Fairies and the Quest for Never Land

by Gail Carson Levine

  “—backwards. You said that already.” Rani climbed down from the lute. “You took it for me? And then you threw it?”

  “I couldn’t find any fairies. I thought you’d vanished or gone away. I was angry.”

  Dulcie said, sounding insulted, “Why would we go away, and how could we vanish?”

  More fairies flocked around the lute and examined it inside and out. Rani stepped out of their way. Gwendolyn wondered if they might be stringed-instrument talents.

  One said, “We can repair—”

  “—it?” Rani said. “You can?”

  “Better than ever.”

  Rani’s face turned from sad to happy, although she didn’t stop crying. “A real mermaid’s lute!” She stroked the wood, then looked up, her glow turning pink. “Esteemed Clumsy Gwendolyn, thank you for the gift.”

  Esteemed? Thank you? Gwendolyn thought, confused. These were strange words from a fairy.

  Rani added, “Esteemed Gwendolyn, I no longer believe you’re dangerous.”

  “Esteemed Rani,” Gwendolyn said, “I am grate—”

  “—ful.” Rani laughed. “Don’t call me esteemed!”

  Gwendolyn turned to the queen. “Queen Ree, can I talk to Mother Dove?”

  A chorus of fairies cried, “I’ll go with you.”

  Queen Ree nodded. “If Mother Dove tells you to leave, you have to go.”

  Gwendolyn held the kiss, and the need to hiccup vanished. “I will.” But she wasn’t sure she’d be able to.

  “Tink!” Queen Ree called.

  Tink stood in her doorway, looking grumpy.

  “Escort Gwendolyn to Mother Dove.”

  “I’m busy.” But her frown vanished. Fairies loved to visit Mother Dove.

  “Take her,” Queen Ree said.

  Tink streaked away without turning to see if Gwendolyn was following.

  “Wait!” Gwendolyn called.

  Tink soared back. “What?”

  “Queen Ree”—Gwendolyn opened her backpack and took out the presents—“did you hear me talk about these?”

  “I did.”

  “Would you make sure the right fairies get their gifts?” She held up the box that contained the earring. “This is for you.”

  “That’s very kind.”

  “Tink, this is for you,” Gwendolyn said, placing the tea strainer on the pebbles.

  Tink landed next to it. “Had a hard life, haven’t you, poor thing?” She patted the strainer here and stroked it there, then picked it up in both arms, flew it through her door, and reemerged a moment later. “When do you need it back?”

  “It’s a gift.”

  Tink nodded. “Come along.” She flew away again.

  Gwendolyn picked up her backpack and wriggled her shoulders, but nothing happened. “Queen Ree, I need more fairy dust.”

  Tink returned and leaned against the oak sapling, arms folded across her chest.

  From her kiss visions, Gwendolyn recognized the sparrow man flying toward her. He was Terence, a dust talent who loved Tink, although she didn’t seem to love him back.

  He took off his beanie and lifted out a fairy-dust sack. At least six sacks had fit in Peter’s pocket without making it bulge, but a single one filled Terence’s cap. “I’ll come along to Mother Dove,” he said, while sprinkling on the dust.

  Tink set off again. Gwendolyn leaped into the air after her. Terence flew at Gwendolyn’s shoulder as they passed over the sapling, the barn, and the two meadows. She descended for a closer look at Havendish Stream.

  Terence shouted, “Watch your feet!”

  Gwendolyn lifted them and just missed kicking the fairy-dust mill to splinters. She flew higher. My size does make me dangerous, she thought. “Can fairy dust shrink me?”

  Tink turned and tugged her bangs. “No, it can’t shrink you.”

  They zigzagged through an orchard and entered the woods beyond. The sun flashed between the trees.

  Gwendolyn touched her kiss. Depending on what Mother Dove said, this flight might be her last time with fairies. She flew slower.

  Tink was out of sight, but Terence stayed with her.

  She tried to start a conversation. “Um, Terence. Um…”

  He smiled. His smile tilted up on the right. Gwendolyn wondered why Tink didn’t care for him.

  “I was frightened too,” he said, “the first time I met Mother Dove.”

  Gwendolyn didn’t want to talk about the terror of the coming meeting. “Um, Terence…” what would he want to discuss? His talent. “Is every grain of fairy dust magical?”

