Standing to my full height, I gazed upon the team who, almost completely voluntarily, had designated themselves to help me. Mitch, the oldest and bravest of the Lost Boys, who strung together his pack with a serious expression, but we all could sense the excitement bubbling off him.
Robin of Loxley, never one to turn down a good chance to right the wrongs of those in need, was laughing with his merry men, who would also be assisting us in getting to the Looking Glass. There were four of them, burly, strong, friendly men, all willing to risk their lives for a mission I wasn’t even certain we’d survive. But they’d insisted they come along, and I just couldn’t refuse.
We were going to need all the help we could get.
Lox, who I couldn’t imagine traveling without after all we’d been through while dealing with the darkness here in Neverland, hadn’t even volunteered to come. She’d just started packing her things and studying the map to get to the Looking Glass the second I brought up the idea of leaving. And for that friendship, I was truly thankful.
Finally, there was Peter. He was the hardest to convince. He knew the way and the dangers we would face, but without his shadow, he was lacking any sort of motivation, unless I offered some. And until a week ago, I had nothing.
One morning after Lox and I woke to make breakfast and travel to Merlin’s for the next three days, we’d come across the sound of screaming in the forest. Running to the problem rather than from it, we found a young water Naiad squealing in agony.
As we peered down into the river, which I’d almost been drowned in only a few months prior, we noticed the lack of the main element present in this area: water. Dried to the bone, the dusty bank was littered with dying fish and humanoid skeletons—other Naiads who had suffocated. We rushed the young Naiad back to the Nevertree, trying to find her water to live in, but no matter what water source we went to, every single one was dried up. In turn, the Naiad had died, the lack of water sending her into the same suffering death as her sisters. I’d heard before the darkness began to cover Neverland, the Naiads had once been a joyous, peaceful species. So it was rather heart-wrenching to see the last of them die in our care.
After this episode, we’d found out not only had the Anthology been poisoned, but so had the sacred purity of Neverland itself. For what Rhiannon either meant to do or hadn’t, she’d succeeded, and not only were stories dying, but the actual dwellings were, too.
When we went to Merlin with this, he’d already found an explanation, the only one to ever be recorded in the Anthology. The darkness, which stemmed from Wonderland and the Netherworld, had been seeping through the barriers of the two realms and sunken into the usually peaceful creatures in Neverland. The root of the problem was somewhere in Wonderland, and in order to stop it, we had to sever the head in control of it all. And though Peter didn’t care about his world dying as he had before, he did care about winning against the darkness, finally. So only a few days before we were set to leave, he explained to me he was going to come along and lead us to the Looking Glass, but only if he could kill whoever was responsible for this new war and reign as king of both realms where he truly belonged.
It didn’t matter what he thought, I just agreed in order for him to be onboard.
Our little group was small, but I felt even if we didn’t have the numbers, we would be able to conquer. I had to believe that, even if it meant possible death in the long run. Because yes, hope was dangerous, but I had nothing else to cling to. This journey was my new hope, in finding Zane and putting a stop to the darkness corrupting all of the land I’d dreamt of since I was a little girl. Neverland, though I sometimes wished it wasn’t, was a part of me, like Fairy Godmother had said, and I was ready to give my life for it, especially if it meant getting what was rightfully ours in the process.
The sun was rising over the hills, peaking into the clouds and causing an array of colors to mosaic over the sky, reminding me of the dreams that had existed my entire life. I hadn’t painted since arriving in Neverland, and after Zane disappeared, I had to dispel of that nightmare just like all the others in order to manage my grief. So outside on the brick of Merlin’s tower, the only solid surface I’d come to know here, was the largest, most chaotic, beautiful, and eccentric montage I’d ever created.
Depictions of almost every single thing I’d experienced in Neverland were painted on that wall, using chalks we’d mashed into paints. From the Aqrabuamelu and the Fauna Mirror, to the man with the red eyes and the glowing fire of Rhiannon’s hands—it was all there. And to end the splurge of my new reality, a silhouette of a tall, enigmatic boy surrounded by swirling, reveling forest nymphs.
Once completing this final exorcism, it was almost too easy to decide to go after him, my star. He was out there; I knew it. And maybe I wasn’t Battle Babe or even had the slightest clue what I was getting myself into, but I had to try to fix what mess I’d found when I first got here. I didn’t care how insane that sounded, either, because I’d come to accept it—the insanity that, really, made me feel the sanest I had my entire life.
