by Andrea Jones
The women turned from their youngsters to gaze at their guest. Their astonishment changed into smiles. Then, all three of them held out their arms.
✽ ✽ ✽
David was different. All the boys knew it. In the two days since Peter saved him from the mermaid, something had changed.
“It’s his color,” said Bertie. “We can’t call him Paleface any longer.”
“It’s his appetite,” said Bingo. “He doesn’t stuff himself anymore.”
“It’s his size,” said Chip. “He hardly fits down the tree chute. In another day or so, he’ll have to dig his way in.”
Shiny-bell sounds came from Jewel. She plucked at her chin, fingering make-believe stubble.
“It’s time to thin out my band,” said Peter, threatening. He turned to eyeball the subject of their speculation. “Paleface,” Peter shook his golden head. “You’ve got to go.”
The Lost Boys gasped. On the hearth, the fire snapped in shock. The hideout under the ground seemed to convulse, as if shaken by an earthquake. Jewel’s fairy light flickered.
Only David didn’t flinch. Peter’s verdict instilled a sensation of nerve-jangling panic in the others and, only two days ago, it might have frightened David, too. But he had anticipated Peter’s ruling, and he felt prepared to hear it. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he answered. The resolution in his response impressed even himself. He didn’t so much as blush. In fact, as Bertie noted, David’s face was nearly clear again. The brand of Red-Handed Jill was fading.
The captain consulted him one final time. “What’s the procedure, Bo’sun? A court-martial? A flogging round the fleet?”
Jewel wrung her hands, but, considering, David pulled a thoughtful expression. He stroked his chin and wrinkled his brow in true officer fashion. The rough hint of whiskers that Jewel had pointed out pleased him, yet he waxed grave. “I believe…” he answered, after deliberating long enough to impress the younger sailors, “I believe we must have a plank-walk.”
The boys surged to their feet, shouting with zeal. Those on the bed bounced until its frame groaned, bumping their heads on the earth of the ceiling. With green eyes aglow, Peter jumped up upon his willow throne, one foot on each arm. The sheer volume of the boys’ cheers made David smile. At this instant— the very moment that decreed he must leave— he felt more at one with this band than he’d ever done. The irony struck him. It was a paradox he could not have perceived only three days before— before he grew up. He joined in the whooping, no longer fearful that his voice might break.
When the noise subsided, Peter perched on his chair, his brain teeming with plans. The boys leaned in to listen as the fairy whizzed round the room.
“We’ll launch the driftwood raft.”
The boys nodded.
“We’ll sail her into Neverbay.”
The boys ooh-ed.
“We’ll run out the plank!”
The boys ah-ed!
“Then we’ll put the scoundrel at the point of our swords…”
The crew stood on tiptoe.
“And we’ll send him down, to drink with Davey Jones!”
A more delightful dispatching could not be conceived. One and all, the Lost Boys stared, openmouthed, in awe of their leader’s ideas. Jewel gaped at him, too, but hers was a look of horror.
Peter sat back, grinning in gratification. “Tonight we feast, in Paleface’s honor. Because tomorrow…” Dramatically, Peter pointed to David, “that man dies.” The wicked glint in Peter’s eye left no doubt of his intention.
In an act of anticlimax that only he himself noticed, David saluted. “I’ll see to the vessel, Captain.” He headed for the tree chute, to squeeze his way up to the forest.
“Chip, bear Paleface a hand there. Bertie, round up some rope. Bingo, stop eating and ready the feast.” Peter beckoned, and, anxiously, Jewel flitted to sit on his knee. “Jewel, prepare to follow my orders, exactly.”
The silver blade in Peter’s belt shone sharp in the firelight. Jewel knew her boy. She chimed in a tactful manner, ending with a delicate question mark.
“No, Jewel.”
Searchingly, she opened her vivid blue wings, then closed them.
Peter’s voice grew stern. “You know the rules.”
She cocked her little head, coaxing.
“There’s no other way. I’ve got to get rid of him.”
Her wings drooped, and her loving look crumpled.
“I want you to deliver a message.”
Holding her breath, Jewel waited, and her little heart banged on her insides.
