Sky Eyes

Vik Alta slipped out of his varnished Wellington boots and his mustard-colored tights. He eased into the trough of hot water a little reluctantly, a little embarrassed by the rugged roustabouts who eyed him rakishly as they busied themselves with shaving, hair-trims, shining their foot-wear, and having their traveling regalia dusted of that fine Mississippi loam which settled persistently on every stagecoach traveler from New Orleans to Kentucky.

He lathered up, using an enormous wad of soap from hog-fat and lye, and watched curiously as the hot water, a pale green, bubbled down the length of the pine wood through and under the wall.

The trough was fed by the Pearl River. The water flowed through a sluice into a boiling pot and then emptied into the bathing trough. All with the compliments of the Les Fleurs Bluff trading post, which accommodated weary travelers from the distant ports of Biloxi, New Orleans, Memphis, and far up as Atlanta.

And they all seemed to be here in this elongated room, thought Vik, as he took advantage of the tonsorial facilities. Mountain crackers, swamp Cajun and Tennessee hillbillies rubbed elbows (and behinds) with aristocratic cotton plantation kings, merchants and bankers.

The place was like a mad-house, or, rather, like a saloon on Saturday night. There was much hollering, drinking, laughing, joke telling, and many impatient commands to the little Negro they referred to as "Ice Cream" to shine their boots, brush their top-coats, to iron a damp shirt. Added to the noise was the rancid smell of unwashed male bodies, stale sweat, pelts, gun powder, tobacco, rum, lye soap, and cologne, all mixed with the steam from the hot water and thickened in quantity and potency.

What a drastic change from his theatre days in New Orleans, the little dressing room behind the stage, the marble bath, the shining glass decanters of perfumes, the fluffy white towels, the French waiter. But he didn't mind the savagery of this mob, actually. In fact, he curiously enjoyed the change, enjoyed roughing it, for he realized it was but a momentary interlude in his life.

In another week, if his luck held out and there were no more Indian uprisings, he would be out of this primeval territory, traveling toward New York and embarked on a career with the Shakespearean acting group. It would be a long awaited event. But God! He deserved this break! Acting, especially the classics, was not the best kind of life for a man of twenty four, or of any age, for that matter, unless he was on top, a recognized star. But, he shrugged, revealing in the hot water flowing past his tired, naked body, by next year of 1831, if he worked hard enough and sacrificed, he had an excellent chance of playing the lead in Henry the Eight. Had not Baron Bonne of New Orleans said as much? And if anyone knew acting... the Baron knew!

Lost in his own thoughts, ignoring completely the motly crew who milled about, sloshing water as they scrubbed their mangy hides, Vik was lifted up as easily as if by sleight of hand.

"Your arm pulling me," Vik said gratefully, "is like the Sunday school tale of Jesus Christ and Peter on the wild wet sea... me being Peter."

The man looked down at him, unexpectedly, as if to take notice if he was in earnest and, finding that he was, changed the subject of religion.

"Boy, you got the yellowest head of hair ah ever saw," he said, with admiration in his deeply masculine voice.

"I'm Swedish," Vik explained, tossing back his long blond locks with a careless shake of his head. "My father came from Katrineholm in 1810, came to the America's to make his fortune, and I be born in this emerald land, on the banks of the Mississippi."

"Saw only one other person with hair like that," the stranger added, his dark mellow eyes following Vik's every move, like a preying cat at a mouse hole. "That was a saloon at Natchez below the hill. A dancing woman. Said she used lye."

"No lye or no other concoctions blended this to the gold color that it is," Vik denied, taking up a rough towel and rubbing his naked arms."It's the blending of nature and naught else," he finished flatly.

"Well, you're a strange one," the man said; "for these parts like a gum-tree leaf in Indian summer lodged in a black-thorn."

At that Vik turned and gazed at him, for the first time. The man towered over his five-foot-two height, broad of shoulders thick of biceps and forearms. He was stripped to the waist, and his hard, rounded chestplates were covered with a riot of wild, black, curly hair, almost like a mat. His nipples stood out, piercing, dark-toned like polished mahogany. He was wearing worn buckskins, boots, and the muscles of his thighs and calves showed, like the sinews of a panther through their coating of fur. The hair on his head was black, straight as a horse's mane, and brushed until it shown from the light in the pine rafters above. He was clean shaven, a rarity among these hill country men who boasted beards, mustaches, or mutton-jaws and side burns. His lips cut a clean, red line across his face, as shapely as a woman's.


He was one of the handsomest men Vik had ever seen, especially when he smiled that lazy, indolent smile with an inner grace, almost like that of a prowling animal.

"I'm Vik Alta," he introduced himself, and, feeling something of protection in the shadow of this male giant, Vik thrust out an eager hand. "My destination is New York... the classic stage."

