A Land of Never After

by R. L. Davennor

  Peter shot Tink an irritated glare. “I’d hoped we could discuss the pirates later. As if the actual monsters wandering around weren’t enough to worry about—”

  “I’m not some helpless damsel,” I pointed out. “You both failed to tell me about the existence of nerisas, and that nearly got us all killed—”

  “You nearly got yourself killed because you didn’t stay put,” Peter snapped.

  “—so if I’m trapped here, if I’m going to live with you, I want to know the truth of this place.” I ignored the urge to point out—again—that he’d be dead if it weren’t for me. “The dangers. The curse. The pirates. All of it.”

  Peter stared at me in silence for a long while, eyeing me up and down, brows knotting as he contemplated his choices. I prepared for any arguments he might conjure up, but only a single word escaped his lips.

  “Fine.”

  “Good,” I fired back, crossing my arms. “For starters—the pirates. Who are they, and what do they want?”

  Tink spoke first. “The same as all of us, albeit through bloodier means. Survival. Comfort. Shelter.”

  “Don’t forget my head,” Peter muttered darkly. “And once they learn of Wendy, hers too.”

  I forced myself to ignore that. “And the Serpent is one of them?”

  “Yes. She’s Hook’s quartermaster, and rarely leaves his side. Named for her mastery of poisons and stealth. No one escapes her once they become her target.”

  “Hook?” I echoed, making mental notes of all the facts. If the Serpent was his quartermaster, Hook must be captain.

  Tink’s bells rang mournfully. “The one responsible for these empty beds.”

  “No,” Peter spat. “The one responsible for all of this.”

  “I’m aware, but thought it might be best to ease her into all of this!” The sudden vehemence in Tink’s voice surprised both me and Peter; judging from the shock plastered across his face, the fairy didn’t get angry with him often. “Wendy doesn’t even know who she is yet—”

  “And you do?” I sat up straighter, my curiosity over the pirates vanishing in an instant. “What do you mean—?”

  “Maynard,” Tink said simply, hovering closer and bringing the volume of her voice back down to a normal level. “Maynard, Maynard, Maynard. The Nightstalkers haven’t stopped whispering it since you arrived, and that only means one thing. They know your name, recognize it from somewhere—or more likely, recognize your blood.”

  A chill shot down my spine as I recalled the Nightstalker’s words: I can smell it in your blood. How had Tink known? How could any of them know?

  Unless… Mrs. Hughes really was correct about my roots.

  “Wendy?” The concern laced through Peter’s voice pulled me toward the present, but just barely. “You’ve gone pale.”

  “The pirates,” I said, my tone insistent. “Are they the only other humans in Neverland?”

  “They didn’t used to be.” Tink’s light had returned to its customary golden hue. “Until a year or so ago, there were the children Peter kept hidden here: the Lost Boys. Decades ago, there were a few small settlements of natives, but the pirates wiped them out, too.”

  “So yes?” I pressed.

  Peter nodded. “Aside from you and me.”

  The now-dead children didn’t count, and my mother couldn’t have been native: the timeline didn’t line up. If she had somehow come from Neverland regardless, it meant only one thing.

  I was a pirate.

  “Wendy—Wendy!”

  My mother’s voice pulled me into myself yet again. Though gentle, her sudden, unsettling tone frightened me, and I fought against the darkness that longed to root itself in my mind.

  “WENDY!”

  Firm hands gripped my shoulders, and my neck ached from being shaken. “What?”

  “You nearly blacked out!”

  “Did I?” Though it sent a rush of dizziness to my forehead, I forced my slumped form back into a sitting position in the chair. “Sorry. Keep talking about the curse.”

  “The curse?” Peter rested the back of his hand on my forehead, brows knotting in concern. “We hadn’t even moved on from the pirates, and judging by your reaction, I think that’s quite enough for one—”

  “Tell me about the curse, Peter.” I forced myself to hold his gaze. “I’ll rest after, I promise, but I need to know.”

