Second Star to the Right

By Natalya M. Newman

Neverland is a haven for the lost and lonely, a place of dreams and eternal youth; or so Wendy Darling believed from her stories. But when she is close to giving up her happiness and Peter Pan sweeps her away to Neverland, she discovers that not all is as it seems.

Light and shadows switch sides at the flip of a coin as Neverland's inhabitants struggle to cope with a world that is falling away beneath them. But how far is she willing to go to save Neverland, when it could mean losing everything she holds dear?

Forced to confront a hazardous terrain of emotions and memories, Wendy must navigate the fragments of Neverland's past as Peter's mind unravels. Wendy is determined to save Neverland and return its joy and innocence.

Even if it means sacrificing her own.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natalya M. Newman
• Release date: Dec 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9780473693947

Book preview

Second Star to the Right

Natalya M. Newman

This is a work of fiction, a reimagining of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental and unintended.

First published in 2023.

Text © Natalya M. Newman 2023.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

ART CREDITS

Cover Art: Magda Wojciechowska

Map: Anna Kidman

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, storage in any information retrieval system, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

ISBN

978-0-473-69393-0 (Paperback)

978-0-473-69394-7 (Epub)

978-0-473-69395-4 (Kindle)

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

For anyone who has ever felt lost

and wished for a place to belong.

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prologue

Hourglasses are a delicate, precise way to keep time enslaved. The moment, the weight and the contents must be perfect. A single mistake pushes everything off course, like a wind change redirects a ship. The beat of a single butterfly's wings could set off a chain of moments resulting, later, in a hurricane; and a grain of sand is enough to cause an avalanche. Or, in some cases, enough to stop time.

It could be argued that time was a medicine, a way to heal or account for past wrongs. If a grenade was detonated in a forest or a fire gained control of its movements, despite the chaos and pain of the moment, all that would remain would be a burnt scar containing memories, an irregularity left behind to intrigue stray wanderers. When the land recovered enough to push back, the scar would appear as though it were born anew, with grass reclaiming reminiscence and vines restraining errant nightmares.

But the wanderers would still remember. Their memories would taint the land, a spectral memory of a moment long before, rendering time a pawn in the eyes of recollection.

Time was not always the answer, however. In a world where time was simultaneously running out and building up, one young boy turned his back on the possibility of growth. He might have done it to remain a child and hold on to the freedom children experienced. His motive might have been spite, a direct message to the adults in his life telling them he wanted no part in ‘growing up’.

Or perhaps time turned its back on him.

In the brief lapse between one moment and another, the boy realised he no longer wanted to move in the direction time demanded.

A flash of light illuminated the sky as a star woke up, but no one saw it. Just as nobody noticed a young boy, no older than fourteen years, escape to his shadowed bedroom and close the door behind him without a sound. The raised voices reached him despite his efforts to shut them out.

You can’t take that away from him, Eleanor!

Yes, I can. I’ve had enough of you filling his head with fantasies, Noah. He’s far too old for such nonsense.

Curled up beneath the quilted blanket on his bed, he listened without reaction to his mother’s argument. Like the tide rolling with the movement of the earth, she had voiced the same concerns countless times and each time dropped the issue with great reluctance. It didn’t sound like his father would win this time.

He’s not too old for anything. I understand you want Peter to start working, but can’t you let him have this for himself?

Do I not give him enough? We work hard every day to provide for ourselves and for him. I don’t know if we can hold on much longer without help.

Silence. The final nail in the coffin of his childhood was being prepared and considered. The boy could hear the sound of a hammer sinking metal into wood and condemning him to a new life. A life he didn’t want.

Noah, he needs to let go. Her voice was much softer this time. The boy knew she didn’t want this any more than he did. Peter should have started his apprenticeship long before now. It is time he grew up, and I won’t have you telling him ridiculous fairy tales and stopping him from earning his keep. He needs to learn -

Peter hugged his arms closer to his chest, a mockery of the hugs he shared that very morning with his parents. Another reminder that he was running out of time faster than he could hold onto it. His bare feet flexed under the blanket, still cold to touch despite his attempt at warming them up. There was a fireplace in the living room that would help, but that was where his parents were, believing him to be asleep.

