She has to stretch for the next handhold, groping with her fingers while keeping her eyes on the rock ahead of her. Sweat gathers, sticking a strand of hair to her forehead. Peter makes it look so easy, Neverland always there to help him every step of the way. Branches scratch at her skin and her muscles tremble, but she’s determined not to be left behind.
“Hurry up, Wendy!” Peter’s voice trills with laughter. Wendy has the impulse to say something very unladylike, but she needs to save her breath for climbing. Loose dirt and pebbles slide under her feet. When she reaches for the next handhold, Peter catches her wrist, startling her. Her feet slip, leaving her hanging over empty air, but Peter hauls her up as easily as though she were a rag doll.
She lands in an ungainly heap, gasping like a caught fish. When she’s able to sit up, she sees they’re on an outcropping of rock. Peering over the edge, she’s amazed to see how high she’s climbed. Neverland spreads like a patchwork quilt below them, the lagoon glittering, the beach curling pale around the borders of the island.
“In here.” Peter lays a finger to his lips, then points, his expression mischievous.
If he hadn’t shown her right where to look, Wendy would have missed the crack in the rock entirely. In fact, if she turns her head even a bit, it vanishes. It’s only a shadow, surely not big enough for a boy to fit through, but Peter turns sideways, slipping in as easily as water. Wendy hesitates, but she knows without having to be told that it’s like flying—she has to believe. As narrow as the gap is, there’s no room for both a girl and her doubt to fit through. Taking a deep breath, Wendy plunges into the dark on Peter’s heels.
The moment she does, she regrets it. Pitch-black air clogs her chest, rock walls hemming her in. Wendy can’t see two inches in front of her face. She wants to let her breath out, but she’s afraid if she does she’ll become wedged. What if she’s trapped here forever without John and Michael ever knowing what happened to her?
But there’s no space to turn around, and she isn’t certain she can back out either. Besides, she can already hear Peter’s taunts if she even tried. She forces herself to keep going. All at once, the tunnel widens. Wendy stumbles forward, a cork shot from a bottle.
The first thing she notices is it’s strangely warmer inside the cave. It’s as though there’s a fireplace burning somewhere, just out of sight. Wendy’s eyes adjust slowly. The ground slopes away, smooth and uneven at once, like cooled, melted wax. It’s like standing in a cathedral, or a forest made of stone. Pillars of rock divide the space, dripping from the ceiling and growing up from the floor. She can’t see every part of the space, and in fact, Wendy has the dizzying sense she’s only looking at a fraction of the cave. It might extend forever in every direction, another impossibility, larger than it seemed from the outside. She turns to look at the narrow entrance behind her, but she can’t make it out anymore.
“Come on.” Peter grabs her hand again, making her jump. His palm is sweat-slick against hers, and she feels his pulse rabbiting through his skin. What kind of secret could be worth all this?
Peter tugs at her, but Wendy drags her feet. She wants to slow down and see everything, but Peter is a force of nature, unstoppable. He continues to pull at her, and reluctantly, she follows him.
As they move deeper, a ruddy light colors the rock pillars burnt orange, like a sunrise. It’s as though the un-trees around them are on fire. Crystals glimmer, embedded everywhere, winking as stars in the dark. Wendy catches glimpses of niches and alcoves scattered about in unlikely places, making her think even more of a church, though she can’t imagine Peter or any of the Lost Boys ever gathering to pray.
Off to one side, she catches a glimpse of a chamber, and in its center, a pyramid of pale-colored, rounded stones.
“Keep up, slowpoke!” Peter tries to hurry her on, but Wendy digs her heels in, her breath catching. And all at once she sees they aren’t stones at all, they’re skulls—human skulls, a whole pile of them, and when she looks closer, she sees other bones stacked in niches in the walls.
“Peter!” She yanks her hand from his, and he turns to frown at her. When he follows her gaze, his expression doesn’t change— impatience, not fear or shock.
“You’re too slow.” Peter stamps his foot.
“But…” Wendy points, her arm a disconnected and ghostly thing floating in the dark. “Those are bones. They must belong to someone. You said no one can die in Neverland.”
Peter’s face scrunches, folding into lines around the constellations of his freckles.
“They aren’t someone, silly. They’re just skeletons. Come on!”
He grabs her arm so roughly Wendy has to move her feet or fall. She twists around, trying to keep the bones in sight. Does Peter really not know that people have skeletons inside? Or is he lying to her, keeping secrets? Does he even know what it means to die? She thinks of the boys playing war, their swords harmless, the bloodless wounds she spent the day binding.
She tries to think of the exact number of boys she saw in the tent that day, or before on the beach when they first landed. Are they the same? The numbers and names and faces shift and blur in her mind, making it hard to keep track. She’s certain of herself, and Peter, Michael, and John, but aside from that, she couldn’t say exactly how many children are on the
