Stars (Wendy Darling #1)(71)
“Lucky guess.” The fairy shrugged, and with a flutter of gossamer wings, she was gone in a second, heading down toward the beach, where Peter’s loud voice rang through the tree. Wendy cautiously flew down to the nearest hut, relishing the feeling of her feet on the wooden planks. Righteous anger at Tink burned through her, though she wasn’t able to maintain it for very long. Tink looked so lost and sad, truly a miserable creature if Wendy had ever seen one. She was undoubtedly powerful, but there was a trembling beneath those bruised eyes, an undercurrent of vulnerability that reminded Wendy of a frightened child. Her blazing jealousy of Wendy, the way she clutched so desperately to Peter—Tink seemed more childish than the youngest Lost Boy, while at the same time seeming as ancient as the warm wind that pulsed around the island. Wendy walked to the edge of the walkway around the hut, pausing to push aside some branches and take in the turquoise sea crashing beneath her; the comforting sound of waves pulsing against the island calmed her thundering heart. Bright pink flowers above her head draped and winked in the sea breeze, tiny pieces of translucent dust spiraling down from their lips. With a deep breath, her mind trying to stay off of what had transpired at the Vault, Wendy turned toward the beach. Taking each step slower than normal, her stomach tightening with dread with each pad of her foot, she reluctantly made her way down, her eyes constantly looking up to make sure that Tink didn’t return. She didn’t.
When Wendy emerged at the beach, the Lost Boys were all standing linked together, their hands wrapped around each other’s wrists, their bright faces turning out toward the sea. The line of them stretched the entire south side of Pan Island, water lapping at their feet. Peter was out over the water, his pointed feet hovering just over the surface, a white lotus flower in his outstretched hands. When he saw Wendy, he nodded to her, and the Lost Boys fell silent.
“We begin,” he murmured.
The Lost Boys began humming, a sound so low and quiet that it reminded Wendy of the flutter of a bee’s wings. The low hum echoed out over the water, reaching Peter and beyond, out into the depths of the dark water, out to the sea, out to other worlds, probably. Peter slowly lifted the flower over his head, and Wendy could see the snaking white tendrils of flight flowing slowly from his forearms into the flower. The lotus began to glow, unearthly, pulsating with pure white light, its beating heart at the center of its petals, thrumming to the sound of the Lost Boys’ hums. Peter held it for a minute over his head before gently unfolding his hands in a circular motion. The flower rose up into the air, spinning as it went. As it went higher, the Lost Boys raised their hands with it, the slow line of arms moving upward as their hums turned into the quiet chant of Kitoko’s and Darby’s names to all who would hear. The lotus climbed swiftly upward, a sparrow of light, until eventually it became one with the heavy rain clouds that were quickly darkening the Neverland sky. It disappeared into the lowest of the clouds, its light winking through the cluster like a faraway star. Peter turned back to the boys, tears spilling down his ruddy cheeks.
“And now Kitoko and Darby watch over us all, Lost Boys no more. They are found.” He choked on his words, coughing to cover his sob.
The boys repeated it quietly to themselves.
“They are found, they are found.”
Wendy mouthed the words, unable to make sound escape her lips, so heavy was her heart. They are dead. Wendy caught a shimmering wink from the outskirts of the beach. Squinting, she spotted Tink, the fairy perched as still as a statue, her chest resting on a rocky outcropping that overlooked the beach. Tink’s gaunt face was stoic, her body curled in on itself as she stared blindly out to sea. Pain radiated out from her, even at this distance, and Wendy could see that her skin seemed to glow with a dull blue hue. Wendy looked away, suddenly feeling voyeuristic to Tink’s unhappiness.
The line of boys had quietly turned away from the beach, and they were hoisting themselves up the sheer rock face, back to their huts. Oxley, John, and Abbott remained on the beach. Oxley was still crying, big sobs that wracked his shoulders. Abbott’s face remained stern, his emotions unreadable. John stood awkwardly beside them both, fidgeting the way he always did. Peter gave Wendy a small smile as he made his way back to the Generals. Abbott unexpectedly reached out and pulled Peter into a hug. Oxley joined them. John eventually joined in as well. The Generals stayed like that for several minutes while Wendy looked out over the ocean, something unseen pulling at the back of her mind, like the beginnings of a thread unraveling a sweater. Peter eventually withdrew himself from the Generals and flew toward her, his white shirt flapping in the ocean wind. He gently rested both hands on her shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
Wendy nodded, feeling stronger in the crisp, clear weather.
“It’s going to rain,” she murmured. Peter didn’t seem to hear her, his mind somewhere else, but he nodded anyway. Then he looked down at her, his bright green eyes looking deeply into hers. The thread stopped pulling as she fell deep into his scent, the feeling of his hands on her shoulders.
“Wendy Darling, I promise tonight will be a night you will never forget.”
His fingers trailed her cheek, and Wendy suddenly turned away, embarrassed at the public affection of it all. Abbott and John were staring at them, Abbott’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes calculating. John looked simply disgusted. Peter tilted his head.
“Why don’t you go lie down for a few minutes? You look tired. Then in a few hours, you can join us for the wine feast. Does that sound pleasing to you?”