  I need to know if my mother died here—and whether I’m next.

  He looked very much like he wanted to argue, but after a deep exhalation, decided against it. Without releasing his grip on my shoulders, he lowered his voice to a breathy whisper and recited what sounded like an incantation.

  “Disturb my sleep, invade this tomb,

  and you will reap the greatest doom.

  A debt in blood, a promise sealed,

  only once cut will all be revealed.

  Let thieves beware this sacred place:

  no man be spared, all share the fate.

  With sea and breath, I curse ye twice.

  Death pays for death, but life has no price.”

  Neither Peter nor Tink so much as breathed once he finished. I took advantage of the silence to repeat the words in my mind, but it didn’t take me long to grow infuriated at how vague it all was. One section stood out, though.

  “That final line—you said it after you killed the Nightstalker.”

  Peter sighed before pulling away. “Nothing escapes you, does it?”

  “Not much, no.”

  “Didn’t think so. Yes, the healing sometimes goes faster if you say the words.”

  “‘Death pays for death’, ‘all share the fate’...” I trailed off as I finished piecing together clues in my head. “All of Neverland is forced to kill each other, simply because one man broke into some tomb, triggering this curse?”

  “All because Hook broke into some tomb.” Peter glowered. “His father’s, if I’m not mistaken. It’s located far north of here. Impossible to access by land, but easily reached by sea.”

  “Figures. Pirates.”

  “Yeah… pirates.” Peter studied me closely. “I’d still like to know why you’re so fixated upon them.”

  You’ll know soon enough. Biting my tongue to keep from uttering that reply, I improvised another. “Since when is knowing your enemy a bad thing?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he offered his hand, pulling me upright before guiding me to one of the larger beds. I was too exhausted to care if it had recently belonged to one of the Lost Boys, especially once my head hit the pillow. I’d never felt anything so soft and inviting.

  “Rest, Wendy. Tomorrow, we’ll begin ‘learning the enemy,’ as you say.”

  “Knowing your enemy,” I grumbled.

  “Same thing.”

  My eyes shot open as Peter stepped away; I was comfortable, but this was wrong. “Wait—my music box. Can you play it for me?”

  He hadn’t opened his mouth fully to reply before music began drifting from the far corner. A smug-looking Tink sat cross-legged atop the box’s open lid, wings swaying to the rhythm of the lullaby. She brought a finger to her lips, the last thing I saw before slipping into darkness.

  “Sleep well, Wendy Maynard.”

  The voice didn’t belong to the fairy. It belonged to my mother.

  V. the serpent

  Heart pounding as though I’d just sprinted the length of the coast, I soared through the trees. Ducking and weaving at a breakneck pace, I’d thus far managed to avoid most obstacles even with my satchel balanced atop my back. A glance behind told me it wasn’t enough. My pursuer was still gaining, and if I was caught, it was all over.

  I pushed myself faster. Harder. Raising my arms to shield my face, I forced them to take the brunt of the injuries that came with my now reckless speed. Branches sliced into my skin, remaining tangib
le unlike when I had first entered Neverland, but I couldn’t afford to cry out and accidentally summon any Nightstalkers that might be prowling down below. I’d learned that lesson the hard way yesterday and could swear I still had some of its tar-like blood stuck beneath my fingernails.

  Tink’s power flooded through me, as intoxicating as it was worrying. I’d tried my damnedest not to become dependent on her dust, but even as I was being hunted like an animal, the adrenaline surging through my blood only solidified the addiction. It had only been a few days since my arrival, but already life outside Neverland had become a distant memory—or more accurately, a bad dream. Here, I was beholden to no one, and here, I could fly.

  This might be a place of death and nightmares, but a rapidly growing part of me never wanted to leave.

  I could certainly do without the curse looming over my head, though. Despite Peter’s original skepticism, I was subject to it just like everyone else, just slower. Every day my strength waned a little more, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide my growing weakness from Peter and Tink. It wouldn’t be long before I started to decay like all the others; my skin grew paler with each passing hour. I needed to take matters into my own hands, and there was only one way to reverse the rot.

