Second Star Chronicles

The Cut

He looked down at his body and saw the red. Not the red of his long coat, an elegant saffron, but a deeper crimson. Wet and flowing. The din of battle that had once rang in his ears faded to a soft song of swords and cannons as his comrades and crewmen were being put to the slaughter. He had never seen the attack coming. None of them had.

His vision began to blur. His insides were a mass of conflicting sensations. The heat of the blood and the cool of the blade collided within his torso. He looked to the face of his opponent. He was young. No more than twelve or thirteen, by the look. Not an aged line marked this boy's face. The determined scowl transitioned into a smug grin as the boy pulled out his blade.

“Is this really a child?” He thought.

Hook

The storm had just begun as his crew were making their docking preparations. His crew was a well-oiled machine, performing their duties without a command. He had always believed that discipline was the true mark of a good captain and crew. A flash of lightning, then a crash of thunder rang into the distance. Just as any other storm he and his crew had endured. Storms ten times as deadly had sought to claim his ship yet it still sat on the sea, afloat in defiance of the heavens' onslaught. Another flash of lightning lit the deck of the ship and something unusual caught his eye.

First it was Bones, then Mr. Jasons. Lifelessly, their bodies fell to the deck with a heavy thud. Immediately, he ordered one of his deckhands to see what was the matter. Another flash of lightning and down the man went. He looked harder, noticing an object sticking out of the poor sod's back. Lantern light caught the color of the feathers that adorned the handle of the small hatchet as the blood poured out from the wound. His eyes widened as he unsheathed his gilded cutlass.

“All hands draw blades and look alive! There are attackers in our midst!”

“Aye Aye!” Shouted the crew as swords and daggers were drawn. He pivoted where he stood, trying to locate the enemy when the explosion claimed the forward mast and six men. He fell to his back. Ears ringing and vision blurred, he made it back on his feet. He looked on in disbelief as the wild children climbed over the side of the ship, cutting men down in the confusion. Blood and seawater saturated the deck.

A glint of steel flashed in the corner of his eye as he raised his sword to block a slash from above as the green clad boy swooped down and darted back into the sky, laughing. The boy landed in front of him, blade drawn.

“Peter.” He said as a smirk appeared on his face. His greatest foe was here in front of him.“The Pan of the children of the wild wood. How nice of you to come to me to die. Takes away the thrill of the hunt; however, it does save me the work!” He was so pleased he had almost completely forgotten everything else around him. That was fine though, he knew his crew was well trained and could handle themselves. This was his fight. Hook lunged at the boy, thrusting his sword outward and swinging up. The boy's feet lifted off of the deck weightlessly as he somersaulted in mid-air, dodging the blow.

“I'm not the one dying today Hooky!” The boy retorted with an impish grin as he landed on Hook's opposite side. Their blades met with the shrill sound of metal on metal. Hook was surprised at the boys strength. Some sort of magic given to him by the fairies of the glen, no doubt. Hook was stronger still, and the better swordsman. He pushed the boy back and swung in an upward arc. The tip of his blade caught Pan on the cheek, spilling blood as Pan back-stepped. He looked at the blood as it ran down his blade, catching a drop on the tip of his hook. He touched the tip of the hook to his tongue, tasting the hot iron. Blade drawn up, he slowly approached Peter.

“They say the Pan cannot die. That he is an eternal little boy. Funny that his blood tastes the same as any other mortal man's.” Hook said, noticing a hint of fear appear on Peter's face as he circled around him, like a predator circles prey. “They say that so long as there is a Pan, he and his Lost Boys remain forever young. What happens to those poor boys when I kill you, Peter? Will they then grow old? Just as well, I'll be needing new crewmen soon enough!” He lunged towards Peter, their steel meeting and parting in a crack of steel that rivaled the lightning. On the last riposte, Peter darted upward, catching Hook's chin with his foot. Hook weathered the blow and parried Peter's follow up attack, barely missing his left ear.

Hook pressed the attack as he and Peter continued their deadly dance. Time after time, their blades met and bounced off of one another. Hook had had enough of these games. He was ready to end it. He brought his cutlass down hard, meeting Peter's blade just above his head. As he applied pressure to Peter's sword, he looked directly into the boy's hazel eyes.