The man gave him a ready glance. His dark, liquid eyes roved from the top of Vik's wheat-colored head to his water-soaked toes, all in the fleeting fraction of a second.

"Thought as much," he grunted, though he smiled. "I knew you wasn't one of the rough and readies. I'm Rafe Savage, territorial guide for the stage line. From Yalobusha way... to Yazoo City."

Vik eyed him with growing interest. "Will that be up the Natchez Trace?"

The man nodded. "So... we ride the stage together."

"I'd like that," Vik said, and he meant it. Riding the stage up from New Orleans had been no picnic. Most of the travelers had only grunted when he attempted to engage them in conversation. It would be a relief having someone like this gallant Rafe Savage to sit beside him on the rickety stage, to talk to and keep his mind off the Indians... those heathenistic apemen! Not that Vik had ever seen one. But he had heard repeatedly what demons they were, and he shivered at the very thought of Indians.

"What's the matter?" Rafe asked, protectively concerned, "A cuckle bur caught in your drying rag?"

"Just chilled standing here naked as the day I was born," Vik said, attributing his trembling at the thought of Indians to his embarrassing condition.

"Here... er... Vik, boy," Rafe said, taking the towel in strong brown hands and rubbing his wet chest and abdomen thoroughly. "Let me give you a helping hand. The stage will be in from Columbia in half and hour. You can't go to New York ass-naked!"

At that Vik turned crimson. But he allowed himself to be rubbed down, and the man took every liberty as if Vik were an animal being carefully groomed... and not a full-grown man exposed to the goggling eyes of all these filthy hillbillies.

"You're like a young colt," Rafe said, getting to Vik's inner thighs and around his rounded buttocks. "Strong and firm. You'll beget sons and daughters with strength, stamina. They won't be like these Mississippi crackers... their spirits broken from hard field labor before they're fourteen... with broken arches from following a plow barefoot, hump-backed from stooping in the cotton rows. Your sons will be like young fawns.

He slapped Vik playfully on the rump. "Smooth as a lady's garter!"

He laughed, displaying two rows of even, white teeth. His dark eyes smiled too, like two tiny lights down in a dark well.

Vik smiled back, shyly, in that innocent Swedish manner of his, and a warmth flooded his being, a strange, inner warmth which made him feel that he had known this friendly man for a long time, instead of only a few minutes while exchanging brief, casual words.

In his travels, Vik had found most Mississippians aloof, distant, a little hostile by nature. Even when they weakened their reserve and carried on a mild conversation with him they seemed to hold back, as if they harbored a secret that even threat of death could not reveal.

This Rafe Savage was different. But in what way? Vik was not sure. Warm. That was part of it. Rafe was warm. And in that warmth there was surely understanding. Both of these qualities made Vik realize, suddenly, that he needed to depend on Rafe, but for what... Vik was not certain.

When they finished with their dressing he followed Rafe out of the bath house and stood with him for a moment on the front elevated gallery while they awaited the next stage.

The fort was set on a high bluff overlooking Pearl River which wound its way lazily through the autumn foliage like a sleepy snake. The breeze from the green water was cool and fragrant upon their faces. Gold and scarlet autumn leaves waved like gorgeous plumes in the tree tops, and the dark green of the sable pines shimmered in the distance. On the river, near the wharf, canoes and flatboats were moored in silent groups.

Dock-hands went to and fro like ants, loading a battered sternwheeler bound for Biloxi and the Gulf of Mexico. Guards rimmed the high towers of the fort, rifles at the ready, their eyes locked on the shimmering blue distance. Sentinels, their rifles at trail, walked their coarse, weather-beaten, chatted as they waited for their destined stage, and in front, in the red dust of the road children played with the fox hounds and pickaninnies.

Friendly Indians, decked out in white men's attire but with their black hair still long like that of the Incan ancestors dragged in pole sleds tied to their spotted ponies. The sledges were loaded with pelts- fox, coon, rabbit, bear, deer - to be traded at the fort in sugar,seedcorn, tobacco, whiskey, brightly-patterned cloth and trinkets.

"Harmless urchins," Vik remarked, as he watched one Indian, a mere youth with a loin cloth tied over his trousers who was bringing an arm load of gaudy-colored earthernware to sell to the waiting travelers.

"That one, yes," Rafe agreed, lifting his black, wide-brimmed hat with the beaten silver band and setting it over one eye in a cocky fashion. "He's a Pontotoc. His Pa was a white man. He's tame as a collie. But once we get beyond Madison County, into the Choctaw nation, things will perk up a bit. Got your shooting iron?"

Vik trembled again.

"Got my Derringer," he said, taking it out of his wine-silk waistcoat. "Papa gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday."

"You couldn't snip off their balls with that!" Rafe said, with a know-it-all-smile. "What you need is a trusty Lefaucheux Brevete revolver."

