Forever Neverland

by Susan Adrian

  Scylla doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares down at me while I focus on my fingers. Finally I look up, at her eels and her face.

  “Your sister,” she says. “You are Fergus?”

  I blink. “Yes.”

  “You know stories about gods and goddesses,” she says. “You knew about me.”

  “Yes,” I answer again, puzzled.

  “What do you know of Circe, Fergus?”

  “Be careful,” Peter warns, shifting behind me.

  Scylla glances at him, then at Shoe, like she’s just noticed them. Like a mountain lion noticing prey.

  I don’t know what exactly to be careful of, but she asked something I know the answer to. “Circe was the goddess who transformed you,” I say. “Because Glaucus loved you and she was jealous. She transformed men into beasts, using the herb mandrake. She transformed Odysseus’s men into pigs. But Odysseus was warned, by Hermes, to eat a different herb before he met her that would make him impervious to her magic. He did, and he was safe. She fell in love with him, too.”

  Scylla lowers herself down in the water, inch by inch, until her giant face is even with mine. I look down at my fingers again.

  “And what is this herb he ate, land boy?”

  This close, she smells like fish.

  Peter takes a step closer to me. I feel him at my back. I’m not sure it makes me any calmer.

  “Moly,” I whisper. “They think it’s a snowdrop.” I close my eyes and quote from Homer. “ ‘The root was black, while the flower was as white as milk; the gods call it moly.’ It has white flowers that look like they’re drooping.”

  “I know where that is!” Shoe says.

  Scylla flicks her gaze to Shoe.

  “I saw that once in the forest,” she says, low. She glances at Peter. “By Pixie Hollow.”

  I stare at the eels writhing around Scylla’s head. I try to think of what color she is, but she doesn’t seem to be a color. Maybe just gray, like waves on a cloudy day.

  “Pan,” she snaps. “This is your land—you must be aware of the other gods. Circe fled to an island like this one. Do you know where she has her home?”

  I draw a sharp breath. Scylla called him Pan. And a god.

  Peter flushes. “I have heard…it is not far,” he chokes. “I do not go there. None go there.”

  Suddenly Scylla lays a hand on mine. I think she’s trying to stop me from tapping—to keep my hands quiet—but I feel something else happen, some change sweep across my body that I can’t identify.

  “I have given you the breath gift, Fergus,” she says softly.

  “The breath gift?” I ask.

  “To breathe underwater. You”—she points at Shoe—“will go and gather this moly for us. Pan will tell me exactly where to find Circe. And you, Fergus, will come with me back to my house, to your sister. I will let you both go when Circe returns me to my former self.”

  Peter leans close to my ear. “It’s a god’s bargain,” he whispers urgently. “You know how gods’ bargains are. Mortals never do well.”

  He’s right. In all the myths, mortals come to a bad end whenever they go with gods…or monsters.

  “I can do that,” Shoe says.

  I’m afraid: to go underwater, to be so out of control, so unknown. But if it will save Clover, it’s what we have to do. I don’t think I have any other choice.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Peter stands tall, hands on his hips. “I will go with you, not Fergus. He can identify the herb, so he will go with Shoe. And I must see that the mermaids are all right, that Clover is all right. As you said, this is my land. My responsibility.”

  I suck in a breath. I don’t have to go underwater?

  Scylla narrows her eyes. “Very well. You may take the boy’s place, for now.”

  Peter turns back to me. “Keep the recorder safe,” he whispers. “We may still need it to get your sister back.”

  “You will meet me here with the herb when the sun is high,” Scylla says. She looks at me—to make sure I understand, I think—and I nod. Then she tugs Peter’s hand, and he slips off the rock and slides down, down, down into the water.

  Shoe and I watch him go, then swim as fast as we can for the shore. I hold the recorder out of the water again. I’ll give it to Friendly to keep, and then we’ll find the moly. We only have an hour or so until the sun is high.

  We have to hurry.