“To the ladies at the Clearing: I’ll abandon one tomorrow. After the plank-walk.”
In relief, the fairy exhaled, her sigh trilling like a harpsichord. She smiled again, and her light glowed brightly as she beamed on her boy.
She’d suspected, but she hadn’t been sure. Peter was different, too, in the months since Red-Handed Jill retold his story. Something had changed.
✽ ✽ ✽
At the pinnacle of the Indian mountain, two braves stood on high, looking down. One’s eyes were blue, the other’s gray as slate. Both men’s eyes filmed with sorrow. The whole of the Neverland lay at their feet, yet their gazes reached only to the limits of their loss.
In contrast to their gravity, the river danced behind them, its rapids skipping and shimmering in the sun. A brace of hawks circled on wide-stretched wings. In front of the braves, the forest glowed emerald, and, just to the east, red smoke signaled in invitation. That place was the Clearing— the place these Outcasts must now name as home.
Lightly sighed. “We have family to welcome us, and they make it easier,” He sat down to dangle his feet over the precipice. “Your mother and the twins, at least, are happy to have us among them.” The wind seeped between Lightly’s toes. The air blew chillier up here, and felt thinner in his lungs. Perhaps it was this meager atmosphere that caused the hurt near his heart.
“Yes,” Rowan answered, shifting his tomahawk to hunker down at his partner’s side. “Our family makes the exile from our village more bearable.”
“Last time we came here, I joked of our situation.” Lightly’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. “We walked in two worlds.”
“We understood that our path might be stony.”
“I’d hoped that the Old One’s arguments would win out over Walking Man’s.”
Early this afternoon, Walking Man had marched through the village, from the Council Lodge to the dwelling place of Rowan and Lightly. He was draped in a yellow blanket that swished on the ground. A dried gourd hung from a strap on his shoulder, and he bore the feathered spear. Grimly, the old man slipped the gourd from his shoulder, to upend it. Water streamed over the remains of the cook fire, and the flames shrank from it, fizzling and hissing. Then Walking Man held up his hand, not in greeting, but in hostility. Taken aback, Rowan and Lightly saw that his fingers were black, smudged with cinders from the council fire. With this residue, he marked the symbol of taboo on the hide of the tepee. Imperious, Walking Man turned to witness the shock on the younger men’s faces.
With the last words that their tribesmen were permitted to speak to them, he glared over the pouches of his eyes and decreed in his aged, creaking voice, “Rowan Life-Giver; Lightly of the Air. The council have ruled. Taboo is defied…and you are judged ‘Outcast.’ ” Saying no more, the old man circled his spear to indicate their tepee, then pointed its tip toward the forest. The elder’s message could not be clearer: Take your belongings, and go.
Lightly felt the injustice. It ran hot and cold through his veins. At first, he and Rowan could only stand helpless, stunned by the blow, while the stench of the wetted fire stuck in their throats. When Walking Man turned his back, they watched him lurch away. Still speechless, they gazed across the encampment. The People went about their business, as always. But this afternoon, no one smiled, no one bantered, and no one looked back at them. Taking a few steps toward the totem pole, the young men drew closer to the villagers
’ activities, but the people took care not to acknowledge them. Clearly, Rowan and Lightly had become Invisibles. The sensation of non-existence made Lightly’s skin crawl.
To Rowan, the scene felt too familiar. It pricked at the wound he received the day his mother was banished. But he understood the constraint laid upon his tribesmen by their elders, and, gently, he had guided Lightly into the tepee, to explain it. “Not a word nor a gesture may be exchanged with us. If we stay, we will be no more than ghosts. Our presence is unwelcome to the People— even frightening.”
Lightly couldn’t speak, but he nodded. A bitter taste lined his tongue. To worry the women and men was bad enough, but he dreaded lest the children might fear him. With weighty hearts, he and Rowan rolled their possessions into packs, dismantled their tepee, and, bundling it onto its poles, dragged it from the encampment. Exposed and unimpeded, wisps of smoke from the choking fire rose up to coil toward the sky.
