Shadow (Wendy Darling #3)(25)
“Port Duette,” he replied. “A place that you will see for yourself one day, but never without me . . .” He turned and looked at her, his vivid green eyes burying deep into her consciousness, his face etched with worry. “Only I can protect you here.”
She flushed, a tiny trickle of pleasure crawling over her skin. Wendy let her eyes run upward to the west side of the island, where a dozen thin waterfalls rushed down from the peaks above, disappearing into the depths of towering green trees. When she looked at them, the air shimmered and jumped, like watching a rock under a river. She blinked. There was something beneath the trees—something that winked in the sunlight and then concealed itself again. Shades of gray flowered from underneath the leaves, but then, with a breath of warm wind, they concealed themselves again. When she squinted, she thought perhaps she could make out dilapidated pearled archways—maybe?—and black fog winding itself between them.
“Peter, is that a city?”
“It was, at one time. That’s the Forsaken Garden. It used to be the fairy city, until they all died. It’s rumored to be haunted by all sorts of wicked creatures. We don’t go there because it’s too dangerous.”
“We?”
Peter unleashed his hypnotizing smile upon her. “The Boys. You’ll see. Any other questions?”
Wendy couldn’t help herself and burst out laughing. “Yes! About a thousand thousand!”
Peter squeezed her hand, and she felt a familiar warmth spread through her limbs. He had quite the effect on her. “I promise I’ll answer all of them. But for now, just take in the view.” A softness crossed his features. “Why, Neverland from above is my favorite sight in all the world.”
“And there?” John asked. “That wild forest beyond the Forsaken Garden?”
“Empty,” Peter shouted. “Abandoned, like the Forsaken Garden, abandoned by the natives who should have guarded it! I’ll take you flying there someday, John, the flying through the trees—well, there’s nothing quite like it!”
Wendy reluctantly forced herself to bite back her inquiries and focus on the incredible scene unfolding underneath her feet, teetering now directly above the massive island below. Without warning, Peter banked a hard right, and they were flying directly to the east of the island. Soon, the sharp white cliffs gave way to the endless turquoise sea. There was nothing below them but water and the occasional arching back of some flitting sea creature that lingered just below the surface.
“Peter . . . ?” Michael had finally found his voice. “Where are we going, Peter?”
Peter squeezed their hands before flying them in a dizzying upside-down loop. All the children squealed and laughed with delight. “Here’s the best surprise of all: We don’t live on the main island. We live in an even more magical place.”
“And where’s that, mate?” John laughed nervously.
“Just wait a moment,” Peter shouted. “Be patient, Darling children, and we will soon be there.”
The waves underneath their feet changed directions and began getting more violent as they flew away from the shore.
“Pan Island.”
“You have an island named after you?” John shook his head. “Brilliant! Do you live there alone?”
Peter laughed. “Ah, John, my friend, you have no idea what awaits you!”
John was unable to keep the joy off his face at being called someone’s friend. Without warning, Peter began spiraling downward in an ever-widening circle with the children trailing behind him, reminding Wendy of the birds of prey that she occasionally spotted soaring over the parks in London.
“There it is!” John cried.
At first glance, Wendy thought she was looking at another mountain, but as the children covered the distance between the islands, she saw that it was a . . .
“A tree!” she shouted. “Pan Island is a tree?” As long as her block in London and just as wide, the tree seemed to burst forth from the ground with a certain violence. Pan Island rose almost vertically out of the ocean. It was indeed a tree, a tree that could swallow all other trees and the sea and sky around it. From above, it reminded Wendy of the bonsai that her father kept in his office. Levels upon levels layered the tree, wooden beams and walkways visible from the air. From above, the round, flat huts that dotted the tree’s branches looked like ants on a log. Sunlight filtered down on its thousands of leafy branches, each one its own unique hue of green. Choked vines and variegated leaves as big as horses provided the massive tree with shade and protection. At the base of the great tree, pale beige roots rose out of the ocean, the tree’s main trunk not even beginning until thirty or so feet up in the air. Beyond that, a green maze of bamboo that surrounded the base peacefully swayed in the wind, brushing its tips to wave to the children above. From there, the great branches, some as wide as buildings, curled out, contorted, gnarly and thick, their upward-facing surfaces worn with the sun. As they flew closer and closer to the island, Wendy thought she saw a boy scampering down a branch before he disappeared into the green leaves of the tree.
“It’s, it’s . . . incredible,” John gasped.
The humid Neverland air seemed to beckon Wendy ever nearer as Peter began leading their descent to the topmost point of the tree. As they dropped swiftly, Wendy saw a flag emerge out of the dense foliage. As they grew closer to the tree itself, she could see that it wasn’t so much a tower as a wide, circular thatched roof that loomed above all the others. Peeking out from a jumble of overlapping dried palms and leaves was a thick branch, and at the end of the branch, a handmade flag snapped in the wind. It had once been a shirt, Wendy observed, a black threaded shirt, sized for an adult. Someone had painted a crude yellow moon on the back of the shirt, the fingerprints still visible where they wiped the paint off on the side of the flag. Silhouetted in the middle of the rising, messy moon was a black figure, his arms outstretched in flight.