  I’d need to kill.

  I wished I could admit that it terrified me—but it didn’t. The act was inevitable. I’d known it since my first night in Neverland. The scariest part wasn’t the spilling of blood… it was how comfortable I’d already become with the prospect. I didn’t view the blades I carried as mere tools for my defense: they were essential to my survival. Any chance I got, I balanced them in my hands, getting used to their weight as well as imagining how it might feel to sink them into flesh.

  My gut twisted into knots as the bloody picture formed in my brain. What was wrong with me? Had my mind deteriorated as much as my body had? It shouldn’t be this way—this easy. The only thing I’d ever cut was food-related, and that was nowhere near the same as taking a life.

  Right?

  “Is that all you’ve got?”

  Confident arrogance echoed through the forest, tearing me from my murderous thoughts. They didn’t go far. I gritted my teeth, my palms twitching at my sides, half-tempted to reach for the daggers sheathed there.

  Peter spoke as though right next to me, voice amplified despite the distance still between us. “You’d go a lot faster if you didn’t insist on carrying that damn music box everywhere.”

  He was right, but I didn’t care. The box safely tucked into my satchel might soon represent all that was left of my previous life, and though I wouldn’t miss it, that didn’t mean I was ready to let it—or my mother—go. I’d stashed its key in my pocket. Ever since Tink had grown a little too fond of hearing it play, I’d needed to keep them separate.

  “Consider it, Wendy. You’ll have to do much better than that if you hope to escape me.”

  Peter could make all the noise he wanted, while I had to remain as silent as the grave if I wished to keep my head. Typical. Biting my tongue to keep from shouting back, I reminded myself that I did have a plan—and that I’d be able to see it through soon. Just a little farther.

  A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicions. I could hear Peter but couldn’t see him through the maze of blackened trunks. It wouldn’t be wrong to assume the same applied to him: hearing, but not seeing.

  Perfect.

  We’d been through this exercise enough times for me to have started to learn my bearings. To my left the forest continued endlessly, while to my right, land gave way to sea. Trees grew sparser, leading to beaches in some areas, in others sheer cliffs. Peter had warned me time and time again to keep away from here, but why, I didn’t understand. Of all places to explore the beaches, this was by far the safest. The jagged rocks dotting the shallows were more than enough to keep mermaids and nerisas at bay, and only the most skilled of pirates would be able to navigate a boat through here. That was if they dared at all, for there were much better places to make landfall. We hadn’t spotted their ship anywhere near these parts ever since my arrival; I highly doubted their position had changed since this morning. They seemed to be lying low, watching and waiting for gods knew what.

  I chuckled as I veered toward the waves. Peter might have an unnatural fear of the ocean and the pirates who called it home, but I certainly didn’t. Perhaps I really was one of them. The depths called to me, and I would ignore its summons no longer.

  Holding my breath and crossing my arms over my face, I dove. Though I’d practiced the maneuver several times over the past few days, hurtling toward the ground at my current speed was something I’d never get used to. A squeak escaped my lips, but nothing more; the instant before my impact, I twisted in midair, effectively performing a sharp change in direction. My music box rubbed uncomfortably against my back but remained safe within its satchel as I straightened out my spine. Thorns snagged one of my wrists, splattering crimson across the beds of decaying leaves, but I was too focused on my mission to register the pain.

  This low to the ground, I couldn’t fly any faster than a person could sprint. Shoving the worry that Peter might have seen me aside, I willed Tink’s waning power to see me just a little farther, if only to save me from needing to pick debris out of my clothes and hair. Once I reached the beach, I’d be walking, allowing my five senses to relish all the sensations they could. I’d have little choice—I wouldn’t have enough fairy dust to see me back home—but that was a problem I’d worry about later. I touched down where the forest met the sand, still within the safety of the trees, and inhaled deeply.

