The Pan Trilogy - Part 3

The past two Wednesdays featured excerpts from The Trials of Jonathan Darling and Michael's Ascent, the first and second books in Fionnegan Justus Murphy and Michael Winkler's The Pan Trilogy, a re-imagining of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. Settle in for the excerpts from the conclusion of the trilogy, Wendy's Daughter.

thepanbooks.com

Excerpts from Wendy's Daughter

by Fionnegan Justus Murphy and Michael Winkler

  

     Aboard the Jolly Roger, the crew waited, hiding from the last bit of tormenting sunlight.  The ship’s mascot, Smee, was picking through the remaining meat, trying to find a piece that was not thoroughly rotten.  The ship’s turncoat, Smythe, sought out the solitude of the ship’s bowels.  He could not stomach being in the company of the men he betrayed, confronted by the change he avoided by agreeing to be Pan’s informant.  The ship’s Captain sat at his desk, documenting his recent change in vain.  He knew that shortly he wouldn’t be able to read the ink on the page in front of him, but something needed to be done.  He had to keep trying. 

…

Captain’s Log
Captain James Hook of the Jolly Roger
Date Unknown, Location Unknown.
I feel a return to myself, and it’s all thanks to Smee.  Something has happen’d to my mind, and it is probably proof of further degradation of my mental faculties.  Nonetheless, it gives me hope.  I feel like I have somehow gain’d access to another side of my own consciousness.  Or perhaps I have simply fabricated it. 
My own thoughts that gave me hope are now causing only frustration.  Am I to trust myself?  Is this just another trick caus’d by the island and that monster, Peter Pan?  Do either exist, or are they simply a part of my own madness? 
The answer seems unimportant.  If I am in a madhouse somewhere then I must be receiving care, lock’d in a cell where I cannot hurt anyone.  If this is real then my life and the life of my crew hang in the balance.  I have no choice but to assume reality.  I am Captain Hook of the Jolly Roger, and my enemy is a demon by the name of Peter Pan.  Recently I have receiv’d word of a strong military force on Neverland that means to oppose Pan soon.  I will lend all of my strength to their aide, and provide a shelter for the inhabitants of the island that are unable to fight.  Destroying the demon is the next obstacle in escaping this horrible setting. 
Dear God, I know I am not a man of much faith.  But right now I am using what small stockpile I have to send this prayer to you.  I beg you, not for my sake, but for the sake of these men, see to it that I am lock’d in a madhouse somewhere and this is all just a fever dream, for if this is reality and a war with Pan is coming it will be like marching my men through the gates of Hell.