“Look at me, boy! I want to see the light leave your eyes as I kill you!” Hook gloated, raising his hooked arm and driving it into Peter's shoulder. Peter wailed in pain as he pulled away. Hook kicked his leg out hard, making contact with Peter's abdomen. Peter dropped his sword and grabbed his torso, falling to his knees, coughing.

Hook loomed over Peter taking in the broken boy. He almost felt sorry for what he was about to do. He raised his blade high above his head, ready to deliver the deathblow.

“So dies Peter the Pan and all his ilk with him!”

It happened fast. Too fast to react. In a fraction of a second, Peter drew a small blade from his boot and buried it in Hook's belly. Hook fell to his knees, face to face with Peter. His cutlass made a loud clanging noise as it hit the deck. He no longer had the strength to hold onto it.

“Is this the same boy I've spent half my life chasing around this bloody island? No, this boy is no longer a child.” A crooked grin washed over his mustachioed face and he spoke in a shaky voice as blood began to pool in his mouth. A portion spilled out with each word, running down his chest and mingling with the blood in his wound.

“You may have killed me, Peter, but it is I who will have the final laugh. You see boy, I may die here today, but I have still won!”

“What are you talking about, old man?” Peter said in confusion, Kicking Hook onto his back.

“I've spent half my life hunting you boy. You were the most elusive prey and I, the alpha predator. You were to be my greatest trophy. You see, it was your youth that I envied. I continued to grow older and you remained the same. Jealousy is a vicious beast. In the end I may die, but I have taken your very essence, my boy!”

“Wha-What is that supposed to mean!?” Peter said as fear crept into his voice. Hook began to laugh maniacally, gurgling blood.

“Look at your hands boy! That's my life's blood, spilling from the mortal wound your blade left in my belly! You're a killer! No child's hands could be so bloodstained. Don't you see, boy? I've taken your youth!”

Peter's face was awash with horror at the realization. The sight delighted Hook more than he could imagine. Hook laughed. Peter leaned over him, sobbing, and began striking him repeatedly, all the while screaming “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT! UP!”

Hook continued to laugh as the world faded to darkness around him and all sound turned to silence.

Pan

His knuckles burned. If he was bleeding from the places where the skin was cracked, he would have no way of telling it apart from Hook's blood. He arose from his knees. The corpse at his feet looked so small and frail. No longer the towering terror he had known, but a dead old man. Pan tasted the salt of his tears as he stared on. He shouldn't be crying, he thought. He should be happy. He had done what he set out to do. He had won.

All around him, his Lost Boys, as he had called them, stopped pressing their attack. There was no longer a need to continue. Every remaining pirate who had not already died or jumped ship, dropped their weapons and surrendered as soon as the captain passed. A tall, lanky boy with a blue painted face and two squirrels tails hung on his ears dropped his sword and ran towards Peter.

“Pan! You did it!” He shouted as he ran. “He did it! Guys! He did it!” He stopped at Peter's side, panting to catch his breath. The boy put his hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter shrugged it off. He didn't want to be congratulated or comforted or whatever the boy was trying to do. “I'm sorry, Peter, I didn't mean to...” “It's alright, Jacksy.” Peter interrupted the apology. “I'm just... I just want to get out of here.” “It's okay Peter, we all do. I'll round up the boys so we can head home. We'll get things cleaned up here, too.” Jacksy said with a dutiful, reassuring smile. “Thanks Jacksy. I'm gonna rest here for a little while. Come get me when you're done.” Peter sat back down next to Hook's body and put his head between his knees.

Peter thought long and hard about what had just happened, about what led him here. He remembered all of the grand battles he had with Hook. The burning of the wild wood. The Indian scuffle. The first battle of the bay. They had been fun adventures. This time it had not been fun. Nothing he had done had ever felt so final. He wished it were easier. To kill. To be a killer. To take a life. Is this what Hook had meant? Why did he feel sorry, if this was the right thing to do? He visualized the moment so many times before. The point of his blade hitting its mark, finally putting an end to the tyranny. He thought he was prepared to do what had to be done. It was as if one person put the blade in and another pulled it out. Maybe Hook was right. Maybe he did win after all. Peter was confused. He was scared and angry. He was nauseous and sad. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to keep crying. He wanted to scream and run away. Most of all, he missed the girl.

