فصل 04

CHAPTER 4

“THEY WILL BE BACK”

PETER AWOKE, AS HE USUALLY DID, ahead of the other boys, not having slept well. from England, his slumber had been haunted by a strange and troubling dream.

The dream always began in the same place and at the same moment: that awful night at Stonehenge when—grievously wounded by a gunshot—he had somehow become connected with Ombra, the shadow thing. Their connection had been brief—but a few seconds—yet Peter could not put those seconds out of his mind.

By day, it was possible to turn his thoughts away from that memory. But by night, it came back to him and returned often. In his dream, he felt the coldness creeping into him as Ombra joined him and began to take control, like a snake swallowing him from within. He felt himself fighting to drive the invader out. Most vividly, he recalled the horrible sensation of becoming one with the shadow thing—feeling what it felt, thinking what it thought.

That was when he always woke up—sweating, disoriented, thrashing around in his hammock, much to the annoyance of Tinker Bell, who slept in his mass of red hair. Sometimes Peter would lie there trying to make sense of the dream, to recapture the thoughts that had seeped into his mind from Ombra’s; but the thoughts were always out of reach, drifting away like wisps of smoke.

The nightmare troubled Peter, but something else troubled him more. Since that night at Stonehenge, he had noticed something odd about himself—or, to be specific, about his shadow. Actually, it was Tink who had noticed it first. It had been on a bright, sunny day; Peter, having had a rollicking swim and a splash fight with the mermaids, was standing on the beach that curved around the mermaids’ lagoon. Tink had fluttered onto his shoulder and, making her bell sounds, said, He’s watching you.

“Who is?” asked Peter.

Tink pointed at Peter’s shadow. He is.

Peter looked down at his shadow. It appeared no different than usual. He studied Tink, thinking that perhaps she was joking, but her expression told him she was quite serious. He glanced again at his shadow, his thoughts flashing back to that encounter with Ombra.

“What should I do?” he asked Tink.

Nothing, Tink answered. He can’t hurt you. He’s just watching.

“Why?”

I don’t know.

And that was all she could tell him. Peter tried not to think about it, but it was not the kind of thing you could forget. It never really left his mind. He found himself glancing at his shadow more than usual. He welcomed the sunset, knowing that the coming of night would banish the shadow and bring him some relief from his thoughts of Ombra—that is, until the dream returned.

So Peter was a tired boy when he awoke this particular morning. But as he stuck his head out of the underground hideaway where he and the other boys spent most nights, his spirits were lifted, as always, by the dawn of another fine day on Mollusk Island. After a quick look around the clearing, Peter flew straight up out of the hole and ascended to treetop level, where he turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning the area, just in case there were pirates about. There weren’t any pirates, a fact that left Peter feeling relieved but also just the slightest bit disappointed: he loved taunting the pirates.

Peter felt a tickle on his bare legs as a pair of tiny wings fluttered past.

“Morning, Tink,” he said as Tinker Bell shinnied up to his eye level.

No, it’s not, she answered in melodious tones that Peter, and few others, could understand. It’s the middle of the night.

Peter laughed. “Tink,” he said, “if you want to keep sleeping, be my guest.”

Tink crossed her arms and made a noise that could be loosely translated as “hmph.” As she and Peter both knew, she did not like to let him out of her sight.

“Morning, Peter,” said a voice from below.

Peter looked down and smiled. “Morning, James,” he said.

He dropped lightly to the ground as James, always the second to rise, climbed from the hole. The two close friends stood for a moment, enjoying the morning coolness. Peter’s enjoyment was tempered by his awareness of how much James had grown recently; he stood a good inch taller than Peter now, maybe two, and he was wider about the shoulders. Peter wondered if James, in addition to being taller, had also become stronger.

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by the emergence from the hole of the two youngest boys, Prentiss and Thomas, who were followed, reluctantly, by Tubby Ted.

“What’s to eat?” said Ted, blinking at the dawn.

“There’s fresh coconuts,” said Peter. “I knocked them down last night.”

“Coconuts again?” complained Ted.

“It’s what grows on the trees,” said Peter. “If it was cakes on the trees, I’d knock those down for you. But it’s coconuts that’s up there.”

“Cakes,” sighed Tubby Ted. “I’d pay a hundred pounds for a piece of cake.”

“The only hundred pounds you have is around your waist,” said Prentiss.

Then Thomas complained, “Besides, there’s no cake on this stupid island.”

Peter glanced at Thomas, whose tone had grown more negative of late. Thomas was also getting taller, as were Prentiss and Tubby Ted; Peter realized that it was just a matter of time before he was the shortest boy in the group.

Tubby Ted sighed again. “Which way to the coconuts?” he said.

“Over there,” said Peter, pointing toward a clump of trees.

As Ted trudged off to collect his breakfast, Peter turned to James.

“I thought we might go see the mermaids today,” he said.

“Again?” said James.

“You don’t want to?” said Peter, surprised by James’s lack of enthusiasm.

James looked down. “You go ahead,” he said.

“Why don’t you want to?” persisted Peter.

“No reason, really,” said James. “I just think they like you better, is all. You’re more…I dunno.”

“You’re more like them,” said Thomas, finishing James’s thought.

“Magical,” said Prentiss.

“I see,” said Peter. “Is there something else you want to do?”

“Besides get off this island?” said Thomas.

Peter studied Thomas for a moment, then the others, and in their faces he saw the discontent that he’d been sensing in them more and more since his return from England.

