Hook’s Revenge The Pirate Code

The three adventurers were awakened on the morning of the third day by a cloudburst, passing through on its way to spoil a picnic. Though she wasn’t its intended target, Jocelyn definitely felt more cross than usual in the rain’s aftermath. Even the ever-jovial Roger seemed in danger of losing his good cheer. He dumped water, along with more than a few rocks and wet sand, from his boots before pulling them gingerly over his sore feet, grumbling a bit under his breath about “rain clouds” and “blisters” and “shortcuts.”

Only Evie seemed unperturbed. She wrung the water from her skirts and hair, chattering about where their journey might next take them. Presently they arrived at the forest Roger had seen on his map. The trees grew close together, forming a living wall. They were so tight, there didn’t seem to be room for even the smallest horned squirrel or bipedal mouse to squeeze between their trunks, let alone Jocelyn, Roger, and Evie.

Except, in the middle of the wall of trees, there was a path. It was strewn with yellow and blue petals, dropped from dozens of trees in blossom. A warm breeze blew around their branches and out the opening, beckoning the children in with a sweet scent that made their mouths water.

As Jocelyn stood looking into that warm and inviting forest, she was filled with a sudden sense of foreboding. The girl had almost decided it would be best to go another way, when Roger spoke. “Jocelyn, I’m not too sure about this. Why don’t we go around?”

“Oh yes, let’s,” Evie agreed. “I don’t like the look of these trees. I feel like they are…watching me somehow.”

Jocelyn reached to pluck a blossom from a low branch. The flower was unlike any she had seen before. Its petals were arranged in alternating layers of blue and yellow, with a deep, dark center. As she watched, two stamens unfolded, thick and black. They reminded Jocelyn of insect antennae or, even more aptly, the eyestalks of a slug.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. It did feel as if the trees were watching them. But if Evie didn’t like this forest, they most certainly would be going in. Jocelyn had to show Evie that the Neverland was not altogether wonderful, and that home might not be so bad in comparison. She was sure she could show Evie the darker side of the Neverland while still keeping her safe. After all, Jocelyn had faced plenty of Neverland dangers before and come out all right.

She dropped the flower, crushing it under her heel, and squared her shoulders. “Don’t be a coward, either one of you. This is the shortest way to the ship. I don’t want to leave poor Meriwether trapped with Captain Krueger any longer than necessary. Do you?”

“Oh, of course not. I didn’t think of that.” Evie took a cautious step forward.

Roger frowned, but Jocelyn stepped through the trees and onto the path. “Let’s go!” she called. “Captain’s orders.”

Evie shrugged and fell in line behind her, with Roger bringing up the rear. Jocelyn was glad they hadn’t required more convincing. She called back to them, “See? This isn’t so terrible.”

Here is a little life lesson for you: When someone says something like “This isn’t so terrible,” you can be certain things are about to get much, much worse.

They trudged on in silence for some time, the only sound a slight rustling of the trees, though the air was still. No birds called to one another. No small animals scuttled about.

Just as Jocelyn began to grow bored with the unending monotony of trees, a new sound, like the clinking of glasses, pricked her ears. Was there a silent dinner party going on somewhere ahead? The journey thus far had been rather light on sustenance; her stomach growled in anticipation.

“I’m hoping it’s our midday meal,” Jocelyn replied. “But be prepared. I’ve learned that the people in the Neverland are not always friendly.”

Jocelyn put her hand on her sword and led the way. They rounded a slight curve, and the path ended, opening into a small clearing. The edges were still walled with tightly grown trees, but within those borders, a pretty little garden thrived. In its center, surrounded by a sky-blue carpet of blooming forget-me-nots, a single tree grew—the same variety as the others in the forest, only much larger.

Oddly, it was not yet in full bloom. Someone had tied dozens, maybe even hundreds, of brightly colored bottles into its branches. Though Jocelyn still felt no breeze, the tree swayed gently, making the bottles clink together.

So there would be no lunch. Jocelyn humphed, but Evie whispered. “Oh, this is lovely. I wonder who put all the bottles there?”

Roger whispered back. “And what kind of tree this is. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yes! Very pretty! But we have a ship to find!” It felt good to shatter the stillness in the air—to bring a disordered messiness to the quiet, pristine garden.

The others must have felt the same way, for they laughed, allowing their voices to return to a normal tone. Even the clinking of the bottles grew louder. A few of the buds popped into blossom, right before their eyes.

“I think we can take a minute to look around, can’t we?” Roger asked. “That is, with your permission, Captain.” He winked at Jocelyn.

She gave a slight smile and a small nod. “All right. But let’s not take long.”

Roger and Evie waded through the forget-me-nots and approached the tree. Sunlight shone through the colored glass, splashing their skin with strange, dancing lights. The sense of foreboding Jocelyn had felt since they reached the forest deepened, but she brushed it aside and hurried to join her friends.

