“The greatest problem that the eruptions posed was something else entirely. You see, the volcano was home to a great number of dragons. A clan of the monsters lived deep within the lava, swimming through it and breathing in it as easily as fish in water. It was their home, and the powerful monsters resided peacefully within it. The problem was that when the lava bubbled up, it sometimes carried away dragon eggs with it.”
Jam gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, a little afraid of dragons even in stories.
“If a dragon egg was taken down into the village, the older dragons and mother dragon would rise up out of the smoking volcano and come down with fury and wrath on the village, looking for the missing egg. Afraid for their little dragon baby, they destroyed anything in their path with their hot fire breath and hideously sharp claws, until they found their egg and carried it back to the warmth and safety of the lava.
“This caused untold damage to all of Fardonia, and risked the lives of its inhabitants, so it was decreed that after any eruption, the affected area would be searched as soon as it was safe. If anyone found a dragon egg, half a dozen of the kingdom’s finest soldiers would carry it back up to the volcano and throw it into the crater, where it would splash into the lava far, far below. This was done several times successfully, and the dangerous dragons never came searching for their eggs.
“But weren't the dragon eggs heavy?” Spurt demanded.
“That's why it took so many soldiers to carry it!” Newt answered.
This issue clarified, Gwen continued. “It had been several years since anyone had so much as seen a dragon, when the volcano erupted yet again. Everything went according to their emergency plan, and the people were safely evacuated. Afterward, they searched the lava-soaked village for dragon eggs. However, while they were searching for a dragon egg, they found something much more alarming—the broken shell of a dragon egg.
“Although it had never happened before, it seemed that during this eruption, a dragon egg had been carried down, only to hatch in the valley. A tiny baby dragon was loose somewhere in the village below the volcano.”
“Oh no,” Bard muttered.
“They followed the scorched footprints and the trail of burnt houses until they found the tiny beast, no bigger than a bobcat, curled up and sleeping in the fireplace of one of the houses. Its crimson body shone with a fiery glimmer, and its golden claws and teeth curled as it slept. As it breathed, little sparks flickered out of its long snout. Very carefully, the kingdom’s soldiers trapped it in a net, and then shut it inside of a wine barrel before it even woke up. The king ordered them to deliver it to the top of the mountain as quickly as possible, and the soldiers took off at once in the hope that they would be able to return it to the lava pit deep in the volcano’s crater before it awoke.”
“How was it sleeping if it was daytime?” Newt demanded.
“Shush!” Sal insisted.
“Babies sleep a lot,” Bard answered.
“That they do,” Gwen agreed. “So the baby dragon slept while they carried it. The mountainside was treacherous and the cliffs hard to climb, but the soldiers slowly made progress carting the wine barrel with the sleeping dragon inside of it. The top was in sight, the edge of the crater just minutes away, when they felt the dragon tossing in the barrel, restlessly waking itself up. They hurried faster, but the dragon’s breath began to burn the wine barrel, and it became obvious they could not contain it. As the barrel caught fire and burned away, the dragon pushed its way through the charred wood and took off running up the hill. The soldiers ran after it, chasing it toward the mouth of the volcano to be sure that it got back home before the elder dragons came looking for it in the villages.”
Gwen paused briefly, marveling at the look of rapt attention each of the children gave her. While she took a short moment to gather her thoughts, Jam asked with almost fearful curiosity, “And then what happened?”
“They chased the dragon all the way to the edge of the volcanic crater, and watched it dive back into the pit of molten lava,” Gwen continued, “but there was a terrible problem. The lava did not rest down inside the cavernous pit of the volcano; it had bubbled up, almost to the surface. The soldiers realized it was about to explode, destroying not only a few houses or a little land, but covering the entire valley and decimating all of Fardonia. In a mad race, they hurried back down to the valley and went directly to the king to inform him of their discovery.
“There was nothing that could be done, nowhere for the people to go, and just when the people thought that their fate could be no darker, the dragons flew out of the volcano’s mouth.”
“They’re all going to die!” Spurt yelled. Bard had to hold him and pet his head before he was calm enough to let Gwen continue.
“Every one of those reptilian monsters launched themselves out of the mountain, soaring into the sky and flinging off the last remnants of the lava on their bodies. As they cooled off in flight, they circled the villages. People began to scream as the dragons descended, but they landed peacefully on the ground. Countless dragons with sparkling red, ruby-like scales lay motionless on the floor of the valley.
“No one knew what to make of this, but before any conclusions could be reached, the volcano exploded. A flaming mass of magma shot into the air. Ash began to rain down on the valley and smoke billowed down. The sky grew black, and the destruction of Fardonia was imminent.
“With no other option, the people suddenly saw that their one slim chance of survival was to climb atop the dragons, holding to their scales and clinging to the beasts for dear life. As the lava neared, the citizens scrambled to mount the dragons. When all were aboard, the winged monsters took back to the sky, flying away from the smoke, ash, volcano, and valley. The entire island of Fardonia disappeared on the horizon, but the dragons flew on.