Taking the pistol out of the holster strapped to his hugh thigh, Rafe held it out to Vik to examine, the late sun glittering off the end of the long barrel. The gun was elaborate by Vik's conservative Swedish standards, wrought with filligree, as delicate as lace.

"It looks dangerous!" Vik said, in awe of its shiny beauty.

"It is dangerous," Rafe said, returning it to its holster. "Just pointing it at an Indian scares hell outa them. Then they start running. All you see of them is their ass-holes and their elbows."

Vik went crimson. "Eh... do you think we will encounter some of them?" he asked, changing the subject quickly.

"Don't fret, Vik boy," he answered calmly. Then he frowned, his face like the sun going under a cloud. He put his arms around Vik's shoulder. "Ah'll look out for you, and be right beside you every step of the way. Ah'll do the shooting for the both of us."

There was that warmth again! Vik was puzzled. He had never met a man quite like this Rafe. But he dismissed the reflection hurriedly as he considered the Indians. Because of the Indians he had almost cancelled his trip to New York. He would have done so, had he not sacrificed so much of his time and energy in the Tabaray's theatre on St. Peter's street in New Orleans, without getting anywhere. He simply could not let this opportunity slip by, Indians or no Indians. But... the mere thought of them turned his blood cold!

There were not enough Indians in Louisiana to be of much concern, and the lower Mississippi valley was safe, even as far as south Alabama and the wastelands of Florida. But there were only fourteen Counties in Mississippi governed by the white man.

To the north lay the Choctaw and Chickasaw Indian nations. Every traveler was at the mercy of these primitives.

It was through this wild and haunted region that the Natchez Trace passed. Authorization for opening the Trace was contained in separate treaties signed by General James Wilkinson, in command of the U.S. troops at Natchez and Fort Adams, in mutual agreement with the Chickasaw and Choctaw tribes. The treaty spelled out the terms under which an open and convenient wagon road was to be constructed between the settlements of the Mero district in the state of Tennessee and those of Natchez in the Mississippi territory. It was the old trail blazed by General Andrew Jackson in his march to New Orleans during the war of 1812, which had given him the title of "Old Hickory."

It was over this rough trail, cut through virgin timberland, around rugged hillsides, along the Big Black river and the Yalobusha, that Vik was to make his way to acting fame or... at least that was his ambition.

Now, standing on the wide, planked veranda of Fort Le Fleur, gazing down the steep, sandy bluff to Pearl River, overlooking the site that was later to become Jackson, the capitol city of Mississippi, Vik was watching the haggard, half-animal forms of "friendly" Indians infiltrating the crowds or drowsing sleepily in the shade of the low eaves, in motley groups around the saddle and pack horses which stood patiently at tether.

The only thing that held Vik's nervousness in check was the tall, dark man beside him, this handsome stranger, this stalwart sun-tanned giant who looked as if he finished what he started. It was Rafe standing so close, so warmly near, so obviously protective that kept Vik from changing his mind, and taking the next south-bound stage to New Orleans.

Glancing up, wrapped in his fears, Vik noticed the dark profile silhouetted against the sun. Vik was frightened so ill at ease, so worried about his plans, and ambitions, that Rafe seemed to him a glorious god, an immortal straight out of the classics. Vik said without thinking, "Rafe... Rafe... do you think we'll make it... safely? I've got to get through!"

Rafe turned and gazed down at him pensively. For a tense moment their eyes locked and held. There was a faint trace of a smile on Rafe's lips. "You'll make it Vik, ah swear."

"I don't know anything about guns," Vik went on, desperately, "and I can tell you know what you're doing. I'll hire you to keep them off me... pay you what you ask... till I make it through to Tennessee..."

Rafe laughed a sly laugh.

"Vik, my boy, keep your gold. Ah'm going that way anyway. And you're safe... as long as there's breath in my body... you're safe!

Vik glanced away, thoughtful, then glanced back. Their eyes locked again, as if they were under a spell.

"You really mean that, don't you, Rafe Savage?"

"Ah'll keep my word."

Vik let out a contented sigh. He eyed the Lefaucheaux Brevete revolver strapped to that muscular thigh as hard as iron, and a sense of relief swept over Vik like a protective hand.

Rafe understood his fear of the unfamiliar and his face became a mask of concern. "You wait here, boy," he said, gripping Vik's arm, "Ah'll go fetch us a mug of Java. make you feel better."

Vik nodded, and obediently waited. He allowed his gaze to wander over to the other side of the river where the old sternwheeler, now loaded until its deck rode but a few inches above the water was moving sedately out to the mid-stream.

