Wendy Darling

by Colleen Oakes

  He was stunningly regal.

  “What do the lines mean?” Wendy asked. Her eyes never left Oxley’s magnificent face as he sat by Michael, though she did begin pulling the leaves out of her hair. Oxley ran his fingers across his forehead.

  “These show which tribe I’m from. It’s a way of telling people who you are without having to tell them everything about yourself. The lines passed down from family to family, identifying our royal lineage.”

  Michael was still running his fingers over the man’s scars.

  “Michael,” Wendy warned.

  “It’s all right,” Oxley said, laughing.

  “I don’t know what lineage means, but I LIKE your dots,” Michael mumbled.

  “These were from my tribe, and these . . .” he touched the pattern on his cheek, “are my tribal markings for my tribe here, in Neverland. Peter gave me these.”

  “WOW!” Michael’s eyes were as big as saucers. “And now you are a part of Peter’s tribe!”

  “That I am!” Oxley jumped up and offered his hand to Wendy. “It’s nice to meet you, Darling family.”

  “Thank you.” Wendy looked over at two boys watching through her open window, dangling upside down from a tree branch. “Are they always like this?”

  Oxley smiled. “It’s been a long time since any of us have seen a girl. They are just curious. I’m sure it will wear off.” One of the boys scampered forward and ripped a ribbon off of Wendy’s nightgown and then launched himself out into the treetops. “LOK!” Oxley bellowed, before shaking his head. “Sorry. They are a little, well—wild. We all are. Go on, get out!” The boys swiftly disappeared. “Sorry about that. Here’s your breakfast.”

  He put down a plate filled with fruit and what looked like misshapen biscuits. The Darlings grabbed at the food, even Wendy, who wolfed down two biscuits faster than a proper lady should. She had no idea she was starving until the food touched her lips, but then it was gone, and she wished she had more.

  Michael had done the same. “Are there any more biscuits, Mister Oxley?”

  “No, sir. Food is a precious commodity here. Everyone else only got one biscuit.” Oxley stretched, his body short but stocky and strong. Wendy noticed that he had scars on his hands as well, lines of black dots that curved up his palms. The more she looked at them, the more beautiful they became. What would her parents think of her admiring the scars of an African?

  “Wendy and Michael, if you wouldn’t mind getting dressed, then I can start your tour.”

  “The tour?”

  “Oh, yes. Peter had some business to attend to this afternoon, so he ordered me to give you an informal tour of Pan Island. After that, we will celebrate your arrival!”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  Oxley opened up the ratty bag that was slung across his shoulders, right under a bow and quiver of arrows.

  “Is that real?” Michael whispered.

  “Yes. So be careful.”

  Michael ran a finger over an arrow tip. “Wow.”

  “Here are some clothes for you both.” Oxley raised his dark brown pupils to look at Wendy. “Unless of course you want to wear a dress for climbing a tree.”

  “No, thank you,” she politely replied.

  He laid out a brown pair of pants for her and a long white lacy shirt with a strange fluttery neck. She looked at it quizzically. “This is interesting—where did you get this?”

  He shrugged. “Peter probably stole it from a pirate. I’ll be waiting outside.”

  As he turned his back, Wendy picked up the pants and the shirt, as well as a belt that had tumbled out of the bag. Michael was already practically naked, pulling on a long brown tunic adorned with maroon leaves.

  “I look just like Peter now, Wendy!”

  “You do.”

  Wendy was pulling on pants. Pants. She frowned, immediately missing her dresses back at home. Pants were so boyish. They pulled uncomfortably at her hips. The lacy shirt fit better, and cinching it with a belt made it less revealing at the neck. She slipped her feet back into her black shoes and tied her hair up with a blue ribbon. “What do you think?”

  Michael was prancing around the room, pretending he was Peter. “I’m Peter Pan! I can fly!”

  “You two Darlings coming?” Oxley called from outside.