“Eventually, they landed on a bright new continent, far away from their original home, but safe and sound. The people dismounted the dragons, shakily climbing down to the field where they had landed. As the people left them, the dragons took to the sky again, to finally return to their home, deep within the volcanic underbelly of Fardonia. The dragons were never seen again, but the people made a new life for themselves. They never forgot the magical beasts that had plagued them for so long, but ultimately saved them all… and that’s where dragons come from. They breathe the fire of the Fardonia volcano, and will still ravage any place they believe to have one of their eggs since dragons will defend anything they really love.”
Gwen folded her hands in her lap to signify that her story was done. She hadn’t been conscious of how dramatically she was gesturing with them until she finished the tale. Her voice had intimated the end of the story, and yet the lost children were compelled to ask questions.
“What happened to the dragons?”
“Where did the people go?”
“Did the baby dragon grow up?”
“Why didn’t they just live underground?”
Gwen could hardly keep track of who was asking what. They all talked over each other, with no concern for any question in particular, only the continuation of the story.
She laughed, to see the joy that it had brought them, and batted away the fireflies that seemed to be hovering closer to her and listening as well. The air was alive with warmth, and the night sky still had a trace of purple swirled into its blackness. The half-moon, high in the sky, was tipped like an ear straining to hear the questions and stories of the children below it.
Laughing and taking all of this in, Gwen’s eyes lifted, as if they knew better than she did where she should be looking. Leaned against one of the hollow trees—the knotty maple tree—was Peter. He stared at her, and Gwen suspected that he’d been listening from a distance. He said nothing, but he held her eyes. His arms crossed, he bore only a slight, aloof smile on his lips.
Gwen could not sleep that night. For her entire week in Neverland, sleep had never come easy for her. Her body clung to the schedule of late nights she had
cultured in reality. There was something fundamentally strange about falling asleep without first spending a few hours online. However, the thought that she would be able to return to that pattern tomorrow night left her sleepless altogether.
She buried her face in her pillow, trying not to let Rosemary squeeze her out of the big bed. Every time she thought she was almost asleep, she remembered the burn on her arm and a senseless fear overtook her. Pulling the edge of the covers close around her, Gwen could only lull herself into a groggy sense of tiredness. So, although she did not immediately notice the creeping boy move through the underground home, she was just awake enough to hear him draw in a big breath and vanish up one of the hollow trees.
Sitting up in bed quickly, her eyes were already adjusted to the darkness enough to affirm what she suspected—Peter’s hammock was empty.
Unaware of where he was off to, but certain she didn’t want to be left behind, Gwen dashed out of bed, leaving Rosemary and Jam plenty of room to sprawl out on their side of the big bed. She didn’t even bother with shoes. Gwen skittered across the floor on her bare tiptoes, trying not to wake anyone, even in her hurry. She shot up the hollow oak in her camisole and polka-dotted pants. Once again, she was in her pajamas, following after Peter Pan.
She drew in a breath so big that she felt dizzy as she ascended the dark shaft of the oak’s trunk. When it lifted her to the opening, she flung herself out and quietly called, “Peter?”
He was not in earshot, but his motion caught her eye. Diving down after him, Gwen flew as fast as she could in an attempt to catch up as he headed into the woods. Once among the trees, she could see neither hide nor hair of where he had gone, but she could hear that he was again on foot. The air buzzed with fireflies, and moonlight fell in broken puzzle pieces through the jungle’s canopy. Gwen hovered lightly above the ground so that her own footsteps would not distract her from the sound of Peter’s.
She could not see where she was going; she could only move toward the soft noise of Peter as he paced through the jungle. She marveled at how he could navigate so seamlessly through the darkness, never tripping or running into anything. He did not move quickly, but Gwen had a hard time keeping up even in the air. She held her hands out, braced to run against a slender tree or low-hanging branch she could not see.
In the past week, Gwen had spent a good deal of time exploring the island and running through its woods, but she teemed with the sense that they were going somewhere she had never been before, somewhere magical, even by Neverland standards.
Sure enough, Peter unknowingly led her to the heart and soul of the island. The vines and ivy grew thick, draping down from the limbs and branches of the trees. Peter pushed the tangled plants aside and disappeared behind a solid wall of foliage. Gwen cautiously followed on foot, brushing aside the voluminous vines to see what hid behind them.
As she stepped, Gwen felt her bare foot squish into a thick mud under a few inches of water. The marsh water was warm, and she watched as the mud began to light up. Each step that Gwen took gave the ground and water directly beneath her foot a faint blue glow.
The marsh was devoid of trees, except for the majestic willow tree in the center of the swampy ground. The entire mire was encircled by the curtain of vines that Gwen had passed through, hidden away in the folds of Neverland’s woods.
Hundreds of iridescent lights drifted slowly around the willow tree. The rainbow glow of fairies wove in and out of the canopy created by the willow tree’s long, limp branches. Peter had slowed, so Gwen took a moment to roll up the cuffs of her pajama pants before following after him.
Finally, the sound of footsteps through the shallow water behind him alerted Peter to the fact that he had been followed. He turned to see Gwen and paused. She gave a little wave, suddenly feeling out of place. She hadn’t known Peter was going to a secret fairy marsh when she started following him. Initially, he looked irritated with her, but rather than be bothered by her presence, he seemed to accept it. As he parted the weeping branches of the willow to walk through, he held them apart for Gwen. She scurried over, splashing the shallow water and leaving glowing blue footprints in the mud. Beside Peter at last, she entered the cocoon of the wide willow tree, the limp branches closing behind the two of them.
