Fairies and the Quest for Never Land Page 3

  She drew near and rose a foot out of pure excitement. Maybe a fairy scout was observing her right now.

  “I’m a friendly Clumsy,” she called.

  When she reached the tree, she swooped down, trying not to knock into branches, but knocking into some anyway. She exhaled, came down hard, lost her balance, and tumbled backwards, protecting the precious lute against her chest.

  A Clumsy landing, she thought ruefully. Then the importance of the moment overwhelmed her. She sat back, hiccupping softly, and looked up.

  S E V E N

  THE MAPLE’S massive trunk rose out of ankle-deep fallen leaves. Its overlapping bark, layer on layer, gave the tree an air of great age. At the bottom was an oval tree knot. Above, the tree’s crown of branches and leaves spread wide enough to shelter a crowd of Clumsies or a herd of deer or a magnificence of fairies. No wonder this was the Home Tree.

  If it was.

  To Gwendolyn’s left, columbines bloomed. To her right, a row of white rosebushes led to an oak sapling. She set the lute down carefully, swallowed, and squeaked out the fairy greeting, “Fly with you.”

  No one answered.

  Maybe she’d spoken too softly. “Fly with you.”

  She heard only the swish of a nearby stream. She didn’t see even a glimmer of fairy glow or catch a whiff of fairy cooking.

  This might not be the Home Tree after all, or perhaps the fairies had gone away.

  Or they were shy. She opened her backpack and took out the fairy presents. “Look, Tink! A Clumsy tea strainer for you to fix.” It didn’t sound like much.

  Tink did not appear.

  With dwindling hope, Gwendolyn held the other gifts up and announced which fairies they were meant for. Last, she raised the lute. “Rani, here’s a mermaid’s lute.” She strummed it. It twanged like an iron nail across a grating. She plucked it, and the boy-yoy-yoy-yoinggg echoed in the woods.

  “A mermaid would play better.” With desperate cunning, she added, “Rani…some mermaid may want it back. The mermaid might be grateful to a fairy who brought it to her.”

  A squirrel dashed up the oak sapling. A brook burbled. Rani didn’t appear. Gwendolyn returned the gifts to the backpack and comforted herself by thinking, I’m on Never soil. I’m here. She patted the trunk of the maple. It was always comforting to touch a tree.

  She cast her mind back to her visions. Several times she’d seen a mill on a stream, called Havendish. The mill ground fairy dust from Mother Dove’s molted feathers. Gwendolyn had been hearing water since she’d landed.

  A short flight over two meadows brought her to a narrow stream. She flew in both directions but failed to spot a tiny mill.

  It’s a puzzle, she told herself. One strategy for puzzle solving was to do the easy parts first. Finding Mother Dove should be easier than finding a fairy, since Mother Dove was bigger.

  Gwendolyn flew higher. From her new perspective, the two meadows were light green thumbprints, the stream a mere pencil line edged by forest. To the west of the stream was another meadow, this one almost an exact circle.

  Mother Dove lived in a hawthorn tree on the edge of a place called the fairy circle. In the meadow, a ring of dense blue-green grass sprouted.

  Gwendolyn flew lower, her flight wobbling with excitement. Mother Dove would tell her how to find fairies. In fact—Gwendolyn’s flying wobbled even more—the fairy Beck might be at the nest right now. She rarely left Mother Dove’s side.

  Gwendolyn landed in the meadow and turned slowly, shading her eyes from the setting sun and scanning for a hawthorn tree.

  There! Bushy, covered with flower buds.

  She heard birdsong, but not a single coo. She flew around the hawthorn, although the thorns scratched her face and arms.

  “Mother Dove?”

  This couldn’t be the only hawthorn. She backed into the circle. The trees formed a green wall. Mother Dove’s nest might be just a few feet into the forest, but Gwendolyn could spend months finding it. She felt so disappointed she was sure the fairy dust was draining right out of her.

  Leaving the circle, she wandered on foot to other maples, none as majestic as the first. She felt so tired she could hardly stand up and so hungry her stomach no longer even rumbled.

  Night descended. In the darkness she stumbled over a root, fell, and rolled onto her back. Twinkling above was the star Peter in the Golden Hawk constellation. Her eyes closed. Before she could worry about wolves with double rows of teeth, she was asleep.