As they traveled, the words of Walking Man rang sharp in their ears. Upon their arrival, the People of the Clearing could see what had happened. Kindly, they asked no questions. Accepting help from the twins, Rowan and Lightly erected the tepee in a corner of the Clearing. They positioned it across from the house, at the farthest point from the workshop. It was a pleasant place to dwell, surrounded by woodland and filled with good company, good food, and the love of family. But, blessed as they were, the men were stung by this reversal of the People’s good will. So, too, the loss of their status as Messengers pierced their spirits, as if Walking Man’s spear had jabbed at them.
They worked quickly to prepare their shelter, then flew here to the mountaintop, their private place, to think on their fortunes alone. “Who, now, will see to the People’s needs across the Island? Who will watch for mischief from Peter and his boys?”
“Lightly, you know the answer to these questions.” Affectionately, Rowan nudged him. “A man may wander from his tribe, but a worthy man cannot wander from his duty.”
“I know. We won’t shirk responsibility; we’ll still serve the tribe. And, any day they wish, I will welcome them.” Lightly blinked the moisture from his eyes. With his hand, he sought his partner’s.
Rowan gave it, and his warm, sturdy grip brought comfort to his lover. “Moons ago, Lightly of my Heart, we sat on this very pinnacle, mourning the change in your circumstances. You had sampled the tart taste of truth, and you had outgrown your tribe. It was an end but, also, a beginning.”
“You told me then that I would endure, that I’d become stronger. Your prophecy came true. And this time, we’re making the change together. I’m satisfied, Rowan. If I’m with you, I’m at home.” Lightly lifted Rowan’s hand and pressed it to his cheek. Rowan returned the gesture and more, gathering Lightly in his arms to embrace him. As their mouths joined together, Lightly welcomed the strength that the two of them embodied. He clasped his companion, encompassing the firmness of his flesh, and the vigor of his blood. Together, these braves were potent. Whether the elders believed it or not, the might of two men, united in love, was a force for much good for their people.
Rowan’s thoughts followed a similar track. Considering, he ran his fingers through Lightly’s hair, saying, “We may find this arrangement to be comfortable. No one can question our movements; we may go to the ships, or anywhere else we see fit. We might find, even, that we serve the People better than before.”
Lightly’s burden of hurt lightened at the thought but, paradoxically, his shoulders fell again when he remembered better news. “I was staggered all the more to be cast out today— the very hour the elders raised our expectations by restoring Lelaneh to the tribe. The council’s ruling gave me hope for us, and hope for Lily.”
“That hope can still live. Our actions will prove the elders wrong. But Lelaneh is wise to remain at the House in the Clearing, where she has found happiness. And consider, Lightly; she will be our link to the tribe. With Lelaneh to win them over, are we unreasonable to hope that the elders will accept my mother, and Red Fawn, too?”
“While Lean Wolf lives, Red Fawn can’t return to the village.” Angrily, Lightly slapped the dagger strapped at his knee. “I believed she was safe at the Clearing, but he sought her out and threatened her. Jill was right when she warned us about Silent Hunter.”
Gravely, Rowan nodded. “Red Fawn is another reason for our presence there. Now, the women and children have more men to protect them.”
“And Lean Wolf is a danger, Rowan. Not just to the Women of the Clearing.”
“Yes. We acted discreetly. We did not offend the tribe. It is Lean Wolf’s malice that spurred our exile.” Protective, Rowan’s arm encircled Lightly’s shoulders. “But think, Lightly. Why should he so suddenly turn against us? Why now, as he takes interest in your mother?”
Beneath his tan, Lightly blanched. “Only we know that he, too, violates taboo. His connection with Jill is forbidden.”
“Our knowledge of his marriage is a threat to him. And because we glide like birds, we are able to track him more easily than the others. As long as we are present and vigilant, we force Lean Wolf to use caution in his contact with her. No matter; we can protect ourselves. Yet today, he closed the council’s ears to us. The elders will not hear us if we warn them. In time, Lean Wolf may decide to hide the evidence of his misconduct. As a result of our exile, he is more dangerous to the People…and to Jill.”
