The Never War

Wind feathered across Holland’s face. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She swayed with the branch that she was standing on, the wind strong above the tree tops. It was early morning, the sun not high enough in the sky to make it afternoon and the heat not strong enough to draw her down into the shade.

Holland had climbed up to the tops of the trees, standing on the thickest branch. A sea of green stretched out around her, but she could see gaps in the forest where other things existed. From the branch, she could see the backing of the Mermaid Lagoon, the water blue and undisturbed. She could also see the large mountain on the island, jutting up like a thorn in the middle.

“Holland!” Holland looked down at the ground. She couldn’t see Harrow through the branches, but she could imagine that her hands were on her narrow hips, eyes glaring about for Holland’s location. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

“In the trees,” she called down. “And I would invite you up if you weren’t impossibly terrified of them.”

“It’s not the trees I’m afraid of. It’s the height of them. Come down!”

Instead of arguing with her sister like she normally would have, Holland began the descent. She grabbed the rough bark of the tree, swinging down and using her feet to jump lower and lower. She did so with complete ease, a natural grace to her step. Her hands were slightly scrapped from the rough texture of the branches and from swinging and catching another, but she liked the soft sting.

At the bottom most branch, everything came into sight. The Lost Boys, as Peter had called them, were all milling about. They wore ragged tunics and some of them skins of animals that they had killed on their own, tokens of pride. Harrow stood among them, her hands on her hips, just like Holland had pictured.

It was still a lengthy jump from the tree to the ground, but Holland leapt without hesitation. Her feet hit the compact earth. She lost balance, falling forward. She tucked her body into a tight ball, rolling back over head, keeping momentum until she rolled all the way to her feet, standing easily.

“Are you alright?” Harrow asked, concern coloring her voice. Holland dusted the dirt off of her, grinning and nodding. “That looked a hard fall.”

“Not as hard as your head, I assure you.” Harrow gave her a look. Holland spun around in a delicate circle, planting a kiss on her sisters cheek and skipping off to grab her bow and quiver. She wrapped the quiver around her body, keeping the bow in hand. “I want to do something fun.”

“Fun happens to be my favorite word.” Holland spun, surprised. Peter had appeared behind her, leaning against the tree that her bow had been against. He was dressed in his usual green, dirt on his face. She wondered what he had been doing that had made his face so dirty. “As it were.”

“I think your definition of fun is a bit skewed,” Harrow muttered, setting the top of her hand on the hilt of her knife. Holland only looked at her briefly before turning to Peter. He had an eyebrow quirked. “Am I wrong?”

He blew out a breath of air, considering it. “I don’t think there is such thing as wrong.”

Holland cocked her head. “You don’t believe in right and wrong?”

“Not really, no. I believe in right, and just less right. Who says what’s wrong and what’s right? The God’s of your world? Even your God’s know that they don’t dictate here.”

Peter pushed himself off of the tree. He gestured lightly with his fingers for Holland and Harrow to follow. Holland did without question, but not because she followed him with blind faith. Holland wasn’t afraid of him. She felt that maybe she should be, but she wasn’t. Peter looked as dangerous as he did sharp, and she knew he was capable of hurting her, but she also was aware of what she herself was capable of doing.

With a scowl, Harrow followed Holland and Peter as well. The lost boys looked excited, some sort of electric humming between them as they made hoots and hollers. It was very odd, but it only made Holland tingle with anticipation. She wanted to do something thrilling

They walked to a large open area, where the trees lined the flat, compact earth in a sort of ring. It was down a beaten path, little ways from the tree that they called Home Tree. Holland thought it was easy enough to navigate as she stepped in the circle of trees.

Stones were sat at random intervals. She began to wonder what purpose they served until the boys hopped up on them, sitting on the large boulders and continuing their calls. Some of them imitated birds while others howled like bloodthirsty wolves.

Holland realized it looked like a ring where one would watch fights. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end but she stood her ground as Peter crowed, silencing the other boys. He jumped up high in the air, standing on the stone that was placed at the very Northernmost point of the circle. He put his hands on his hips, nodding once.

“This is where we practice.”

Harrow stood next to Holland, casting a glance at her younger sister. Holland shrugged her shoulders, no less confused than Harrow. “Practice for what?” Harrow questioned, the hardness in her voice like a wall.

Peter jumped off the rock and gestured to Holland. “Shoot me.”

“What?” Holland and Harrow asked at the same time. Holland stared at him like he was crazy, but she could see he wasn’t crazy, just brave. There was a thin line between bravery and craziness, and he was dancing along it on his tiptoes. “You can’t be serious?” she asked, though her fingers were already running along the string of her bow.

“Oh I am. You won’t hurt me.” He grinned, and she thought that he looked rather wolfish in that moment. “If you do, all the better for you, love. Come on, have at it.”

