Stars (Wendy Darling #1)(46)
“OW!” She turned around to look at a tiny Asian boy, who sheepishly held a single strand of her hair in his hand. When she looked at him, tears gathered in his eyes.
“I wanted to smell it.”
Wendy smiled in spite of herself. “It’s okay. Just ask next time. What is your name?”
“Little Sun.”
She reached out her hand, and he carefully took it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Wendy Darling.”
The boy stared at her for a long moment and then sat behind her, leaning his head against the small of her back. She looked around at her group of boys, all piled around her like puppies, and realized that they were all very young, the youngest of the Lost Boys, and they watched her with sad, wishful eyes. A palpable longing filled the space, and Wendy wondered what they could possibly want from her. A small boy with glistening black skin was staring up at her face, and then she understood with a jolt. They missed their mothers. Questions flooded her mind. Who were these boys?
Where did they come from? Did she have a mother? Where was her mother?
Peter jumped up, his toes barely brushing the seat of his moon throne. He gave a shrill trill of his lips before snapping, “Quiet now, settle down, boys!”
The excitement in the room boiled down to a rolling simmer, save the occasional shout that was quickly shushed by Abbott. Peter reached out his hand.
“My crown, Naji?”
A beautiful small boy, his skin the color of caramel, darted forward and handed Peter a crown of olive leaves that he proudly settled on his unruly red hair, tufts rising up and over the leaves. The moon rose over Pan Island, and the holes cut out of the thatched roof filled with moonlight. Peter snapped his fingers, and the lanterns that hung around the room dimmed until their light was barely a whisper. The wooden circle behind Peter was illuminated with moonlight, casting a dark shadow over Pan’s face. Still, even in the dim room, Wendy could see his white teeth, his feral and charming smile.
“Boys. Generals.” His eyes lingered on Wendy and Michael. “Honored guests. What tale should I spin this fine evening in celebration of our raid?”
The room erupted with suggestions, some boys leaping to their feet with excitement.
“The time you got lost in the Forsaken Garden!”
“When you sunk Neptune’s Plague!”
“When you buried Piers on the great mountain!”
Peter floated up in the air until his toes touched the top of his throne. Stroking his chin, he walked up and down the edge of the circle, looking contemplative at each of the boys’ suggestions.
“Why, yes, that is a good story! I had forgotten about that! Ha! The Neptune’s Plague did sink quickly, didn’t it, Waylan?”
Finally, he settled himself on the brim of the chair, folding his legs underneath him and leaning down over the crowd. He reminded Wendy of a stone gargoyle, perched on the buildings of . . . she frowned. Of . . . that place she lived once. That town, with its gray skies and stinking streets. Why couldn’t she remember its name?
“Those are all good tales, surely. But I think, since the Darlings are here tonight, I will tell the best story I know . . . the story of how Hook lost his hand.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THERE WAS A SHARP INTAKE OF BREATH in the room. Wendy surmised that this was not a story Peter shared often—its importance had filled the space with sudden awe. Michael leaned forward and put his hands on his cheeks with a sigh, the way he always did when being read a story. Peter’s green eyes glinted in the moonlight as he began his tale.
“I’ve been here in Neverland for many, many years. Longer than any of you have been alive. Imagine, if you will, a Neverland untainted by the Sudden Night. Our beloved seas so clear and open, all without the Night bringing horror to all who see it. It was a different time. Port Duette was nothing more than a small harbor where locals sold their fruits and the Pilvi Indian children ran shrieking through the street.”
Wendy turned to Oxley, who was leaning against the wall next to them, his eyes riveted on Peter. “Pilvi?” she whispered, remembering that Peter had off-handedly mentioned them before.
Without even looking down at her, he answered, “Pilvinuvo Indians. The people of the earth and cloud. They used to be the main inhabitants of Neverland.”
“And now?”
He gave her an enigmatic look. “Gone.”
“Where did they go?”
“Shhhhh!” hissed one of the Lost Boys near the back, and Peter’s gaze came to rest on Wendy. She gave him a sheepish shrug and mouthed, “Sorry,” at which he grinned, and she saw a faint blush creep up his cheeks. He continued.
“As I was saying, I spent most of my time exploring the corners of Pan Island with a small group of Lost Boys and trading goods with the Pilvi. I had a very close relationship with their princess, the beautiful Lomasi. And I tell you, boys, the rumors of her beauty are true: Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing, but softer than the finest silk that you could find in Port Duette. Her eyes were the same color as rich chocolate, her skin like the bark of this tree, a warm cocoa that glowed in the sun. She was born in Neverland, the pride of her people, their ambassador . . .” he paused. “And my friend. My dearest friend.”
Peter’s eyes betrayed that he had seen her as more than a friend, and Wendy felt a surprising pang of jealousy in her chest. She immediately felt ashamed for it, for it was already clear that this story would not have a happy ending, not if the Pilvi tribe had gone missing. Peter took a moment to collect his thoughts, absentmindedly clenching his hands and giving his fists a shake before continuing. Wendy saw him blink back tears, wrestling with his sudden onset of emotion. The entire room was silent as they watched their leader struggle to find his words. Finally, Peter took a breath before adjusting his crown and moving on. Then he gave a quick twist of his head, as if he were physically shaking the memory loose.