the sound of the pixies that alerts me first. The tinkle of their voices, like chimes echoing through the sun-dappled day. When I see her, I realize that she’s covered in a mini-parade of pixies. Dozens of them, spinning threads of gold around her, pulling her along in a haze of pixie dust. Her feet aren’t even touching the ground as she glides toward me, gleaming and laughing.
I clamber to my feet as she pauses a short distance away. My eyes practically bug out as I gape at her. Blast! I’m pretty sure my heart is trying to hammer out of my chest.
She’s dressed like a fierce fairy princess, and I’ve never wanted to kiss her so badly.
The pixies have made her a dress of woven silky green leaves, small flowers, and thin golden thread. It’s perfectly fitted to her curves, spilling over one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder bare, and then cascading down her hips to stop above her knees in a swaying skirt. It has all the elegance of one of Tink’s dresses, just more grown-up-sized.
She is alight with pixie dust that studs her dress like a cascade of rippling gold, specks of her dust filling her hair and lifting her golden curls to float around her head like a crown.
Claire is enchanting as she glides toward me, some pixies hanging off the leaves of her dress, others grasping her hands or peeking out of the hair they’ve braided into a crown atop her head.
I stumble to the edge of the bridge, just staring at her. “You look . . .”
Her cheeks color. The pixies dip and fly around her, gleaming and dancing on air.
“A little wild?”
I lick my lips. “Breathtaking, more like.”
Claire’s eyes shine, and her golden dust spirals toward me and catches in my worn green hoodie that thankfully Lily managed to briefly wash while we slept. I feel my feet lift off the wooden deck, and I float toward Claire. We’re only a breath apart.
She blinks those big blue eyes a few times, regarding me closely. “You’ve changed, Peter.”