  The three of us sit in the main room, unmoving. Scylla’s punishment has worked—even though she’s gone up to the surface to see where the singing came from, we don’t dare try to go anywhere. I wouldn’t even know which way was up, in the open ocean.

  Maybe someday I’ll be brave enough to try, sight or not, but for now being blind has grounded all of us firmly in our chairs, waiting.

  I squeeze my fingers tight around the chair arms. That singing had to come from Fergus. I hope he stays far, far away from Scylla.

  Before long I hear the dogs barking again, and Scylla bursts back through the doorway. Then there’s another rush of sound behind her.

  “Clover?” a familiar voice says. “Allora, Jasmina? Are you all right?”

  “Peter?” I ask, straining to see. Why is he here?

  “I almost forgot,” Scylla says.

  There’s a snap, and suddenly I can see again, as clear as ever. Clearer, maybe. Peter’s face is sharp, concerned.

  I jump up and hug him. He staggers a little, surprised, but hugs back. He must have done something. He must have convinced Scylla to release us.

  But I look back at the table, and Jasmina and Allora haven’t moved. They still can’t see. “Peter?” Jasmina asks. “Have you come to save us?” Tears fall from her cheeks. “Please, let us go. Let us see.”

  “Please!” Allora stretches out her hands.

  “Enough!” Scylla snaps. “The mermaids are here and alive, Pan, as you witness. I will keep them here for now. I do not trust this device of yours. It may be another trick.”

  “It is not a trick!” Peter says. “And I will go on this adventure with you. You have no need to keep them any longer.”

  Wait, what adventure?

  “Please,” Jasmina says again.

  “Mermaids, to your room!” Scylla explodes out of her chair, towering over all of us. The dogs burst into a frenzy of barking and howling. “I will not argue this!”

  We’re all silent. Jasmina and Allora swim to their room, and Scylla sets the boundary at the door.

  “Are you truly all right?” Peter whispers.

  “I am now. She’s powerful, though. She took our sight,” I whisper back. I look at him closely, because I can. His red curls float all the way around his head. His eyes are even greener in the water. He looks…softer than he did up above. Less sure of himself. He has his sword again, sheathed at his back. I’m surprised Scylla didn’t object, but I guess he can’t hurt her easily. “Be careful of her,” I say.

  “I can hear you,” Scylla says behind us. “But thanks to Pan and your brother, and your idea, I have other plans for you now.”

  Plans? That sounds bad. My idea?

  “Oh! You’re going to face Circe?” I ask.

  “We are.” There’s hope in Scylla’s voice, for the first time. “To ask for my life back. I had not thought…” She touches one of the shell sculptures on the wall, the one of the spreading tree. “Pan knows where she is,” she says softly. “Your brother and the other land girl are fetching the herb, to protect you from her magic. We will meet them. And we will all go, together.”

  I stare at her. “We will all go?” I ask, my voice a squeak. “To face the witch-goddess who turns everyone into beasts? I thought…I thought you’d go by yourself.”

  “I said I would go,” Peter adds. “Why the others?”

  “My broth
er’s not going,” I say, as firmly as I can say it.

  Scylla crosses her arms, and I can see her anger rising. The eels writhe; the dogs twist and snap.

  I swallow hard. “He can’t go,” I say. “Okay, I’ll go. Peter can go….” I wave toward him. I feel like I’m giving him up, but then, he’s Peter Pan. He can take care of himself. His expression doesn’t change. “Shoe and Fergus can stay on the island, safe.”

  “I agree,” Peter says.

  Scylla comes closer still. “Are you not enamored of your sight, then?” she asks, so quiet I can barely hear her. “You would rather defy me and be blind? Or have your brother be blind? I can do that from here.” She raises her arm.

  “No!” I yell. I want to dive at her, to make her stop. Peter holds me back, his grip strong.

