He put his hands on his hips and laughed. “That it is! You’re sharp, Wendy. This is a fairy lantern, one of the last, and the only one on Pan Island.”
The ground moved slightly underneath her again, and she understood instantly: the lantern was hanging. Cautiously she crawled on her knees and pushed opened the latch on the door, letting it swing open in the wind. She poked her head out, the wind whipping her hair in all directions. Below her was only sea. Craning her neck, she looked up and saw that the lantern was attached on an outstretched branch that had curled itself out over the water, the farthest eastern point of Pan Island. The lantern gave another rock, and Wendy pulled the door shut again, not wanting to fall into the sea, so far below. She looked up again, taking in the stars that shone through the star-shaped portal.
“Peter.” She turned, suddenly feeling very shy. “This is lovely, but we probably shouldn’t be here so late.” She gulped and added, “Alone.”
Peter tucked a piece of her hair, curling from the humidity, behind her ear. “Why wouldn’t we want that? You are so innocent and good, Wendy. It’s made it so hard to be near you—I am drawn to you, you must know.”
Wendy blushed. “I do know. I . . . feel similar.” She paused. “But I don’t feel like I know anything about you. I want to know you, Peter.” She touched a hand gently to his face before he turned away. “What question do you want to know? Ask me anything.” He seemed unsure of himself in this moment, disarmed by curiosity.
Wendy thought for a moment. “Where did you come from? When did you get to Neverland. HOW did you get to Neverland?”
Peter laughed. “That’s three questions.” He frowned quickly. “It was so long ago, I hardly remember myself. The details are spotty.”
Wendy smiled reassuringly at him. “I’ll take anything. I feel you know everything about us, and yet, we know nothing about you.”
He took a deep breath and looked up at the pointed ceiling. “I grew up on a farm in Wick. Wick was in Scotland.”
Scotland. Wendy tried to remember if that was near the place she had lived, which was . . . which was . . .
“ I was the youngest of seven children. We were very poor. A family like you Darlings would have scoffed at us, or perhaps taken pity on us. There was never enough to eat, only herring and bread on the good days. We would sometimes play at Vikings, or Norse Gods, but there was always the fear that tomorrow would bring an empty plate, and so we fished, all day, every day. No time for play, or dreaming, just an endless stretch of nothing and backbreaking work.” His voice grew angry with emotion, his eyes flashing navy. “There was nothing, nothing on that godforsaken island, just endless green and craggy rocks, a cold, angry sea, and bitter winters! My family lived in the long shadow of Old Man Wick, the castle on the sea, our Lord of the Manor, and we his pitiful serfs and slaves! The landowner was cruel, taxing us to death, helping himself to all we had, even though he had everything. And though we hated him, we dreamt of living there, in Old Man Wick, buried amongst such riches, such food, such wealth!
“My father, a selfish coward, drank himself to death when I was very young. I barely remember him, a useless waste of expanding flesh, but I remember seeing him beat my older siblings, and in turn, they beat on me. My mother had no interest in being a mother. When she could bother to feed us, she would slap down some food, remind us of what she could have been if it hadn’t been for us wretches, and leave, a new baby always on her hip, one that she would later resent and stave. It was a paltry existence, but sometimes late at night I would untangle myself from my brothers and sisters and sneak out of our tiny cottage of mud and rock, just to gaze up at the stars, so bright there at the edge of the world. I knew I was bound for something different. Something better. I was meant to rule the stars, not gaze at them from under our poverty. Every night for years, I watched the sky, asking whoever was up there for something more.”
He took a deep breath and turned away from Wendy so she could not see his face. “I was thirteen years old when my older brother pushed me into the River Wick, after I had the gall to suggest keeping the fish I had just caught.”