Harrow glanced at Holland. “It’s no skin off my back if you shoot the bastard.” She put her hands up, stepping back a few paces. “Go ahead. Make it hurt.”

Licking her lips, Holland turned to Peter. His hands were at his sides, an easiness about his posture. The Lost Boys stomped on the ground, making her look at them. They did it again, making a beat as they stomped and clap, adding a noise or two in here and there.

Removing an arrow from her quiver, Holland nocked it. The boys sounds were upping the pace, and she realized that they were in exact timing with her heart. Their stomping was beating rapidly, echoing how she felt inside. For some reason it eased her, made her breath out as she pulled the bow. She aimed the tip of the arrow in the center of Peter’s chest, sighting down the shaft.

At the other end of the circle, his eyes glittered. She was momentarily distracted by the grin that was stretching across his face. She looked away from his features then and down the shaft of her arrow. Taking a breath, she leaned forward slightly and let go of the arrow, a sharp twang following.

Holland lowered the bow instantly to see the end result. She knew it was a well-placed shot, but it didn’t hit Peter. In fact, a burst of laughter escaped her lips as she saw that his right hand was in front of his chest, fist closed around the shaft, stopping it from piercing him in the heart.

An eruption of noises sounded from the boys. Holland shook her head as Peter smiled, spinning the arrow between his long fingers. Something about the gesture seemed extremely intimate as he arrived just in front of her, holding up the arrow, tip up, in front of their faces.

“Nice shot. It's all about slowing down what's in front of you, feeling the energy and snapping it.”

Holland took the arrow from him, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought about it, but her mouth worked faster than her brain when she said, “My turn.”

“What?” Harrow asked, as if she had heard wrong. “I’m sorry, did you just say-"

“She said it’s hurt turn.” Peter rolled his head to look at Harrow. Something in the movement was haughty, threatening, almost. Harrow went red in the face as she took a step forward. William caught her by the wrist. “Will, I think you may need to talk some sense into our friend Harrow here. See, the way things work, is that everyone has free will- unless Will or I say to do something. If Holland wants-"

“Of course she wants to!” Harrow screeched. Her hand went to her belt where both Holland and Harrow were surprised to find that her knife was gone. Peter held it up by the tip of the blade. “What the hell?”

“I have good hands.” He threw a wink at Holland, who wasn’t following exactly. “Your sister wants to catch and arrow, she’s going to catch and arrow. You have no right to stop her.”

“I have every right, you asshole!”

“Harrow,” Holland said sternly. Something in her voice must have sounded different, because Harrow shut up, looking at her little sister. William had both of Harrow’s arms pinned behind her back, holding her tightly. “Are you going to let me do this or does Will have to keep a hold on you?”

“Oh?” Harrow growled. “You’re on a first name basis now.”

Holland dug her boot into the ground. She knew why Harrow was worried; it was her job. But she wanted to do this, to prove that she was someone worth while. She believed that you had to step out of your comfort zone if you every wanted to be something important. She wanted to do that, and Harrow wasn’t going to let her.

“Hold her,” Holland said quietly, guilt seeping into her heart as Harrow made a noise that sounded like a vicious snarl. Holland handed Peter her bow. She walked towards the rock as Holland screamed out. The Lost Boys were making noises again, cheering her on. “Give me your best shot, Pan.”

Stepping up on the rock, adrenaline thrummed through Holland’s veins. She felt the same erratic heartbeat again as she had when the mermaid had grabbed her, the same muted elation that came right before life and death. It was like a spark, some sort of small flame that started and pulsed through her like a living creature.

With her hands at her side, Holland looked at Peter. He grinned at her and nocked the arrow. Somehow she had known he was going to do it. She had known all along, exactly what Peter was going to do. One moment, he hadn’t pulled the bow. The next, Holland was striking out with her hand, grabbing the arrow with lightning speed.

Holland’s hands trembled. She had no time to prepare for it, but she had seen it happen. It was like the world had slowed down around her. She didn’t even have to see Peter pull back the bowstring or aim at her. She had felt the arrow cutting through the air, like it was some sort of energy attached to her being. She stretched out to that attachment, pulling it out of the air.

The arrow head was pressed against the hollow of her throat. A single line of hot, sticky blood trickled down from were it was pressed against her. It hadn’t hit her hard, but it had cut the first layer of her skin.

Lowering the arrow, she looked up. Peter was smiling at her- not smirking, but smiling. Pride swelled in her chest as she hoped off the rock. The boys were screaming so loudly that at first, she hadn’t realize Harrow was spitting and cursing, venom in her words.

“Harrow, I’m fine!” Holland laughed, her voice breathy. She stepped up to Peter, spinning the arrow in her hand. Blood stained the tip. “I do believe you injured me, sir.”

His response wasn’t what she had expected. “I was trying to.”