Lightly’s stomach flipped over. “Jill…” Suddenly savage, he jumped to his feet to stand tall against the sky, a light-haired, buckskinned warrior. “You’re right. The elders can’t stop us now. We must go to the ship, to inform Hook and Jill of the danger.”
Rowan’s slate-gray eyes smoldered with appreciation, and his carved face softened in a smile. “You see, Lightly? We still walk in two worlds.”
“No. We don’t.” Lightly leapt from the precipice, to coast on an updraft of air. “We glide over them.”
Lightly offered his hand and, springing like a hawk off the mountaintop, Rowan seized it. Wheeling toward Neverbay, the Indian Messengers broke the boundaries of their losses. They took up their task again, to safeguard the people they loved.
✽ ✽ ✽
Still arrayed in his yellow blanket, Walking Man sat in state in the center of the encampment. The feather-decked spear lay across his thighs and, with the totem pole at his back, he felt that he personified the People. It was a surprise to him when, contrary to custom, he continued to sit there alone.
Usually, the mothers of the village shooed their young boys from their skirts, sending them to crowd around for his teaching. At Walking Man’s knee, these future warriors learned the tribe’s lore and customs. This afternoon, though, they only peeped at him from their doorways, or scuttled to open ground with their game sticks and hoops. Walking Man frowned.
He spotted Panther moving toward him, his easy manner marked by a loping gate. The old man’s mood lightened as he anticipated a discussion on the carelessness of young boys today. Panther was an upstanding man. As Walking Man suggested in council, soon he would govern with the elders. Panther was a man worthy to uphold the tribe’s longtime traditions. Walking Man raised his hand to Panther, and his leathery face eased to a smile.
But Walking Man’s smile turned to stone. Panther walked right past him. The man did not so much as nod in his elder’s direction. Strolling on in his pleasant way, Panther passed as if no one of consequence were near.
Walking Man burrowed into his blanket. Such disregard never ventured his way before. No doubt Panther was simply embarrassed, thinking how close he had come to betrothing his daughter to an Outcast. Any right-thinking man would react in this way. Although Walking Man disapproved of Panther’s lack of regard toward him, he dismissed it— for now.
Resting from his exertions in the ritual of banishment, Walking Man warmed his old bones in the sun and observed the village around him. A pair of sparrows indulged in a dust bath before him, flapping and chirping. Seeing them made him thirsty, and he tipped the gourd ov
er his mouth to catch a few drops of water. But none remained, and his mouth felt as dry as that dust. He held the gourd high, looking around to catch the eye of some child he might send to the river but, as if he were an Invisible, no one noticed. He missed the children, who not only ran errands for him, but who filled his heart as they sat at his feet, gazing up with their dark, curious eyes to hear his teachings. For the time being, he contented himself in watching the youths and girls with whom he, as an elder, had little to do. Nodding, he approved of their industriousness. Walking Man’s work had borne fruit. If the young braves followed in his footsteps, all would be well with the People. This morning’s purge of bad elements worked for their good.
Panther’s daughter, Ayasha, scurried up the slope from the river. Walking Man observed how lightly she trod as she gazed under her long black eyelashes at Mountain Cloud, close beside her. On one side, each carried a basket of fish; on the other, they linked arms. This couple made a fine match, and Walking Man approved. Again, his faith in Panther’s judgment stood confirmed. He looked forward to the wedding feast, and prepared a few words of encouragement with which to regale the young couple as they passed. The smell of fish came to him, but, however, they themselves did not approach. Ayasha and Mountain Cloud delivered the fish to Panther’s tepee, then, circling round the fire pit, they moved on to the dwellings on the other side of the totem pole. Like Panther, they appeared to avoid him.
When the couple reached the barren ring from which the Outcasts’ tepee was uprooted, they slowed. Walking Man was too distant to hear their conversation, but he saw Ayasha linger there. Her head drooped. Clasping Mountain Cloud’s hand, she restrained him from moving on. She spoke in his ear, as if wishing to keep her words private. Mountain Cloud listened, then looked around at the beaten-down ground. He said something that seemed to reassure her and, gently, he kissed her. Then Mountain Cloud pulled his tomahawk from his belt to test its edge on his thumb. With renewed energy, the couple hurried to enter the woods.
