The Grown Ups' Crusade

by Audrey Greathouse

  “Oooh!” Pin cooed.

  “One of the servants asked her name, in order to announce her entrance. She told him, and then trumpets sounded as he called out, 'Announcing Her Highness, Margaret the First—the lost princess of Westera!'

  “Much amazed muttering followed, and the King and Queen of Westera, along with Princess Gracia, promptly came forward to speak with Margaret May. She showed them the music box, and explained what had happened the night of her birth. The king, who remembered the crafty and evil raven witch, had no trouble believing this story. The queen proposed that they pass Margaret for Gracia's long-lost twin sister.

  “'How wonderful!' the queen announced. 'We stand a chance yet at merging Westera and Eastan. Perhaps we can get Margaret betrothed to Prince Jay. She's very pretty—except for that ugly cut on her hand.'

  Margaret did not like this idea—she had come to find her family, not a husband—and it upset Gracia even more. 'What about me! I'm supposed to marry Jay! What good will it do to marry her to the Eastan throne if I inherit the Westera throne?'”

  'Oh you won't rule Westera or marry the prince—he doesn't like you Nobody does,' the king said. 'Margaret will marry him, and then they can rule Eastan and Westera together,'”

  This outraged Blink. “What a mean thing to say!”

  “Indeed,” Gwen agreed, “and Margaret May thought so, too. But then Prince Jay came and asked her to dance. He fell so madly in love with her during the evening that before the ball even ended, he asked her to marry him.

  “In the following weeks Margaret May stayed in the Westera castle and prepared for her royal wedding. She sent a messenger to her parents at the inn to explain everything—for she had vanished quite suddenly. She had them come to the castle, where the king and queen gave them a handsome and ample reward for taking care of their lost princess and future queen.”

  “What does ample mean?” Scout whispered.

  “Lots and lots,” Goose told her.

  “What's more, the Kings of Westera and Eastan sent their best soldiers into forest, to make a new treaty with the elves, and also hunt down the banished raven witch. They wanted to put her in prison where she would never hurt or trouble anyone again. Meanwhile, Margaret waited for her hand to heal… but the simple cut began to turn black, and the blackness spread, across her hand and up her arm. The royal physicians had no idea what disease she might have contracted.

  “What's a physician?” Scout whispered.

  “A doctor-scientist,” Goose answered.

  “Margaret May grew very sick. After a few days, she could not even get out of bed. The black infection from the raven tree had spread all the way up her arm to her chest. The doctors said it would kill her if she did not cure it, but the only person they suspected could cure such dark magic was the raven witch herself.”

  “Oh no! Oh no!” Peach cried.

  “She won't help her!” Pear exclaimed.

  “Margaret May is going to die,” Plum announced.

  No further objections followed as Gwen explained, “The soldiers redoubled their efforts to find the raven witch. During this time, Gracia never left Margaret May's side. Humbled by her parents' rejection and the sober realization that her unpleasantness had cost her a kingdom and husband, Gracia had resolved to be a better person. She stayed with her sick almost-sister, read to her, talked to her, and brought her water like a servant, which was much more than the king and queen did.

  “One day, the soldiers returned from the forest and the royal family assembled to hear their report. They had signed new treaties with the elves, for Westera and Eastan, and the elves had told them the ancient raven witch had died several days ago.”

  This twist met mixed reactions: some rejoiced at the villain's death, others pitied her, and still more feared for Margaret May.

  “And,” Gwen continued, “that night, Margaret May died.”

  “OH MY GOSH,” Jam yelled.

  An insane flood of objections followed, and it took almost a whole minute before Gwen managed to get a word in edgewise and assure them, “The story's not over.”

  The children and fairies, feeling betrayed, settled down and gave Gwen a chance to redeem the tragic story. She still had Hollyhock's rapt attention.

  “They buried Margaret May in the royal catacombs, but three days later, she woke up.”

  “Phew!” Rosemary sighed.