###

     John needed to find Wendy, Jane, and Michael.  He jumped across the still widening river that was splitting Neverland in half.  The trail leading up to the Tiger Lily Forest was where the battle was trying to head, so John set off in that direction.  When he landed, he was brought nearly face to face with Klaus.
     The Lost Boy was cinching a filthy scrap of cloth around his arm when John came back to the ground.  Klaus bared his teeth and took a swing at John, more out of instinct than anything else.  John had come down out of nowhere, and he was invading Klaus’ personal space.
     John was beyond Klaus in combat skill, and easily snatched the goblin’s wrist.  With a skilled bending of the fragile joint, John was able to steer Klaus’ steps.  The goblin was unarmed, wounded, and pathetic, hardly worthy of keeping John’s attention, so he ditched the lousy thing.  John walked Klaus over to the river and tipped him in.  Someone else would finish the job.  He completely forgot about Klaus as soon as he fell out of sight, and he returned to his journey up the path.
     John’s neglect was traded for another’s attention.  Klaus splashed into the water, which was immediately deep.  The cold salt water in his wound nearly stopped his heart.  He splashed helplessly, grasping painfully at handfuls of mud and clay.
     Not far away, a Mermaid snapped her head in Klaus’ direction and froze as she tried to find the image that went with the familiar scent of him.  His scent was very distinct to her, because part of his scent was her.  He had stolen the best parts of her and corrupted them, twisting them into the black force that fueled him.  He fought her and ripped her apart from the inside out.  He left her for dead.  He was her Lost Boy. She was his treemother.
     The girl from Jabalyah had grown up hungry.  She was a burden on her family, and was never given any encouragement.  She knew that going with Pan would be good for her and her family.  They would have one less mouth to feed, and one less child to try to protect.
     They tried to keep her away from violence.  They tried to keep her innocent.  But one day when she was walking home from the market she saw a boy get beaten in an alley.
     The boy was a few years older than her, and she never knew if he lived or died there.  She never told anyone.  If she told, then her family would know she wasn’t innocent anymore.  Even though they never needed her, and never tried to make her better, they tried hard to keep her from getting worse.  Two days later, while she was out on the balcony, plagued with the image of the boy’s swollen face, Pan came to get her.
     She pushed herself through the water with her thickly muscled tail and reached Klaus within four flicks.  He was one reason that she was so hideously transformed now.  He did this to her.  The beating of that boy in the alley flickered again and again in her head.  She swore to herself that his beating would be nothing compared to the viciousness she was going to show Klaus.
     Her fingers clamped around a matted clump of Klaus’ hair and pulled him down.  Klaus grabbed one last breath of air before he was submerged.  He kicked and grasped for anything that would help bring him back to the surface, but even after he ripped his hair free she methodically grabbed him by the back of his neck.  She allowed the scales on her hand to cut into his skin.
     She turned him around and looked into his eyes.  He was so helpless in her hands, down here where the sunlight began to fade away above.  She watched as his eyes began to fade, drinking in every last drop of his life before she pressed her delicate lips up against his wide, rough mouth.
     Klaus was disgusted.  Her lips were so soft and the kiss, her breath of life that she was giving to him, felt so out of place.  He tried to push her away, but when he moved his good arm to swipe at her, she pulled her face away from his and let him consider his position.  He needed her now, and she wanted him to know it.  Again, she waited until his eyes began to glass over before filling his lungs with precious oxygen.
     When he had been topped off, she backed away again and smiled at him.  Her teeth were flat and straight, and just a little too big for her.  She would have grown into them one day.  Then a second set of teeth dropped down behind her original ones.  These were the teeth of a shark, razor sharp and needle tipped.
     It didn’t take long for her to remove his hand.  Just enough time for her to put her mouth on his again.  This time she tasted like his own blood, but he couldn’t stop from greedily breathing in her air.
     Klaus’ death came eventually, but not until she had taken back all that was owed to her.  He lost his legs, his hand, and the entirety of the arm that Joe had cut.  Klaus did not drown.  He died out of his element, in a place that scared him and made him impotent.  He died helpless.  In the end he just didn’t have enough blood left to carry her oxygen to his brain.
     When he expired, the girl from Jabalyah dove down to the depths to find something cruel that would take her life quickly and for all the right reasons.
© Fionnegan Justus Murphy

The Pan Trilogy - Part 2

Last Wednesday featured an excerpt from The Trials of Jonathan Darling, the first book in Fionnegan Justus Murphy and Michael Winkler's The Pan Trilogy, a re-imagining of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. Today's two excerpts are from the trilogy's second book, Michael's Ascent.

 Excerpts from Michael's Ascent

co-written by Fionnegan Justus Murphy and Michael Winkler

http://thepanbooks.com

     John’s mind raced with panic induced adrenaline.  He immediately set to work trying to figure out other ways to return to Neverland without flying, but each idea seemed more stupid than the last.  What was he going to tell Mom and Dad? 
    “Please come take me back,” Wendy droned on, laying sideways on her bed, her eyes still stuck staring out the window.
    “Shut up, Wendy!” John shouted.  “Didn’t you see any of that?  Can’t you see anything?  He lied to you, Wendy!  He lied to all of us.”
    Wendy’s stare continued.  She heard only the wind through the trees, the laughter of the Lost Boys as they cut through the pirates, and the soft curve of Peter’s voice crowing in her memory.  She could not see her room; she did not hear the window shatter or her brother’s cries in the night.  Nothing else existed for Wendy, only Pan.  She could only replay the wonderful times she had with Peter Pan, the love of her life.  Her chest felt tight with longing as something powerful spun webs of longing inside her.
    “I’ll wait right here for you.  I’ll wait fore-“
    “WENDY!” John shouted again, this time taking her by the shoulders and shaking her.  “He’s brainwashed you and his little bitch has taken Michael!  Stop talking to him!  Stop thinking about him!”
    The door of their bedroom swung open and Melissa hurried in with Nana in tow. 
    “Jonathan!” she shouted, “Let go of your sister!”
    John and his sister almost died, his brother may have been dying that instant and Wendy was singing the praises of his murderer.  Melissa’s order fell on a mind too overrun with urgency to make sense of the sound.  Only when Nana pounced on him did he returned to himself.  Wendy kept her gaze out the window.
    “What’s going on in here?!  Jonathan, why are you so dirty, and what happened to your pajamas?”
    John fumbled for an explanation, but nothing sounded real anymore.  Wendy’s murmurs faded to the forefront of action in the otherwise still room as Melissa waited for a response from John.  She turned toward Wendy to hear what she had to say and caught sight of the dark brown bloodstain down the front of Wendy’s pajamas.
    “Oh my goodness, Wendy!  What happened to you?”  she scurried to her and inspected the girl.
    “John, what did you do to her?” 
    It all came flooding back to him.  Peter’s spells were being peeled away like layers of wrapping paper and for the first time since it happened Jonathan remembered clearly. 
    Wendy was shot.

