“Mighty words to speak of a girl on the ground, when you are suspended in a net.” Dark Sun walked over to Gwen with a slow gait. “From down here, she and the jackrabbit look like the smartest of all of you.”
Dark Sun put an arm around Gwen, taking a paternal stance beside her. Patiently, he waited for Running Fox and Storm Sounds to finish undoing the trap, lowering the net of children slowly to the ground. They flooded out in a scrambling frenzy as soon as they were back on the forest floor. By that time, Running Fox and Rosemary had already become fast friends, and she was carried on his shoulders as he and Storm Sounds accepted apples from Bard and Blink, whose basket of fruit had mostly survived the exciting and sudden detour up into the trees.
Peter approached the redskin chief and crossed his arms to bow, solemn and respectful. Dark Sun returned the gesture. At that point, Peter seemed to feel comfortable enough in the old man’s presence to tell him, “We have come to speak with Old Willow, that she might help us find the man I seek.”
“Then you shall speak to her,” Dark Sun promised, “but first, let us gather around the fire and share in food together, if we are still friends.”
“We’re still friends! We’ve still got all the stuff you gave us!” Newt announced, brandishing his bow.
“Then we will eat and tell the old tales. Perhaps make some new friends, too.”
Gwen felt strangely comfortable in Dark Sun’s presence, and she did not hesitate to return his smile when it came so readily to her lips.
They gathered around the fire, everyone seated cross-legged in a semicircle around the flames. Gwen folded her legs into lotus pose, and although many of the children tried to imitate her, Peter alone managed the yoga pose. The open plains were just cold enough that being gathered near the fire felt like the best thing in the world. Gwen watched the logs crackle away into blackened ash, and she couldn’t help but think of Jay’s charcoal drawings.
Chief Dark Sun insisted that Gwen and Rosemary sit beside him, but because Gwen did not understand why she had this honor, it made her uncomfortable. Rosemary, on the other hand, had no qualms about the chief’s invitation.
Gwen had been expecting to meet with a whole tribe, so it surprised her when no one else joined them. Confused though she was, it was Rosemary who had the frankness to address the issue. “Where is everyone else? Aren’t there more redskins, Chief Dark Sun?”
The chief smiled sadly; it was an expression that fit well on the folds of his old face. “No, our numbers have been greatly diminished. Captain Rackham, the man of the sea and its demons, laid siege to our tribe after the great sickness. We are the only red man left on this land.”
“Oh.” Rosemary sighed.
“But that is an unfortunate story. We will tell brave and good stories tonight, for we are with brave and good friends.”
They heard Storm Sounds speaking in their redskin tongue and looked back to the teepee from which he was emerging. He held the hand of an ancient woman, who had once been tall but was now hunched over and buried under the weight of a leather dress and dark woven robes. Her hair was equal parts a strong black and an unabashed silver, as if stars had fallen into her hair and streaked it as they melted away. Storm Sounds led Old Willow as though she were blind, but she surveyed all the faces of the children gathered around the fire. Her eyes lingered on the unfamiliar sisters. “To what do we owe the honor of these visitors?” she asked.
“Brave Peter and his fellows have come to seek help from you, so tonight we tell great stories of our people and share in the evening’s blessings,” Dark Sun told her.
“We come bearing gifts!” Sal announced again.
“And fruit,” Bard added, feeling the need to make a distinction.
“The fire is making me hot,” Jam complained, writhing as she sat next to Gwen.
“Then come take my spot on this side,” Peter suggested as he got to his feet, approaching Old Willow. Her face remained inexpressive as he neared, but he presented her with a bouquet of flowers and herbs that she took and held like a baby in her arms. “I have gathered the greatest treasures that grow in Neverland’s forests,” he announced, “for Neverland’s greatest medicine woman.”