  “However, she was no longer Margaret May. She awoke in the body of a raven and flew out of the catacombs. She went to the forest, and flew all through it until she found the raven tree. Landing in its branches, she pecked an egg-fruit free from the tree. It cracked open against the ground, and Margaret May ate from it to become human again. She remained transformed, though. No longer a young lady, she had aged much in her short death and returned to life with a few wrinkles and grew hairs. She knew then what the raven witch had meant when she said her fate was sealed—Margaret May felt the magic of the raven tree's fruit deep in her belly and the magic of the tree's bark in her blood. She had become a raven witch.”

  The children did not know what to make of this plot point either, but they listened as Gwen continued to spin her story, winding into deeper and stranger territory than they had ever traversed in a simple fairytale.

  “Margaret May experimented with her newfound magic for several days, and summoned the forests' enchanted birds to build her a tree-house nest deep in the woods. As she learned, and began to enjoy, her new powers, her mind turned to her grieving loved ones.

  “She could not return. The King and Queen of Westera hated raven witches and would banish or kill her for this eerie witchcraft she now practiced. Still, she felt terrible for heartbroken Prince Jay, and poor Gracia who had become such a sweet soul since the ball. Hoping to help them, Margaret May hatched a cunning plan.”

  “The next day, she returned to Westera and, using her raven magic, kidnapped Princess Gracia out of the castle courtyard. Several onlookers saw, and reported to the king and queen that the raven witch had returned and taken Gracia. No one recognized Margaret May, not even Gracia.

  “Margaret May took her back to the nest home she had made in the forest, and kept her captive there. She treated Gracia well, giving her a soft and mossy bed, plenty of food, and constant promises of her safety, but still Gracia worried.”

  “WHY IS MARGARET MAY DOING THIS?” Jam yelled, voicing a question all the lost children shared.

  “Because,” Gwen answered, “not two days later, Prince Jay came into the woods with a troop of soldiers, for he had vowed revenge on the raven witch who had killed his bride and now stolen her beloved sister. The elves helped lead Prince Jay to the new raven witch's home—for they also wished to avenge the sweet princess of Westera.

  “Margaret May flew out as they approached, swearing Jay would never rescue his princess even as Prince Jay fired an arrow at her. He missed, but Margaret May pretended his arrow struck her. 'I've been hit! I've been hit! I'm dying!' she cried, staggering off in flight and collapsing into the trees. She quickly morphed into a tiny raven and abandoned her cloak so it would seem she had dissolved into nothing upon her death. The soldiers found the cloak and declared the witch vanquished. Prince Jay climbed the tree to rescue Princess Gracia, who had become even sweeter and more humble during this frightening event. She was grateful to him for rescuing her, and fell as immediately and entirely in love with him as he fell in love with her.

  “And so, in a few weeks' time, Gracia and Jay were married. Together, they ruled the joint kingdom of Westera-Eastan, which prospered with the elves' blessings. When they had their first daughter, they named her Margaret May after the wonderful and mysterious princess that they had once known. But the real Margaret May lingered as an ordinary raven only long enough to see that both of them would live happily ever after. Satisfied with their happiness, she flew off to find new kingdoms, new continents, and new adventures that she might lend her magic to.”

  The children stared at her, somewhat happy, s
omewhat puzzled. Before anyone could begin the usual gamut of follow-up questions, Fish exclaimed, “Dinnertime!” and the hungry children leapt to their feet, scrambling to get the first serving. Their bellies growled loud enough to quiet their questions, and only Peter remained, sitting in front of Gwen with his confused eyes staring her down. His thoughts stewed in the firm confines of his own head. He offered no comment, so the only questions Gwen had for her story were the ones that had rattled in her heart all along.

  Chapter 16

  After their late dinner, the children immediately cuddled into bed. Their full stomachs overpowered their busy minds and lulled them into sleep. The children could compartmentalize in a way Gwen couldn't. They fell asleep, untroubled by what tomorrow would bring. She didn't toss and turn in bed, but simply failed to fall asleep. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes feeling wired open. How could she sleep on the eve of an invasion?