    Wendy died. 

    A wall inside of John was overrun and demolished with emotions.  His knees buckled and he sat hard on the floor, burying his face in his arms folded on top of his knees.  The sobs came out slow at first, but each one pulled out more memories and the sobs became louder.  
    Melissa ran from the room, but Nana stayed.  She sat down beside Wendy’s bed, facing John, making sure to stay between the two children.  Wendy’s hand slowly twirled its fingers around in Nana’s long hair.  Three of her fingertips scratched down to Nana’s skin, which Nana appreciated, while Wendy’s pinky did nothing more than swirl the hair around, still stuck inside the thimble, keeping half of Pan’s talents, magic, and essence locked inside.
    The room was silent.  Sounds of the occasional car passing three stories below intruded on the bedroom through the shattered window and the unmistakable jingle of a toy store commercial came wafting in through the open door, trespassing on their heavy memories.  When Melissa returned she was talking into the telephone.
    “I don’t know, he wasn’t doing anything.  John was shaking Wendy and she has a huge stain on her shirt.  They both look like they’ve been living on the streets.  Their clothes are ruined and their faces are filthy.” She went to Michael’s bed, which John was leaning against, and she gasped. 
    “Where’s Michael?” there was no answer, “John!  Wendy!  Where’s Michael?”
    John was caught up in his memories and Wendy was caught by something stronger.  She just kept mumbling while she looked out the window.  Melissa followed her gaze this time and noticed something out of place.  The window was shattered.
    A gasp escaped Melissa as she ran to the broken and opened window, dropping the phone on the floor.
    “Michael!” she screamed.
    “Michael,” John whispered into his arms.

###

    

    Wendy carelessly flung the door closed behind her and sat down at the desk in her room.  She could hear the bass from the band at the bar bumping through the floorboards.  Her break was only fifteen minutes, but that was all the time she needed. 
    Her room wasn’t anything special, just a spare bedroom in the apartment above the bar where she worked.  She had lived there since her parents kicked her out of their house about three years ago.  Her window faced the direction of her childhood home, a detail for which she was immensely grateful.  At night she would stare out of the open window at the top of her old house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him returning. 
    She worked the weekend shift in exchange for the room and whatever tips she earned.  Mitch was always telling her that she could earn way more tips if she’d just unbutton one more button or roll her shirt up a little bit, but Wendy’s devotion to Peter had grown so solid that she was not even interested in trying. 
    She only tolerated Mitch because he gave her a deal on the drugs.  His candy gave her the best dreams she’d ever been able to get since she was actually there.  Everything was so vivid that she forgot ever being home, and those little respites were worth whatever price, even faking it with Mitch.
    Wendy pulled out the plastic sandwich bag from her pocket and took a white pill and scrounged around for the last blue capsule.  She held the pills in her open palm, trying to remember how she felt when he put the thimble on her finger so many years ago.  The thimble now was completely smooth in places that once had been covered in tiny dimples.  With a very practiced motion, she tossed the pills down her throat and instinctively started keeping time with the band by tapping her thimble on the desktop. 
    For a minute or two, that’s all that seemed to happen.  Then, finally, the thimble began to spark with each tap.  A smile crept onto Wendy’s face.  She got up from the desk and followed the sparkling Tinkerbell that somehow sprung out of the thimble.  She was always just out of reach and lead Wendy back downstairs, where she tried to appear sober, but when she got to the bottom of the stairs the thimble was pouring sparks out of the end and Wendy could not help wielding it like a sparkler during the Fourth of July in time with the band on stage.  She was the most radiant conductor the world had ever seen and the band appreciated her so much.
    She resumed her position behind the bar and that’s when he came in, floating on top of someone’s cigarette smoke.  He swam to her and kissed her full on the lips.  He tasted like a spring breeze and his hands were rough and reassuring on the back of her neck.  When he pulled away she felt cool dirt under her feet.  Moss started to spread up and over the bar. 
    “What’s all this, Wendy?”
    “Those are the ingredients to the drinks I mix for people.”
    “They’re so colorful!”
    Someone said something to her from across the bar.
    “One second,” she replied instinctively and turned back to the shelves of liquors behind her, still trying to seem sober while also trying to enjoy her trip. 
    “Mix this one with this one, Wendy!  And add some of the green one!”
    Wendy poured mixture upon mixture, sliding glass after glass back onto the bar.  Until eventually her laugh and Peter’s instructions drowned out the customers, leaving her alone once again with him. 