It would be easier if he were dreaming. At least then he would know nothing was real; that everything he heard was nothing more than an illusion conjured by his idle mind. No risks, no consequences, no responsibilities. What a world that would be.

If only life was so simple. Peter rubbed away the tears that had made their way down his face and a quiet, broken laugh escaped his lips. He toed the line, the edge of the cliff beneath him slowly crumbling. Cold shocked his bare feet as he swung them over the side of the bed and touched down on the hardwood floor.

Peter tuned out his parents’ voices as he reached under the worn bedframe. He couldn’t remember where he heard it, but he knew that a candle might help chase away the shadows, if only for a little while. He struck the match a few times before he was rewarded with a small flicker of light. The flame danced up the match and he held it to the wick of a grubby old candle.

Surprise didn’t show on his face when wisps of smoke trailed from the extinguished match only seconds later. Peter supposed that anything that could go wrong, would. A muffled thud interrupted the quiet as he dropped the candle to the floor, a dead match following soon after. In a few easy steps, he crossed his room and flung open the heavy curtains to reveal a foggy night sky.

Cool, muted moonlight washed over the floor in front of the window before spilling over the rest of the room. The rickety wooden desk that held a warm tone under sunlight was reduced to a silver shadow. Along the wall, an ageing bookshelf sat with its varnish peeling away, scuff marks detailing where its weight had been dragged across the floor. Beneath his bed was a frayed wool rug, its colour washed out by the sun but given new life in the moonlight.

Peter recalled the nights his father had curled up on the threadbare rug with him and filled his mind with stories. Tales of spirits and fairies, of mermaids, pirates and pixies. Every word his father spoke wove magic into his reality, filling his world with wonder and curiosity.

Under the moon’s gaze, Peter couldn’t help but notice his room was much colder. Not in temperature - though he could admit that the draughty walls did not retain heat well - but in personality. By daylight, it was easier to hold onto the warmth and cheerful light in his life, but moonlight was not so forgiving.

Moonlight revealed the truth.

Peter shivered and sunk down onto the window seat, drawing his knees close to his chest and resting his chin on them. He expected resistance when he pushed against the window frame, waiting for the rusted hinges to squeak or the glass to groan, but it opened without preamble.

Perhaps the moon respected that Peter had realised its truth, or maybe it was that his room could get no colder, for the open window did not bring with it an icy breeze. The curtains billowed in a way that mimicked his mother’s skirts. The silver-washed moonlight flickered uncertainly for a moment before brightening.

His wandering gaze was met with rows upon rows of townhouses, each with golden light spilling from the edges of their windows. Those inside sought to retain enough warmth to ward off the chill bite of winter, drawing their curtains closed. The smog and haze resting thick and stagnant in the sky made it hard to see the stars.

Somehow, nobody else noticed when a single star fell from the sky and floated towards Peter’s window. Just as nobody noticed Peter perch on his windowsill to investigate the glimmering light. Soft, unscarred hands - the hands of a child - cupped it, allowing the golden glow to illuminate his features. Its comforting warmth drowned out the shadows and moonlight that had threatened to overwhelm him only moments before.

Peter held the little light up to his ear and unblemished delight lit up his face at what he heard. A sweet, quiet voice that brought to mind a tinkling bell echoed around his bedroom.

"I heard your sorrow. What is it you wish?"

A wish. What did he wish for? His thoughts jumped to every adventure and escape his mind could conjure, but he knew it would not be enough. Peter closed his eyes and let his parents’ voices reach him once more. He heard them argue about his future, imagined the confines of his room, and examined the hole nestled in his ribcage. There could be only one answer.

I wish to leave, he whispered at last. "I don’t want to grow up. I... I can’t. Please, just let me stay as I am. I wish… Even if he imagined it all, if the light was only make-believe, at least he would finally know what he wanted. I wish I didn’t have to grow up. I don't want to be sad."

The star glowed brighter, diminishing the shadows around his room.

What is your name?

Peter - He stopped. Did he really want to keep his full name? What use did it truly have, other than to remind him of something he could never escape? His mind drifted back to one of his father’s stories, a tale of nature, shepherds and flocks.