  Rosemary slumbered in their canopy bed and the other children's snores drifted in from bigger beds and smaller hammocks elsewhere in their cavernous home. The underground house at night always had the faint hum of a kindergarten class during nap time.

  Gwen had learned to wander without disrupting the children's sleep. For as much as she tried to assimilate to Neverland's daily rhythms, she still found herself alone with her unsleepy mind some nights. It didn't surprise her that consciousness clung hard to her tonight. Creeping out of bed and treading on quiet feet, she went to the secret drawer in her wall and opened it with her skeleton key.

  When Bard had given her the key, she had remarked that it came from Margaret. Gwen wished that she had demanded an explanation at the time—with Bard gone now, she would never know the history of this open-all key or the girl who first owned it. Gwen had no magic keys in any of her stories, and Bard had been captured before Gwen started telling the story of Margaret May to the children. The raven tree she told Rosemary about might have manifested in Neverland, but certainly a character from her story hadn't sprung to life here. Gwen didn't know what to believe anymore, which alarmed her, since belief was such a powerful force in Neverland.

  From out of her hidden cubby, she pulled Jay's sketchbook and carried it with her down the tunnel hall and to the old oak tree. With a deep breath half as quiet as silence itself, Gwen hurried up the hollow trunk and emerged among its branches. She walked down a thick bough and sat down where she could overlook half the island as it lay gleaming in moonlight. The oak leaves cast scattered shadows over the sketchbook, but the night glowed with enough ambient silver light that Gwen could still appreciate the black and white drawings.

  The night carried such solemnity, it felt appropriate to go through the book once, start to finish. Her eyes lingered on every drawing, marveling that Jay would trust her with an entire volume of his art. She flipped through the first, familiar images and progressed to unknown territory. She watched the incremental evolution of Jay's skill as she paged through months of practice. Still life with football gear, ocean landscape, and portraits of his militarized video game protagonists all went by. Every image evoked the same sense of nostalgia, the same wishful desire to see Jay and talk with him about his art—to talk with him about anything—until she saw the last picture.

  Their final night, that frantic moment at the lake, made so much sense as soon as she saw the portrait. He had insisted on meeting her the night she left—he had been working on a gift for her. She hadn't imagined he had done her portrait.

  She recognized the picture. He had drawn it from a photograph she'd once used as a profile picture. Jay had captured her likeness fantastically—if he had misjudged any of her face's shapes, the change only flattered her. Studying this careful charcoal love letter, Gwen felt decidedly less beautiful than the portrait portrayed her.

  Was she as grown-up as she looked in Jay's portrait, in Jay's eyes? The portrait looked like a pretty young woman. Had her fat, childish face and pudgy nose really smoothed out into such mature features? She'd been in Neverland for so long, and hadn't seen a mirror since she left reality. In her head, she still looked so much younger. Gwen had spent the vast majority of her life a child. It didn't seem so strange that her self-perception lagged behind her reality.

  She felt her childhood, like a balloon on a string, trying to float away from her. Gwen could not hold it down, not keep it in her hands. The most she could do was hold onto it from this distance in Neverland, keeping it from floating any further away than it already had.

  Her branch shook, and Gwen clutched the sketchpad in one hand and held onto her seat with the other as Peter emerged from the oak hallow. He leapt out, full of confidence. Anyone else who moved with such bold and presumptuous swagger did so for show. For Peter, the joy of making an entrance or impression came secondary. He swaggered for his own sake, even when he didn't suspect anyone would see him.

  “Oh hullo!” he announced. “Fancy finding you up here.”

  “Same to you,” Gwen answered. “What brings you out?”

  “I wanted to see the moon rise.”

  She almost gave him the unfortunate news that the moon had risen long ago, but she followed his pointing finger. On the horizon, a golden-orange orb began to lift into view. Hadn't she been looking through Jay's art book by moonlight just now? It didn't matter. Peter wanted a moon rise, so the moon rose.

  He sat down beside her on the branch. It shook as he took a seat, but then the tree became as still as the night. “What's that?” he asked.

