Peter by day, Pan by night

Chapter 22

        A clang rings out as his blade meets mine.

        The world fades away as we stand inches apart, our daggers crossed.

        "You are improving." Peter draws out his words. "But there is still much you don't know."

        "Like what?"

        Peter smirks. "Like the fact that your dagger can't hurt me." He pulls his knife away and the abrupt movement jerks my hand down.

        I gasp as it scrapes Peter's arm. My knife clatters to the ground, but there is no blood. It should have cut him deeply, but I see nothing on his arm.

        "How?"

        "Only a certain type of weapon can touch me."

        An arrow whistles past my ear and stabs Peter's shoulder. Peter's eyes widen as he yanks it out.

        Red blood streams from his wound. Before I can register the pain twisting his face, someone swoops down.

          A hand pulls me past Peter and throws me at the wall made of fairy dust. The wounded boy lunges for my foot, his fingers slamming against the golden air.

        I collapse on the dirt, tired and confused. Who saved me?

        Muffled sounds strain outside of the dome. I pull myself up. Gold air shimmers between Peter and I. He grits his teeth, but stops yelling.

        "This isn't over." Peter clenches his fists and green flames engulf every tree around the camp.

        I gulp and scramble away from Peter.

        "He can't hurt you anymore. You are safe." 

        A hand pulls me up. I steady my legs and look down on the girl who saved me. Two long black braids, big doe brown eyes and soft brown boots.

        Tigerlily. The Indian Princess.

        She tugs me away from the green fire and angry boy. We duck into a teepee. It is simple and different from anything I have seen. The skin of some animal covers the ground. I sit down on the soft fur.

        Tigerlily stands above me, her deerskin dress swaying around her knees. A few small beads are woven into her braids. The colors match the ones sewn on her dress. The warrior princess crouches next to me and lays her bow and sheath of arrows beside her.

        Her brown eyes catch my gaze. She runs her fingers over the feathers on one of her arrows. "Fairy dust. Only a weapon laced with fairy dust and gold can touch Neverland's chief."

        "Chief?"

        She nods. "The first lost boy. It has been many decades since we said his name."

        "So that he doesn't overhear you?"

        Tigerlily shakes her head, her long braids swinging back and forth. "He cannot hear our thoughts or words, not here. But we still do not say his name. It is our own choice. You are free to do what you want."

        Does she mean that I can say his name? As if I would want to.

        "I'm sorry about all this mess."

        Tigerlily sighs. "You didn't know what you were doing. Now, we don't have much time." We stand up.

        "How can I help you?"

        "You can help us leave."

        I stare down at my bare feet. They are dirty and sore, like the rest of me. "But there is no way to leave the island without Peter-I mean, the chief, knowing."

        "There is a way. We've been doing it for years. Some of us chose to stay because Neverland has always been our home. But now we have no choice. We will all be gone before midnight."

        The tent flap blows open. We step out. Tigerlily stands next to me, inches shorter and years wiser. The sun has risen. Its rays filter through the dust that protects. I can't believe I made it before sunrise.

        I am safe now.

        And then I see him.

        Peter, not Pan. Slumped on the ground only a few feet away from me, his head in his hands and blood on his shoulder. The wind carries his whisper through the shimmering wall. "I am sorry, Wendy."