... Pan. My name is Peter Pan.

The light laughed, her voice ringing with gentle joy.

"Well, Peter Pan, can you trust me?"

Peter wanted to. Oh, how he wanted. The words he so desperately longed to say became lodged in his throat. Trust was such a fickle thing, and he had barely met the star. But in the end…

If it gets me away from here, I will trust you forever.

"Good. Now listen carefully."

Peter leaned closer and cocked his head towards the light, then nodded and opened his hands. Within the glow was a winged silhouette around six inches tall. Over a pair of long brown pants held in place by twine, she wore a tunic the colour of ripe green pears. The mottled fabric fell to her thighs, held in place by a belt around her waist.

You know what to do, the fairy whispered. Be quick.

Peter nodded and followed her path with his eyes, marvelling at the light that trailed from her fluttering wings as she hovered outside the window. With a smile, she gestured for him to come closer. The young boy stepped forward but hesitated. His eyes were drawn to his closed door and the light peeking out from under it.

Would his parents miss him? On Peter’s hand, Noah’s old signet ring ached where it rested on his finger. Tarnished metal, worn and scratched by time. The ring was usually warmed by his body heat but at that moment it was painfully cold. With a deep breath and a flood of second thoughts, he slid the ring off his finger and let it fall to the floor.

The windowsill was cold against Peter’s bare feet and he could barely grasp the frame as his hands shook. His heart sped up erratically and he looked to the fairy for reassurance.

Come with me, you’ll be safe. You can be happy, she said.

Sound roared and quieted in his ears, becoming muffled and deafening as Peter’s fingers loosened their hold on the window frame of his fifth-storey bedroom. He stepped forward into the night and fell with his eyes shut tight against the sight of the cobblestone so far below.

Accompanied by the golden light of a fairy, Peter Pan flew into the sky.

If only he had stayed a moment longer, he would have witnessed his parents bursting into his room with brilliant smiles. For the first time, their expressions of joy matched.

Your mother has finally agreed! Noah would have said. You’ll be working with me, but we can keep our stories!

They would have laughed and danced around, turning the worn, faded bedroom into a place of warmth and magic. Would have.

But Peter Pan had not stayed a moment longer.

As it was, only Eleanor was there to see her husband sink to the floor, his trembling hands reaching for the signet ring their son had treasured. With only the moon to bear witness, they broke down sobbing at the sight of damp footprints on the windowsill and the open window letting the sharp bite of winter into their home.

Perhaps Peter Pan would have been puzzled to see something lying broken on the cobbled street below his window as he flew into the night.

But he never looked back.

sound

noun: vibrations that travel through the air or another medium and can be heard when they reach an ear.

Afternoon sunlight spilled over Neverland, inviting warmth everywhere it reached. Soft touches of gold dusted the canopy of the forests covering the island, turning the leaves an inviting shade of green.

Many of the colours of Mirtis Forest, lying in the centre of Neverland, glowed faintly with Spring magic as the day turned over, revealing a new beginning. The type of magic that nudges seeds to sprout, watches flowers bloom and keeps the soil moist and filled with nutrients.

As the sun trod across the sky, the light moved in an otherworldly way, as though a pair of hands was pouring it from above the clouds. Shadows danced and laughed beneath the trees as they greeted the sun.

A Spring spirit barely six inches tall was enjoying the feel of the wind as she soared over the canopy, her feet lightly skimming the uppermost leaves. She laughed as she let her arm fall to touch the highest boughs, watching with glee as the sunlight reflected on her fingertips. The new day was going to be beautiful, she knew. It was going to be bright!

Lights shimmered across her wings and she came to a stop. The small figure cocked her head and the tips of her pointed ears twitched slightly as she searched for a faint sound being carried on the breeze.

Suddenly, a scream rang out across the forest. When the sound faded, she winced at the ringing still echoing in her head. Stupid, sensitive fairy hearing.

The fairy huffed and turned away, meaning to go back and check out some of the small streams she had passed earlier. Some of the plants she had passed could use some fresh water. Maybe it was time to -

Tinkerbell!

