Wendy Darling

by Colleen Oakes

  He reached out for her, and she saw that his arm was bleeding, his own spirals of blood falling down into the depths. The voices that had called to her were now screaming, and she clasped her hands to her ears as she struggled to kick to the surface. Peter looked backward and then back at her. He winked as he wrapped both of his arms around her.

  Then they were flying. Up through the depths of the sea, the sunlight growing ever closer as the waves tossed it about. Together they exploded out of the ocean, straight into the sky, moving faster than Wendy ever dreamed possible, the water wicking off her skin in tiny droplets, up into the impossibly bright Neverland sky. She was coughing up water, gulping the air, of which there would never be enough. Peter cradled her against his body, taking them ever higher, until the beach and its sea seemed tiny beneath her feet, the boys barely visible on the beach, jumping and cheering and waving.

  “Are you all right?” Peter gently turned Wendy in his arms so that she was facing him, even as he soared higher into the air. She was still coughing up water, suddenly aware of how miserable and unladylike she must appear at the moment. Her body was limp, her ears still ringing with the screams below the depths. Finally she found her voice.

  “Peter! You saved me!” She reached a shaking hand toward his face. “Thank you, thank you!” She took a deep breath, trying to calm her thundering, fearful heart. Then she wrapped her body against his in a tight, grateful hug. She felt his body go straight with surprise and then mold against hers, his lips close to her ear.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It isn’t nothing, Peter! What is down there? What . . .” She shook her head at the terrifying memory of being pulled down, of the arm like marble, of the song that she still couldn’t quite shake. Peter slowed his pace, circling gently in the air, always moving, even if only just in the slightest way.

  “Was that a mermaid?” she gasped. “Why, I don’t even remember why I went into the sea in the first place!”

  Peter nodded. “The mermaids will call you out to sea with their irresistible song. They will call you down to them, then drown you, and use your virgin blood to feed their coral garden.” Wendy shuddered.

  “Queen Eryne, their leader, if you can even call it that, is a beautiful and wicked creature who loves to spew nonsense and spread her lies.” That sounded truly terrible. How close she had been to death?! It terrified her to consider what would have happened if Peter hadn’t been there. Peter continued, lazily circling a piece of her hair around his finger.

  “The mermaids have been in Neverland even longer than I have. They are ancient beings, full of bitterness toward every living thing that experiences joy. Queen Eryne has hated men for as long as I can remember. They’ll do anything to draw a virgin female down into the depths and claim her life. There aren’t many young women around these parts. I imagine they were waiting for you.”

  Peter shifted his eyes downward, nervously, before resting his hand on Wendy’s bare neck, his other arm still wrapped around her waist. Her heart began hammering at his closeness, at his skin that burned like fire against her freezing neck.

  “Listen to me, Wendy—promise that you will never go close to the sea again—at least not without me.”

  She looked down at the turquoise waves lapping far below her, such a peaceful and mesmerizing sound.

  “How can something so beautiful be so dangerous?” she murmured.

  Peter raised his eyebrows and leaned his head forward. “There are places that the mermaids can’t go, secret places within Neverland where the sea meets the land. I will take you there one day, I promise. And we can swim to our hearts’ delight.”

  “Do you swim then? In the ocean?”

  Peter grinned. “All the time! See, the mermaids don’t care about boys. They don’t want to be anywhere near boys. It isn’t dangerous for us, but for you, the sea is the most dangerous place in Neverland.”

  Wendy shuddered against him, traumatized by how close she had come to death, but at the same time, loving how her very skin seemed to light up at his touch, at the way her heart was bursting with excitement. Was this what adventure felt like? An addicting rush of blood to the brain? She didn’t know what to say. Instead, she turned her hazel eyes upon his green ones and whispered.

  “Thank you, Peter, for saving my life.”

  A blush rose up from his cheeks, adorable beneath a smattering of freckles. “Ahem, shall we return to Pan Island and your brothers now? I’d love to see how they are getting along with that poor chap Oxley! He was swimming out to you when I arrived, but he never would have made it in time. It was a noble try though.”

