Mere Phantasy

by Ashley Lauren

  “Wait, hold up.” I held up a hand, my heart picking up its pace. “Somewhere along the way, you failed to mention this little ‘war’ detail you’re referring to. And is it really necessary to use vocabulary like that?”

  “I didn’t just bring you here to sit on your butt.” He looked at me incredulously. “There’s evil rising, and I need your help to stop it.”

  “Me? You need me to help you?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I just said.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Don’t I know it?”

  “No, but seriously—”

  Peter pointed at his and my backside, face scrunched up in amusement. “No butts, seriously.”

  I groaned. “This is hopeless.”

  “Your belief is going to help me win the war. People will rally behind you!” He promised, trying to persuade me further.

  I looked at him like he was insane, which he was. “Peter, I’ve just started to accept the fact that you are Peter Pan, that I’m in Neverland, which I’ve been to before but forgotten all about, and that I’ve almost died numerous times since being here. Now you expect me to fight in a war? What are you even fighting for?” I questioned, feeling an uneasiness stirring up again in my stomach.

  “Against them, Lace. The evil of both our worlds. I think Hook’s a part of them. He came back to do something drastic, and if that means turning my people against one another, then he’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  “Your people?”

  “The Neverland dwellers.”

  “Are you some sort of king?” I found that kind of hard to believe when he was only an inch taller than me and still wore clothes way too small.

  Sighing, Peter began walking again. “It’s complicated. But let’s forget that for now. We have to train, and my feet hurt.”

  “Well sor-ry we can’t all fly like you.” I snorted.

  Lolling his head back dramatically, Peter gazed at me with half-lidded eyes. “Not yet, anyway.”

  And before I could ask him to elaborate, for goodness sake, he dashed forward, and I had no choice but to follow unless I wanted to be consumed by the forest and lost in its darkness.

  “I’ve never held a sword in my life, and I don’t plan to start now,” I told Peter, moving out of his way when he pushed the butt of a sword toward me. I thought we said no butts, huh?

  I felt my breath quicken as his face got closer to mine, thankfully pushing the sword down between us.

  “Never say no to an adventure,” he said smartly and then moved to try and hand me the sword again.

  “That thing can kill somebody.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I think that’s kind of the point. Get it? Point?” He chuckled, jabbing the sword toward my stomach teasingly.

  I jumped back, my heart in my throat. “This is not a time for puns.”

  The sun was hanging lower in the sky, casting its warm glow over the nice patch of tall grass we stood within. The tips of the grass reached my chin, and if Peter moved about four feet in any direction, I wouldn’t be able to see him. The grass itched at my bare arms, and I was sweating in anxiousness. I just did not want to be where I was at the moment.

  Closing my eyes for a second, I inhaled a deep breath and just decided to get it over with. But as I finally grabbed the sword from Peter, he jumped back and out of my sight.

  “Peter?” I whimpered. Seriously? Leaving me again? “I don’t want to do this!”

  “You’re going to try!” he called out from somewhere to my right. I spun toward his voice, but the wall of swaying grasses blocked me. I was completely surrounded by vegetation that sounded like the lapping of waves of the ocean while all else went quiet around me.

  I did a three-sixty again. Still nothing but grassland.

  When I didn’t get any other responses, I unsheathed the sword. It was silver and very shiny, with a nice handle that held a blue gem in the hilt. Smiling, I slashed randomly at the tall, swaying grass, expecting a satisfying crunch, but instead, there was a large clang of metal against metal, startling me to stumble back.

  I regained my balance only after letting go of the sword and watching it fall to the ground. Then, to my left, I heard a loud crow and whipped around, right into more long grass, my mind buzzing.

  You know, I thought, Peter might deserve a good slash in the face if I can manage it. Maybe he’d shut up about the unimportant stuff for once.

  Crouching low, I flinched as a shadow passed me in the corner of my eye. Slowly, I scooped up my sword, feeling suddenly at ease with the blade in my hand. There was no sweat this time. I wouldn’t drop the weapon again. It felt like instant power surged through me with it in my grasp—familiar, light. Like I could actually do this.