  An owl hooted. A Never deer nibbled her sneakers. Dawn came. Gwendolyn’s first full day on Never Land began. She woke on a single, clear thought: What if, after I left, Rani came out for her lute?

  If the lute was gone, fairies had been there. Too keyed up to remember to fly, she ran one way and then another before getting her bearings and racing to the big maple.

  The lute was there. She sank down next to it.

  Nothing had turned out as she’d imagined. She had pictured her first fairy encounter—the fairies’ bashful smiles, her own beaming admiration, and then their joyous welcome. In her dreams she’d pleased them so much that they invited her to spend her entire visit in Fairy Haven.

  She gave in and cried. As the tears slowed, she grew angry. It wasn’t fair. Mother and Grandma and Wendy had had the Never Land adventures they’d hoped for, but Gwendolyn wasn’t going to. She’d waited and waited, longer than they had, and she wasn’t going to.

  She picked up the lute. No fairy would ever strum its strings. No Clumsy-fairy friendship would be formed because of it. With all her strength, she hurled the lute at the oak sapling. She missed the skinny trunk, and a crash came from the woods.

  Leaves rustled. When she looked up a fairy was hurtling at her.

  Gwendolyn smiled so widely her cheeks hurt. As her ears drummed and her heart pounded and her stomach flip-flopped and her toes clenched, she thought, A fairy, at last.

  E I G H T

  THE FAIRY coming at Gwendolyn had a pointy face, long black ponytail, and wings with jagged edges. Could she be Vidia? Gwendolyn recalled her kiss visions. Yes, this was Vidia, the fastest fairy—and the meanest.

  She hovered a few inches from Gwendolyn’s nose. “Fly with you, darling. Would you throw me, too? Make me go fast. Throw me!”

  Gwendolyn opened her mouth, but her breath wouldn’t come.

  “Dear heart, don’t talk. Throw me.”

  But Gwendolyn wanted more than anything to speak to her first fairy—if only she had air, and words. What should she say? Finally “Hi!” erupted. She blushed. “I mean, Fly with you. I’m so glad you spoke—”

  “Sweet, throw—”

  A sparrow man—a male fairy—dropped between Vidia and Gwendolyn.

  “Fly with you!” Gwendolyn told him. “I’m so happy…”

  He grabbed Vidia’s arm. She wrenched herself free and zipped backwards. He buzzed back and forth, blocking Gwendolyn.

  She didn’t know which one to help, or how. She seemed only to know how to smile. They were both so brisk in the air, so controlled, so right. Of course Vidia was faster, but the sparrow man had an air of alertness. “Are you a scout?”

  He whirled in the air and faced her, eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

  Gwendolyn lowered her voice to a whisper, not wanting to frighten him. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  He flew up into the leaves of the maple.

  “Love,” Vidia said, “throw me.”

  “Really? Throw you?”

  “Hard, the way you threw the lute.”

  “Why?”

  “To make me fly faster, sweet.”

  “But you’re already the fastest.”

  “And you’re already the least intelligent. One can always go faster, dear.”

  Wonderful! Gwendolyn thought, if anything, smiling even wider. Vidia was being herself, not worried about insulting the Clumsy.

  “I’m waiting, love.”

  “But I’ll hurt you.” Still, Gwendolyn held out her right hand,
palm up.

  Vidia landed, spread her legs for balance, and folded her wings.

  It felt like a butterfly had settled on her, except Vidia weighed more than a butterfly. Gwendolyn brought her trembling hand up to the level of her face. “I’m Gwendolyn, and you’re Vidia. I know—”

  Vidia yawned.

  Gwendolyn closed her hand, leaving the fairy’s head out at the top and feet out at the bottom. Vidia’s wings tickled her palm, and Vidia’s glow shone between her fingers. She pictured a fairy’s delicate rib cage and tried not to squeeze.

  “If you don’t hold me tighter, sweet, you won’t be able to throw me hard. Don’t worry about my wings. They never hurt.”

  Gwendolyn tried to squeeze and not squeeze at the same time. She wound up and threw overhand as far as she could.

  As soon as Gwendolyn let go, Vidia’s wings spread and beat the air. Her glow made a line of light, streaking away, slowing, turning, coming back.

  “Again, darling.”

  Gwendolyn watched Vidia’s rapt expression as she waited for the throw. Vidia closed her eyes and mouthed Go!

