Agatheia

Not today.
It’s as though my connection with nature has been severed. I am a blob of weightlessness
trying to summon an energy that needs to grab hold of every part of my body. It’s impossible.
A blue bird hiding behind a patch of alluring green leaves squawks loudly. There’s a faint
fluttering and the noise ceases.
Not a moment later, I understand why.
Peter descends from the tree branches and drops to the ground with the grace of a gazelle.
He adjusts the frazzled collar of his olive shirt, the laces of his boots rustling with each step.
“Were you spying on me?”
“No,” he says like it’s a question. I squint my eyes at him, studying him. He throws his
hands up in the air and shrugs his shoulders.
“This time, try your real answer.” I smirk.
“I just wanted to see your progress,” Peter admits. He starts walking closer while I put the
weapons away. I didn’t use many today, so the process is a lot quicker than usual.
“It wasn’t working today. I’ll be better tomorrow. I think I’m just distracted,” I confess,
placing the arrows in the quiver to the left of the wooden rack. Before turning back towards the
treehouse, I cover the rack of silver blades with a black matte tarp.
It’s going to rain tonight.
Which, I realize, must be why I feel so unbalanced.
“You better be,” says the ever-omniscient Pan.
“Why?”
“You’re going on tour.”

The day begins the same as any other. I wake bright and early to the sun peeking through
the shade; the light splintering as it travels through the forest.
My clothes are laid out from the night before: a linen cream dress, a pair of sleek black
combat boots worn down from endless training sessions, and a mask of leaves and reeds from the
garden that Tinker Bell designed for me.
The mask will hide my identity. Though the villagers may have assumptions, they cannot
know who I am or where I’m from. If Peter noticed the features gifted to me by my rum-drunk
father upon his first impression, there’s no doubt the villagers will too.
The dress billows over my long legs. It’s shockingly loose, considering this is from Isli’s
personal possessions. The townsfolk are traditional in their ways. Peter does not intend to create
chaos in introducing me, and they certainly will not be receptive to the fighting gear I usually
wear during training.
A rhythmic knock on my door jostles me out of my daze.
“Ready?” Peter’s voice shouts from the hallway.
I steal one last glance at myself in the mirror. The reflection is a time machine, projecting
an image of the girl who only ever dreamt of Neverland. The teenager who had no true idea of
the world until it came and stole her from it.
I much prefer pants, I grumble.
“Hi,” I say as I open the door.
“Hi,” Peter grins, eyeing me up and down. “You’re going to do great. Just introduce
yourself and show them what you can do. They just need to see we have someone powerful on
our side who can potentially break the curse. If they have something—someone—to believe in, it
could buy us some time until you’re ready. I know what you’re capable of, but they don’t.”
“Do we have to do this today?”
“Are you ready to take on Hook today?” Peter retorts.
I shake my head.
“Then this is our only option until you are.” He opens the front door, and we walk into
the morning.
The sun has risen enough to stench off the dew. As we walk towards the garden, flashes
of little glowing lights appear between the sugar canes. The pixies are already up and at work.
“Tink! Light us up,” Peter commands, his voice booming as it refracts off the infinite
trees surrounding the house.
Tinker Bell appears behind a raspberry, begrudgingly dropping one of its seeds to the
ground. Despite her grumbling and groaning, she always gets the job done.
Tink circles us once, twice, and a third time. With each rotation, she gains momentum,
gliding effortlessly through the humid air. The globs of pixie dust are cold against my scalp and
prickly on my exposed skin. I still haven’t gotten used to the feeling. Like a thousand mosquito
bites all at once. The tingling disappears quickly which I’m grateful for.
“Let’s fly,” Peter exclaims ardently. He grabs my hand and flashes me a brilliant, hopeful
smile. My palm is sweaty from the heat and sapping anxiety. I return a much less optimistic
smile.
The familiar whip of the wind rushes past as I close my eyes and let the warm air brush
over me. Each time is more exhilarating than the last.
Peter’s hand tightens around mine; I tighten in response. Then, I let go.
He shoots me a worried glance as I glide unaccompanied through the tropical air. We’ve
practiced flying a few times since the first daunting experience, but never have we practiced
weaving through the forest at this swift pace.
We cannot fly above the treetops or Hook’s crew will spot us and trace our origin back to
the treehouse. To our home.
Peter swerves effortlessly between the wide oak trunks. I follow in suit, attempting to
mimic his form. Every moment or so he’ll glance over his shoulder to ensure my guts haven’t
been splattered all over the crumbling bark.
The mice scatter below us, frightened by the dark shadows covering the sun’s beaming
rays. An obnoxious woodpecker halts in the middle of pecking as we fly past. Thank the gods.
The brine scent is heightened as we approach the border of the forest. We’re close.
I dance and veer through the air, pleased at how well I’m flying without Peter’s
regulating hand.
“Woah,” I murmur as my head barely evades a large Maple tree.
Guess not.
In the distance, I can see the rooftops of the marketplace. It’s the largest structure in the
square. It’s almost time. Peter motions to the ground and I slowly but surely guide my body
down to the flourishing grass.
I will show them what I can do. My abilities.
I will be a beacon of hope for these people.
Will they judge me? Will they throw stones at me? Would Peter even let that happen?
Peter reaches for my hands once my feet have landed firmly on solid ground. I stare into
his gleaming sea green eyes.
 “I believe in you. They will too,” he says in the same way as one would state a fact. He
squeezes my hand once more before directing us towards the town square.
I still haven’t adjusted to the quiet murmurs from the townsfolk when Peter walks by. But
every time we pass through, his back straightens a little stiffer and he stands a little taller.
Now, the whispers are about me too. Their awareness of my presence is heightened in my
particular outfit. Before, when I’ve traveled into the village with Peter, they must have assumed I
was a crewmember they hadn’t seen before.
I spot Nancy, the woman with a stick up her ass who owns the hidden weaponry
disguised as a fruit stand on the corner. She nods her head in shrewd recognition.
Peter glances sidelong at me and inhales a breath through his chest. I step forward as a
crowd begins to gather in the open square. Peter whistles to gain their attention and the subtle
whispering halts.
Who is she? What’s she doing? Her dress is too short. Why is he here?
I clear my throat. My hands tremble as my next breath leads into my introduction.
“My name is Jane. I have been blessed with the powers of nature. I am a daughter of the
ancient Fae and I have been chosen to restore Neverland,” I say through shaky breaths.
Witch!
Go back where you came from!
Freak!
She’s going to hurt our children!
The Fae have returned to finish us off!
There are at least one hundred faces gawking at me.
I close my eyes and let the next breath drain the nerves. It will be okay.
Peter nods his head… and so I begin.