Her eyes twinkled to see the distinctive flora nestled in the crook of her arm. “I hold in my hands our friendship, Brave Peter. It is a good thing.” She passed the bundle of flowers and herbs to Storm Sounds, and he set it aside gently as Old Willow kneeled down and took a seat on the ground. Jam had scurried over to the other side of the fire where she could feel the evening breeze, so Peter sat down next to Gwen. Bard pulled out a pale pink peach, swollen with ripeness, from her wicker basket. She took a bite from it, and then began passing it around the circle, giving everyone the opportunity to have a bite of the succulent fruit. As the little peach traveled, Blink and Rosemary unfolded the pirate flag they had carried with them and presented it to Running Fox.
Blink announced, “We have brought this for you.”
“It is the flag of the man who killed your brother,” Peter told him. “We present it to you, in memory of Brave Flying Hawk. A great warrior is not forgotten among us.”
Running Fox accepted the flag, folding it back up and keeping it pressed to his lap. “Those who do not forget are not forgotten,” he answered, his voice deep and calm. “You honor my brother. You have the respect of his spirit, and the respect of the earth in which his body is buried. Thank you, Brave Peter.”
“Itcha Nu H’jow Talwa,” the medicine woman announced. Everyone echoed the phrase, as close in unison as they could. Gwen did not know the meaning of it, but she felt as if she were a part of something profound as she tried to fathom Running Fox’s pain, and the spirit of camaraderie that existed between all of Neverland’s inhabitants.
The peach that Bard had started around the circle was finally passed to Old Willow, who pulled the pit from it and ate the last of the fleshy fruit. Bramble had followed it all the way around the circle, hoping to steal a bite of it, but no one had paid him any heed. Disgruntled, he returned to the pile of kindling that Hollyhock and Dillweed were playing in. “What is it that you seek from this old medicine woman?” Old Willow asked.
“I am looking for the piper again,” Peter told her. “I have spoken with the mermaids,” Peter told her, “and they told me to find the man who flies by means of machine. His sympathies are with the children and the stars, and if I find him, I will find the piper. I do not know where in the white man’s expansive land he will be. There is no better tracker than a red man. Will you teach me how to track this aviator, this master of white man flight?”
Old Willow nodded, considering his request. At her side, she had small, leather pouches attached to the belt of her dress. She began digging into these tiny pockets, pulling out a sparkling black egg. Cracking it against her peach pit, a ghostly white yoke oozed out and congealed around the pit. Flattening it in the palm of her hand and shaping it into a ball, Old Willow wrapped the peach pit in it and sprinkled a strange amalgamation of dusts and colored powders before completely enclosing the peach pit in the mysterious, inverted egg. “You have lofty goals, Brave Peter, you remind me of He Who Dreams. You do well to come to us for help. The red man was not born a great tracker, he learned it from Deer.” Old Willow then threw the modified peach pit into the heart of the fire. As the egg coating cooked and burned, it began to color the fire a beautiful blue-green.
Jam oo’ed in delight, and Spurt snuggled as close as he dared to the hot flames.
“Deer was silent, Deer was quick, but Deer was not a hunter. He ate only of the land. He was peaceful, but strong. There was nothing in the forest he did not hear or could not find. No one knew how he managed to seek out whatever he desired, no matter where in the forest it was. Every time the red man saw Deer, he asked, ‘How do you find what you desire, what magic do you have?’
“But Deer never answered. He would run back into the forest, and the red men would chase him. If Deer would not help hunt, he would be hun
ted, as is the way of the earth and its life.”
Gwen watched the blue-green fire eat away at the peach pit’s wrapping. As it burned away the encasing, it happened upon the explosive powders that Old Willow had mixed in with the pit. Sparks flew up and danced in the flames, forming sights that took shape and began to magically illustrate the story. The children’s eyes left Old Willow’s taut mouth to follow the dancing picture of Deer in the fire, leaping on legs of flickering flames as he danced up toward the smoke.
“One day, a young boy hunter was learning his arrows in the forest when he saw Deer. He pulled his bowstring back and fired an arrow, wounding Deer but not killing him as a better archer would have. The young hunter ran to him, finding that Deer could not get to his feet. He bled on the forest floor, wounded but not dead.”
The fire grew red again as the powdery sparks showed the scene Old Willow described, Deer lying motionlessly and the young hunter running to his fallen body.