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small, half rusted thimble. He kneaded it in his palm. It was somehow comforting, the way the porous metal rubbed his rough palms. She had given it to him when they met. It was the last piece of her left to him. His only memory. His happy thought. She was gone though. Forever out of his reach beyond the second star. Only the fairies can travel between realms and they won't let him go back. Not after what he had done.

He could hear Jacksy ordering the other boys in cleaning up the deck of the ship. He was pretty good at it, Peter thought. A natural-born leader. Peter had always wondered why Jacksy wasn't the one chosen to be the Pan. It wasn't for him to decide anyway. He figured that the fairies knew what they were doing. Peter looked up to see the boys pushing the corpses of the slain pirates off the side of the ship into the sea. One by one they fell, making a loud splash as they broke through the surface of the water.

Peter stood back up, stretching his limbs and back. He was still not feeling well, but thinking of Wendy helped to suppress some of the hurt. Jacksy ran over to him again, squirrel tails flowing on each side of his head. “The cleanup is finished, Peter.” He said in a tone that rang of accomplishment. “Thanks, Jacksy” Peter said with a half hearted smile. “What are you going to do with him, Peter?” Jacksy said, pointing at Hook's body. “Who's the best with a bow in the gang?” Peter asked. “That'd be Dart the fletcher, Peter.” Jacksy answered, confused by the question. “Good, have him get a fire arrow together while the rest of you lot get this body into a lifeboat.” “Why don't we just push his sorry ass over like the rest. I mean he was...” “Because...” Peter interrupted. “...he was the greatest foe I will ever have faced. For that, he deserves a little respect in death.” Jacksy nodded in reluctant agreement. “That's fine, Peter. Didn't mean nothing by it. We'll get everything ready, just don't forget what Mab Kerrigan told you. Take the hook!” Jacksy ran off to fulfill Peter's orders. Peter knelt back down and once again took the blade in his hand.

Peter took a deep breath as he lifted Hook's arm by the hook and laid it out perpendicular to his body. He exhaled heavily as he brought the knife down to sever the part of the arm where the hook had resided. He felt queasy as the blade cut through the meat and bone in one swipe. Peter expected blood to pour out of the new amputation but was surprised when there was barely any. He stood back up and affixed the hook to a leather strap on his belt. The extra weight that the hook added somehow felt ten times heavier than it actually was. Such was the burden of conquest, he thought.

As Peter turned around, Jacksy and some of the other boys were coming to carry Hook to the prepared lifeboat. Two of the boys grabbed the legs. Jacksy and Dart grabbed the arms and Peter cradled Hook's head. They carried him to a nearby lifeboat that had been lined with straw and soaked with lamp oil. As they placed the body in the boat, some of the other boys started to pour more lamp oil on Hook. The thick liquid soaked into Hook's coat making it hard to tell that it had ever been blood stained. The boys started to lower the lifeboat into the sea when Peter stopped them. “Wait.” Peter said, running back to where Hook had fallen. Peter grabbed Hook's gilded cutlass and returned to the lifeboat. He laid the cutlass across the body and rested Hook's remaining hand on the hilt. “You'll need this for the prey that awaits, old man.” He looked up at the boys. They all stared at him. Some in admiration, some in confusion. “Lower the boat, boys.” Peter said with a nod. As the boat was lowered Dart wrapped the tip of an arrow with an oil soaked rag. They waited as the boat drifted out to sea. Dart notched his arrow, now lit, burning bright on the end. He pulled back his bowstring and loosed the flaming shaft towards the boat. It struck the inner hull and a fiery deluge overtook the small vessel. Peter and the boys watched as the floating funeral pyre drifted past the horizon and off the edge of the world. No one said a word.

“I think I'm ready to go, Jacksy.” Peter said as he looked at the blue-faced boy. “You got the hook, right?” Jacksy asked with a concerned look. “I have it here.” Peter said, clutching the piece that hung from his belt. Jacksy looked down at the trophy as concern melted away to relief on his face. “Alright, let's get out of here. We'll head back on our canoes. You've got the sky, right?” “I'll see you boys back at home.” Peter said with a soft smile.