  His smile widened, and he slowed even slower than Gwendolyn. “Every grain. If you sliced a grain in half, each half would be magical.”

  Gwendolyn nodded, glad to hear it.

  Tink flew around a pussy willow to come at them from behind. “Mother Dove is waiting!”

  Of course this was nonsense, and even Gwendolyn knew it. Mother Dove never left her nest, so she was always waiting.

  “Er, Tink…” Gwendolyn cast about for a topic. “…is there anything you’ve always wanted to fix but never had the chance?”

  Tink was caught, as Terence had been. She hovered, her expression dreamy. “A crinkle slicer. No one has ever brought me one.” Her hand made waves in the air. “It has such a shape.”

  “A crinkle slicer?” Terence said.

  Gwendolyn was certain he would find a damaged crinkle slicer somewhere. “Tink, what took the longest to fix?”

  “The unleaky colander I have right now”—she zipped ahead but called behind her—“because I keep being interrupted.”

  Gwendolyn saw a clearing through the trees, the same clearing she’d visited before, which had been the fairy circle all along. Her fairy-dust tingle sparked with fear. Mother Dove’s claws held her fate.

  A string of coos rippled through the woods, echoing as if a dove were roosting in every bush.

  “We moved her nest from the hawthorn,” Tink said.

  Terence added, “So you wouldn’t find it. We’ll carry it back soon.”

  Gwendolyn hardly heard. The coos pounded in her ears. Tink led her toward a dogwood tree.

  Mother Dove, let me stay, Gwendolyn thought. She pulled the backpack off and fumbled in it until she found Mother Dove’s present. Shouldering the backpack again, she gripped the treat hard.

  They neared the tree. There, on a low branch, whiter than the blossoms around her, Mother Dove sat on her nest, her feathers spread over her egg. Gwendolyn’s fear faded. She felt peaceful, as she did sometimes when she gazed at the sky from her bedroom window.

  The fairy Beck straddled Mother Dove’s neck. “Keep your distance, Clumsy.”

  By rowing backwards with her arms, Gwendolyn stopped in midair a yard from the nest.

  “Ree says she’s all right,” Terence said, as he and Tink landed on Mother Dove’s branch.

  Thank you, Terence! Gwendolyn thought.

  Tink added, “She made Vidia fly faster for almost an hour.”

  Thank you, Tink!

  Beck’s glare hardly changed.

  “Terence…” Gwendolyn held out the present. “Would you give this to Mother Dove? It’s a sesame-seed bar.”

  Terence stretched his arms around the bar and flew it to the nest, where he set it down by Mother Dove’s chest.

  “Thank you, Gwen-n-n-dol-l-l-yn-n-n,” Mother Dove cooed, without pecking through the wrapping to taste it. “Why have you come to Fairy Haven? Most Clumsies stay with Peter.”

  “Because I love fairies, and I always have. They say you think I’m dangerous. Maybe I am. I could squash a fairy by accident.” She choked out a laugh. “Ten fairies.”

  Beck’s glare softened.

  Mother Dove said nothing.

  “Is that it? Will I squash a fairy?” Gwendolyn didn’t know if Mother Dove could see the future.

  Mother Dove cooed and cocked her head from side to side again and again. Gwendolyn went on hovering. Mother Dove was evaluating her, she was sure, in what
might be the most important test of her life.

  Tink said, “I have this unleaky colander…”

  Mother Dove went on cooing.

  Gwendolyn sat on a branch of a beech tree across from the dogwood.

  At last Mother Dove stopped cooing. “Gwendolyn, I fear you love fairies too much. You will have to stay away from Fairy Haven.”

  E L E V E N

  “OH!” TERENCE said, sounding shocked.

  Along with despair, an undertow of resentment pulled at Gwendolyn. Yes, she loved fairies, but she also loved her parents and Grandma. Could she love them too much? Could she love anything she loved too much?

  Surprisingly, Beck chimed in with the same question. “Could I love you too much, Mother Dove?”

  “Yes, Beck.”

  “Then why don’t you banish me?”

  Mother Dove cooed. “You’re my companion. I could love you too much too. But I help you, and you help me.”

  This isn’t right! Gwendolyn thought.

  “It isn’t fair.” Hands on her hips, Tink hovered in front of Mother Dove. “How will she hurt fairies?”