  I gave the swaying grass a taunting smirk.

  “Come out here and fight like a man.” I mocked a man’s voice, grinning wider than I remembered grinning since I’d arrived here. It felt almost… good to have such confidence.

  But I instantly regretted my cockiness.

  Peter flew out of nowhere with a howling cry. “I’m not a man—”

  And our swords met with such force I was knocked backward, falling on my back in a big cloud of dirt. Spitting it from my mouth, I cursed out loud and then jumped to my feet again, brushing off my butt and taking a ridiculous stance, hopefully preventing another fall.

  I waited for Peter’s next attack steadily, swaying on the balls of my feet and keeping my knees bent just slightly. It felt almost easy, like tying my shoe. Natural. But I didn’t really how that was possible.

  After a few impatient moments, Peter appeared again, his sword striking mine with such force it made my teeth clatter. And he didn’t back down this time. He came at me at full speed as he slashed his blade back and forth continuously. I yelped, jumping back, trying to hold up my own weapon to protect myself from his blows. Each clash was ear ringing but also satisfying. But my brain wasn’t matching up with my actions. I was doing things I could never dream of. I was an amateur graffiti artist for goodness sake. I didn’t study fencing (nor would I want to).

  This time, when the familiar warmth came up in me, I wasn’t afraid. Instead, I used it to my advantage. Peter stabbed the sword toward my stomach, but I blocked it easily and then circled around his weapon with my own, making it fall from his hands and onto the dirt with a nice clang. He watched, opened-mouthed in shock, as I pressed the end of my blade to his throat, panting like a dog. A very happy dog.

  He was grinning. “So you really do remember.”

  “I-I guess,” I said, shaking my head in amazement. Had I honestly just done that? Beat Peter Pan in a sword fight? It was crazy, completely illogical.

  But with this newfound power inside me, I was beginning to believe I didn’t really mind illogical anymore.

  Sheathing my weapon, I picked up his from the dirt and handed it back to him with a smile. Peter, obviously impressed, bowed a little in response and took it back, a smug smile on his lips.

  “Maybe you should listen to me more often, eh?” His eyes flashed.

  "Oh, shut up," I said lightly, but I was grinning with pride.

  Peter’s foot skimmed the dirt. “What do you say we go another round?”

  I stood in the same comfortable stance I had before, my legs spread apart as I laid a hand on my weapon, the other on the warmth of my locket, and waited while Peter readied himself.

  “I say…” I pursed my lips in thought before crouching with a smirk, blade at the ready. “En garde.”

  Fourteen

  A dark figure appeared from the shadows of the Neverwoods, making its way through the winds whipping from the sea. Her dark cloak covered an oiled face, only revealing dark-black holes for eyes. She moved swiftly across the sand toward Hook, who was perched atop a sand dune, a grin on his face.

  When they were just feet apart, the veiled person croaked out a greeting.

  “Captain, you’re looking quite… dapper, as always.” It hissed a chuckle, and Hook flinched
at her tone.

  Clearing his throat while loosening his collar, he found he couldn’t look straight at the fiend where its eyes should’ve been. Instead, he preferred gazing out into the sea, the wind ruffling his greasy curls.

  “And you’ve gotten much more…” He thought of the appropriate word as he paused. “Hideous, my old friend.” He knew she would win, always, so there was no use in fighting his way to get what he wanted.

  She was the worst of the worst, one of the foulest and most horrible creatures ever known. Hook had asked her to meet him near the lagoon, just the two of them, yet he was feeling a bit hesitant now.

  “So what pleasure do I have for meeting up with you today, James?” the sinister woman whispered.

  Hook cleared his throat once again as he finally faced her. “I’m in need of your… services.”

  As the sound of the wind rose, the old pirate leaned down to the witch’s ear and whispered the deeds he required. Before he even finished the message, the hag flipped up her index finger, boney and crooked, in his face.