  “Yes!” Wendy and Michael ran to one of the many openings of Wendy’s hut and peered out. Huge branches snaked down from the room, some as wide as a man. Wendy looked helplessly down. She had very little experience climbing trees aside from one time in the park, when she made it about halfway up the tree before ripping her pinafore. Her mother had been furious. Wendy paused, resting her hand on one of the cool greenish branches. Her mother, what had she looked like? Before she could focus in on that thought, she saw Oxley strapping Michael to his back with a leather strap. Michael was laughing, sticking his feet in Oxley’s face.

  “What are you . . .?” Wendy began to ask.

  “Follow me!” he cried with a smile. “Do what I do!” The Lost Boy put his hands on either side of the branch and then wrapped his body around it. Without warning, he pushed away from the small platform outside Wendy’s door and quickly slid down the branch, disappearing without a breath into the leaves below. Wendy gasped. With shaking hands, she reached out for the branch. It was cool beneath her clean fingernails. She hugged herself against the tree and then reached out with one leg, instantly pulling back when her balance shifted. Hesitating, she looked down at the ground, so far below her, and then back at the branch in front of her.

  “Be brave,” she whispered to herself. “Be brave.” That reminded her of someone . . . who?

  Wendy reached for the tree, and with determination and a small cry of terror, she leapt into the air, wrapping herself around the branch, her feet leaving the secure, safe wooden platform. She screamed out loud as her body slid down the tree, ever gaining speed as her tiny hut disappeared above her into a quilt of leaves. Faster and faster, she was sliding, her hands becoming lacerated with tiny slivers. I’m going to hit the ground, she thought with a rush of fear. Oh dear, how does one stop? But then she was yanked off the tree by a strong arm and set on her feet. She took a breath and burst out laughing before turning to Oxley.

  “Well, that was terrifying.” She paused. “And fun!”

  Wendy heard padded steps approaching behind her.

  “Ah, your brother is here, so we can start the tour!”

  Wendy spun around and saw John standing silently behind her, arms crossed. He looked angry, as always.

  “JOHN!” Michael squealed, launching himself at his brother. “Where did you sleep? Why didn’t you sleep with Wendy and me?”

  Wendy watched her brother’s face as it finally bowed to the unleashing of love from Michael. Oxley cracked a sly smile.

  “John was up with the Generals, going over the beginning plans for a raid!”

  “A raid?” Wendy asked. Her eyes narrowed. “John will be participating in a raid? But he doesn’t know anything about that.”

  “Shut up!” John snapped.

  “John! What’s gotten into you?”

  Oxley frowned. “John, be nice to your sister.”

  John moaned. “Fine.” He turned to Michael. “I was up late with Oxley here, Abbott, and Kitoko. We were talking battle strategies for a pirate raid.”

  “And what exactly would you know about pirates, or raids, or battles?” Wendy voiced, her tone growing more aggressive than she would like.

  “More than you,” he muttered.

  “All right, children,” Oxley said in a calm voice, which was amusing considering Oxley was younger than Wendy. “Shall we take the tour?” Oxley stepped back. “You’ll see the Teepee and the Table tonight, so, Darlings, why don’t you pick? What would you like to see?”

  John cleared his throat. “I . . . I would like to see the base of the tree. I want to understand the physics of how it holds everything up.”

  Wendy almost laughed out loud. “Oh, John,”
she said. Here they were, on a magical island, and John wanted to understand the science of it. She reached out to ruffle his hair, but he stepped away, annoyed.

  “You’re not our mother,” he snapped. She recoiled, stung by his words, remembering how he had looked at her with such hatred the night before.

  Wendy turned away from him. “I’d like to see the water, I think—the beach?”

  “I can show you that!” With a wide grin, Ox loped over a few feet to the largest branch that Wendy had ever seen. Several thick ropes dangled down from its upper branches, and Ox began tying one around himself and Michael.

  “There are, of course, several ways to get anywhere in Pan Island, but this is probably the fastest.”

  Wendy looked at the ropes, frayed at the ends, thinking that a longer way down would probably be fine with her. He looped one around Wendy’s waist, and John’s, and gave the ropes a tug. Then he turned his face upward.

  “DARBY, MATE! TAKE US ALL THE WAY DOWN!”

  “Yes, sir!” came the reply from one of the branches above. Oxley laughed.