  A thrill ran through Gwendolyn. Tink was defending her!

  Mother Dove shook her head. “I can’t put my claw on it.”

  Tink returned to the branch.

  “Could she help fairies?” Terence asked.

  Mother Dove cooed an even longer string than before. She shifted in the nest, revealing a curve of egg. Suddenly she squawked.

  Gwendolyn almost fell off her branch. Beck gasped. Tink’s wings fluttered. Terence’s glow darkened.

  Mother Dove returned to cooing.

  At last the coos ended. “Trouble is coming to Never Land. I can’t see what it will be, but kindness will cause it.”

  “Will I cause it?” Gwendolyn blurted. “By loving fairies too much?”

  “Gwen-n-n-dol-l-l-yn-n-n, the trouble won’t come from you.”

  “When it comes, I want to help.”

  Mother Dove’s gaze rested on Gwendolyn’s face. Gwendolyn felt a feather stroke her cheek. But no feather was near her. “I can’t tell if you will help or harm fairies and Never Land. You may be of great help, but beware of yourself.”

  Gwendolyn nodded. She would try not to hurt a fairy, but she couldn’t love them less. Then the full meaning of Mother Dove’s words reached her. “I can stay?”

  Mother Dove smiled. “Matters have changed, and we will take the chance. You may stay.”

  Terence cried, “Hooray!”

  Mother Dove pecked through the wrapper and nibbled at the sesame-seed bar. “Delicious. From the mainland?”

  “From Little Moon Street near—”

  “Look!” Beck cried. “A Plum Paula!” She rose above the nest and pointed down toward the fairy circle. “Mother Dove, may—”

  “Go ahead. I’ll have a word with Gwendolyn.”

  Gwendolyn felt uneasy as Beck, Tink, and Terence flew off.

  But Mother Dove only asked, “Your grandmother is better now, isn’t she?”

  “Grandma? You know Grandma had pneumonia?”

  “I follow Wendy’s line. Is she well now?”

  “She’s fine.” Gwendolyn blushed. “I talked to you while she was sick, to help her get better. Did you help?”

  Coos were Mother Dove’s only answer.

  In the fairy circle, Beck was dancing, hand-over-hand, leg-over-leg, with a butterfly almost her size. Nearby, Terence smiled and Tink swayed in place.

  Gwendolyn wondered how they could be carefree if trouble was on its way.

  “The trouble will come soon enough,” Mother Dove said as if reading Gwendolyn’s mind. “Why fret now?”

  Gwendolyn nodded. “Is that the Plum Paula?”

  “Beck says it’s the largest butterfly on the island.”

  Below, Beck and the Plum Paula backed away from each other, came together, then backed away again.

  “I could watch forever,” Gwendolyn said.

  Terence jumped between the butterfly and Beck to join the dance.

  “I wish I really could,” Gwendolyn added, thinking ahead to the day when she would lose fairy sight.

  Beck and Terence and the Plum Paula circled Tink, who was clapping time. Gwendolyn thought Tink’s expression a trifle impatient.

  Mother Dove said, “Many years ago, Never Land made me extraordinary. I don’t know why it picked me.” Her coo sounded like a chuckle. “The island has its whims. If it wants to, it can let you see and hear fairies for as long as you live.”

  Gwendolyn snapped her head up. “It can? The island?”

  “If it wants to.”

  Gwendolyn wondered what she could do to help it want to.

  “Gwen-n-n-dol-l-l-yn-n-n, Never Land can’t be persuaded or forced to do a thing. It does what it likes.”

  Oh. Still, this was astonishing news. She flew down to the fairy circle where Beck, Terence, Tink, and the Plum Paula were spinning above the grass, aerial tops that crossed and recrossed. On her own, Gwendolyn whirled and twirled, too. She might see fairies forever. Mother Dove had said it.

  She collapsed on the ground, laughing. When she sat up, she saw that the Plum Paula had gone, and the fairies had returned to the nest. She went back to her branch.

  Mother Dove pecked a spot on her own shoulder. “Beck, I have an itch. Would you…”

  Beck thrust her arm deep into Mother Dove’s feathers. “Is that it?”

  “You always find the—”

  “My unleaky colander. I need…”

  As fast as a falling coconut, Peter plunged past everyone yet still landed softly. “We whittled a tree for you, Wendy.”