  Peter spun in the air, and as they soared back toward the beach, Wendy looked with fear at the water below her, its dangerous song sparkling in the early afternoon light. There was a dark spot in the water, now churning with the fins of sharks. Wendy forced herself to look away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AFTER STOPPING BY THE BEACH and reassuring Oxley that she was indeed okay, Peter finally returned Wendy to Centermost, setting her down with care on an outstretched deck. Her heart sank as his touch left her, as she felt the weight of her body against her feet. She wasn’t sure which was more thrilling, the intoxication of flying or being clutched so closely to Peter’s chest, feeling the hammering of his wild heart through her dampened shirt. When he stepped away from her, Wendy tried madly to contain her disappointment.

  “Michael will be coming back from the water soon, I assume?”

  Peter perched on the top of a wooden lantern. “Yes. The boys will meet us back here; there is no need to worry. I need to speak with the Generals, so he’ll come up with Oxley. Don’t worry. Ox is the most trustworthy boy on the island.”

  Wendy was busy tying back her wet hair into a braid, something Peter watched with fascination.

  “And, the others? Abbott and . . .”

  “Kitoko. Yes. Good boys, all of them. I can see John fitting in with them quite well. Abbott is my first General, and then Kitoko and Oxley. John can be number four.”

  Wendy nodded. “Where did they come from? Where do all the Lost Boys come from?”

  Peter lowered his eyes. “The boys come from all over. Sad stories, unfortunately, something all the Lost Boys share. I found Abbott silently clutching the hand of his dead father just outside Berlin. His house had caught fire, both his parents killed, their bodies trapped inside of it. He was only about seven, staring up at the sky with dead eyes.” He shook his head, and tiny droplets of water flecked onto Wendy’s face. “Kitoko was an orphan, raised in a monastery along with a hundred other boys. One day, without warning, the government forced them to abandon their monastery in a matter of hours. Quiet as he is, no one noticed that Kitoko was missing, and he was locked in an empty garden and forgotten. He had been there three days when I found him, on the verge of starvation.”

  “And Oxley?”

  Peter shook his head. “Oxley has a great story, but I should let him tell it—I won’t do it justice. He makes me laugh.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking—what does John have to do with any of those boys? He can’t be . . . a General . . . he’s a child. He doesn’t know anything about battle or even about Neverland! He can’t be involved in anything dangerous, Peter.”

  Peter chortled. “Don’t worry, raiding the pirates, especially if Hook’s not involved, isn’t dangerous. It’s . . . how do you say . . . like taking sweets from an infant.”

  Wendy laughed. “The saying is, ‘taking candy from a baby.’”

  “Ah, I knew it didn’t sound right.” Peter grinned, tossing his red hair back out of his face, and began drumming on the end of the lantern. “Are you worried that I’ll corrupt your brother? John seems hardly naive. He’s bright.”

  Wendy frowned. “No, he’s not naive, and yes, he’s actually quite intelligent, but he is somewhat fragile. Back home, he hasn’t any friends.” Papa . . . London . . . the thoughts were so foreign and distant. Wendy hadn’t thought of them in what seeme
d like days. Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “And why is that?”

  Because he’s a prat, she thought, but she considered the more polite response.

  “He fears being alone, I think. He wants to be included, wants people to listen to him. I think he uses his wit to deflect actual conversation. He’s lonely.”

  She remembered the defeated look on his face when she had slapped him in the nursery, the way he had looked both betrayed and surprised. She felt ashamed, but also infuriated, remembering the things he had said to her about Booth. Looking at Peter, who was absentmindedly running his hands down his tan and lean arms, brushing the moisture off, she felt a sudden flush of shame at the thought of Booth. Why hadn’t she thought of him more? Peter reached out his hand to her, and Booth was instantly forgotten.

  “Shall we?”

