This is no normal tunnel, though—the walls are not the smoothly hewed stone of Pan’s fortress. The walls here are all sharp edges and jutting corners that tell of the violence that created them. We don’t speak as we walk, but my hand slides into his as we make our way deeper into the heart of the island.
Deeper into the mountain, the tunnel grows even narrower. It’s all unexpected switchbacks and hairpin turns that make me feel like we’re going in circles, spiraling farther and farther into the heart of Neverland. My skin prickles with the certainty that at any moment the rock will once again begin to vibrate and rumble, crushing us beneath its weight. But the island remains disconcertingly quiet. The rock around us remains cold and dead.
Finally the tunnel opens, flaring out to reveal a large roomlike cavern that is a dead end. The ceiling is higher here, and it glows like a miniature night sky. Rowan notices the strange starlike lights at the same time I do and raises the torch higher so we can make out what’s causing the effect. Dark crystals embedded into the rock glow like tiny false stars, but they aren’t randomly scattered. There is a pattern to them, like tiny constellations.
Familiar constellations. The crystals in the ceiling form lines and angles that remind me of the runes on my mother’s stones. The runes carved into Pan’s skin.
“This is it,” I whisper, afraid to disrupt the silence around us by speaking too loudly.
Rowan’s face is all grim concentration as he raises the torch from one side of the room to another, searching for some sign that I’m right. “It’s a dead end, Gwendolyn. There’s nothing here save some bits of rock and more dampness.”
My heart sinks, because he’s right—this is a dead end. I don’t know what I expected to find, but there is nothing in this chamber but the glittering constellations above us and the silent rock surrounding us. Still, I can hear the sound of water rushing somewhere not so far off, and air is moving through the passage. It can’t be a complete dead-end.
“Look at the ceiling. This is it.” I can’t shake the sense that the Queen is here . . . somewhere.
I let go of Rowan’s hand and step away from him, beyond the light of his torch and to the smooth walls of the cavern. These walls aren’t damp, and when I press my hands to them, they feel almost warm. If I focus, I can feel the heartbeat of the island racing at a dizzying speed, faster than I’ve ever felt it before. But it’s softer than I’ve ever felt it too, as though it’s buried somewhere deep below.
Show me. I channel the demand—not the request—through myself, into the rock. Rowan stands near me again, the heat of his torch warming my face as I concentrate on speaking to, listening to the world beneath my hands.
As I’m listening, my heart beating in time to the distant pulse of Neverland, I hear a noise in the darkness of the cavern behind me. A sharp plinking sound, like a penny striking a table, and the echo of the sound rings in the silence.
“What was that?” Rowan whispers, holding his flame aloft.
I don’t let myself look. I don’t let myself do anything but focus on the feel of the stone beneath my hand, on my desire to see the Queen. I allow myself to let go of all my fear, all my misgivings, and to want.
To free her.
To free all of us, because if we can do this, I can go home—I can get Olivia home. If I can do this, I can make everything right.
But a voice inside me whispers, Not everything.
The heat building beneath my hands falters, and for a moment all I feel is the coolness of the rock and the certainty that I can’t save him—No matter what I do, I won’t be able to save the boy beside me.
I shove that thought out of my head. I won’t let myself be distracted. Not even for Rowan.
Plink. The sound comes again, and again it echoes. Plink, plink.
“It’s the ceiling,” Rowan tells me. He holds up the torch again, and in its flickering light, I see what he means. The glittering crystals in the ceiling are falling one by one, a solid, steady shower of stone. “Get back,” he says, pushing me against the wall as more fall.
Rowan covers me with his body as the noises steadily increase, rising in speed and volume, but still I concentrate on my task, calling to the world. Asking Neverland to heed my desire. As the crystals fall like dying stars, they throw debris into the air around us. I can smell the metallic, almost mineral scent of the dust they kick up from the floor when they land. I can taste it—the heart of Neverland coats my tongue with its bitter taste.
Then the falling crystals slow until, finally, the cavern is quiet. Nothing else tumbles from the ceiling, and after a long moment we right ourselves and shake the dust from our hair.