“Man, you’re too much. Okay, I go willingly.”
THE CHILD THIEF led, Nathan followed, and the Mist swirled around them. Peter’s mouth filled with the chalky taste of the ghostly vapor. It made him think of ground-up bones and fish scales. It hadn’t always been that way; he remembered the first time—all those years ago.
After killing the wolf, Peter had continued his trek deeper and deeper into the forest, determined to get as far away from the world of men as he could. The worn raccoon skin was gone, in its place the thick silver pelt of the one-eared wolf. The wolf’s head was pulled over his face like a mask. Hard, intense eyes peered out from the dark sockets, alert, scanning the woods for prey and predator alike, but beneath those hard eyes was a six-year-old boy alone in the deep wild woods.
His days were spent following deer trails and creeks, hunting small game. Not knowing where he was going, only knowing what he was getting away from. Near dusk of each day he would seek out a hollow tree or a stone crevasse to curl up within, to try and get some sleep while the larger animals prowled the night.
On the fourth day he felt eyes on him. The forest had begun to change, the trees tightening around him, almost as though herding him this way or that. He heard unfamiliar bird calls, and the whining cries and chirps of insects that sounded all too close to speech.
Other than a few handfuls of nuts and wild berries, Peter hadn’t eaten for two days. He found signs of game, heard them, but never saw them. He felt he was going in circles, his uncanny sense of direction somehow thrown off. He tried to think of Goll’s voice telling him to be strong and brave, but when he came upon the standing stone, the same one he’d passed several hours before, he collapsed exhausted. He sat against the stone, cradling his legs to his chest, and fought to keep away the tears.
Laughter brought him to his feet. A girl, not much older than himself, stood looking down at him from atop a short rise. She had long white hair and wore a short white gown of such a lightweight fabric that it almost floated around her. She flashed him a mischievous smile, then darted away.
Peter stood frozen, unsure what to do, then heard her laugh again. There was something unsettling about that laugh, something that made him feel it wouldn’t be such a good idea to follow her, but curiosity got the better of him and he sprinted up the path after her.
When he crested the rise, she was nowhere to be seen. He heard giggles. There across the way, beside a crumbling ledge, two girls in white gowns were holding hands. They looked like twins. One of them spoke into the other’s ear. They glanced at him and burst into fresh giggling. He started toward them and they skipped away behind the ledge.
As Peter ran to catch them, he realized the trees and underbrush were becoming thicker, a maze of bushes and briars, of creepers and vines. He wondered how he would ever find his way back to the trail. He rounded the ledge and caught sight of their white gowns far down the embankment.
He caught up with them in a wide clearing. There were three of them now, identical in every detail. They stood huddled together before a circle of leaning stones. The stones appeared much older than the surrounding rocks. No mold or moss grew on their surface, and all manner of strange symbols ran up and down their sides, and among the stones—
The girls regarded him through slanted, silvery eyes. Peter could see the tips of their pointed ears poking out from their hair. Their feet were bare and dirty, their flesh so white as to almost be translucent. He could see the spider-webbing of blue veins just beneath their skin. They smiled shyly at him.
Now that Peter had caught up to them, he didn’t know what to do and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Finally he raised his hand. “Hi.”
The girls burst out in giggles again and Peter flushed.
One of the girls slipped over to Peter. She traced a finger along his arm.
“What manner of creature are you?” she asked.
“I’m a Peter,” he said.
“What’s a Peter? Is it like a boy?”
“Of course, stupid,” the other one answered. “Can’t you see? He’s a boy.”
“A boy,” the third one chimed in. “A little boy all alone in the forest?”
“What’s a little boy doing all alone in the forest?”
“I’m…well, I’m,” Peter started to say he was lost, but didn’t want to be laughed at again. “I’m looking for friends to play with.”
The girls exchanged quick, knowing looks.
“So are we!” said one.
“Can’t believe the luck,” said another, laying a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“We can be playmates,” said the third as she slipped behind him, sniffing lightly at his neck and hair.
“What sort of games do you like to play?” asked the first.
Peter shrugged. “All sorts.”
“So do we!” said the second.
“Come with us,” added the third.
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
Peter hesitated. “Are there grown-ups?”
“Grown-ups?” They looked puzzled.
“Oh, you mean men-kind,” said the first. “Blood bells no, boy. Not where we’re going. Just fun and games.”
“Yes,” added the second. “Lots of wonderful games.”
“Come along,” said the third, and gestured for him to follow as the three of them strolled in among the circle of stones.
Peter followed, then stopped. All the hair along his arms stood up, his scalp felt prickly, and a strange tingling tickled his feet and hands. He thought he heard chimes and singing—a lullaby maybe. The sound echoed faintly about the stones.
“Oh, he doesn’t want to come,” said the first.
“Doesn’t want to play with us,” said the second.
“So sad,” added the third.
“Yes, I do,” said Peter.
“He’s afraid.”
“Am not.”
“Not just anyone can come, little Peter boy,” said the first.
“Only those who really wish to,” said the second.
“Wish it, Peter. Wish it and you can come and play with us,” called the third.
The girls slipped into the very center of the ring of stones, to where a flat round stone lay flush with the grass. Their bodies began to sparkle and then, slowly, they faded away, leaving behind a glittering rain of golden dust.
Peter jumped back, staring at the melting flakes of gold.
“Come, let’s play,” called the girls and laughed; their voices sounded far away as though from the bottom of a well.
Peter glanced about; it was getting dark and cold. He heard the distant call of a wolf, then several answering howls. He didn’t want to sleep in a tree again, not tonight. He looked at the stones. Where else did he have to go? He took a deep breath, bit his lip, and walked into the circle.
Nothing happened.
Peter closed his eyes. “I wish to follow them.”
Still nothing. He opened his eyes.
“I wish to follow,” he said, and this time he wished it with all his heart.
Golden sparkles flashed before his eyes, a silvery mist spun up around his feet, and the forest and stones faded away. For a second he was falling. His stomach lurched and Peter felt sure he would plummet to his death, but instead the mist thickened, became buoyant, and he was swimming through it, almost as though he could fly. He felt wind blowing across his face, and the air was warm and sweet.