  She stays like that, one hand high, for a few breaths, then slowly lowers it. “No,” she echoes. “Your protectiveness is admirable. But your brother has knowledge of Circe, and the other land girl has knowledge of herbs. Pan knows where she has her lair. You…” She studies me for a moment, her head tilted. “It was your idea. Now rest, calm yourselves, and prepare. We meet the others soon, and then we will be on our way.”

  She disappears into her back room.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to Peter, my voice wobbling. “I can’t believe you’re all dragged into this now.”

  I think I see fear in his eyes, for just a second. Then he raises his chin. “Do not be silly. This is an adventure, like all the others. It is just away from Neverland.”

  I sit on one of the chairs, staring up at the mural on the ceiling. Why do I keep messing up here? Why do I keep making everything worse, instead of protecting Fergus like I’m supposed to?

  I don’t have an answer. But it’s true. I’ve just made everything so much worse.

  I try to think of everything I know about Circe.

  Shoe is ahead of me on the path, chattering about something, but I’m not listening at all. I’m trying to remember all the details. I wish I had my books with me, but I left them in the Lost Boys’ house, in my backpack. I should’ve brought it everywhere, like Clover said.

  Think. Circe was the daughter of Helios, the god of the sun, and Perse, an Oceanid. She had two brothers, Aeëtes and Perses, and a sister, P-something…I can’t remember the sister’s name.

  Another book says her parents were Aeëtes and Hecate, I think.

  She lived on the hidden island of Aeaea, which was somewhere near Italy, not far from Rome. But she doesn’t live there now. Peter said she lives not far from here, wherever Neverland is. Maybe on another hidden island?

  Scylla called him Pan, and said he’d know where the “other gods” were. Does that mean I was right? That he’s the Pan, son of Hermes? That he’s a god?

  Are there gods hiding all over the world, pretending to be regular people? Or hiding away trying to avoid people? That’s exciting. I wonder how many I could find.

  We pass an orchard, and I briefly want to go in, to pluck the little red apples from the trees. They look so bright, so shiny, like Snow White’s apple. But I can’t. We have to get the herb, and get back to the rock. And see Clover.

  “Fergus?” Shoe says.

  I look up, away from the apples, and realize I stopped in the middle of the path.

  Shoe smiles. “It’s not much farther.”

  “Are you scared?” I ask.

  She blinks, and the smile drops away. “Scared?”

  “Of all of this. Facing Scylla again. What if she takes Clover with her, to see Circe? What if she takes us?”

  Shoe looks at her feet, her hair covering her face again. “I would go with her,” she says, super quiet. “I’ve never been away from Neverland. The really big adventures always happen to other people.” She looks up, her eyes bright. “Anyway, isn’t that what the moly is for, so humans can see Circe and she can’t turn anyone into animals? We’d be safe.” She turns and keeps going, and I follow. She’s right: that is what the moly is for. If it’s the right herb, if the legend is accurate, if it works. If the plant we find is really the right one.

  Scylla is planning on taking mortals with her. That’s the only reason she’d need it.

  We take the path around to Pixie Hollow, where we found Shoe and Clover before, and go a little bit farther, to a forest just past it. I keep a close eye out for pixies, but I haven’t seen any. I bet they’re upset with Peter gone.

  Shoe hunts around a little in the trees, and then makes a crowing noise and kneels down.

  I see it: a snowdrop, just like the pictures. There are a few. Shoe looks at me to make sure she’s right, and I nod. She plucks them, all the ones she can find, and puts them in a bag she has tied around her waist.

  I like her. She thinks of things. She’s like Clover. But different, too.

  I feel something warm by my cheek, and then see it, the flutter of brightness. A pixie.

  Shoe raises her arms, protecting her face. “We mean no harm! Peter sent us!” Her voice is higher than usual. “We need the snowdrop to counteract Circe’s spells. It’s to protect Peter, too.”

  The pixie flies around her in a circle, then zips off into the pixie village of houses. Shoe breathes a sigh of relief. “Let’s get to the beach,” she says. “Quick.”