“What are the bottles for?” Jocelyn’s voice was much quieter here, next to the tree. She had the crazy notion that she didn’t want to awaken it.

Evie reached out and touched a bottle. “Look, they’re labeled,” she said quietly. “The letters are faded by the sun, but I think I can make it out.” She leaned close to read. “This says, ‘First love, Amelia Nichols, age thirteen.’”

Roger and Jocelyn moved closer, and the three children took turns reading aloud.

Belief in Magic, Edward Winter, Age 9

Fear of Toads, Julie Breckinridge, Age 6

Dislike of Green Vegetables, Annie Henderson, Age 12

Reluctance to Leave Mother’s Side, Lloyd Jackson, Age 2

The answer came in the form of a breathy voice, not far behind them. “They are filled with childhood castoffs and leave-behinds.”

A woman approached. She was tall and willowy, looking a bit like a tree herself, with long, thin limbs and wild hair that hung in soft, moss-green clumps. A crown of the yellow and blue blossoms was perched upon her head and she carried a basket full of the colorful bottles.

“Children start out with so many options,” she said. “Truly every possibility is open, but over time, they start to lose things.” The woman dug through her basket and held up a shining green bottle. “This child forgot his propensity for baby talk, carelessly forgetting it in the backseat of a taxicab.” She traded the green bottle for a yellow one. “And, oh dear, this child did not hold tightly to her loyalty to a friend. It was plucked from her hands by a passing wind.”

Though she spoke in a soft voice, there was something Jocelyn found repellent, even mildly threatening, about the woman. The girl placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Who are you?” she asked, more challenge than question.

The woman gave a dreamy smile, her eyes soft and unfocused. “I am the guardian of this forest. I feed and care for it—as a mother would.”

Roger took a peek inside, running his fingers over the bottles. Even Jocelyn, who still felt anxious to move on, leaned close and lifted a bright purple glass. The liquid inside was viscous, like a thick bone broth, and shimmered a bit. “How do you get these?” she asked.

“Once the bits and pieces have been abandoned, I gather and bring them here, to give life to my beautiful forest. It drinks up these discarded scraps of children’s lives, and no one misses a thing.”

“It drinks their lives?” Jocelyn asked, suppressing a shudder. She couldn’t help but think of the vampire stories she had read.

The woman tilted her head and regarded Jocelyn with wide eyes. They were blue, with the irises ringed in yellow. “Only the parts they abandoned,” she said.

“But what about the child who lost it?” Evie asked, frowning into the basket. “What about thirteen-year-old Andy Clibber here, who lost his respect for authority, or ten-year-old Mary Farrington, who lost her good cheer?”

The woman’s face sharpened, losing a bit of its dreamlike quality. “Perhaps Andy and Mary shouldn’t have been so careless,” she snapped. “Besides, if those things are truly important to them, and they work very hard, they can grow more. Children do have so many possibilities.” She took the basket back and slung it over her arm. “Regardless, these morsels have been abandoned. Why should I allow them to go to waste?”

She removed a bottle, uncorked it, and stepped closer to the tree. Roger followed, curiosity written all over his face. The woman held up her offering, her faraway smile back in place. A tender new shoot wrapped itself around the bottle’s lip, tucking its end into the opening. The tree shuddered and made a slurping noise.

More blossoms blinked open, closed, then opened again. A soft rustling filled the air. Jocelyn took an involuntary step back. Something seemed off. She noticed Evie doing the same, but Roger was fascinated.

He placed a hand on the tree’s trunk. “It’s warm. It feels more, I don’t know, alive than any plant I have ever come across.” The tree responded to his touch by dropping a tendril to his shoulder. Roger laughed. “I think it likes me.”

The woman smiled and carried on affixing bottles to the tree. “I’m sure it does.”

Roger continued his examination of the plant. “But why feed only this one?” he asked. “What about the others?”

She paused in her work to answer. “The trees here are connected by their roots. They all receive the nourishment.”

Evie reached for Jocelyn, clutching at her jacket. “I…I felt something brush against my ankle. I think there may be snakes in the leaves.”

Jocelyn pulled her sword, using the tip to push the forget-me-nots aside. “The roots are moving!” They writhed, slowly, like a serpent rousing itself from its cool den, waiting for the sun to warm its blood and enable it to strike.

Roger brushed the curling vine off his shoulder and joined the girls, stooping to look at the roots. “It’s amazing!” he said. “I’d like to take a few notes.” He fumbled in his pockets for a notebook and lead pencil, but Jocelyn placed a hand on his arm.

“I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere,” the guardian said dreamily. “You are so full of life, of possibilities, and my forest is hungry.”