“Finally, Deer spoke to a red man. ‘Little Hunter,’ he said, ‘my sons are waiting for me, hidden away in the forest. It is almost the time of winter. If they stay here, they will freeze and die. You have killed me, and I cannot return to them. Please, find my sons and tell them that they must leave for the warm place without me.’
“The young hunter was confused, and he did not know how he could fulfill Deer’s request. ‘Where are your sons?’ he asked. ‘I will do so, if you only tell me where you have hidden them.’
“‘I cannot tell you where. The places of the forest have no names known to the red man, and my directions would only confuse you,’ Deer replied. ‘But if I were well, I would run to them as easily as I breathe the forest air. My feet know the way to my sons, and if you take my hooves, they will lead you to them. When I die, take the hooves from my feet and the bone from my body. Make a rattle, and the token will guide you to my sons so that you can tell them of my fate. Take me back to your tribe then, Little Hunter, and my body will in turn care for your brothers under the winter moons.’
“He died then on the forest floor, with the promise from Little Hunter that Deer’s children would be told of his demise and warned to flee the desolation of the cold winter. Little Hunter took his knife and cut the hooves from Deer’s body, so that he could make the rattle Deer described. He went back to his tribe to tell the other hunters of his kill, and they helped him carry it back to the village. While his brothers took the pelt and meat from Deer and prepared for the coming winter with it, Little Hunter made his rattle with the hooves and bone of Deer. When it was completed, he went back into the forest to find Deer’s sons. If he failed, they would wait for their father and be trapped beneath the winter moons, rather than go to the warm place and return in the spring. There would be no more deer.”
Gwen watched the fiery effigy of Little Hunter, moving gracefully through the flames of the fire. She was captivated by the magic, and so engrossed in the story, that she almost didn’t notice when Peter flashed a smile at her, enjoying the story every bit as much.
“With his rattle, Little Hunter stalked through the forest.” Old Willow continued, her voice still smooth and sweet for one so old. “Deer’s hooves were quiet, but they jangled louder as Little Hunter drew near to the brier where the young sons were waiting. They came out when they heard their father’s hooves, but Little Hunter explained to them that their father was dead and they needed to leave for the warm place without him. With heavy hearts, the young sons of Deer dashed off, not to be seen again until the moons of spring had come to warm the earth again.
“However, Little Hunter had finally found out Deer’s secret and knew how he could be such a skillful tracker. Deer’s feet were magic, and they would lead him to all that he sought out. Once the red man knew this, he could use Deer’s hooves to help him track as well.
“So, when you ask that we help you track that Chief of Sky, you are asking us for what Deer gave our ancestors.” Old Willow pulled a clinking, clanking rattle from out of her robes. Dark, hard hooves were tied to the long bone that made noise with every little motion. She handed it to Bard to be passed around to Peter. The lost children marveled over it, each giving it a little shake and listening to its clopping sound before handing it off. Old Willow smiled as the instrument finally ended up in Peter’s hands. “This gift is happily given to you, our friend and ally. We know that you will use it to defend our land and preserve what is left of our home. Someday, when our tribe grows large again, Brave Peter, it will be for your efforts and the fight you lead.”
Dancing, drumming, and general revelry followed. Confident he had what he needed to succeed, Peter’s guise of respectful regard for the redskins toppled down into joyful camaraderie. Hollyhock buzzed around the fire, while Bramble buried himself in what remained of Bard’s fruit basket. Nibbling on everything, he ate from each of the fruits until he had made himself happily sick. Blink and Storm Sounds played fantastically together on the taut skins of their drums, and Running Fox led a dance line around the fire, teaching the children a call-and-repeat song in the redskin language. Unaware of what they were saying, the children all gaily chanted back whatever Running Fox sang, overjoyed to be shouting gibberish at the moon.
Old Willow closed her eyes, nodding with a placid smile on her aged face.
Even Gwen joined the dance, letting go of all her previous apprehensions. Hollering and hooting the same as the others, Gwen lost herself in the moment. She continued to dance, stomping, kicking, and waving her hands freely, until she felt a powerful hand on her shoulder. Dark Sun stopped her, his stony face barely conveying the joy he actually felt. Gwen broke away from the other dancing children, and felt wonderfully small as she looked up at the chief.