  As Gwendolyn threw, she thought, Harder, stronger, farther.

  “Again, sweetheart.”

  Gwendolyn threw again. And again. And again. Vidia wanted no conversation. For her sake, Gwendolyn became a throwing machine, promising herself to keep going as long as she could raise her arm.

  When her shoulder began to scream with pain, the sparrow man and two more fairies landed side-by-side on the lowest branch of the maple. One fairy seemed to be another scout, judging by her watchfulness. The newcomer in the middle wore a tiara.

  Could it be? Gwendolyn wondered, her pulse racing. Could this be Queen Clarion?

  Queenliness was in the lift of the fairy’s chin, the directness of her gaze, the purity of her glow, the classic upsweep of her wings.

  Gwendolyn curtsied, a very un-Never-fairylike act. “Queen Clarion—”

  “Ree. Call me Ree.”

  “Queen R-Ree, I’m honored.”

  Vidia lighted on Gwendolyn’s hand again.

  “That’s enough, Vidia,” Queen Ree said. “You’ll tire her out.”

  “Tire the Clumsy? Can’t be done, Ree darling.”

  The two scouts flew to Vidia and hovered next to her.

  “I’m leaving. Gwendolyn, dear, work on that weak throwing arm.”

  Gwendolyn felt the tiniest pressure as a heel pushed against her hand. In a moment Vidia vanished into a clump of leaves at the edge of the clearing. The scouts returned to Queen Ree and stood protectively at her side.

  “Fairies,” Queen Ree announced in a ringing tone, “I believe we are safe. You may leave your hiding places.”

  Why had they felt unsafe? Gwendolyn wondered. They had seen Clumsies before.

  Fairies pushed leaves aside and swarmed around her. She stood stock still, resisting the urge to stand straighter and suck her stomach in.

  “No freckles,” one said.

  Another fairy pronounced, “Brown hair.”

  “Dimpled chin.”

  They were discussing Gwendolyn as though she were a new fairy, just blossomed out of a laugh. She felt her heart expand with joy.

  “Wide smile,” sang a fairy with a beautiful voice.

  A singing-talent fairy! Gwendolyn thought.

  “Long nose.”

  “Long feet.”

  “Long, period.”

  Gwendolyn pointed at them. “Short, period.”

  They laughed. She laughed, too, while thinking, I’m laughing along with fairies! She told them her name again, and they started telling her theirs and their talents. She concentrated as she heard each name and talent, knowing she’d never forget a single one.

  “Look!” Queen Ree cried.

  A new miracle began.

  N I N E

  UP AND DOWN the maple, in lines and rows along the trunk and the thicker branches, layers of bark rolled back to reveal windows and doors. Fairies appeared at the windows, putting out flowerpots and hanging wind chimes.

  Gwendolyn couldn’t stifle her excited hiccups. This was the Home Tree! This was how it was supposed to look.

  But why had the fairies been hiding?

  Delicious scents wafted out: pie, stew, bread. If Gwendolyn’s empty belly could have spoken, it would have yodeled.

  A scout pulled at the knot at the base of the tree, and the knot opened on tiny hinges. It was really a door, the Home Tree’s grand entrance. Five fairies wielding brooms exited and flew around Gwendolyn’s feet, sweeping up dead leaves. To help, Gwendolyn rose a few inches, while calling, “Fly with you” to each of them.

  Below the leaves were pebbles set in whorls and swirls.

  Queen Ree perched on Gwendolyn’s shoulder, which Gwendolyn instantly raised to make more level.

  “This is our pebbled courtyard,” Queen Ree said. “The pebble talents took a year to make it.”

  Gwendolyn hadn’t known there were pebble talents. “I love the way the stones fit together without any spaces.”

  “We do too. Watch! Over there.” Queen Ree pointed.

  Beyond the oak sapling, fairies lifted a tangle of vines to reveal the barn Gwendolyn had seen in her second kiss vision. Eight mice waddled out.

  Adorable, Gwendolyn thought fondly.

  Queen Ree returned to her branch on the Home Tree. Gwendolyn was sorry she’d left, but her shoulder relaxed.

  An apple filled the entrance. Gwendolyn’s mouth fell open and watered at the same time.

  The apple emerged completely, along with three fairies, who were half pushing, half lifting it from behind. They were followed by three more fairies, shouldering a banana, then pairs of fairies, each pair bearing a peach, a plum, and a nectarine.