“If you don’t like it here,” he said to Thomas, “then we can…”

“We can what?” said Thomas, with a defiance he’d never before shown to Peter.

While Peter was trying to think of an answer, Tubby Ted came huffing out of the jungle.

“Look what I found!” he said, waving something in his hand. As he approached, the others saw that it was an arrow, broken in the middle, the two halves hanging together by a sliver of wood.

“It’s an arrow. So what?” said Thomas. “The Mollusks shot at something and missed for a change.”

“Let me see that,” said Peter, taking the arrow from Ted. As he did, Tink made a warning sound.

“I’ll be careful,” Peter said. He examined it for a moment, frowning.

“This isn’t a Mollusk arrow,” he said. “Look at the colors on it. Red as blood. The Mollusks don’t do that. And they make the arrowheads from shells. This one is stone.”

There was something smeared on the tip of the arrowhead—a dark brown substance. Peter sniffed it, then pulled his head quickly away, surprised by the vile and powerful odor.

“If it’s not the Mollusks’,” said James, “then whose is it?”

“I dunno,” Peter said thoughtfully. “But I think we should take it to Fighting Prawn.”

The others nodded, their sleepiness and boredom suddenly gone. Peter rose from the ground, about to zoom skyward and fly to the Mollusk village. But then, seeing the look of disappointment on James’s face, he dropped quickly back to the ground and began trotting toward the path.

“Come on,” he called over his shoulder—unnecessarily, as the others were already running behind, even the normally slow-moving Tubby Ted.

In a few minutes, they reached the Mollusk village. The Mollusks were gathered around their cooking fires, eating their morning meal; a few waved at the boys, who visited often. Peter hurried to the center of the village, where the largest group was gathered around the largest fire ring. Peter ran straight to Fighting Prawn, the Mollusk chief—a white-haired man with piercing dark eyes, older than the others, but still tall and powerfully built.

Fighting Prawn’s face brightened at the sight of the boys. He was especially fond of Peter, who had once saved his life. But his smile instantly disappeared when he saw the arrow in Peter’s hand.

“Where did you find that?” he said, in the impeccable English he had learned in his years as a slave aboard a British ship.

“Tubby Ted found it,” said Peter. He handed the broken arrow to Fighting Prawn, who took it, studied it for a moment, and then sniffed the brown substance on the tip.

“Found it where?” said Fighting Prawn. “Washed up on the beach?”

“No,” said Ted. “In the jungle, right by our hideout.”

The group fell silent. As Fighting Prawn stared at the arrow, an expression flickered across his face that Peter had never seen there before—fear.

“What is it?” asked Peter.

Instead of answering, Fighting Prawn raised his voice and shouted something in the Mollusk language, a mixture of grunts and clicks sounding quite odd to the English-speaker’s ear. Immediately, the Mollusk tribe’s warriors came running from all corners of the village to gather around their chief.

Fighting Prawn addressed them for several minutes, and although Peter understood none of it, he saw the deep concern on the warriors’ faces. When Fighting Prawn finished, the men ran to their huts, quickly emerging with spears, knives, and bows and arrows. They then hurried from the encampment, save for a half dozen who took up guard positions by the gate.

Fighting Prawn turned to the boys. “You will stay here in the village,” he said. “You are not to leave without my permission, do you understand?”

“Why?” said Peter. “What’s happening?”

“Something I had hoped would never happen,” said Fighting Prawn. “Something I have dreaded for a long time.”

“What is it?” said Peter.

“This arrow,” said Fighting Prawn, holding it up, “belongs to a very dangerous tribe. They are called”—here Fighting Prawn made a hissing sound—“which means Scorpions. This substance on the arrowhead is a deadly poison. The Scorpions are fond of poison.”

“Are they here?” asked Prentiss. “On the island?”

“I don’t know,” said Fighting Prawn. “I have sent men out to search the island; we will know soon enough if they are here. But I suspect they are not. I suspect this arrow was left, carelessly, by a scouting party. If it had been a war party, we would know by now. The Scorpions prefer to strike by surprise with massive force. Now that they’ve found this island, they will be back, I’m certain of that.”

“But now you’ll be ready for them,” said Peter.

Fighting Prawn hesitated, and again Peter saw the flicker of fear.

“We will post lookouts, yes,” Fighting Prawn said. “We will be as ready as we can be. But the Scorpions attack in great force; their war canoes will bring more attackers than we have defenders. They are vicious, brutal fighters. They have taken many islands, Peter. They rarely fail.”

“And what happens to the people on the island?” said Tubby Ted.

Fighting Prawn only shook his head.

“I wish I was back in England,” Thomas said softly.

“Maybe I can do something,” said Peter. “I could fly over their canoes and drop things. Fire, maybe. Or at least I could fly out to sea and watch for them, and…”

“No,” said Fighting Prawn. “You will stay here with the others. The Scorpions are expert marksmen. The slightest touch from this”—he held up the arrow again—“and you would fall from the sky like a stone. You must promise me you will not go out there.”

Reluctantly, Peter nodded.

“Good,” said Fighting Prawn. He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and gave it a fatherly squeeze. “You have great courage, Peter,” he said. “I will need your help before this is over.”

Then he turned and walked toward the gate, somehow looking much older than he had fifteen minutes before.

Peter looked at the other boys and they at him.

“I wish I was back in England,” said Thomas again.