On the hillsides flamed bright carpets of rhododendrons going up the walls of dark pines. Pale closed Gentians were blending with the breeze and Vik listened quietly to the white-breasted nuthatch in a far off cedar; the joyful laughter of the children scuffling in the dust. He whispered low, beneath his breath: "Let those love now, who never loved before: And those who always loved, now love more..."

Rafe came up to his side unexpectedly, with two mugs of steaming coffee sloshing over. Like most masculine men he was not domestically inclined and he made quick apologies - as he would gallantly make to a beautiful woman.

"It's like the nectar of the gods," Vik said, taking one of the mugs and sipping sparingly.

"It'll warm our guts till we get to Yazoo," Rafe said, his voice low, emotional, almost a tremor. "There's a stage post there. We can eat, and there's a room where we can sleep."

Their eyes met magnetically in the golden afternoon light, the look filled with unspoken meaning as a mocking bird called from the hollow.

PETER PAN AND ME

Flying over the fire, I let loose with a yelp Peter would have been proud
of and the elephant I was on, Tantor, let loose with a spray of water
that doused the fire that would have killed the Indian women running
right for it. We saved their lives and on the other side, Sole was having
Dumbo do the same thing over the other Indian camp. Clinging to my ear
was the fairy boy, exhausted from expending so much energy and fairy
dust. He tingled and I knew that meant danger, at least it did to Peter
when the fairies were on him. "Sole, follow me, boy--ohh! The Lost Boys
are in danger, boy!"

"But Chase, we're both out of water!" Sole called but I just laughed,
Peter-like.

"We can't fly with the babies on us!" Landen said, "They'll think we are
trying to take them again!"

"We're...." Aoi pushed the fat baby boy on his back to one side, trying
to get him off and not succeeding; and getting a second carry on in the
form of a smaller leaner child who started to cling to his shoulder on
the other side to from the fat baby boy. He lost grip so he began to put
his hands over Aoi's eyes. "We're..." Aoi brushed one hand out of his
face, "We're...not trying to take them and we can't make them understand
us without Peter's translation ability extended to us!"

"They don't know any of that! They think we're trying to take their
kids!" Pare said, trying to walk with two little native girls clinging
to each leg and then sitting at his feet, around them. "N' besides, we
can't fly with so many of them on us!" He had three more behind him,
touching his butt and trying to find out what he was made of.

"I don't think they've ever seen a white person before!" Rollin said as
five boys nearly tackled him, playfully. He could barely stand up.

The Indian braves, outnumbered them on both sides and were moving up on
them, knives raised, spears ready, and tomahawks cocked. They were mere
feet away when something blocked out the sun. "Geronimo!" I yelled and
whooped as the elephant swooped out of the sky. Then the Indians that
were so close to the Lost Boys, seemed to get blotted out by something
big and black and ....and smelly. "Okay Lost Boys, be men and rid
yourselves of those babies!"

"What? Kill them?" Landen asked.

"Kill children? Never! Get them off you!"

"What is that stuff?" Landen asked.

More of it fell, from Sole's Dumbo and my Tantor. Aoi's freed eyebrows
rose up, "Crap."

"Crap?" Je'ne asked, putting his children aside.

"Crap!" Rollin laughed, getting out from under a sea of native children.

"Holy shit!" Pare snipped as more elephant turd rained on nasty native
boys and men, weapons sticking out of brown waste soon enough. Some
seemed to have been killed by it, but most got free.

"What a shitty day!" Rico said as he flew upward. The other boys
followed him in kind. The Indian women were on the scene soon enough and
scooped up their babies but when their men folk came toward them, they
ran away screaming and holding their noses, babies and children in arms
and or their hands, in similar flight. For the males were brown and
smelly. They looked like monsters of mud and smelled like demons from
hell. Which reminds me...

Seth was kicking at a small creature. The thing had a large round head, a
tiny set of arms and legs and spikes on its forehead and back of head. It
looked a lot like the evil little midget monster from POKEMON named Mew.
"You gnome! You devil! You are crap!"

"No, they are," it signaled to Seth and covered its head, "I got you to
the Underground House! You know you can't kill them directly, they're
fully human beings and you are not! They won't allow you to do it and it
will let them know where you are and you don't want that cause they are
stronger than you are!"

"Go back to hell!" Seth yelled and the thing vanished in flames. Flying
overhead, Jennie was watching him.

The Lost Boys met in the forest where Chase landed with Sole, elephant
next to elephant. All relieved, the elephants in a different way from the
boys. The boys were all laughing. I watched them with my arms folded,
sitting on Dumbo's foot. He kicked me off and I laughed, then rolled over
onto my side to watch the boys. Rollin laughed and faked a punch to
Rico's stomach, "Oh boy, am I pooped!"

"No the injuns are!" Rico laughed.

Bo, Bailey, and Barry were wrestling. Bailey winning. Barry gasped, "That
took it all out of me!"

