Captain James Hook and the Siege of Neverland (15 page)

“Father says you can come with us,” the girl said, looking away from the red and purple wound.
 

“Thank you,” I said, tucking my arm back into my coat.
 
“But I am more concerned about the boy and my crew.
 
They are still at the castle and I need to get to them.”
 

“That place is forbidden to us,” the girl said.
 
“The green man doesn’t die.”

“All men die,” I said.
 

“Men, yes,” the girl said.
 
“Not him.”

The warriors carrying the boy walked into the trees, followed by the painted warrior.
 
The elder walked after them, but turned and spoke to the girl.
 

“The walk is not long from here,” the girl said.
 
“Do you need help?”

“I’ll manage.”
 

“What do your people call you?”

“James Hook.”

“My name in your tongue is Tiger Lily,” the girl said.
 
She walked after her tribesmen.
 
“May the Spirits of this land favor you, James Hook.”

“Thanks,” I said, limping behind her.
 

We walked the first quarter mile in silence.
 
Rocky hills and steep valleys littered the terrain, but I struggled through.
 
I knew better than to stop.
   

“Tell me about your father,” I said, hoping that conversation would take my mind away from the tugging throb in my shoulder.
 

“My father is called Hiamovi Honaw.
 
It means High Chief Bear.”
 

“And your brother?”
 

“His name is Sewati.
 
It means Bear Claw.
 
Hotuaekhaashtait is my father’s guard and his name means Tall Bull.”
 

“And how often do you run off to see Peter Pan?”
 
I pushed a few steps further before noticing that my guide was no longer next to me.
 
I looked back at Tiger Lily’s guilty face and slumped stance.
 
Her eyes filled with questions, but I cut them off before they reached her lips.
 

“Someone had to teach you my language,” I said.
 
“You are forbidden to go to the castle and you speak with the boy’s accent.”
 

Her eyes dropped to the ground and a shock of realization rippled through me.
 

“They don’t know,” I said.
 
“Your tribe.
 
Your father.”

“No,” she said.

“How have they not figured it out?”

“I told them that the Spirits gave me a gift,” Tiger Lily said, still looking away.
 

“The gift of deception,” I said.
 

Her eyes darted to mine, “What is this word, ‘deception’?”

“Lying,” I said.
 
“You are lying to them.”
 

“You can’t tell them.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.
 
Suspicion grew in Tiger Lily’s eyes and I straightened myself tall.
 
“I owe you my life.
 
Besides, if you sneak off to see him, then you must know where he can be found.”

“The tree.”

“The tree is gone.
 
Is there nowhere else?”

“There are many places.”

“Can you bring me to him?”

“Why?”

“He and I have a lot to talk about.”

“Is this more deception?” Tiger Lily asked.
 
I snorted a laugh at the girl’s quick grasp of the word and its many valuable uses.
 

“Yes,” I answered.
 
“The truth is that I owe him something.”

“Like how you owe me?”

“No,” I said.
 
“What I owe him is something entirely different.”

“I can take you to him now,” Tiger Lily said.
 
She climbed atop a large stone blocking an eastern path.
 

Eager to take her up on the offer, I stepped toward her and a jolt of pain shot through my leg.
 
I stopped where I stood and assessed myself with honest eyes.
 
“Not now, my dear, but soon.”

Tiger Lily hopped down from the stone and continued after her tribesmen.
 
I kept up as best I could, only losing her once as I scaled down a steep slope of dirt and rock.
 
I righted myself on my crutch and stared at trees in every direction.
 
Uneasy seconds passed before her almond eyes poked out over a low branch.
 
She smiled and her face disappeared behind the leaves.
 
I grunted and lurched forward.

Chapter Thirteen

After a steady climb, we came upon a sprawling grassy field, at least twenty yards across from right to left.
 
The field ran ahead another fifteen yards to a cliff, beyond which the sea stretched out toward the horizon.
 
At least two dozen of Tiger Lily’s people ran from one end to the other, erecting tents and organizing their supplies.
 
In a flash, I calculated their numbers, armaments, inventory, and rations.
 

“This is where we call the Spirits when there is trouble,” Tiger Lily said.

“So this isn’t your main camp?”

“No,” the girl said.
 
“That burned down in the great fire today with our farms and many of our people.”
 

The voice of Tiger Lily’s father sounded over the chatter and busy movement of the camp.
 
Warriors, women, and children stopped what they were doing and listened to High Chief Bear, who waved his arm over to me and said “Odakota.”

I leaned in closer to Tiger Lily, but the girl answered me before I had the chance to ask.
 

“It means ‘Friend.’
 
The Spirits told him that you will bring an end to our suffering here.”

The word hit me harder than any fall.
 
Suffering
.
 
Was my dream tied to these people in some way?
 
I thought back to the line in full.
 
From that which I have wronged will come an end to all suffering.
 
No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t make it fit.
 
“Your suffering is not my business.”

“The Spirits say different.”

Tiger Lily grabbed the fabric of my coat and led me into the largest tent.
 
The warriors sat in a circle and Tall Bull placed the boy down in the center.
 
The elder closed his eyes and spoke in their tribal language.
 
The men repeated each melodic tone and measure of the ritual.
 
I glanced down at the boy’s sallow face and shook my head at Tiger Lily.
 
She motioned for me to sit and I did, with a grunt of pain.
 
She knelt down next to me and closed her eyes.
 
