2. Asha
CHAPTER TWO
ASHA
Wendy and Hook are arguing in hushed but heated voices.
Ever since Hook discovered the Crocodile devouring one of his men, we’ve been whispering.
We’re all afraid of waking the Crocodile.
But Hook’s men, they’re whispering about a mutiny. They want to throw the Crocodile overboard.
I think Hook would consider tossing his men overboard if he didn’t need them to feed the Crocodile.
“Peter Pan was very clear about it,” Hook is telling Wendy. “I’m not allowed on Neverland soil.”
“Fuck Peter Pan,” Wendy says, her hands on her hips. I’ve seen her like this many times before. Determined, a little stubborn, maybe a little blinded by her desperation.
I’ve also heard that name a hundred times.
Sometimes she would mutter it like a curse, other times she would utter it like a cry.
Peter Pan. Peter Pan.
I can’t tell if we should be more afraid of the Crocodile or Pan. Maybe they are equally dangerous.
“You are out of your mind!” Hook huffs out a sigh and turns away. He bows his head. Beyond him, through the windows of the starboard dining room, land is rising up on the horizon, the sun setting behind it, painting its peaks and valleys in swashes of orange.
Neverland .
Hook and the Crocodile are not allowed on Neverland soil, as decreed by Peter Pan. And Hook won’t allow Wendy to go, even though she’s trying hard to convince him otherwise.
He seems to have forgotten she’s a queen. She seems to have forgotten, too. I’m not quite sure why she’s taking his orders, but I’m not one to get in the middle of a relationship I have no business being in the middle of.
I sharpen my blade as they continue arguing.
I like to keep my mind busy, but absent intellectual pursuits, keeping my hands busy is the next best thing.
The blade scrapes against the whetstone.
I like the sound of steel against stone. It scratches a primal itch deep down in my brain.
As my mother liked to tell it, I came out of the womb with sharp edges. “They could hear my screams in every corner of the Imperial Palace.” She would smile, not fond of the pain but the pride. She would quickly add, “Never let anyone dull your edges. The world will never be your blade. You must be your own.”
Thinking of my mother makes my head pound and my chest ache.
I have put my past behind me, but sometimes the rage boils up, catching me off guard.
The blade scrapes harder, louder.
Hook downs a glass of something amber in color.
Neverland grows nearer.
Wendy crosses her arms over her chest. “Then tell me, James, what do you propose we do? Roc said he needed Vane. Vane is on Neverland and?—”
“I’ll go.”
They both turn to look at me.
“You will?” Wendy asks.
I don’t like volunteering. I learned a long time ago not to bend myself to others’ will.
But truth be told, I would like to see Peter Pan for myself.
My first job after escaping Winterland was on Darkland in the Dark Archives. I spent months working between all seven branches, cataloging books so old, they creaked when you opened them. My favorite subject, beyond languages, is mythology because in the Isles, there is almost always truth to them.
The chimera. The basilisk. Seven different types of fae. The banshee and the siren. The shapeshifter and the kraken.
While working in Archive Six, I’m almost positive my superior officer was a shapeshifter. Sometimes, when he came within the bloom of a fire within the hearth, his face would ripple, almost like a mirage. Fire and shapeshifters do not mix.
I always wondered if he was on the run and had taken on a new identity. Darkland has plenty of unsavory people, plenty of bad men and women a person might need to hide from.
But I digress.
Throughout all seven archives, none of the scholars, none of the experts, seemed to have an answer as to what Peter Pan is.
Some said he was an abomination.
Some said he was a dark spirit that burbled up from the Neverland lagoon.
Some said he was an abandoned child turned wild by the Neverland forest.
Any scholar or researcher knows that witnessing something with your own eyes will always supersede reading about it.
I slide my blade into the sheath at my hip. “We can’t keep losing crew members to the Crocodile’s appetite. Someone needs to go. I’ll go. Give me directions to the treehouse.” I down the last swill of my brandy. It’s late in the day now, nearing dusk, the sunlight edged in pink.
“It could be dangerous,” Wendy starts.
“She’s in more danger if she doesn’t go,” Hook counters.
Wendy scowls at him.
I’m not entirely sure how their relationship might have transformed in the last few days we’ve been at sea, but I think the state of the Crocodile has them both on edge.
The Crocodile is another of those myths that I’m still a bit vague on.