Her eyes were wide and attentive, curious in a way Gwen knew she had been at some point before. In contrast to Dark Sun, Gwen was young, childish, and small… it had been a long time since someone had given her a single look that not only made her feel that way, but appreciate it.
“You remind me of my daughter, Storyteller.” The others continued with their jubilant ruckus. Bramble began chasing Hollyhock around the fire, leaving a trail of popping, glittering dust that explosively sparkled in the flames. Dark Sun had Gwen’s full attention. “She was almost as old as you when I lost her. My Tiger Lily would have inherited this tribe when it was still strong, and she would have made it stronger. She smiled as you smile. Perhaps your souls danced together in the world before this one.”
Gwen nodded, appreciating the sentiment but feeling a little overwhelmed by it. “Chief Dark Sun…” she began, “What happened to Tiger Lily?”
“She was kidnapped by Captain Rackham. He tried for years to trap her, but through her cunning, she always avoided him. It was only when she fought him to save Running Fox’s life that he finally captured her. He took her away a long, long time ago, and he sold her to the world that you children have fled.”
Gwen gasped and covered her mouth. “That’s terrible!”
Chief Dark Sun nodded solemnly in agreement. “Brave Peter has seen her since, and she survives well on her redskin strength, but she has been too long in that world to ever return home, and she is dearly missed.” Gwen only noticed the modest feather headband he was holding when he finally placed it on top of her head. The red-and-yellow band fit snuggly around Gwen’s forehead, and she wore it with immediate pride. “It is good to see her smile worn by another, to know that there are still brave girls too smart to walk into the traps before them.”
Dark Sun winked at her, and Gwen indulged the impulse that told her to hug him. He kissed her head sweetly. She knew he was thinking of his own daughter as Gwen thought of her own father. She had not missed home much at all during her time in Neverland, but this show of affection flooded her with the memory of everything that home and family was.
Gwen wanted to return, desperately. Not to her mother and father, but to her mommy and daddy. As the redskin chief hugged her, Gwen knew she had felt this feeling before, but long ago. What
had become of her father’s ability to instill this sense of protection and love in her? Some time back it had dawned on her that her dad was Robert K. Hoffman, just another human being like she was growing up to be. He made her feel like an adult, in all the worst ways, and Gwen’s homesickness was not for a place or a person, but for a point in time within a relationship that she would never reclaim.
When Gwen let go of Dark Sun, she noticed Peter looking at her from across the fire pit. His expression was unreadable.
Rosemary came running up to her then, taking their lingering sentimentality and scattering it to the wind. “Gwenny! Old Willow wants to throw the bones for us!”
“What?” Gwen asked, hardly hearing her sister over the sound of the others’ drums and chants.
“I don’t know what it means, but we’re going to go in her teepee! A real teepee, Gwen!”
She looked over at Old Willow and saw the woman looking back at her, still sitting by the fire as if waiting for Gwen to join her.
“Go then,” Dark Sun encouraged. “Old Willow will have wisdom for both of you, I am sure.”
Rosemary swept up Gwen’s hand and dragged her away from the redskin chief, excitedly chattering things that could not be heard over the sound of the call-and-repeat song Running Fox was still leading.
Old Willow said nothing, but stood up slowly, her walking stick balancing her like a cane. The feathers tied to the end of it were as majestic as those in her hair. She walked back to her teepee, Rosemary and Gwen trailing after in silent awe. No one seemed to notice the sisters sneaking away.
The inside of the teepee was dark, but Old Willow walked through it comfortably, as only one can in their own home. She lit tallow candles and began burning incense. Soon, the inside of the dark teepee was visible and smelled of otherworldly spices.
Gwen felt the hard earth beneath her feet. Within the tent, there was only dirt, no grasses left growing. Old Willow spread out a blanket in the center of the conical room and invited the girls to sit down on the wooly spread with her. The girls did so, and Gwen immediately began tracing the sharp, geometric patterns in the red-and-blue blanket.
The Neverland Wars Page 14