Standing to my feet, I cleared my throat, gathering everyone’s attention. The same nervousness I always felt at the center of attention returned, but when I reached up to my locket for strength, I was able to get through it with a smile on my face.
“This is going to be a… difficult journey. And I’m not good at speeches or anything, so I’ll just cut to the chase. I couldn’t be more reassured by—facing the brink of death and a world full of it—having you all by my side. So… thanks.”
They cheered, making me blush horribly, and Lox gave me a soft punch in the arm, grinning wildly. We were all scared, even her, I knew. But at least we had each other to get through it.
During the night, you find the stars; you just can’t help it. They’re the only things that matter amidst the darkness and the only things keeping it from swallowing you whole. Without them, you can’t help but imagine a desolate world with no hope. No hope means there’s no point in living. So you have to have them, and it, if you want to keep going.
Shouldering my bag, surrounded by those who supported me, including Peter, who hovered halfheartedly at the back of the pack, I almost felt like… I was meant to be here. Like for the first time in my confusing, garbled excuse of a life, I finally had some place I actually belonged.
And with that reassurance in mind, I was able to take my first step toward my star, welcoming the insanity that came with it.
Epilogue
The realm of Wonderland was nothing like that of Neverland. Zane knew that much. The constant wails of death in the distance and the lingering smell of blood wafting on the wind, they were nothing like what he’d known. The sky never changed, the sight of it a dark, overwhelming shade of red and swirling clouds threaded with black. There was night and day, but each was just a different shade of crimson over the land, no sun and no moon. And for some reason, it stayed a constant temperature. Humid and reeking of death.
This was the first among many things Zane realized as he awoke. The next, the startling realization of what had happened to him. And the third, the lack of major pain from a bullet in his flesh, which he’d thought to be fatal. But as he gazed down, lifting his black T-shirt to view his ribcage, he saw not only was the wound bandaged and taken care of, but it only caused him pain whenever he moved too quickly.
Noticing his surroundings, he was laid out in the open, his head cushioned by a small pillow. There was a fire flickering a few feet from his boot-clad feet, roasting something that helped soothe the nauseating smell of blood a bit. Grimacing, the pretty boy was able to rise to a sitting position, trying to get a better look around him. But suddenly, he froze.
Something sharp rose to his neck, the point threatening the artery there. With brown eyes tracking slowly along the weapon’s handle, he saw the owner of the spear as they stepped in front of him. A woman, by the looks of it, dressed in a rather interesting outfit—tight striped leggings, a billowing red skirt, and a black vel
vet vest to match—watched him with a deathly green gaze from over the lip of cloth material draped over her nose, hair, and mouth. As she pressed the spear closer to his jugular, Zane winced and pulled away.
“Who are you?” she asked, voice harsh and muffled under the makeshift handkerchief she wore.
From what little Zane could tell, she seemed to be at least in her mid-thirties, due to the crow’s feet beginning to show around her tired eyes.
When he didn’t respond, she pushed the spear into his throat harder.
Finally, he budged. “M-my name is Zane.” He had to clear his throat to make his voice stronger. “Zane Thomas.”
“Where did you come from?”
The air around them felt stagnant, and another waft of the smell of blood hit Zane’s nose, making him want to gag. But he still couldn’t move thanks to his unwelcome interrogator.
Lifting his hands in surrender, he coughed out, “Neverland. I-I came here from Neverland.”
There was a moment of silence between the woman and Zane, the only sound being that of the occasional shrill of agonizing screams and crumbling leaves blowing in the stench-filled breeze. After a few moments, the woman relented her prodding, making Zane let out a breath of relief and rub the sore, unbroken skin.
“Who are you?” He glanced briefly at his aching side. The chills of this land finally got to him a bit, crawling up his spine and making him shiver. “Did you do this to me?” He motioned toward his bandages.
Squatting on the other side of the fire, tending to its need, the woman reached back to remove her head garment, revealing the rather elegant features of her face. Strikingly, she seemed familiar to Zane, almost as if out of a dream.
