“GO!” Peter screamed. “It’s the Night!”
And suddenly they were climbing up into the sky, far away from the bloodied chaos below, far from where Kitoko was lying on the rock bed, all alone as the pirates ran over his body. Wendy rested her head against Peter’s thundering heart. Up, up, up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WENDY DIDN’T REMEMBER FLYING HOME. She remembered the heat of Peter as they rose through the mist, the blood that soaked through his shirt and pressed against her cheek, warm and sticky. She remembered Kitoko’s face. When they landed on the thatched roof, the Pan flag flapping in the wind, there was a great rush of boys. Peter set her down gently onto the wooden walkway that linked the Moon Tower to the rest of the tree. She blinked in the afternoon light.
“Peter . . . Kitoko.”
“I know,” he said gently. “That went differently than I expected it to.” His face was honest, bewildered, and a bit distraught. He tilted his head as he looked at Wendy with curious eyes. “Was the blood too much?” She nodded weakly, her stomach churning inside of her. She wondered if she was going to be sick. She heard the shouts of voices as hundreds of Lost Boys ran toward Peter, their laughter such a foreign sound after what she had seen. The boys that had been with them began unloading the wine, bags and bags of bottles, giving the bags to the younger boys. Peter leapt up.
“Oy! Take those to the Table and store them in the back. No one opens the wine until we’ve mourned Kitoko and Darby!”
The Lost Boys froze. A skinny boy with caramel skin and tousled brown hair stepped forward.
“Kitoko is . . . dead?”
Peter nodded sadly before climbing up onto the ledge. Wendy remembered the first time she had seen Peter talk to the boys, preening and triumphant. Now he was solemn, his hands crossed in front of him, reverent and sad.
“Kitoko gave his life for the Lost Boys you see beside me. Smith wanted them to return, and Kitoko stood his ground. He died for his brothers. He died being a General, and in his last moments, he confirmed why I picked him for General. Kitoko was brave, intelligent, and selfless. And though he wasn’t the type to share much of anything”—the boys gave a soft, sad chuckle—“I think he wouldn’t mind if I told you that he had become a Swift. Three days ago, Kitoko was given the gift of permanent flight. He wasn’t ready to share yet, being as shy as he was, but we had spoken of it last night, that it was time for him to take his place beside me, publicly.”
Peter’s eyes filled with tears. “Pan Island is not going to be the same place without Kitoko. Or Darby. I grieve alongside my other Generals—Oxley, Abbott, John.”
John. Wendy’s head jerked up and she found her brother, standing smugly at the back of the boys, arms crossed, trying hard to not look pleased at his inclusion in Peter’s speech. Wendy felt a weight lift off her chest. He is safe. Thank God. The little git. From here he looked so much older than the last time she had seen him. Perhaps it was the confidence that radiated out from him, and for a moment she was glad for him. Her brother, finally accepted by his peers, finally proud of something he had done. Perhaps the bitterness would melt from his personality. He looked over at Wendy, and she weakly raised her hand. He rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to Peter. Perhaps not. Peter was going on about Kitoko now, where he had found him, and his early exploits as a Pip. The crowd was both laughing and crying, except for Oxley, who was sobbing openly into his hands at the back of the room. Michael was holding onto the bottom of his shirt. A blinding pain shot past Wendy’s eyes, and she winced. Peter’s voice carried out over the boys, a wave of comfort, cradling them all in his confidence.