  With a shy smile, Wendy took his hand, and then they were soaring over several different huts and up through tree branches, past the large nests of bright exotic birds and a mosaic snake that slithered silently toward them. They landed on a platform several stories above the Teepee. Peter pushed back several dirty cloths that hung from a gnarled tree branch, covered with dense leaves. Behind them was a wooden door, with a small gold lock on the outside.

  “Our camouflage.” He shrugged. “It’s not really necessary, but . . .” He popped the lock open with a tiny golden key, before pocketing it and turning his face to the sky. Then he crowed. Wendy only had to wait for a moment before she heard the loud sounds of the Generals, climbing up the branches, hand over foot, laughing as they went. As they emerged from the branches below, they looked around anxiously.

  “Peter? Where are you?” Peter laughed as he mimed a woman’s high voice, looking under a tiny leaf for himself. Abbott paced in a circle, twirling the spear that seemed to be always at his side. John frowned at Wendy.

  “Why are you here?”

  Peter chose that moment to leap playfully into the air, taking John’s top hat right off his head. To Wendy’s surprise, John laughed joyfully.

  “Peter! I say, that’s my father’s hat!”

  “Not anymore!” The boys laughed as Peter strutted back and forth on the roof, imitating Wendy, John, and Michael’s father, smoking a branch pipe and rubbing his hands together. “Now see here, boys—and Wendy! You shall be in bed by 7 p.m., exactly! And no running or playing, or climbing trees, or flying, heavens no! In fact, do not behave like children at all! You shall be little adults, and we shall sit in banks and shops all day and discuss the most boring things we can possibly imagine!”

  John laughed, a little too loudly. “That does sound like my father.”

  Wendy cast John a confused look.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Right? Wendy thought that sounded right. What had her father looked like again? She tried to summon his face, and instead there was just a blur, like looking through water. John shrugged nonchalantly. Peter tossed the hat back to John.

  “I’ve a better hat for you. Abbott, bring me my red hat!”

  Abbott, who had been standing silently by, arms crossed, glowering at Wendy, shook his head.

  “He doesn’t need it.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows at Abbott but continued talking. The General was taller than Peter by about a head. He had very sharp features that cumulated in a long nose that pointed straight out from his unfriendly face. Sun-streaked, cropped blond hair hung messily over his eyes, and his perpetual frown reminded Wendy of a disapproving crow. Abbott watched her with judgmental eyes as Peter strutted around above, still imitating their father. Finally, he plopped down exhausted onto the thatched roof.

  “Okay, men, into the Battle Room. Oxley isn’t here yet; he had some private business to take care,” Peter wiggled his eyebrows. “Too much fruit, I think.”

  Abbott shook his head and pointed at Wendy. “She can’t come in. She’s a girl. There are rules.”

  John rubbed his mouth awkwardly. “I . . . somewhat agree.”

  “John!” Wendy’s mouth fell open. Peter’s eyes narrowed and Wendy noticed that his pupils seemed to be churning, tendrils of navy dripping into the bright emerald green, like spilled ink. Peter whirled on his tall General.

  “It’s true, Abbott, that is a rule. But let me ask you—who makes the rules?”

  The boy looked down at the floor. “You do.”

  “Who controls this island?”

  “You do.”

  “And then, who is the only person whose opinion counts on the matter?”

  “Yours.”

  “Ah. And who do we protect?”

  “Our own?”

  “And who did I say the Darlings were?”

  “Our own.”

  Just when Abbott started looking crestfallen, Peter reached out and pulled him close to his shoulder, in a brotherly fashion. “Abbott, we’re going to let Wendy inside. But I can’t tell you how nice it is to have someone who remembers the rules around here. That’s why you are a General. I’m glad you’re here, brother.”

  Abbott let a small, pleased smile creep across his face. “Fine. The girl can come inside.” Then with an eye roll, he wagged his finger at Wendy and added, “But don’t touch anything,” as if her mere femininity would throw off the entire room.