He watched Jacksy and the rest of the boys climb down the other side of the ship and board their canoes. He looked around and took in the empty deck of the ship, hardly believing that a hard fought battle had only hours ago, taken place. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. The muscles in his legs tensed as he leaped into the air. Something was wrong, however. He was not caught up like a leaf in the wind. He felt the enormity of his weight as he crashed back down onto the deck of the ship. “What could be happening?” He wondered. He tried several more times to no avail. He fell back to the deck every time. Panic-stricken, he ran to the side of the deck where the boys had exited. “Jacksy!” He yelled with all his wind, hoping it would carry to the canoe. He saw Jacksy look up and around and then at him. Jacksy pointed at him as he shouted orders at the boys rowing. The canoe made an about face and headed back to the ship. Jacksy jumped off the side as it got close and climbed up onto the deck. “Peter? What's wrong? Why are you still here?” Jacksy saw the panic on Peter's face and rushed to his side. “Peter, what is it? What's wrong?” Peter looked Jacksy in the eye, fear flushed over his face. “I... I can't fly!”

Pan

The shifting and swaying of the canoe made Peter's already uneasy stomach, much worse. He had spent the trip staring at his feet. His heavy feet that tethered him to the earth. His useless feet that couldn't get him into the air. No one said a word the entire time they spent in the canoe. Peter could feel the stares of the boys on him. Each one pricked like an arrow, hitting their mark with greater accuracy than even Dart could display. Each one wondering why the Pan, the one the fairies gifted with the power of flight, now sits here among them. Peter couldn't blame them though. He had always just jumped into the air and had been instantly taken up. It had always been so effortless, like a second nature. This traveling along the surface felt alien to him. It felt so slow and archaic.

“It'll be okay Peter, you'll see.” said Jacksy, trying to comfort him. Peter appreciated the sentiment but his state was no better for it. “Kerrigan will know what to do.” Jacksy said, still trying to comfort Peter.

The canoe continued to skip across the surface of the sea as the distant shore became closer and closer. Peter grabbed an unmanned oar and began to help the other boys. He could at least be useful in this way. With each pull he felt the heat build up in his forearms. The tension grew and grew but he did not mind. He wondered if the other boys felt the same, but kept rowing regardless. It made him think of things he had asked the boys to do for him. It made him wonder what other pain he may have caused them. “Jacksy?” He said inquisitively. “Yeah Peter?” Jacksy responded promptly, as if he had been waiting for Peter to speak again. “In the battle, did we lose anyone? I didn't think to ask before.” “I didn't want to say anything to you yet because... well, you know, but yeah, we lost a few.” Jacksy admitted. “Who was it?” Peter asked reluctantly. Jacksy swallowed hard before answering. A bead of perspiration streaked down his face, or maybe it was a splash of sea water,. Peter couldn't tell. “TomTom the twig took a sword to the belly. Ally got shot, and Kit n' Tick got knocked overboard.” “You couldn't find them? The storm didn't affect us!” Peter had interjected. The storm had not been a natural event. It was a bit of fairy magic given to him. Marridia the Seer had used the last of her power to summon a great storm over the sea where the Jolly Roger sat afloat. Kerrigan, the Mab, as she was known in the fairy's old tongue, put a protective charm on the boys who were in the attack. The path of their canoes would remain calm and every drop of rain would avoid them. It had seemed to work well for the boys, but not so well for Kit and Tick. Peter remembered the boys very well. He knew all of his lost boys as brothers.

TomTom, the twig, they called him, was a whole head taller than any of the other boys, even Jacksy looked up to him. He had yellow hair and freckles marked his face. He wore comically oversized overalls that hung out 6 inches on each side. They would have never stayed on if not for the one strap he kept fastened. TomTom had always been a joker. He often mused that the Pan wasn't supposed to fly, that Peter simply willed himself into the air because he was too impatient to walk. Peter always had been inpatient, if only TomTom were right about the flying part. It was Peter's impatience that set the attack for today. TomTom had been in the front of attack party, eager for action. Peter had known of the risks but it hurt deep to lose any of the boys. He had hoped that the attack would take the pirates by so much surprise that they would have no time to react. It was a foolish notion and Peter knew it.