"And the elephants!" Bailey laughed.

I laid on the grass on my right side, head on hand, elbow on grass, one
leg bent, feet on grass, feeling happy for the first time since Peter
moved on. I felt very Peter-like.

"Did you know?" I began from my laying around state, "...that a man in
India once died when he gave an elephant an enema..." Dumbo and Tantor
were uncomfortable with this and trumpeted. "Oh calm down," I smiled, and
waved them off, "He put it in and then it all rushed out and knocked him
down, right in the face and covered him completely."

Barry asked, "What's the scoop? You think some of them injun boys are
dead?"

I shrugged. "I hope not but I couldn't let em slay you guys."

Rico laughed, "It's an Inj-Enema." That joke was almost worthy of
Peter.

Landen asked, "Did you think the children will be okay?"

"Will you stop!" I yelled, "I wanna just smack you." I rose up on my
torso.

Landen had puppy dog sad eyes and he backed off. I had never yelled at
him like this, if at all. I didn't yell a lot at the boys. And I never
hit them.

"I told you, the kids were not harmed. You were there yourself, you saw
them okay. They're allright. Their mothers..." I almost spat the word as
Peter might, for he said he hated mothers. Did I? "...whom I saved..."

"And me," chimed in Sole.

"...will be along to collect them. At worst, only a few were killed by
the poop."

"What a shitty way to die," Pare laughed.

Something nagged at the back of my mind, "Say, say, where's..." What's
his name? My, I was getting like Peter. "What's his name? Jennie?" I
was still sitting down but sitting upward more now, rather than laying.

I had this image of Jennie dead in the forest with a knife sticking out
of his belly button....the same way...well, like Peter. Except Peter
had a sword stab him down and the sword was no where to be found. Maybe
it was an Indian and one of the ones that just died.

"Snap out of it!" I told myself. I wasn't Peter. Sure, he was in me but
I wasn't him. I was me. Chase. I jumped up, worried, "Let's go find him!"

Jennie landed in front of Seth and stared at him. Seth whirled on him,
"You. Don't think you can do anything against me, do you?" Jennie
stared. Seth's angry face broke and broke into a worried look, "Do you?
Are you the one with the power?" Jennie shook his head no. "Then what?"
He looked as he walked toward Jennie, "What good are you?" Seth's
nails grew long and sharp on both hands and he fingered them with each
other and brought his hands close together. Jennie's eyes widened in
shock and terror but then dropped that visage. Jennie let a tear fall
from his left eye. Then his right. Seth, moving at him, fangs dripping,
stopped and turned human looking again, sad eyes of his own. "You...what?
Feel....feel for me?" Jennie shook his head yes. "No, no, no! No,
don't! Don't feel for me, it's...." Seth turned away and then smiled
his evil smile. His eyes turned red and a knife appeared in his hand,
"Go! Get away from me!" Jennie moved over to Seth and put a hand on
Seth's bare lower back and his head to Seth's spine. He cried tears.
"Stop it! You foolish boy! I will kill you!" But Seth didn't mean it. In
fact, he ran off. Ran from the little boy. He ran far and fast and while
he wanted to sprout wings to fly to get away as fast as could, for some
reason, he could not. He ran and ran and ran and tripped over a log. Then
as he plied himself off the ground, arms down, hands flat, he looked up,
tears in his eyes and saw something horrid. There were cloven hoofed feet
in front of him. "Father?!"

The Lost boys and I landed near Jennie who turned and gave us his
infectious innocent smile.

For a moment I thought I heard him telepathically in my head say,
"Peter?"

"Are you allright?" Jennie telepathically sent to us that he was.
"Good," I went to him and hugged him, "I know you Lost Boys want some
solo adventures but the ...the Neverland isn't really safe. We know that
and now that Peter's dead...moved on..." I corrected myself, "No one
really dies. Now that he's moved, there's really on safe place at all in
Never land. Not for me. For us." I put a hand around his back, "Let's
go home now and read some stories..."

For days after, the Indian tribes recovered. Rebuilt. Then fought each
other. Almost two months had gone by since Peter moved on. I had to
really believe he was gone for good now. All hope for his return was
almost gone. I cried every night still and in my dreams I felt someone
evil. I was having the dreams Peter had when he was here or so I thought.
I thought I was Peter sometimes. There was no one there to comfort me in
my dream states, the way I had comforted Peter. No ghosts came. Not even
Wendy. I didn't understand the lack of feeling I had and the lack of
spiritual support.