©Fionnegan Justus Murphy

www.fionnegan.com 

The Pan Trilogy - Part 1

The following is an excerpt from The Trials of Jonathan Darling, by Fionnegan Justus Murphy and Michael Winkler. It's the first book from The Pan trilogy, a re-imagining of J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan. Check back the next two Wednesdays for excerpts from the second and third books.

Excerpt from The Trials of Jonathan Darling

co-written by Fionnegan Justus Murphy and Michael Winkler

www.thepanbooks.com

     No one heard the faint wisp of wind over the surface of the water so far below.  No one heard the short whispers hidden by the waves lapping against the side of the ship.  It was the crowing that jolted them out of their meditation.
    The deck was instantly filled with uncountable little boys.  Each one armed with one kind of metal or another.  In a flash of adrenaline and shock, the battle had begun.
    Captain Cooper sprung from his chair and buckled his scabbard around his waist.  He squared his shoulders and opened the door to his cabin, filling the doorway with his determination.  His experienced eyes examined the fray as his ears found the pulse underlying the battle: the boots, the swords, the rigging, and the screams of men falling overboard into the waiting throng of crocodiles.  It all made a pattern that he could read.  There was something in the sound that was out of place, but he could not put his finger on what it was.  Something did not belong.
    They attacked a prone target,
    but we will be victorious in the end.

    Where is he?  

    Peter Pan was sitting on top of a barrel next to the railing playing his pipes, not paying the battle any attention at all.  The sound of his instrument cut through the battle straight into Captain Cooper’s nerves.  Such arrogance and disrespect would be directly addressed.
    Wait.
    An officer follows certain protocol.
    If he allows his body to take over
    like a common soldier then
    chaos will rule the fight.

    A little chaos is refreshing to the soul,
 That’s what she told you on the dock.

    Self-control will keep order
    and ensure victory.  

    There’s something to be said
for a little disorder.  

A little piracy.

    

    Cooper controlled his arm that wanted so badly to unsheathe his sword and bury it into that unprotected chest there, or that exposed armpit there.  

    A little piracy.

    Control the squall.
    Keep it in check.
    The Captain marched up to his enemy a little more quickly than even he expected, and just before he could speak, noticed his mistake.  

    Piracy.

    Pan had grabbed a rope and lassoed the Captain’s arms quick as a flash.  Cooper’s hands instinctively grabbed the new leash leading back to the monster.  He saw how this would play out in a fraction of a second.  He would step closer to Peter and just like before Pan would fly.  So he did.  And he did.  And with a flick of the Captain’s wrist the rope slithered and coiled and caught the boy’s foot.  

    Piracy.  

    He then heard his own voice call out “Take no prisoners!” and threw his body over the port side of the ship, still holding onto the tether tying the Captain to the Pan.
    As their bodies passed, each rich, red timber faded, peeled, swelled and shrank.  Boards cracked.  Green moss sprung from the cracks in the newly rotten and faded wood.  The wind changed direction and the Union Jack that proudly flew on the main mast billowed around on itself.  As it did the red crossed lines became white bones.  The royal blue field turned inky black, and when the flag completed its turn from west to east a skull faded out of the darkness and as it raised its head to look out onto the world it smiled.
    Peter Pan smiled, too.
    Splash!
    The sea supported them both for a second.  What rope was available was thrown and tangled around the two bodies by Captain Cooper’s nimble hands.  The waves threw them into the sidewall of the ship over and over again.  The Captain allowed his body to take over.  He would bite this and hit that, but as they sank his hands knew their most important job was to not let go of the rope.
    Finally.
    They rolled until there was no more up. The water pressed in on Peter Pan more forcefully than it ever dared before.  It smothered him with its relentless, dark coolness and no matter how much he commanded it to back away it insisted on pushing closer.  His bright, hot fire began paying the price and Peter felt, for the first time in a long time, disconnected from the world around him.  He needed to be out in the air again.
    This isn’t the end.  Up!
    Up! Up!
    But the Captain held firm to the tangling rope, and each attempt to rip free only expended more of Pan’s energy.  Soon, Peter was fighting with as much desperation as he felt, one of his few completely honest moments.  A fist much harder than any boy’s cracked the Captain’s ribs.  Nails much thicker and longer than any boy’s opened his skin.  Salt burned into his stomach.  Everything grew darker as they fell further down.  