At the suddenly recognisable voice, the fairy turned and drew a dagger from her belt. Her eyes hardened and without wasting another second, she sped across the treetops as fast as she could.

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In another part of Neverland, the same sunlight that so warmly caressed the forests fell instead upon the ripples and swells of a lagoon, fracturing as the water flowed.

Spaced out along the shoreline, chatting and warming their scales on the sun-kissed rocks, were the merfolk. Shimmering in every imaginable colour, they were a breathtaking sight as they greeted the morning.

The sound of frantic giggling echoed across the water from a disturbance in a deeper part of the lagoon. Several tailed figures were diving in and out of the water around a child with legs. The small boy was squirming and laughing as four merchildren tickled him mercilessly. The boy berated them, voice full of mirth, and splashed water at them to no avail. They laughed along with him and one - a boy with dark skin and a tail the colour of seaweed - dove towards him and used his tail to send a huge torrent of water in his direction.

Seriously, Koya? I really mean it this time! I’ll set the Autumn spirits on you! I swear I will.

Guys, let him be! I think we tickled him enough, said Jay, a boy with a dandelion yellow tail. He splashed water at one of the main perpetrators, Nin, a mischievous girl with a cherry red tail. She splashed him in return and it soon turned into a fierce and gleeful battle.

From the warm rocks, the older merfolk watched their children play. They would feel bad for Teddy if the group hadn’t been friends for so long. The Lost Boy had known exactly what he was getting into when he decided to befriend the merchildren. Teddy pulled his hat out of the water and twisted it to let the excess water out.

"What I’m trying to tell you is Kudos gets super annoyed when I get mud everywhere in the hut! He likes to keep everything clean, and now I have to take a bath."

Ade rolled his eyes and used his lavender tailfin to send a wave of water at Jay and Nin, who were still play-fighting. He beckoned them closer as Teddy rambled about everything from his dislike of baths to the other Lost Boys’ habits.

Nin, Jay, come over here and be really quiet, Ade whispered. He looked back at Teddy and saw Koya making faces over his shoulder.

Koya. The mer twisted his head towards the trio and cocked his head.

"—I mean, fine. Red isn’t too bad in terms of washing up, but he can’t keep a secret to save his life! And when Tink and Peter catch us doing stuff that, fair enough, we probably shouldn’t be doing, he can’t keep a straight face!"

Throughout their manoeuvring, Teddy hadn’t stopped talking and Jay grinned. In hushed tones, Ade gave the three of them their instructions.

—and don’t even get me started on Peter! He gets away with everything just because he’s in charge. Why can’t I be allowed to -

Remember, we have to stay quiet.

They nodded. Ade held up his hand with five fingers showing. Teddy, still oblivious, didn’t pick up on their anticipation. One by one, Ade’s fingers disappeared as he counted them down.

The four merchildren dove down into the dark, colder depths of the lagoon. Testament to how often they planned such pranks, they didn’t make a sound any louder than a few bubbles and faint splashes. A few seconds passed and they did not resurface.

And Frankie! I know he’s the leader and all, but Kudos always blames his mess on me! Teddy paused his rambling and looked around, only then noticing his lack of audience. Guys? This isn’t funny. Where are you?

Teddy twisted, peering into the water around him. As the Lost Boy turned fully, his friends resurfaced at his back and fought to stay silent.

Nin? Ade? Why aren’t -

With a sudden rush of movement, the four pulled their hands out of the water and dumped mud, plants and muck all over Teddy. He jerked away with a yelp. His friends rubbed it into his skin and clothes, laughing all the while. Teddy knew it was a desperate move - and one he would be teased about for a long time - but backup was imperative.

Tinkerbell! he yelled as several pieces of kelp flopped down over his eyes. The merchildren burst into laughter.

Aw, come on, guys! I thought something was about to grab me! Teddy pouted. It would’ve been cute if Koya hadn’t chosen that moment to dump another handful of muddy kelp onto the shapeless brown hat resting on the boy’s messy blonde hair.

Aw, no! The children laughed at Teddy’s crestfallen expression as he reached up to brush the plants off. He mock-growled at them and Koya poked his tongue out in return.