Kit and Tick, Peter recalled, did everything together. They slept in the same tent, ate the same meals at the same times, played the same games and often spoke in unison. They also died the same death. Somehow, It's how they would have wanted, Peter thought.

Peter continued to row, his forearms burning more and more as the shoreline grew in the distance. They would run aground soon enough. He would go straight to the Life Tree as soon as they arrived. If anyone knew what had happened to his power, it would be Kerrigan. She had been the one that had chosen him for the trials. It was because of her that he became the Pan. She could fix this, Peter knew. Peter had to make his report to her, regardless. She had been pushing him to take the final attack to Hook. Ever since the attempted burning of the Wild Wood, she had been making preparations for the attack. Peter had been anxious to do the deed, too. He had trained in sword fighting and strategy under Cyball the silver, the fairy's keeper of knowledge.

“Both eyes on both blades!” Cyball had told him. “You must see to make your attack and also where the attack is coming from!” Maybe TomTom would still be alive if he had trained under Cyball. He didn't want to think about it anymore. Peter would feel like a liar if he were to deny that he felt responsible for their losses. He should have been better. He could have been better.

The sandy beach parted as the canoes ran ashore. The boys who had sat at head of the boats jumped out with ropes in hand, sprinting to the nearest palm trees and fastening their lines to them. After the boats were tethered, Peter and the rest of the boys jumped out. Peter felt the salt water fill his boots. He did not like the sensation. He couldn't help but think that this wouldn't be a problem if he could only fly. He walked along the beach with the boys, all making their way to the largest palm tree. It was just as any other ordinary palm tree, but four times the size around. Jacksy approached it and began to knock on its trunk. Two times, then one time, then three times, then one and one more. After the final knock, the trunk split into two halves that moved apart from each other to reveal a hidden staircase. It led to an underground base of sorts. The fairies had built it in the aftermath of the burning of the treetop village the boys had previously made. They each had quarters here, though they were not quite as homey as the treetop houses had been, they were sufficient enough. Jacksy walked Peter to his room. When they reached the door after traversing the interwoven, dimly lit passages, Jacksy wordlessly put a hand on Peter's shoulder and gave him a look that conveyed that everything would be alright. Peter hoped that it would be alright. He sat on the bed, swung his useless legs around and laid down. He rolled Wendy's thimble around in his hand as he drifted to sleep. He dreamed deep during his short nap. In his dream he saw the massive ship, the Jolly Roger. The great galleon that had been the terror of all of Neverland. It sailed in his dream, but not on the sea. It sailed through the skies as Peter himself did, or rather had. A great tall captain stood on the deck, his back turned. Hook, Peter had first thought, but he did not wear a coat of red. This captain a coat the color of the forest, a deep green flecked with gold and brown. The green captain turned to peer upward as a scarlet clad youth descended from the sky. Each had a bright shining sword drawn. As their blades met, a blinding flash of light flooded Peter’s vision. When everything came back into focus, the two combatants were gone and the Jolly Roger sat back on the sea, engulfed in flame.

Peter awoke, startled and confused. Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye startled him. “I….I’m sorry Master Pan. I didn’t mean to wake you.” The small fairy said, timidly. Tinkerbell hung floating in the air in the middle of his doorway. Like most fairies, she was meek in stature, about the length of Peter’s forearm. She had a slender build and golden hair that was fixed up with a dandelion stuck in as an ornament. She wore a skirt of soft green and violet that had been fashioned from flowers. Two great wings that were half and again the length of her torso jutted out of her back and flapped furiously, keeping her aloft. She had always been shy around Peter, he had noticed. He liked to make her purposefully uncomfortable. It had been a fun game for him in times past but after today’s events, he could not muster the will to jest with her. “Hey Tink. Did the Mab send you?” Tinkerbell blushed and touched her index fingers together in nervous gesture. “Sh...She did Master Pan. She wanted me to make sure that everything was alright...um...is everything… is everything alright?” He thought it was annoying when she was flustered, though he somehow found it endearing. “Sure, everything is fine Tink, I’ve got old man blood on my hands, I lost some of the boys and I can’t fly.” Tinkerbell’s face shifted from a pale pink to a bright red. “I’m sorry Master Pan. I...I didn’t mean to upset you I just...I just…” He cut her off mid-sentence. “It’s okay Tink. I’m fine. Tell Kerrigan that I’ll be there soon.” He gave her a dismissive wave and turned to face the wall. He saw that she was upset. She opened her mouth as if to speak but couldn’t muster any words. Wordlessly, she turned around and flew down the hall.