  “I will do as you ask, but only on two conditions. The first, I get to do as I please and in whatever way best suits me doing so.” She rubbed her middle finger against her thumb and licked her lips. “The second? I get something in return.”

  Hook swallowed nervously, forcing out a smile to cover it up. “Indeed. As payment, you’ll receive as much treasure as you can carry from my loot,” he assured her.

  The sudden caw of a bird burst from the Neverwoods as a large black crow appeared, flying to the witch. She stroked its feathered head as it perched on her shoulder, soulless eyes sizing up the captain. “I also would need another something to help… mmm, persuade my magic. Something like… a person. I would just adore a new servant.”

  Hook thought this over, gaze flickering uneasily over his invisible options before him. Then solemnly, he agreed, holding out his hand. “I can make the arrangements. Now, do we have a deal?”

  The woman raised her head and, lifting a shaky hand to the captain, shook it. “Indeed, a deal.”

  With that, the crow fluttered into the air, and the woman grabbed the long sleeve of her cloak to wrap it around herself again, disappearing back into the darkness of the Neverwoods from which she’d come.

  Once in the forest and away from Hook, the witch threw off her cloak to reveal her very beautiful self, elfin even. She was indeed a fairy, but not the good kind that swarmed Neverland. She twirled her fingers, and a long staff appeared in her hand, atop it balancing the same black crow from before. She moved forward and tapped her chin in thought. How would she attempt to do what she’d been asked?

  Picking a nice dandelion growing on the Neverwoods’s floor, she breathed in, sucking the literal life and color from the flower.

  Then she began to shrink.

  Her bald head now sprouted black hair, and her body began to form into that of a little girl. Her elf ears formed into human ones. Her robes transformed into a little girl’s dress, and her eyelashes grew longer and luscious.

  But the darkness of her eyes, that stayed the same.

  Holding a mirror to her face, instead of speaking with her mature and witch-like voice, a small child’s voice was heard in its place. “Perfect.”

  With that, the witch shooed the crow, put away her staff, and started for the big Nevertree where Peter’s hideaway lay. And as she walked through the forest, a nefarious smile played on her lips.

  “C’’mon, Lacey.” Peter panted, holding out a hand for me as I put away my sword. “We should—” He swallowed hard, hands on his thighs. “Get back.”

  “Why? You too worn out to keep fighting a rookie?” I smiled proudly.

  The sword fighting practice had been going on for hours, and it’d left my heart racing. Though it’d taken almost all of the rest of the day to practice, just recently the sky overhead began to grow heavy with thunderclouds. It was very strange. The weather was always sunny and perfect in Neverland, at least from what I’d seen. But Peter and I didn’t really seem to notice as we headed toward the hideout where we would meet with the other Lost Boys to eat dinner—and a good thing, too, because I was starving. I’d even eat magical chicken nuggets at this point if it meant I could get just a little bit of food into my stomach.

  Peter scoffed, sheathing his sword and wiping sweat from his forehead, looking pointedly at me. “We both know you’re definitely not a rooky.”

  I practically skipped after him as he started to lead us out of the grassy field (which now was cut askew thanks to our swords).

  When Peter saw me as giddy as I was beside him, he shook his head in amazement. “I can’t believe you’re not tired.”

  “Beginner’s luck?” I offered, but I was grinning.

  We made our way over a river on a moss and dirt-covered log, Peter flying and me, of course, by foot. Over and over again, I peered down at the blade at my side now, in awe at what I had unleashed during our practicing. With no memory of how I’d learned how to fight in the first place, it was the most terrifyingly cool feeling to experience. Like I knew all the moves, seven fold, and could beat Peter many times. But he was the Peter Pan for goodness sake. How was I more advanced in my own sword fighting when he’d been at it for years?

  I was staring down into the stream below us, having sheathed my sword (because knowing me, I would stab myself in the eye with it if I wasn’t careful). Not unlike me, I wasn’t watching my footing. So it was obviously the perfect time to carelessly slip and fall down into the water with a large splash.