  One of the ones pushing the apple had floury hands and hair dusted with flour. “You must be hungry,” she said. “We’ll start baking and cooking for you. I’m Dulcie. Here.”

  Gratefully, Gwendolyn held out her hands. Food at last, and not ordinary, mainland food. This was fairy-grown. “Tha—” Fairies didn’t say Thank you. “It’s very considerate.” She stuffed the peach, the plum, and the nectarine in her skirt pockets and the banana in her shirt pocket. The apple she raised to her mouth.

  A single apple would make enough apple sauce for at least twenty fairies. “Can you spare it? I’m not that hungry.” She held the apple out, even though she thought she might scream if Dulcie took it away.

  “We have an orchard, and the tiffens bring us bananas, more than we need,” Dulcie said. “Eat.”

  Gwendolyn took a dainty bite, embarrassed to open her mouth wide. Her tongue was so big. Her teeth were so big. All the way open, her mouth was half the size of a fairy.

  Dulcie laughed. “Eat!”

  Gwendolyn did. The apple tasted sweet and tart and juicy. She finished it in five bites and then went on to the rest. Each fruit was perfectly ripe, the peach peachier, the plum plummier, the nectarine nectarinier than any she’d ever eaten. when she finished, she was still hungry, but less so.

  Turning cartwheels in the air, a fairy crossed in front of Gwendolyn’s eyes. “I remember you. You clapped!” She flew in close and tapped Gwendolyn’s chin, as if she were tagging home base in a game of hide-and-seek. “I saw you.”

  “Prilla?”

  “You know me?”

  Gwendolyn couldn’t resist boasting. “I clapped louder than anyone.”

  “I heard.” Prilla flew to Queen Ree. “Somebody should tell Mother Dove she’s a good Clumsy.”

  Gwendolyn hiccupped so hard her chest hurt. Did Mother Dove think she was bad? “Queen Ree, was everyone hiding from me?”

  Queen Ree adjusted her tiara. “Gwendolyn…”

  She looked so serious! Gwendolyn was afraid to hear her answer. Another painful hiccup erupted.

  On the Home Tree’s second story, the only metal door in Fairy Haven opened. A fairy flew out. Tink! Gwendolyn double hiccupped, out of distress about being hidden from and out of delig
ht at seeing Tink. “Fly”—Hiccup!—“with you, Tink.”

  Tink flew to Gwendolyn’s hand, which was longer than she was, and tugged it upward. with a huge effort, she lugged it over the kiss. “When you start hiccupping,” she said, “hold the…the…pendant.”

  Perhaps she couldn’t say kiss. After all, it was the kiss that had saved Wendy from Tink herself.

  Gwendolyn folded her hand around it. Her hiccups stopped. Tink had fixed her! As if she were a pot!

  “Fly with you.” Tink met Gwendolyn’s eyes. “Mother Dove said you were dangerous.”

  “She said Clumsies are dangerous?”

  “Just you.” Tink flew back indoors. No one else moved. The fairies who had been smiling sobered.

  Gwendolyn tightened her grip on the kiss. If Mother Dove thought she was dangerous, maybe she was. “Dangerous to fairies?”

  T E N

  “DO YOU think I’m dangerous?” Gwendolyn asked Queen Ree.

  “Mother Dove thinks so.”

  “Because I’m big?”

  “We don’t know.” Queen Ree adjusted her tiara again. “But Mother Dove may have been wrong. You were kind to Vid—”

  “—ia. She is dangerous! Look!”

  Gwendolyn whirled around to see who had spoken. A dozen fairies flew the smashed mermaid’s lute toward her.

  Rani, the wingless fairy, rode on top. She mopped her tears with a leafkerchief. “Of course you’re dangerous. How could you break a mermaid’s lute? A mermaid’s lute?”

  The lute neck hung from the lute body. The body had caved in and the wood had splintered. The strings sagged. One string had been sliced.

  Gwendolyn’s face reddened and her ears heated up. “I’m sorr—” Hastily, she switched to the fairies’ phrase. “I’d fly backwards if I could.” If only she could un-throw the lute.

  If only she could make herself un-dangerous.

  The fairies set the lute down gently.

  “I found it on the beach. Rani, I took it for you. I’d fly—”