  “Darby will be a General soon, we hope. He’s a good chap. Getting old enough now.”

  Wendy hadn’t been aware that anyone was near them, but as she looked up into the tree, she could see the subtle movements of dozens of boys, watching them. Boys everywhere. Where was Peter? For reasons that she wouldn’t let herself linger on, she was desperate to see him. Ox took her outstretched hand in his own and gave a tug on the ropes that pulled them up on their tippy toes. Then he leapt off the tree, off the platform that held him, and disappeared into the canopy below. Wendy followed with an unladylike screech, John with a cry of pure joy. At first they were free-falling, or so it seemed, but then there was a gradual tightening of the rope around her waist, and it seemed that they were in a controlled fall. Wendy dangled helplessly in the air, her feet circling above Oxley’s head, eternally thankful that she wasn’t wearing a dress at the moment. She leaned forward and looked down at the ground, still hundreds of feet below her.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Watch!” Oxley grinned. He swung forward toward the largest nearby tree branch and placed his feet up against the trunk, leaning backward on his rope belt. Soon, he was horizontal to the ground, and began steadily walking backward down the trunk. It was astonishing.

  “Say! That’s pretty great! You are using your weight to balance against the . . .” John squinted his eyes above. “Pulley system. Is that right?”

  Oxley nodded and began taking longer, graceful leaps down the tree as the two clumsy Darling children attempted to do the same. Michael giggled the entire way down, happily strapped to Ox’s back, oblivious to anything else but the wind on his face. Wendy crept down, step by tiny step. John had passed her up a long time ago, but with each step she seemed to grow a bit bolder, and each step grew longer than the next. It seemed to be an eternity before she reached the ground. Finally, her shoes met solid ground, and she quickly untied the rope around her waist, letting it fall into the pale sand that lined the base of the roots. She knelt down and ran her fingers through it. It was so fine that she was able to carve tiny lines with her fingertips, little circles and swirls by barely moving her fingers, so fine that it barely left any stain on her nails. She picked some up and held it up to the wind, where it disappeared in the slightest lukewarm breeze.

  “Neverland soil,” Oxley said, laughing, “is very fertile.” He gestured to Pan Island. “As you can see.”

  Wendy dusted off her hands and leaned back, way back, to take in Pan Island.

  “Brilliant,” John said breathlessly.

  Michael silently appeared by Wendy’s side. “That is one big tree.” She pulled him close to her. To call it an island was almost a stretch. There was the tree, and the tree was the island. There was very little beach—ten feet maybe—between the tree and the water. It was as if the island solely existed to support the great tree, and the tree itself was the source of life for the island.

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

  She turned around to look behind her. A thatch of branches dotted with tiny blackberries ran around them, but if she closed her eyes, she could smell that it was very close: the turquoise sea. She let Michael’s hand drop and walked forward, ducking under the thicket of pink flowers that bordered the berries, brushing branch after branch out of her hair. Within a few steps, she was there. It stirred something in her heart, each gentle curve of the waves whispering its joy into her ear. Wendy wiped away a tear. She had never seen anything so superb. The ocean lapped silently near her feet, the brilliant blue green stretching out as far as she could see. The sun blazed overhead, warm but never hot. John was running back and forth at the base of the tree, knocking on its wood, measuring out its distance by walking carefully, foot by foot, around its perimeter. Michael was playing happily in the sand with Ox, building small castles and rivers.

  The turquoise water beckoned Wendy, its lulling sound too peaceful to ignore. She slipped off her shoes and waded in, her toes playfully splashing. She took a deep breath in, tasting the sweet air of Neverland on her tongue, wondering how she could ever return to normal life again. She felt so alive here. The water pulled tenderly at her ankles, its white foam lapping over her bare feet. She had only stood in the ocean once before, and the freezing cold shores of . . . of—Wendy couldn’t remember the name of it, but it didn’t matter!—had so little in common with the water licking her shins that they might have been from different worlds. She smiled quietly to herself. As indeed they were. She took another step forward, listening to Michael babble pleasantly back on the beach. That’s when she heard the voice, at first so faint that she wondered if it was the wind.