Fairies circled the willow tree’s trunk, lapping it slowly. Others sat on the knots and protruding roots. There were more fairies than Gwen had ever seen, and she was close enough to distinguish the features of many of them: the metallic hair, the minute noses and mouths, skirts made of lily petals, shirts sewn from ivy leaves, acorn hats, and spider-silk scarves.
At the base of the tree was a little raft, woven out of willow twigs and their slender, green leaves. It was loaded with berries and flowers, all piled beside Bramble’s body. Gwen could not find Dillweed in this crowd of fairies, but she did see Hollyhock, lingering beside the little boat, standing waist-deep in the marsh, her long, golden-dark braids trailing behind her and bobbing with the ripples in the water. As if they had been waiting for Peter to come pay his respects, the fairies began pulling leaves off the willow tree. Rolling them up into long tubes, each fairy took their leaf and dragged it quickly across the bark of the tree in an act that was two parts friction and one part magic. The willow leaves instantly began to burn. Three fairies flew down to the raft and pushed it into motion, but the rest of them flew over it, dropping their lighted leaves onto the pyre.
Some of the leaves fell beside it, extinguishing immediately on the water, but enough of the little torches fell on the raft to ignite it. As the pyre boat drifted toward Peter and Gwen, they stepped aside and parted the curtain of willow branches to let it float through.
As the little flame on the water passed by, Gwen whispered reverently, “I do believe in fairies.”
The fairies trailed slowly after it, hovering through the opening in the willow curtain that Peter and Gwen held for them. They neither minded nor acknowledged Gwen’s presence. They had long since stopped questioning who Peter deemed worthy to witness the intimacies of their world.
As the pyre broke apart into sinking ash and rising smoke, Gwen watched the glow of Bramble’s body drift up to the sky. Feathery colors liquidly surged up to the sky like faint trails of smoke. Like a will-o-the-wisp glowing on the surface of the water, Bramble’s flames died out, leaving behind a beautiful glow that slipped away to the stars. Vibrant greens and pinks chased after each other in a beautiful aurora of magical energy.
The trail of color drifted away, and what remained of the pyre broke apart and sank away. The fairies were singing.
Gwen had heard Hollyhock sing before, and she adored the bubbly, trilling sound of a fairy’s singing voice. That did not prepare her for the enchantment of a fairy chorus. Clinging to branches like rope swings, the fairies swayed back and forth, chanting and singing a beautiful lament.
Peter let go of the branches, and Gwen followed suit, cloistering them all under the willow again. The fairies who were not singing—and there were plenty who weren’t—were dancing. Twirling together, fairies held each other and flitted through the air together for comfort and closure. Gwen watched as two winged ladies held each other’s hands and bobbed together through the air. Watching a stout fairy dip his partner and spin, unhampered by gravity, she was almost startled to feel a hand take hold of hers.
Looking at Peter, she felt as if she was being pulled away to Neverland for the first time all over again. She shrank within herself as he took her hands, and when they danced, she felt like a child half her age.
She stepped into the positions that he pushed her into, but soon, it did not matter where she sloppily planted her feet because they took to the air. All she had to do was hold to his hands and let herself fly. He gave her direction, he sent her twirling into motion, and when he let go of her, she spun until he caught her again, always flying, always floating.
It is such a simple thing to dance, Gwen thought. She almost laughed at what her conception of dance had been. Sophomo
re homecoming—one year and a short infinity ago—had been full of stilted motions and untouching movements to abrasive beats and electrically sharp melodies. Her bejeweled dress had been uncomfortable, her palms had been sweaty, she’d held onto a clutch purse awkwardly, and the majority of the evening had been spent giving and receiving shallow compliments.
Now she floated with the grace of childish awe, unafraid to hold Peter’s hands as they drifted to the overlapping melodies and harmonies of fairy voices. There was nothing else in the world she would have been doing in that moment; the dance was intrinsic to the nature of life itself. Homecoming, homework… home itself! All of it was a million miles away or more. Gwen didn’t even know what metrics measured the distance between Neverland and the rest of the world.
The voices of the fairies charmed her ears, and Peter filled her eyes. His expression, melancholy though it looked, was simple. Gwen was jealous of the way he could be so present in the moment, so free of worry for the future. For him, there was no moment before or after this, and Gwen envied him for that, until she realized he did not have a monopoly on that sense of contentment. Suddenly unconcerned with what would happen in the next ten minutes or the next ten years of her life, schooling, and career, Gwen found herself stranded in the dance, living in the moment in a way only a child could.
The following morning moved quickly. Gwen dressed in the blue sundress she had worn on her way to Neverland, rolling up her pajama pants and sweater in order to jam them into her satchel. Aside from the headband from Dark Sun and Lasiandra’s mermaid scale, both tucked away in her bag, Gwen was leaving with no less or more than she had arrived with.
The Neverland Wars Page 20