  But a minute later, when we’ve barely taken a few steps, the pixie returns, with another pixie. They fly right past us, into the trees on the other side of the path…then come back and fly around my head.

  I have the urge to bat them away. I stay very still so I won’t. “We’re going,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

  The pixies fly back into the trees, in the same spot as before, and then to me again, then to Shoe. Then back to the trees.

  “Follow?” I ask.

  One of the pixies bobs excitedly in front of my face.

  Shoe laughs. “I guess they want us to follow them.”

  We follow, a ways into the trees. Then both pixies dart to the ground, to a little plant with clusters of round leaves next to an oak tree. One pixie flies to Shoe’s bag, then to the plant again.

  “Do we need this plant too?” Shoe asks.

  The two pixies dance in the air, doing flips and flutters. I make my hands fly, imitating them. Shoe pulls up several handfuls of the plant, adding it to her bag.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  One of the pixies flies close to my face, and I feel a brush of warmth. Then they fly off, back to Pixie Hollow.

  Shoe ties the bag securely around her waist again. She looks at the sun, then raises her eyebrows at me. “Race you back?”

  I smile. I do like Shoe.

  I tread water behind Scylla, waiting. The sun is warm, and almost straight up in the sky. Peter’s next to me.

  We’re by the flat rock where she took me. The land is so close, right there. If I could swim fast enough to the shore, scramble up onto the sand, maybe Scylla couldn’t reach me. Then I wouldn’t have to go find Circe. Fergus and Shoe wouldn’t have to go. Peter could make it to shore, I’m sure. We’d be safe.

  Except I can’t swim that fast. And Scylla can blind us from anywhere—she said that. I don’t know if it’s true, but I don’t want to find out.

  Plus, Jasmina and Allora are still down there, in the cave. Scylla wouldn’t give them their sight back, wouldn’t let them out. She said they had to stay in the cave until we came back. If Circe changes her, they’re free. If not, maybe she’ll try the recorder…or maybe she’ll keep us after all.

  It’s not good to get on the wrong side of gods.

  The mermaids are all at the other end of the lagoon now, watching from as far as they can get. The Lost Boys are in a little group at the top of the sand.

  I guess we really don’t have a choice now. We have to go, and do what Scylla wants. We’re stuck.

  Fergus too. I
can’t protect him at all.

  “Do you really know where Circe is?” I ask Peter in a low whisper.

  He swipes his wet hair off his face, looking uncomfortable. “I do.”

  “But you’ve never met her before?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes clouded. “She is not someone you want to meet.”

  That doesn’t make me feel better. I want cheerful, confident Peter, who says he can do anything. I go silent, watching the shore. I think I see them, far up the path. Something moving fast.

  I don’t want them to come. If Fergus would stay there, if he didn’t come down here at all, maybe Scylla would give up the idea of bringing him, and he’d be okay…safe.

  I definitely see them now, running hard. Shoe’s hair is wild, her face serious.

  Fergus looks worried. They run to the cluster of Lost Boys, huddle for a few minutes, and then head for the shore. I tread water, Peter next to me. It feels like we should be doing something.

  Fergus and Shoe swim out, fast, and pull up, dripping, onto the rock.

  Scylla actually smiles. She seems different. Lighter. A little more friendly than frightening, as if that splash of hope has changed her. I guess she hasn’t had hope for a long time. “You have the herb?”

  Shoe nods, eager. “And another one too. The pixies showed us.” She takes a little plant with round leaves out of a bag, dripping wet. “I think you’re supposed to eat them together. I don’t know for sure, but I thought it would be a good idea to bring it, since they wanted us to.”

  Scylla looks at it. “That one will likely stop the moly from making you violently ill.” She shrugs. “Helpful, I suppose.”

  No one answers. It would’ve been good to know it was going to make us sick.

  Fergus looks right at me, his eyes wet. “Clover? You’re okay?”

  I feel the surge of matching tears in my chest, my throat. I push them down. “I’m okay. Are you?”