In the Dark Archives, his name is cited seven hundred thirty-four times but only by ‘Crocodile.’ His birth name seems to have been expunged from the records, either by him or someone else.
The facts I know about him are:
1. He is old—older than I am—but there is no consensus on how old. He is older than Hook and Wendy but not as old as Peter Pan.
2. The Crocodile is a member of The Bone Society, one of the Isle’s secret societies. The Bone Society is credited with inventing time as we know it.
3. The roster of the Bone Society is secret, though I suspect the list is short. Because members are some kind of unknown creature that needs blood to stave off transforming and devouring everything in their wake. But there is no scientific name for their kind, which leads me to believe their origins are either hidden for a reason, or they aren’t from this realm.
4. The Crocodile is Vane’s older brother. Vane is a Lost Boy, Peter Pan’s most trusted friend. The Crocodile and Vane come from a well-known, wealthy family of Darkland. The Maddred family. They are often cited together as the Madd brothers. Their father was Duke of Maddred for a time, with Roc expected to inherit the title. Until their father tried to overthrow the monarchy, and their family was stripped of all their possessions and titles. Afterward, Vane and the Crocodile worked their way up through the ranks of the darker side of Darkland known as the Umbrage.
5. The Crocodile and Vane ruled the Umbrage for over a decade.
6. There is no mention of their mother anywhere. She, too, has been expunged from the archives.
After the Umbrage, their story gets messy and a bit murky.
Someone did something they shouldn’t have, and their little sister, Lane, was murdered by the royal family as punishment. That’s when Vane hunted down and took on the Darkland Dark Shadow and killed the royal family.
His actions threw Darkland into civil war. But he was long gone by then, and so was the Crocodile.
Vane is fifth on my list of intriguing figures I’d love to study, just after Peter Pan, the Crocodile, and Hansel and Gretel.
So, really, going to the treehouse is to my benefit.
“Follow the main street from Darlington Harbor southeast,” Hook explains. “You’ll cross Mysterious River. By then you’re nearly there. Stay on the same road and it’ll lead you right to the house.”
“How long should we give you before we come looking?” Wendy asks.
“An hour? Maybe a little more. I’m not worried.” I go to her and give her a hug. Her shoulders tremble in my embrace. She’s trying to keep it together. She’s trying not to cry.
She has just escaped a kingdom that kept her prisoner, first in a cold cell, then in a castle.
She has left one fear for another.
I can’t shoulder that fear for her, but I can help her through it.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.
She nods against my shoulder. I hear her take in a long breath to settle the tears.
Once, when a superior officer in the Everland Guard went too hard on me in a practice yard, it was Wendy who took care of me after. She thinks she is weak, often forgetting the kind of fortitude it requires to have compassion for other people when it’s so much easier to pretend they do not exist.
“Thank you, Asha,” she whispers.
When I pull away from her, her eyes are glassy.
“Thank me when I’ve brought the Crocodile his brother.”
Hook’s directions are accurate, giving me a flash of satisfaction.
I like facts and I like accuracy and I like rules and I like being able to depend on all three.
I’m standing in front of the treehouse within twenty minutes of leaving the ship.
All around me, the forest crowds in. Palm trees rustle in the ocean breeze. Ferns and local flora grow among the trees, dotting the landscape in a rainbow of colors.
Firecrackers and lilies and opalassos.
Neverland is considered a tropical climate. So unlike the Winterland Alps where I come from, where the air is always crisp, the water always cool.
I scan the treehouse directly in front of me.
It’s impressive, the name suitable.
A giant tree grows out of the middle of a house with a wraparound porch and several stories stacked haphazardly on top of each other. Several lampposts glow at the steps, illuminating the front door with warm light.
Crickets and spring frogs chirp in the dark.
Despite its size, the house feels cozy from this vantage point. Like a hazy dream come to life.
Hook has told me who I might encounter here, if not Peter Pan or Vane.
There are the twins, the fae princes, Kas and Bash. “Less vicious than Vane or Pan,” Hook said. “But no less dangerous.” Then Hook glanced at Wendy before adding, “Possibly Winnie Darling. I would be careful around her.”
“Why?” Wendy had asked, confusion knitting between her brows.
“Just trust me.”
Now, with my curiosity burbling to the surface, I go up the front steps, cross the front porch, and rap on the door.