  “Just an art book,” she answered.

  “Where did it come from?”

  “A friend gave it to me.”

  “Which friend?”

  “One from back home—before Neverland.”

  Peter appeared to struggle with this idea. “Huh,” he replied, as if it stretched the bounds of his impressive imagination to conceptualize Gwen having a life before Neverland. This threw him off, and Gwen was happy he asked no further questions about the sketchbook.

  “How are you doing?” she asked him.

  This question shot him straight back into high spirits. “Clever as ever and fine as a clementine!” He grinned, but it seemed more like instinct than emotion.

  “You're not worried about tomorrow at all?”

  “Nope. Why would I be? Worrying was invented by grown-ups. I never cared for it.”

  “But there are adults coming to attack Neverland.”

  “It will be a fantastic adventure.”

  “They'll bring weapons. They might try to kill you.”

  “It will be a glorious battle.”

  “It might not end well.”

  “It certainly won't end well for them.”

  “It might not end well for us.”

  “Poppycock.”

  Gwen wished she could announce poppycock and dismiss her concerns as easily as Peter dismissed them. “Well, if you're not worried,” she asked. “Why aren't you asleep?”

  “Because I wanted to see the moon rise.”

  His eyes went to the horizon again. Gwen and Peter sat together, watching the silver moon's light come through a filter of atmospheric haze that left it almost as orange as the sun, but easier to look at. Gwen wondered why anyone ever watched sunsets. What good did it do to watch the day end, staring at a ball of light with no distinguishing features? This moment felt better than any sunset she had ever seen. It was less boisterous, less colorful, but watching the night begin was a sublime experience, and she could study the subtleties of the moon's stippled surface, like freckles on a smiling face.

  The wind rustled the oak leaves only enough to keep an empty silence from setting in. Gwen loved the way Neverland smelled at night. All the sun-warmed flowers and sun-ripened fruit radiated their aromas, but the cool breeze muted and mellowed the smell.

  “I was thinking,” Peter announced. Gwen expected him to elaborate, but he didn't. Governed by instincts, whims, and the occasional burst of emotion, Peter did very little thinking. “And I could not stop thinking and get to sleep. So I dec
ided that, if I had to think, I might as well think while watching the moon rise.”

  He swung his legs as he sat, and the branch swayed with the motion. The slight rocking reminded Gwen of how she had felt aboard Starkey's boat, with the ship bobbing on the ocean water. “What were you thinking about?”

  “I was thinking about your story,” Peter answered. “It was a very strange story.”

  “How so?”

  His brow furrowed, as if his precise feelings remained a mystery even to him. “I didn't quite know who the villain was. It seemed Margaret May was the hero, but then she behaved almost as bad as the first raven witch. Margaret May's real parents were quite awful, and the changeling sister was also awful, but she got better, so I don't know about her.” He thought a moment more, and then decided, “Everyone in it changed.”

  He said changed with such scorn, the story's character arcs seemed like a personal affront to him. “You didn't like it?”

  Peter made a face and replied, “It was a good story.” He shook his head and gave Gwen a stern look as he told her, “But don't ever tell me a story like it again.”

  “Okay,” Gwen agreed. “I won't.”

  “It was so complicated,” Peter declared, but Gwen knew he'd had no trouble following the story. He his complaint wasn't with the presentation of the narrative, but rather its structure.

  “Sometimes life is complicated.”

  Peter shook his head. “Mine isn't.”

  “Some people's are,” she told him.

  “Then all the more reason,” Peter explained, “to have simple stories and balance it out.”

  The moon had almost finished rising, but it clung to the horizon like a child with separation anxiety. The sky was so vast and so dark—and the horizon was such a tidy, neat line.

  “I think tomorrow might get complicated,” Gwen told him.

  She expected a flippant line or another quick dismissal. It surprised her when Peter, still staring at the moon, answered, “Maybe.”

  Gwen bit her lip and allowed herself to think of all the outcomes she feared most for tomorrow. “What happens if we lose?” she whispered.