Indians lay in wait on either side of us one day as all of us walked
along a path playing, "Who can not fly today." The game was this: the
first one to fly lost the game. As we walked on the path, a sort of
yellow hay road, we all knew, thanks to my keen eyes, that Indians were
there in the forestry, on their bellies, each from the other tribe, lying
in waiting for their foes. We walked in between them, they didn't dare
attack us. I gave each side a look of challenge to do that. I made my
eyes wide with madness and blood thirst. These indians were not cowards
but they would not challenge the look of Pan, that I learned from him. We
walked among a near war unstopped. The boys shrugged. Rollin did a strut,
I wondered if it was to entice the gays among them or to show off. I
didn't care which as long as not a hair of head (or anywhere else) would
be harmed. After we passed and chatted about the weather, we heard the
Indian males clash into each other, body to body, fighting.

Death sounds were heard too. Slashing, stabbing, killing, slit throats,
opened bellies, hanging intestines. Butchered genitals, even scalping
which they learned from white men. I could tell which sound was which
even if the boys didn't. I stopped when Seth appeared in front of us, his
eyes red, literally. "What do you want?" I had grown to dislike him even
more than the Lost Boys disliked him.

"I'm here to give you information." He came forward.

"Tell it to your momma," I said, "We're busy."

"It's about that...." Seth nodded to the bloody battle.

"Nice isn't it?" I smiled, "The sound of death."

Seth shrugged, non commital, "I...they think...they don't think you did
that. The fires." He saw I didn't know what he meant at first and
didn't care after I did realize what he meant. "They think each other did
it."

The sound of a tomahawk against a young skull.

"I don't care," I said. Then I puffed, "Boys, game over, we all win."
The boys cheered.

Je'ne smiled at me and slapped my back, "Peter never let us win. Not all
of us. It was always him."

I nodded, "I'm not Peter." The boys flew off. "They flew first," I
said to Seth, "...so that means...I win."

I heard a death gurgle from an Indian.

"Are you...are you allright?" Seth asked me.

A stomach opened by a knife.

"Yes," I said, "I have to go on...for...for them. And for Neverland."

Another death cry. A victory whoop.

"Why don't you just leave?"

A hard moaning, lingering death.

"Leave?"

Ripping rib cage.

"You can." Seth moved toward me closer. I stepped back. His eyes were
normal color again. I didn't notice it then. "I can't. You can fly! You
can fly!!!! Fly! If you can, you can get word back to the mainland that
I'm here..." His fast talking stopped to a slow motion, "....you...you
do...want to help me, don't you?"

A skull opened by a tomahawk.

"I...I don't know what it is you want?"

Someone was just stabbed with a spear in their belly. I knew the sounds
that made and the type of yell produced.

"Go to Venice, that's the place...Italy...I lived there even though I'm
not from there."

"Italy?" The real world seemed so distant to me now. "Lotta water. No
Mermen, or merboys or mermaids."

More victory cries. "Apaches won this round," I said coolly, "Sounds
like," I added even more coldly.

Ignoring the fight, Seth nodded, "That's right. Go there, help me."

"I can't leave the boys and I won't take them. They won't all make it
without Peter's help. And I'm not even sure I would. Besides now is not a
good time to go with the Indian tribes both on the warpath."

"I can watch out of the boys or the Indians and maybe....well, look,
just....I'll let you think about it then."

"Okay, Seth I will think about it. But to fly there is very far, I'm not
even sure I can fly there."

Seth nodded to me, "Maybe if you had the right incentive?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you had to leave, maybe you would be able to find the power."

"Maybe. I've learned," I picked a flower off a tree that was hanging
overhead. The Indian battle seemed over and both sides split, with only a
few left alive. Moaning. Dying. Hurting. Blood. "I've learned that we can
do a lot if we have to. We can put up with a lot if we have to. I miss
him so terribly. So terribly..." My voice cracked.

Seth put a hand on my shoulder and he said...and now I can look back and
say that most of what Seth did and said was for a dual reason and only
that. But in his voice this time, I heard something sincere, something
that made me trust him again, something that made me want to help him. "I
know exactly how..." His voice broke into fear and sadness and cracked
too, "How you feel, I'm so sorry Peter's gone...you lov..."

"Yes I still do," I said and turned to him. He hugged me. Behind my back
he put both hands together and when his fingers met his fingers, a spark
flew between them.

A fire started. The mountainsides were on fire. The fires spread. The
volcano erupted. Lava shot out. The ground shook. Smoke flew up. In the
underground house, the boys fell. Mermaids shook. Fires sprang up out of
cracks in the ground. Trees burst into flame. I turned from Seth's
embrace, breaking his fingers apart and looking upward, "That? Again?
What's happening?"

"Maybe...maybe Neverland is finally giving in to the fact that Peter is
gone, is dead, is buried, is no longer."

I rounded on him, "Don't even say those things and not to me especially."

"Peter IS gone," Seth yelled at me, in my face, "I need your help. I need
you to free me!"