  “Gwendolyn.”

  Tink scooted along the branch until leaves hid her. Terence stood up.

  “Wendy, I meant Gwendolyn. I mean, Gwendolyn, I meant Gwendolyn.”

  Tink slipped back out from the leaves. Her glow was scarlet. “Fly with you, Peter.”

  “Hullo, Tink.”

  “This is my friend Terence.”

  “Fly with you,” Terence said.

  “My good friend Terence.” She slid next to him.

  Peter hopped on one foot. “Wen—Gwendolyn, you can come to the underground home now.” He flew above the treetops.

  She owed him a visit, and they’d whittled out a whole tree for her.

  But if trouble was looming, should she leave?

  Why fret? she thought, remembering Mother Dove’s words. She launched herself. Looking down, she called, “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll beware.”

  Gwendolyn and Peter landed in Peter’s clearing. The Lost Boys were there, each shouldering a rough fishing pole.

  “We’re going to fish in the lagoon, Wendy.”

  “Gwendolyn.” Obviously she wasn’t invited.

  “Gwendolyn. This is your tree. I’ll go down, too.” Peter led her to a walnut tree, then stepped into his own tree hole in a white birch and was gone.

  Feeling nervous, Gwendolyn peered into her tree. The smell of mold drifted out. Swallowing her fear she stepped in and hovered. Yes, it was big enough. She exhaled.

  Her stomach seemed to drop quicker than she did, like in an elevator. She landed on soft wood shavings and stepped out of her tree. Dim light filtered down through the tree holes.

  “Come.” Peter took her hand and brought her to the sink, a blocky shape in the dark. “Soap is underneath. Pail too. The mop is leaning against the sink. Here…” He tugged her a little to the right. “…is the water pump.” His voice was proud. “Goes right into the sink. You put your hands here.” He placed them. “And press down hard.”

  She pressed.

  Distant gurgles sounded, followed by clanks. Water spurted, stopped, spurted, then gushed.

  “You’ve got it. Now this…” He raised something she dimly perceived as a basket. “…is your darning.”

  The smell of dirty socks overwhelmed the odor of mold. She pinched her nose.

  “Wendy loved her darning, Gwendolyn.” He disappeared
up his tree and called down from above, “Have a rollicking good time.”

  T W E L V E

  GWENDOLYN squinted into the murk. The home was a single room, half filled by a bed and one quarter filled by a tabletop balanced on a tree stump. Tree trunks lined one wall, brown, naturally, except for Peter’s birch, which gleamed the ivory of an old bone. Packed earth made up the other walls, the ceiling, and the floor, where mushrooms grew—tiny brown mushrooms, huge red ones, and medium-sized purple ones.

  A cupboard leaned against the wall next to the bed. She opened a door—and shut it instantly. Whatever food was in there was crawling with ants.

  She considered flying right back up her tree. Then she saw it—the only pretty spot in the room, a nook in the wall across from the sink. She had forgotten about this nook, although she’d heard of it in family stories. It was the nook, Tink’s bedroom, her boudoir, as she used to call it. She’d lived in it when Wendy came, while Tink still regarded herself as Peter’s fairy.

  Gwendolyn longed to go to it but wouldn’t let herself. The nook would be her reward. Because of it she would stay and work.

  She decided to start by making the bed. But a beetle scrambled across the bed sheets. Horrified, she backed away into the tabletop. She could wash the dishes.

  Dirty plates were so stuck to smeared honey and dried gravy and who-knew-what-else that she could hardly pry them up. Her stomach flopped queasily.

  After a struggle, she loosened the dishes and carried them to the sink. Under it she found Pirate Ship-Shape soap flakes with a picture on the box of bo’sun Smee cleaning his spectacles. She began to scour. Pretending to feel cheerful and not revolted, she whistled while she worked.

  Her fingers were pruny by the time the dishes were as clean as she could scrub them. Since there was no hygienic place to put them, she stacked them in the sink. Next, she carried the pail filled with soapy water to the table and began to rub. In five minutes the sponge turned so black it wouldn’t rinse back to yellow.

  She gave up, feeling she had earned her prize.

  Tink’s nook was the size of Gwendolyn’s head. The walls, floor, and ceiling were hammered brass that must have shone when Tink lived here. with a fairy inside, glowing, a Clumsy would have had to shade her eyes.