And it was even more startling when she finally answered, “My name is Princess Elise. And I used to reign in the world you came from.” The eyes, the ones he thought he recognized, jumped up to glare at him as his heart thumped roughly in his chest. “Now tell me how the hell you know my daughter.”
phan•ta•sy (ˈfæntəsɪ)
noun
imagination unrestricted by reality;
Author’s Note
I’ve thought about writing this note since I was twelve years old and put out the first draft of this novel. It was scribbled on the last twenty pages of a notebook and told the story of a girl riding her bike into a magical forest, where she was carried off by one of Goldilocks’s three bears and where Peter Pan then saved her. To say this tale has come a long way is an understatement. As I sit actually writing this acknowledgement, I know there are many to thank, but there are a few I’d like to specifically mention.
If not for the guidance and love of the many teachers throughout my childhood, this book would not have happened. The first, Sally Graham—my eleventh and twelfth grade mentor and jokester—you lit up my high school career and taught me so much, even when I thought I already knew everything. You stuck around and truly respected me as an individual, not just another one of your students. Thank you for caring for your students and, specifically, me.
Next, a huge thank you to a certainly wonderful Danna Fink. During my sixth grade year, you pushed me to follow my dreams and write my heart out no matter what anyone had to say about it. You delivered so much love, kindness, and genuine care for me as a human being and for my abilities, and to you, I am so very thankful.
The last of these is a woman who changed the course of my life drastically just with her warm hugs and dedicated time. Bonnie Cozine, to this day, I am blown away by just how much you affected me. I remember every single time you took time out of your day to sit down and teach me to read. When others said it was hopeless, you took charge and helped me prove them all wrong. You drove me to success with candies, encouragement, and devotion that not many have offered me in my lifetime thus far. Bonnie, thank you from the bottom of my heart for seeing a broken little girl you could’ve given up on but, instead, took under your wing and believed in despite it all.
Thank you to my best friend of fifteen years, Margaret Martin. I’m going to force you to read this even though reading isn’t your thing. You push me to be better. Thank you.
My siblings, Faith and Brayden, who continue to want to know all about the story and have me read it to them (now I can!). Thank you for helping my mindset stay childlike. I love you guys!
Thank you to everyone who said it wasn’t possible and didn’t believe in me—well, here we are.
Mom, Dad, you have always been my ultimate encouragement, even at my worst. You pushed me to follow my wildest dreams, always, and pursue what paths were put before me. Thank you for wiping my frustrated tears, supporting me amidst the many, many years it took to finish this dream, and loving me despite all the mountains and deserts. Mommy, you helped me laugh through the tears. Daddy, you read and prayed with me every night. I love you both to Neverland and back.
Grandma, you’ve always been a safe and unconditional loving place. Thank you for putting up with my laziness and obnoxious tendencies.
Through all our adventures and hours of quality time, Papa, you inspired me to keep writing. You wrote about the sea, and I will always look up to you and the writing seeds you planted in me even before this dream became a reality.
To everyone in Pulse Youth Ministries, none of you really know it, but without you, I wouldn’t have accomplished any of this. You guys helped build my hope.
The Warrior Cat and Wattpad communities, if not for you all, I wouldn’t have practiced character depth and learned how to love the imagination and what it’s capable of. You guys are wonderful.
Also, Mark Soderwall, for the beautiful cover art that brings Neverland to life in a way I could only imagine. Thank you to my wonderful cover designer Lindsey Andrews for catching one's eye with her magical layout work, and to Sharon Kay for the beautifully done interior formatting, despite my pickiness. To Cassie McCown from Gathering Leaves Editing, a brilliant, kind editor who helped me so much, building a relationship with me even if she does live a few states away.
To J.M. Barrie for writing such a stellar original story I got to grow into an even bigger adventure, and the Children’s Hospital of London for letting so many kids (including myself) get a taste of it.
To little Lacey Rose, my miracle baby sister. My character never had so much light in her until she became all of who you are: sassy, strong, and adventurous. You encourage me daily to have hope, believing in the unseen. You are the direct personification of those things, and I love you dearly.
Last, but never, ever least—to the One to whom this story belongs and the abilities He gave me to create it, thank You, my lovely King.
I can do all things through Him who gives me strength. And so we did.
But the party’s only just begun.
Mere Phantasy Page 36