  The salt that flooded my lungs soothed my pounding heart. Mist caressed my lower arms, sending gooseflesh all the way to my neck. Sand was a welcome texture beneath my feet after days of weaving through nothing but dense and unforgiving overgrowth. Each ebb and flow of the tide sent a surge of energy through me, spiking my pulse and flooding me with resolve. I’d had my doubts, but now I knew for certain. Pirate or not, this was where I belonged.

  Ignoring my stinging wrist, I leaned against a tree while I removed my boots. I shed my satchel and the music box it contained, settling both against a sturdy trunk. Though still shrouded in shadow, the warmth of the sun beckoned me to step into the light. I found myself eager to oblige. After rolling up my pants and sleeves, I raced into the surf, laughing as hair whipped around my face. I allowed the waves to wash over my toes again and again, humming my music box’s melody until I noticed the looming shape in the distance.

  A ship.

  Cursing, I fell on my ass in the surf. Without taking my eyes from the formidable man-of-war, I scrambled on all fours back to the safety of the trees, heart skipping a beat at the sight of her flag flapping lazily in the breeze. I was too far away to make out its symbol, but not the color: black as the forest’s trees. That was by far the least shocking piece of information. Sails, full and strong, threatened to carry her away the moment they raised the anchor. Her gun ports were open, cannons staring me down, though the ship wasn’t broadside to the beach. Yet.

  Pirates. Bloody pirates.

  I bit my lip so hard it bled. Why—and how—were they here, of all places? There was no advantage to sitting where they were, but then again, Peter had confessed he hadn’t been able to make sense of their actions for weeks prior to my arrival. If anything, the pirates risked a strong wind or current pushing them too far into the cove, from which there would be no escaping the rocky shallows.

  There was no telling whether I’d been spotted, but I had no plans to stick around and find out. Yearning was one thing: staring danger in the face was very much another. I had to get back to Peter. I’d never hear the end of straying off the path, but a scolding was preferable to dying. These were the men who had slaughtered the Lost Boys. If they could murder young children in cold blood, they wouldn’t think twice about doing the same to me.

  A si
ngle thought took front and center. Run.

  I turned back toward the forest to do just that, but a second shape caught my eye—this one much closer. Resting out of reach of the tide was an abandoned longboat. A set of fresh tracks led from the discarded oars into the trees, and sensing it was too late, my shoulders sagged.

  I wasn’t alone.

  “Took you long enough.”

  I turned toward the unhinged-sounding voice.

  My gaze didn’t quite know what to focus on: the crazed glint in the woman’s eyes, the dark paint streaked in intricate patterns across her face, or the bloody dagger clenched between her fingers. A second liquid mingled with the blood, flashing an unnatural shade of green. She had so much mud caked in her hair I couldn’t be certain of its true color. More crimson was splattered up her front—most of it fresh—mixed with large clots of black Nightstalker blood. Until this moment, I’d assumed those terrifying creatures were the dominant predators of Neverland, but this woman proved otherwise.

  Cocking her head, the woman didn’t otherwise move. She waited. Studied. Set her sights on me, just as Peter had said she would. If the poison lingering on her blade wasn’t enough to confirm her identity, this unnerving behavior certainly was.

  My voice shook. “You’re the Serpent.”

  She flashed me a triumphant smile, revealing teeth filed into points. “Very good, Wendy. I knew you and I were going to get along famously.”

  The Serpent lunged toward me with the speed of a viper. One hand used two fingers to jab at several places on my neck and upper arms, while the other pressed her blade to my wounded wrist. A searing pain seized my body, rendering me immobile.

  As I sank into the Serpent’s waiting arms, of all things, she began to sing. Her voice rose and fell, the melody not unlike my mother’s; had my circumstances been different, it might have been comforting.

  The music faded to silence as my world turned black.

  VI. the crow

  Featured Song: A Lullaby of Never After