     Finally.

     They hit something.  It was too soon to be hitting the bottom, and it was no rock.  Without warning the Captain knew nothing but pain.  Drowning never existed.  Peter never existed.  The Island never existed.  Pain was all there ever was and all there ever would be, and while one part of his brain screamed “Pain!” the rest of his brain confined that section, and set to work solving the problem.
     Where is the pain?

     Right arm.  There it is.  

     His left hand did its job while the Captain faded into the pain, deftly feeling along his arm to the source.  It felt along the hard and long snout and up to the eye.  Enough pressure and it compresses like a hard-boiled egg; even more pressure and it breaks open.
     The crock rolled in pain, tearing flesh and bone.  Splashes broke the surface that suddenly came back into view.  A pair of grown adult hands grabbed the Captain and pulled him up to the surface.  They broke and before the Captain could gather a breath to shout, Pan was in the air and gone, flying off to the horizon.  His laughter skipped off the water and bounced over the surface of the newly formed Jolly Roger.
     Cooper drifted off into a place without nerves.  The other sailors hoisted him back onboard and carried him to his room where they tied a leather strap around his bicep.  They laid him down in his bed and let him sleep as an iron skillet was taken off its shelf and placed in the oven in the kitchen far below his room.
     Four hands stoked and fueled the fire endlessly throughout the night.  Drake, the master carpenter onboard, worked tirelessly to build the Captain’s new namesake.  His eyes dried and he continuously wiped oil and sweat from his face.  The skillet glowed red and was shaped, glowed red and was shaped.  Two men kept the fire raging while ringing pierced their ears with each hammer strike and the sound of saw teeth becoming dull grated on their nerves.
    The Sun rose and the Sea was calm.  It had taken its tariff and seemed pleased for the moment.  The fire-stoking duo was sent to their hammocks and a fresh pair of bodies took over while Drake showed no sign of fatigue.
    The Captain awoke in severe pain.  What rum was left in storage was poured over tattered sinews, rent flesh and splintered bone.  There were no signs of infection aside from the fever and incoherent speech.  Like a loyal pet, Smee never left Jimmy’s side.  At times they would speak to one another, but about what no one could follow.
    As the Sun set Drake had the Captain carried to the kitchen where the head of the hook hung out of the doorway of the glowing hot oven while the handle of it sat in the embers.  A blade sliced away useless skin and muscle.  A fresh saw evened out the radius and ulna.  Finally, Drake put on a thick leather glove and removed the black hook that was once a skillet from the fire, revealing a forked end that glowed red.  The captain’s breathing grew quick and shallow as he watched the glowing terror approach him.  His teeth clenched on a leather wrapped stick and sweat poured down his brow past frantic eyes.
    Smee could not watch the rest.  He turned his head away when Drake’s leather gloved hand held the hook in place while the other recoiled a hammer, ready to drive the glowing points into the evened out bones.  But something inside Smee forced him to keep his eyes open.  If Jimmy would have to endure the procedure, then Smee would at least watch the shadows on the wall.  He saw the warbling shadows play out the scene through his tears.  The hammer swung, almost impossibly fast, and clanged against the curved edge of the hook.
     Drake’s apology as he wound up for the second strike was drowned out by the Captain. Pain rocketed out of his throat and filled the room, sending shivers through everyone in the room the same way the hammer sent spasms through the Captain’s body as he fought against the men restraining him.  Every head on the ship turned from bow to stern.  Signs of the cross were made and prayers were said.  Each strike of the hammer flung a louder scream from his shaking body.  It took every bit of strength in four of his men to hold him down.  Every curse in the Captain’s vocabulary was slung at them, the screams darting over the water and through the woods.  Fairies lowered their heads and stopped glowing.  The Indians woke in wonder at what new god had finally come to the Island.  Pan smiled and continued dancing while playing his pipes.

©Fionnegan Justus Murphy

www.fionnegan.com