C’mon, Teddy! It wasn’t so bad, was it? Nin teased.

Yeah! It’s not as though you weren’t covered in dirt and twigs already, Ade pointed out.

Well… yes. But that’s not the point! he whined. Dunking the hat under the water soon caused grime and mud to wash off in clumps. The area around them turned a murky, cloudy brown until the gentle current swept it away.

And yes, Nin, it was that bad.

Quit being dramatic, Ade said.

You’re so mean to me, Teddy complained with a grin. He couldn’t get the stains out of his shirt, but he shrugged it off. It needed to be washed anyway.

No, we’re not! Koya protested.

Mean might be a strong word, but we do prank you a lot, Jay said. He saw Koya open his mouth to say something and held up his hand. Don’t even try to deny it.

To be fair, Nin added, It’s not as though he doesn’t do just as much as us. And there’s no reason to drag Tink into this!

Oh, don’t worry! the Lost Boy reassured them. Tink would be mad if she saw how dirty my clothes were already, but she isn’t close enough to hear me. She mentioned this morning she was getting help from some Summer spirits to thaw out the pond.

Which one? Nin asked. Some of the more ill-tempered Seasonal spirits didn’t get along too well, but the group knew well Tink could handle herself if anything got out of hand.

The one where I found those speckled frogs, Teddy answered.

Oh, the frog pond. She should be far away then.

I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Koya smirked. Teddy frowned, confused.

What do you mean? The rest of the group glanced at the forest near the shores of the lagoon.

We all know how fast Tink works, so if she started this morning, she’ll be finished. And, Koya paused and inwardly cackled at the way his friends were hanging onto his every word. Won’t she be passing over the lagoon on her way back to the Spring island?

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Tink clutched the dagger in her hand as the sharp wind drew a line of moisture from her eyes. Her short, dark hair was untied, and she winced when a few strands whipped against her face.

Over the vast trees she flew, dodging birds and stray branches as she hurried towards the scream she heard. She tightened her grip on the dagger as she rose over the crest of a hill and arrived at Mermaid Lagoon.

Tinkerbell took in the sight of the merfolk sunbathing on the rocks, making note of the few who appeared to be chuckling. Sunlight reflected on the water, illuminating schools of brightly coloured fish, seashells laid out in intricate designs on the bed of the lagoon… and a group of familiar children huddled in the water. Each of them wore sheepish expressions and were resolutely not looking in her direction.

Wings fluttering to keep her airborne, Tink made a beeline for the five keeping themselves afloat in the water. As she grew closer, she hid her smile and put on an irritated air. She pushed a few stray curls out of her face and huffed, restraining her amusement.

Teddy, what’s going on?

The Lost Boy pulled at a thread on the hem of his shirt. Well, I kinda called for you without really thinking about it. I didn’t think you’d be close enough to hear me.

Tink rolled her eyes. Yes, I was close enough to hear you. And I thought you were in serious danger! And look at you! You’re an absolute mess! You better make sure you get cleaned up, because there is no way you’re going into the house looking like that. Kudos would have my head.

The Spring spirit looked over at the merchildren again, who still looked marginally embarrassed. You four, go take him to the shallows and wash him off, would you? I’ll be there soon.

Her laugh sounded like a bell as she watched a clump of wet mud slide down Teddy’s face. And for goodness’ sake, don’t make it worse!

Will do, Tink!

The group was still laughing when they held onto Teddy’s arms and pulled him towards the shallows. Tink had spent far too much time around the children to stay mad at them for long, and they all knew that. She was more of a big sister to them than anything else, but she could be extremely frightful when provoked, especially when she was busy.

Tink chuckled and made funny faces at them as they swam to the shoreline, causing another round of laughter from the group. She viewed both the merchildren and the Lost Boys as little siblings, and though she would never admit it - especially to Peter himself - Tink saw Peter as a little brother as well.

The fairy kept watch over them until they finally began to wash up, then made her way along the shoreline to where she caught sight of an old friend lounging on the rocks. The mer watched her with an open, sharp-toothed grin on their face.