I thought he meant from Neverland but he didn't. I wouldn't find out more
about what he really meant until...well, later. Explosions rocked the
volcano and the side of it seemed to split open. The temperature rose. I
grabbed Seth by the shoulders, "Get outta my sight and don't ever let me
see you again!" I pushed him, shoved him and let go. He fell to his
knees and cried. Like a baby. I watched him and my coldness took over.
Yet somehow I felt Peter was there crying. How many times had he cried,
the little boy. The baby tears. The tantrums that lead to cries and
huffing sob stories? How many times had I cradled him out of his bed into
my lap, my arms, to wet my chest? Why would I hold such care for one and
not the other. Pity began to form in my heart for Seth, if not for Peter.
I was bitter toward Peter. Damn shit, I wanted him back. Neverland shook,
the Neverlands shook, the ground shook. A great big tree fell and headed
right for Seth, on fire. "Seth!" I flew at him and pulled him from under
his arms and face to face, I flew him out from under the tree and the
flaming mess landed just where he stood. Seth was crying and I was on top
of him. In the leaves. I got very hard as our bodies pressed together.

Seth may not have noticed, for he was still heaving great big sobs. He
couldn't be faking this. "You should have, should have, huff huff huff,
should have let it kill meeeeeeeeee!"

I was crying now too, "No, Seth, no. I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
hurt you. I just...nothing matters but the boys now and I'm angry. Angry
at Peter for...for dying..."

Seth gasped, "Did you ever think....."

"What?"

"Peter died for some reason? Maybe he..." Seth rubbed his tears with his
arm, "Maybe I'm just being stupid."

"No, what were you?" Fires spread and I heaved Seth to his feet and
told him to follow me. I was bringing him back to the Underground House.
I wanted to hear what he had to say but this was not the right time.


I had to take him through the jungle since I didn't want to give him the
power to fly, not just yet. Little did I know he had his own power to
fly. I wouldn't find that out until much, much later. En route, an Apache
jumped out as us and had his knife raised, ready to strike. Seth said,
much to my surprise, "Get to the cave, I'll take care of this!"

"I'm not gonna leave you!" I faced the Indian, a brave, a few years
older than myself and probably a few years younger than Seth.
"You...you're just scared. There's no reason to..."

Seth yelled, "This may be the one who killed Peter Pan!"

My face grew red and not from the surrounding fires. Seth could be
correct. I took out my own knife, which I almost never carried but had
this day. I yelled and ran at the Indian with the deadliest intent to
kill. Seth smiled behind my back. But then someone flew down between us
and it was Jennie.

"Watchout!" Seth yelled and Jennie turned to see the Indian baring down
on the little boy! "NO!"

I jumped low and dropped my knife, scooped up Jennie and tried to run but
I fell. I covered Jennie with my back to the Indian and awaited the
fateful knife in my spine. It never came.

The Indian. Seth just stared at him. The Indian looked at us, and then at
him. When what seemed an eternity passed, I peeked up and saw this. I
stood up and pushed Jennie behind me. The brave circled round us and
left. I eased my breathing. He said something that I couldn't figure
out, but what later I knew to be an Apache word for son of the devil. I
thought he was just throwing an Indian insult our way, you know, the
terrible white men. I wondered what time these tribes came from? What
era?

When we went to the Underground House I flew down with Seth on my back,
he was heavy but that heavy for a 17 year old, and yet I wondered how it
was he got in the last time he was here. Did he just tumble down? How was
it I didn't hear him? Rollin snorted, "What's he doing here?" The other
Lost Boys were in the midst of picking up fallen tables, chairs, pottery,
and other nick knacks.

"Leave all that," I said, "We have to leave Neverland."

There was an uproar the likes you never heard. "What?" "Leave
Neverland?" "Are you joking?" Even "Fuck you!" "Peter would never
leave Neverland."

"SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!" I screamed like a raging bull and louder than
anyone had ever heard before. The boys were gulping in fear, even Sole
and Aoi. Je'ne looked wounded. Landen pulled Jennie to him but Jennie,
infront of Landen, eyed only Seth. "We all have to leave! Look around
you! This place is coming apart. Fire will engulf the entire place. We
have to warn all to leave. And then we have to get the animals that can't
make it out of here."

"What? How? Why?"

"We have to face the fact that this might be because Peter is dead
and..."

Seth chimed in, "And...may be in Hell."

A round of yells from the Boys again. "NO!" "NOT PETER!" "SHUT YUP YOU
ASS!" "YOU STUPID ASSHOLE SHUT UP!" "GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" "GO TO
HELL YOURSELF!" "EAT ME!" "No way!" "You don't know what you're
talking about!"

Aoi picked up a wooden sword and threatened it toward Seth's belly, "I
ougtta kill you right now! Run ya through! Right in the navel!"