  She folded her arms, gave him a smug look, and ducked inside the Battle Room. Her first thought was that she had stumbled into a room made of gold. Gold was everywhere, from the medallions that dangled from the ceiling to the trinkets that adorned the walls and corners. Gemstones of bright violet and canary yellow sparkled in the light that filtered in through three small holes in the ceiling, none big enough for a man to get through. Rickety shelves, built from the familiar wood of the great tree, overflowed with richly adorned goblets, long strings of pearls, and golden bars the length and width of Wendy’s fingers, strange hatch marks curling up their length. One large antique wooden chest in the corner—easily large enough for Michael to sleep in—overflowed with dozens of gold, silver, and copper coins. Wendy walked over to it and lifted the lid to get a better look. The lid of the chest was printed with raised lettering and a solitary symbol: a single tree, etched in black. With a rusty creak, the lid of the chest fell backward, and she looked down at an embarrassing amount of wealth. She turned back to the boys, who were all watching her with silent eyes.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Peter smiled naughtily. “Where do you think? From Hook. That’s from the raid, what, a year ago?” He turned back to the Generals and began talking.

  Wendy ran her fingers through the money, loving the calming way the coins flowed through her fingers, the light metallic sound of them rising and falling. Pushing her hands deeper and deeper into the coins, feeling their unique weight, Wendy flinched and shrieked when something burning hot brushed her fingers.

  The boys stopped talking.

  John rolled his eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Wendy, what is it now?”

  Wendy wrapped the edge of her shirt around her fingers and then reached in again, quickly finding the burning coin and pulling it out. She held it up to the light, ignoring the uncomfortable heat that was spreading to her fingers through the shirt. In addition to its radiating heat, the coin was heavy, and whereas the other coins were rather dirty, this one was shiny and clean, almost as if it had been created yesterday. She turned it over in her palm. One side was marked with a single tiny skull, with wings stretching out behind it. A jagged X then was etched across the entire side of the coin. On the other side, long spiraling lines circled the coin, with interspersed dots spotted randomly on the lines. Behind the lines was the faint outline of an arrow, a single arrow pointing north.

  “How beautiful!” she murmured, turning it over again in her hand, ignoring the heat that was now burning a hole through her shirt. “What does it mean?”

  Peter walked up beside her and popped her on the bottom of the hand. The coin flew up in the air, spinning as it went, and Peter leapt up to catch it.

&n
bsp; “Fairy money. Very rare. You must be careful with it.”

  Abbott looked up at them. “Peter collects them. He thinks he has almost all of them.”

  The flying boy grinned. “Of course I do! But that doesn’t stop us from looking for them on raids, ain’t that right?”

  Peter slowly floated back down to her and replaced the coin with a dazzling jeweled bracelet made of pear-shaped aqua stones and bright white pearls, each surrounded by gold trinkets of every shape: ships and fairies, trees, flowers and moons. He slipped it onto her wrist, his fingers lingering on her own. Wendy felt as if his gaze could peel the clothes from her body. She gave herself a tiny shake.

  “Peter,” she admonished, embarrassed, remembering that the Generals were all watching them.

  Peter simply grinned. John rolled his eyes, and Abbott fidgeted nervously. Kitoko finally cleared his throat. It was the first sound she ever heard him make.

  “Oh, all right. I suppose we should get back to the raid. Wendy, sit there.” Peter pointed to a stump in the corner of the room. Wendy sat obediently, feeling quite awkward indeed. She fingered the bracelet on her wrist. Peter had given it to her as if it were nothing. Feeling undeserving, she quietly slipped it off her wrist and back into the treasure chest. She turned her attention back to the Battle Room. In the middle of the circle of boys, there was a table, and upon the table, besides several glasses filled with a deep red liquid, was a crinkled map of Neverland. It looked ancient, drawn with a whimsical hand. Dragons and mermaids danced on the bottom of the map, where the sea was drawn in curling strokes. In the left-hand corner of the map, there was an upside-down compass. Wendy watched with amazement as Peter carefully brushed the compass with his finger and the map changed before her eyes; north became south, west and east changed places.