Her lean figure rocked back and forth as she exhaled her music into the ritual.
 
Each warrior added his own part, like drunk pirates singing in a round.
 
Memories of the Dread Song bubbled up in my mind and I reminded myself that this was more than singing to them.
 
This was the way they talked to their Spirits.
 

Little Bear slipped into the tent, carrying a long pipe that was split in two at the end.
 
He bowed his head and surrendered it to the elder, who lit it and inhaled deeply.
 
Gray smoke escaped the elder’s nose and mouth and he handed it to Tall Bull, who did the same.
 
I watched the knotted wood pipe pass from one warrior to the next and soon found myself in a cloud of gray smoke.
 

My vision blurred and I wiped my sweaty face with my palm.
 
I blinked and focused on Bear Claw, who sat between Tiger Lily and their father and drummed the cadence.
 
He swayed with the intensity of his cold hate and there was something I found respectable about that.
 

My sight darkened again as I was lulled further into a waking sleep.
 
I felt myself draw breath and push it through my throat, adding my voice to the chorus.
 
The beat of my dark heart matched the swimming rhythm of the ritual.

Then a noise broke my peace.

At least, I thought that it was a noise.
 
I concentrated on it, trying to determine whether I was hearing with my ears or my tired mind.
 
The noise grew louder and I began eliminating what it wasn’t.
 
It was too light to be the chant of the elder or the beat of Bear Claw’s drum.
 
The warriors’ voices were too gruff, even in their perfect harmony, and Tiger Lily’s voice was too soft.
 
No, this was something else entirely.
 

It was a persistent, gentle ringing and it was getting louder.
 

A spike of panic drove through my chest.
 
my eyes darted around and the world spun to catch up.
 
I braced myself upright and eased the churning in my head.
 
Several heartbeats of staring into the grass settled my stomach.
 
I raised my eyes and caught a glimpse of a light dancing on the outside of the tent.
 
It jumped from one spot to the next in quick leaps.
 
I followed it despite the sickness that returned to my stomach.
 
Slowly it made its way to where the furs and skins of the tent parted.
 

The fairy peeked into the tent with curious eyes.
 

I tensed, my eyes still too blurry to pick out the details of this creature.
 
Was this the fairy that blasted Noodler’s bullet into nothing?
 
Should I tell these warriors of faith that they were misled?
 
Was I certain that they were misled?
 
Were these things gods?
 
Are there gods?
 
Questions poured into my mind and came out the other end as a pile of unanswered madness.
 

The light looped in the air towards the chanting elder.
 
It paused before his face and seemed to examine him.
 
The elder continued leading the chant and the fairy, now deep in a plume of gray smoke, began to sway in time with the rhythm.
 

The fairy fluttered above the boy.
 
Its wings lit up in swirls of gathering sparks.
 
Waves of light crashed against the boy and I screamed without sound.
 
Wounds closed.
 
Bones reset.
 
Sparks of dust fell on the boy again and the bruises on his chest disappeared.
 
Color returned to the boy’s face once more and he breathed deeply.
 

Then the fairy looked at me.
 

It zipped around my head twice and I became dizzy.
 
When my sight settled, I found the fairy hovering in front of me, inches from my nose.
 
Time stopped and I saw the green leaves, tattered clothing, short blond hair, and eternally vacant expression.
 
In this moment, I wondered if Tinkerbell would finish the job she and Pan started.
 

Tinkerbell smiled.
 
Sparks gathered at her wings and my stomach jumped into my throat.
 
Light rained over me.
 
Joints cracked and snapped loudly.
 
Muscle knitted together and skin drew tight around it.
 
Unlike the boy, I was awake as the light explored every ounce of me and, unlike the boy, I howled as my body mended.
 

It was over in a breath.
 
The fairy left and darkness filled the tent once again.
 

Clarity returned to me.
 
I patted my shoulder and leg, marveling at the immediate recovery.
 
I drew out my arm from within my coat and found that, although I was still missing a hand, the wound no longer ached.
 
At this, a small resentment crept into my thoughts.
 

I stepped out of the tent and straightened my coat.
 
The fading light of dusk painted the sky in a blood orange.
 
This would normally signal a hot day tomorrow.
 
Here, there was no such predictability.
 

I climbed down a small hill to a pond of water beneath a tree that was overgrown with moss and vines.
 
I looked into my reflection and collected my memories, mouthing every word carefully.
 
“My name is Captain Hook.
 
I was born James to Jonathan and Elizabeth.
 
My father was captain of the
Jolly Roger
before me.
 
Billy Jukes is my oldest friend.
 
He and I grew up together.
 
His father was a great man who served as first officer to my father.
 
Emily Jukes was his sister.
 
She is dead now because of Peter Pan.”

This time, as I concentrated on their faces, I saw only a parade of shapeless forms, save for Billy Jukes and Peter Pan who were as clear as daylight.
 
Instead, I focused on the parts that spoke most about them.
 
My father’s telling glances.
 
My mother’s voice.
 
Emily’s golden hair and green eyes.
 
They were green.
 
I recalled my final moments with each one of them as best I could, taking in the sounds of the forest.
 

Leaves rustled to my left.
 
Two narrow forms appeared through the trees and disappeared again suddenly.
 
I recognized both and instantly knew what they were doing.
 
I quickly checked to be sure that my pistols were loaded, then followed Tiger Lily and the boy into the Crescent Wood.