"STOP IT!" I yelled and ran to Aoi and took the sword from his fingers,
"You will listen to me! All of you! We might as well face facts now. We
have to leave or die here. Do you all want to die? Do any one of you want
to stay here and die?"

Silence. Jennie kept tugging on me now, having parted from Landen.

"We are going to build an ark."

Seth seemed surprised now, "An ark?"

"It's been done before."

The boys seemed to come alive again and this time for the better and
brighter. "Noah!" Rollin exclaimed brightly.

"Peter," I said, "Peter and the other Lost Boys, the older ones, know
dead, built an ark."

Which wasn't entirely true. They used Hook's ship the Jolly Roger to get
the animals out of Neverland when they believed Old Smokey Top Mountain
was going to blow up. It was a long story. Another time, Neverland was
vanishing due to Peter's map being erased by Hook. Maybe this was
something similar. And yet another time, Peter turned old thanks to some
crafty words by Hook and when Peter did that, Neverland started to
vanish. Seth looked at me and put a hand on my shoulder, "All that will
take forever!"

"Then we'd better get started at once," I said spritely. "I'll take both
Indian camps, although I'm sure they are already leaving and the Mermen
and maids' lagoon. Sole you take the Mysterious River folk and warn them,
Aoi and Je'ne, since you are the best swordsmen besides me and Sole, you
take the Troll Cave." Actually almost all of them were better than me at
swordplay with the exception of Landen and Jennie, who almost never
fought with weapons, and almost never fought at all. "Rollin, take
Slightly Gulch and Hook Island, I doubt anyone is at either place right
now but check em out and warn anyone there. Fairy, you warn Small Monday
Island and Tintagel, both places we either can't get into without money
or a pass or a way into another dimension but both which are tied to
Neverland. If it does go and it looks like it is going, so will those two
places. Landen, you warn anyone in the Hollow Tree caves but stay out of
them and also send some echo voice warnings into Buccaneer's Cave and
Cove?"

"Me?"

"Yes, Landen, I'm trusting you to be brave," I said, knowing full well
that Landen could be the meanest son of bitch if ever aroused. "I know
you have it in you."

"Yeah," Landen said, puffing out his tiny chest, "I just..." He grew
humble again, "Just don't want it to come out."

"I do and now. I need it out now, so get on, go on and get flying," I
said, "And then we start the ark, right away."

Everyone moved to different directions. Seth looked at Jennie, "I need
you, so don't go get yourself killed."

I didn't hear him say this and I'm not sure I could have even if I had
been listening. "Seth, you pack up what you can here with Jennie and the
redheads, so I'll go warn the Indian villages." I went to the opening
that I usually flew out of. Bailey came to me, with me.

"Why do we have to stay here? I can fight as good as..."

I put a hand on his shoulder, and whispered, "I know you can, Bail, I
need you and your brothers here to keep an eye on..." I nodded toward
Seth. Bailey gave me a knowing nod and look.

I flew out. As the three boys got ready to pack with Jennie, gathering up
belongings and tools they would need to build the ark, Seth looked at
them, "I'm just going to check the area so that we don't get surprised by
any fires." Before they could protest, Seth climbed up one of the
holes. When the boys were not looking, he spread foul looking crimson
wings and flew up the rest of the way. His eyes were red and as he looked
into the smoking darkening sky...even though it was afternoon now, the
sky was dark with fire and smoke, Seth's eyes turned fully red. He smiled
but broke into a laugh. "Go ahead, build your ark, Chase, build it."

As he spoke, more explosions were heard in the distance, rocking
Neverland and the waters around it. Lightning and thunder spoke up and
dark clouds mingled with the smoke from the volcano Smokey Top Mountain.

"There will be no escape for you as there is none for me unless either
you or your dumb and deaf mute boy can free me from my bonds. If not,
your Neverland shall become what my father wants it to become, the very
image of the pits of hell, I shall prove myself to him by making my own
hell, this Neverland shall not cease as you think it will, it shall
become my hell, my hell which will imprison not just me but all you seek
to protect."

Thunder burst, lightning hit a tree near Seth, in front of him and then
directly behind him, lightning then smashed a rock to his side. He
remained unflinching, unmoving, arms out and hands spread, fingers
constantly moving.

"Pan could not stop me, Chase. Pan could not help me. Pan failed me, you
may yet fail me and if so I have your little boy to try. If he fails,
then all this place will become the fires that we shall live in together,
my torture will no no end and from here, I shall spread the fires to the
entire world beyond! Do you hear me father, do you? Satan, father,
whatever you wish to think of yourself, you will know that half of you
resides in me for the fires will fill this world you love to torment so!
I will make it happen!" Seth laughed uncontrollably as fires rose up
around him, not burning him, not touching him, then touching him and not
hurting him. He kept on laughing for a long, long time...