* * *
Wendy ducks out of the cave, and Tiger Lily follows. No smoke darkness in the sky now, and the ground is still beneath their feet, but rather than comforting her, the stillness, the emptiness, is ominous. It’s as though everything is waiting to see what she will do. The center of the island tugs at her, the heart of Neverland tied to her own heart. Even without Tiger Lily at her side, she’s certain she could find her way there.
The path is barely visible, but Tiger Lily’s steps are sure and unerring. Leaves hush under Wendy’s feet, slick things dropped from the trees, while Tiger Lily makes no sound, a ghost indeed.
They walk in silence until they come to a place where one branch of the path veers off between trees that bend inward to form a tunnel. The shadows swallow everything there. Wendy ran this way with Peter, oh so long ago, the ground blurring beneath their feet. And Wendy knows in her heart that Jane came this way too.
Wendy turns a slow circle, as if she could pluck some trace of her daughter from the air. She crouches, brushing her hands over the fallen leaves. Her fingers close on a stone arrowhead and she lifts it, straightening and slipping it into her pocket. She imagines Jane standing in the same spot. She wouldn’t be able to let a mystery like this lie; she would go to the end of the path.
Come on, Wendy, keep up. The heat, the breath of the shadow-creature. All of its rage echoed and packed small into Peter’s trembling frame.
Wendy’s hand falls to the hilt of Hook’s sword again, and she suddenly feels foolish carrying it. Will she lop off Peter’s head and stand over him crowing with her hands on her hips, like a cock at dawn? She slips the sword from the shawl at her waist, and holds it out hilt first toward Tiger Lily.
“You should be the one to carry this.” Wendy tries to smile, but her eyes sting. “I’m not a warrior.”
Tiger Lily accepts the sword, testing its weight. Wendy feels lighter without it, but the knot of fear remains. She smooths her palms over her pockets. Through all the running and climbing, she’s managed to keep her sharp little scissors, her needle, her thread. She prepared herself with everything she needed as she left London, even before she knew what she meant to do.
The bending trees swallow all outside sound. There is only Wendy’s breath, so loud and ragged in her ears she can’t tell if Tiger Lily breathes at all. When they emerge at the tunnel’s far end, the cliff is there all at once, looming over them. It sharpens Wendy’s memory—craggy rock with tangled roots and twisted, stunted trees and bushes growing out of it at odd angles. She can see a few narrow ledges and plateaus from this vantage point, but the top of the cliff is hidden from view.
* * *
Jane keeps her mind on finding the next place to put her feet and hands. Her breath comes hard, and she’s sweating. Even though she can’t look down, she knows she’s making progress. She takes a moment to be proud even though her fingers ache, wanting to cramp. She has to keep climbing.
For a while, the pride is enough to allow her to trick herself into forgetting what she’s doing, how dangerous it is, and how far away the ground is. Then a terrible roar splits the air. Timothy whimpers, and Jane presses flat against the rock, waiting for the world to stop shaking. Dirt and stones bounce down around her. She squeezes her eyes shut, but she feels the grit settle, clinging to her hair and her skin. She’s never been much fussed about baths one way or the other, but now, the first thing she wants to do when they do finally get home is soak in the tub for so long her skin prunes.
When the trembling finally stops, she risks shifting her weight, trying to get a better look at how far she’s climbed. To Jane’s surprise, her feet find a small lip of stone, just deep enough to hold her. She almost laughs, able to lower her arms and ease the burning ache in her muscles. But the moment doesn’t last. Timothy needs her, and there’s still more cliff above her.
A small tree juts out almost perpendicular from the rock above her head. Her arms protest, like someone has poured hot lead beneath her skin, but she makes herself stretch up on her toes as tall as she can. Her ribs ache, her toes barely keeping contact with the rock, but she’s just able to grab the branch on her second try. Trusting it to hold her weight, Jane leans out from the cliff face until she can see Timothy.
He’s a bare smudge in the dark, miserably pressed against the stone. At least the wind has stopped for a moment, and the ground is no longer shaking.
“Climb up beside me,” she shouts. “There’s room for both of us and we can rest a bit.”
Jane isn’t certain it’s true, but she knows the worst thing would be to let Timothy stop, to let tiredness and fear overtake him. Timothy shakes his head, a motion she can just see in the dark. A surge of frustration almost brings a sharp reply to her lips until she realizes how stupid she’s been. His legs and arms are shorter than hers. He can’t reach all the places she can; she should have thought of it sooner.
“You can do it.” Her voice cracks, afraid of a lie. “Just stretch as tall as you can.”
The ground shakes again, and Jane tightens her grip. Beneath her nightgown, her