  “Wendy. . .” She turned her head back to the beach. None of the boys were calling her name—John was chasing Michael up the beach, Oxley laughing beside him. She turned her head back to the ocean.

  “Wendy Darling . . .”

  There was more than one voice now, female voices, trilling in cadence with the waves, an enchanting sound, like water trickling over bells. Wendy felt her skin tingle, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. The enticing voice called out again. Wendy’s mouth began to water, for what she wasn’t sure, but she needed, she had to find out. She took a step deeper into the water, and then another. Slowly, she waded toward the voice.

  “Wendy, come to us . . .” There were several voices singing now, their harmony piercing her eardrums, her skin crackling at music’s most perfect sound. She waded in deeper. She could not turn from them, for the sound was lingering just under the water, and if she could get to it, she could wrap her arms around whatever called her and press her lips into the cool blue and drink in the sound. She would swallow the melody whole, and it would consume her, and then she would be a part of it forever. She took another step, the water caressing her waist, kissing her ribs, absorbed in the sound . . . the sound . . . She heard another sound rising beneath the luminous noise, a distracting yelling, so harsh and ugly against the music sweeping through her. She turned her head away from it. Nothing mattered but the music. She felt the voices in the water, the water hands caressing up her thigh, the music a lullaby that cradled her in strong arms, forever comforted, never alone.

  The music was all around her, everywhere, and she was in agony and ecstasy as arms tightened around her waist; for a moment, Wendy was confused at how music could feel so secure, so hard, like skin made of stone. She looked back to the beach, confused at how she gotten out so far, her skin still pulling her toward the sound, the voices reaching inside of her chest, strumming her soul. Oxley was running toward her, the water splashing around his ankles, his eyes wide with fear, his mouth open and screaming, and yet Wendy couldn’t hear anything but the melody, a melody that coaxed forth everything inside of her that she had ever hidden.

  Then she was yanked underwater without warning.

  She flailed her arms above, suddenly terrified, reaching, reaching back for the sky that w
as rapidly becoming smaller. The surface of the water flew away from her grasp as she was pulled deeper and deeper into the depths and farther and farther out to sea. Her legs were twisting and kicking, and she tugged desperately at the stone arm wrapped around her waist. Wendy opened her mouth to scream, water rushing in and filling her lungs. She was so deep now, deeper and farther from shore, the water becoming a dark navy as the fathomless ocean opened up around her. She sucked in water again, flailing helplessly as the water around her had become luminescent, lighting up from within itself, a thousand diamonds in her vision. She ceased struggling when she heard the song begin again, a balm to her rising terror. Her body stopped fighting the water that poured into her lungs, and she turned to look at the arms that held her waist, the arms like stone, and the voice that called her out of herself.

  A figure rose up in the water. She saw a swirl of green and blue hair, and then a face came out of the darkness, skin hard like white marble and just as pale. Translucent purple and blue lips shimmered like fish scales as they opened slightly in front of Wendy’s face. The eyes opened, and Wendy tried in vain to scream as the stone arms pulled her lower still, a hand creeping over her mouth. From the surface, so far, far above, she heard a strange whistling sound, and a shadow passed overhead . . .

  Peter Pan sliced through the water like a bird of prey.

  The sea parted for him in a white line as he streamed downward toward her. Wendy fought to stay conscious. The stone arm gripped harder. Peter reached out for Wendy, and she struggled to free herself. Though the skin looked like cracked marble, it felt cool and soft as Wendy ripped at it with her fingernails. Peter raised his arm and with a snarl brought his golden sword slashing down; dark blood filled the water around them. The arm around her waist came free and floated down into the abyss. The lulling music in her ears dissolved into an unpleasant cacophony of high notes that resonated through the water, each one feeling as though it vibrated through her spine. The water tasted like blood. Wendy was drifting, spinning in the water. Her hair drifted past her eyes, and then she saw a face. At first she thought it was Booth, his brown hair curled in the waves, his blue eyes focused on her, but then she blinked and saw it was Peter, Peter’s face that she hadn’t even known she had missed until that moment, his green eyes widened, his bright red hair standing straight up in the water.