Unlike the other merfolk, her friend’s scales did not end at their waist, instead moving up to their chest to fade off around their neck. Every colour imaginable shone across their scales in muted hues, and though they did not extend fully down to their hands, stray scales were scattered like freckles down their arms.

A smile washed over Tink’s face as the spectrum of colour glinted in the sunlight and shone off the mer’s tail to be reflected in the lagoon’s clear water. The fairy drew closer and made no move to conceal her joy as she raised her hand in greeting to her friend.

The leader of the Summer spirits.

existence

noun: the fact or state of living or having objective reality.

Vines crawled across tree trunks in the depths of Mirtis Forest. Hidden in the vast expanse of flourishing greenery was a place that was so overflowing with magic that it could only be entered if someone within granted you access. To walk through the shimmering, almost invisible barrier surrounding the area felt like ice water and honey was being poured over your head. The odd combination of sticky-sweet warmth and biting cold was unnerving even to those who regularly travelled through the border.

If anyone were to observe the barrier from outside, they would see a continuation of the trees and wildlife beyond it. Oftentimes they weren’t even aware that the barrier was there. Yet for those lucky enough to see it, beyond the barrier was a different story altogether. If someone passed successfully through the shimmering web of woven magic, they would be greeted by the sight of huge, ancient trees. Much older and grander than the trees outside their domain, their very presence was enough to render visitors speechless.

Oak, redwood and alder branches were woven together by natural magic to form elegant bridges and walkways spanning the gaps between trees and across a twisting river. Most of the trees were large enough that a group of ten people standing around the base could hold hands and try to reach around the whole trunk without achieving it.

Carved mahogany emerged from the earth to spiral and twist around the towering trees, reaching towards the sky and connecting the ground to the stars, sun and moon above. The warm contrast where the woven wood bridges met the darker staircases highlighted the unearthly beauty of the structures.

Flowing through the forest was a river wide enough to fit around six boats side by side. Wooden rafts, barges, canoes and small sailing boats were moored along the shoreline, leaving plenty of room in the middle left open for transport.

The most unnerving and chillingly sublime feature of the river was that the water was completely clear. Around fifteen feet at its deepest point and a combination of pale green and bold turquoise, the river wound gently through the forest. The bridges far above reached across the gap to connect with trees on the opposite side, and at ground level there were smaller bridges spanning across the water at regular intervals.

Amongst the taller and stable reaches of the trees, where bridges met staircases and joined to form a platform, houses and other structures were cradled by the widespread branches. Teal tiled roofs were supported by walls crafted from a variety of pale woods, the faded colours standing out against the vivid greens, browns and blues of the surrounding forest. Maisha village, bordered and protected by Mirtis Forest and the Tarian mountains, was at peace.

Via, what’s this? The questioning voice simultaneously shattered the quiet and warmed the peace in the way only children can achieve. A spirit around nineteen years old sat in the tree above the curious child, her sandal-clad feet swinging over the river.

Scattered among the bridges and structures were glowing orbs of faerie fire, ranging from shades of pale gold to a rich navy blue, spanning across every known spectrum of colour. At night they lit up the forest like stars, highlighting its ethereal beauty under the eyes of the moon.

What have you found this time, Red? she asked.

The boy, still crouched on the riverbank, extended his hand towards one of the glowing orbs. I don’t know. I’ve seen them everywhere in the village, they’ve always been there. I always figured someone was playing with them or the ones I’d seen had only just been created, but nobody is maintaining them.

During the day, the sun far outshone the weaker faerie fires, no matter their colour. The more vivid shades, however, those made with stronger magic and skill, were bold and visible. One such orb, a cheerful gold, was the latest curiosity to catch the attention of a young boy in an olive green trench coat.

Via unfurled her blue-tinged, feathered wings and drifted down to where Red held one of the lights in his hands. Her sandals pressed imprints into the thick moss as she knelt down beside him. The Lost Boy held out the orb and her dark hands cupped his own much smaller ones. Her voice was light and teasing when she spoke.

I should’ve known you hadn’t run out of questions yet, Via laughed. This is faerie fire. It’s something every spirit can create with enough practice.

The bluebird shifter pulled their joined hands away from the bright orb and it bobbed, suspended in the