  I came up sputtering, hearing Peter’s chuckle from above. I was standing in water up to my neck, bubbles from the fall swimming up around me. Great. Drenched again.

  “Watch where you’re going!” he called down to me, and I threatened to splash up at him if he teased me one more time.

  But as the water cooled the sweat from my body, I felt relaxation seeping into my sore muscles. It was so carefree here. Falling into the water back home, I would’ve been really annoyed. But here… it felt okay. Fun even. Like I was a little kid all over again, treading the waves, not a single care in the world.

  As water drained from my hair and eyes, Peter dropped with a smile and sat on the log above me. I swam underwater and came up near his foot, so quickly below him that he didn’t have time to react, and yanked as hard as I could, making him fly into the water alongside me, squealing a high-pitched shout before it was muffled.

  He surfaced with a gasp. “You didn’t.”

  I smiled, my fingers flicking water at him. I mocked a gasp like his. “I did!”

  “Why you little—” He splashed me from behind.

  And so the splash war began.

  Distantly, I thought I heard something, but when Peter dunked my head underwater, the river’s rushing into my ears muffled it. Rocks under my feet were sturdy, helping me propel myself back toward air and Peter. But when I resurfaced, he was gone.

  And the something I heard from earlier was loud, prominent, and not just a figment of my imagination. It was the sound of a woman singing.

  “Great,” I said. Most likely, something bad was about to happen.

  Swimming toward the shore as fast as I could, I felt myself instantly forced back to my place in the middle of the river. The current seemed to be pulling me down into it, the bubbles from before stinging as they clawed at my skin and latched onto my clothing. While bubbles were normally supposed to float up, I was slowly but surely being dragged downward. And with one cry for help and a final breath, the water submerged me completely.

  Opening my eyes, I flinched when I realized I wasn’t alone. Four women, draped in flowing, beautiful white, luminescent dresses, were surrounding a floating Peter’s body. While I continued to sink lower and lower, I noticed them almost tending to Peter as he drowned, their elegant fingers running down the span of his face and the fabric of his clothes. One was letting his swaying hair tickle her face, making me squint in disgust.

  Realizing I was sti
ll sinking and the river should’ve had a bottom by now, I looked beneath me to see two more of the water women. But they weren’t tending to me like they were Peter, but trying to blatantly drown me without the compassion. Big shocker there.

  I started to kick my legs and fight them. With every movement, their bodies seemed to slither in response, not fully solid, almost as if made from the water themselves. Great, I thought. How do you get out of the river when the thing drowning you is literally made of the river?

  No matter how much I fought, I couldn’t get free, and the pressure burning my lungs was excruciating. I needed to get oxygen desperately, but the women were making my skin raw as they pulled me farther and farther away from the open air. Thrashing amidst the bubbles and river debris, I saw them still coddling Peter, seemingly knocked out and unable to fight. If I didn’t get to him, he would die, too. Could Peter Pan die? I honestly didn’t know. But I wasn’t going to wait and find out.

  That’s when I felt it. The warmth on my chest, the locket. It was buzzing to life again, which struck a new terror through me. But as it began to glow, the water creatures shrieked in fear, gazing up at me with watery, soulless gazes that blazed like diamonds before they hissed and their singing was cut short. As I started to swim to the surface, not bothering to try and figure out what just happened, the torturous bubbles I’d forgotten were covering me were cut off abruptly, and I was able to break the surface for a breath.

  Coughing like crazy, I peered down at my locket, which was limp again, not glowing and active like it had been five seconds ago. Sputtering, I swam around in panic, trying to find Peter.

  “Over here!” a voice called from behind me.

  Swirling back around, I saw a girl with black hair cut at her neck jostling to yank Peter’s waterlogged body from the river and up onto the shore. Swimming toward them, I clambered out of the water, soaking and already uncomfortable, to try and help her get him out. When we flopped him onto the sand and riverweeds, I bent over and hesitated on what to do.