Peter didn’t remember falling back asleep. He didn’t remember laying back down. He awoke once again startled. How much time had passed? He wondered. Kerrigan was not going to be happy. She was known for chiding him on his punctuality. He hurried down the corridor to the bathing chamber, throwing his clothing off as he ran.

The bath chamber was a large circular room with multicolored stone walls and a stone floor. Around the room, on the walls were small ports from which water flowed. They were all fed by a large underground waterfall that flowed in the center of the room from a large opening in the ceiling through to a wide pit in the floor. It had been a long time since Peter had to use one of the water holes in the wall. Ever since he took up the mantle of the forest and gained the ability, he would fly up the shaft to the source of the falls for his baths. He had liked the privacy. As it currently was, he sat surrounded by a dozen of other naked boys all bathing. All of them wanting to talk to him. “Okay back off boys.” Jacksy yelled out to quiet the racket of boys all wanting to get some facetime with the Pan. “Thanks again, Jacksy.” Peter had told him thanks time after time today, but Jacksy, the loyal friend that he was, was always there to lighten his load. He couldn’t have made it through without him.

He had managed to get all of the blood washed off of his hands. Overall, it made him feel better. Like he had washed away the events of the day. He put on fresh clothing and ran his fingers through his course auburn hair. He needed to go see Kerrigan and hoped that she was not too angry with his tardiness.

The corridors stretched on for hundreds of yards. He made his way down the twisting, branching paths to the fairies high council chamber. The doorway to the chamber was twice as tall as him and ornately adorned. A dark brown wrapped in wrought gold ivy that branched in circular patterns around the door, ending with two larger protruding leaves that served as handles. Peter had always wondered why the fairies made such a large door when they were so small.

Peter raised his hand to place on the door handle but as his hand neared, the golden ivy began to glow a soft yellow. The doors swung open, parting in the middle and moving toward the inside of the chamber. A smaller antechamber greeted Peter. Though he had been in it many times before, the antechamber seemed more colorful, more alive than it had on previous occasions. Inside the small room was a small man.

Luster did not resemble his name. He was a part of a servitor class of fairy known as elves. He stood the height of Peter’s waist and wore a moth-eaten sackcloth. He had olive skin and short cropped gray hair. His eyes were deep black pits and on his left hand, he bore the mark of the elves. The mark that bound them to serve the fairies. A circle within another circle, split by a diagonal line. They are wingless and flightless and curiously, all male as opposed to the fairies. Peter learned about this difference from Tinkerbell when he had once asked her why she and the fairies looked different from the elves and from himself and the boys. Tinkerbell had great trouble in trying to explain it to him. She became so flustered that her usual golden glow shifted to a soft pink. “Females… that is to say, women…. I mean.” She couldn’t even complete the thought. She found it easier to show him. It was this education that led to the aging world and to him meeting Wendy.

Luster bowed deeply, avoiding eye contact with Peter. “It is an honor, Master Pan. My Lady has been expecting you. Please follow me.” Dutifully, he led Peter out of the antechamber and into the main hall of the fairies high seat. Peter had never seen the hall look as it did. The floor that was once earthen in color was now a shimmering gold. The great pillars in the rear of the room which had once looked like old, dead trees now shone bright with spirals of glowing gold on ivory and between each one, crystal water flowed. In the midst of the largest, center most pillar there shone a light. It was so bright that Peter had to shield his eyes. The light grew around him. It enveloped him in warmth and the smell of summer. As the light faded Peter lowered his arm from the level of his eyes, and heard a soft musical voice say “Hello boy.”