I retract a ball of flames from the fire in the hanging lanterns above the shops as I gather
its energy. It grows between my hands until the town goes dim. Though it’s still daylight, the
middle sectors are shadowed by their neighboring shops; the lights allow the signs of the shoppes
to be fully visible. Without it, the town becomes extremely dark.
The people are silent, only the sound of hushed breaths can be heard.
I’ve won their attention. Now I must sustain it.
One woman, an old lady with a ratty white apron studies me. She props herself up with a
dark-stained wooden cane, her back hunched from hours of labor. She seems to be standing on
an island by herself. The others do not go near her. When I look to Peter, he is glaring at the
woman. It jostles my nerves, but I regain confidence quickly. I must ignore any distractions.
She’s just an old woman.
In one swift motion, I shove my hands out into the space between me and the crowd. The
lanterns poof with the restored fire. There is a round of staggered clapping. A few impressed
oohs follow. The old woman is now watching me with precision. Like a hawk stalking its prey.
I move onto the next task, showing only my strongest elements: fire, water, and light.
I scan the loop of people. Dozens more have approached after hearing the clamoring of
the crowd. Heads bob up and down, trying to get a better view. The voices are getting louder. I
try to listen to what they’re saying, but all of the voices overlap and blur together.
I look to Peter; he motions to continue.
My skin tingles with the beginning of a sunburn. With the sun high in the sky, it’s at the
prime spot to scorch my pale-white skin. I wipe off a bead of sweat forming along my upper lip.
 I try to ignore the immense pounding in my chest. I cannot be this person, this sign of
hope and freedom for Neverland. They won’t choose me. I am an accident, a mash of flesh and
magic.
My hand begins to tremble, making it difficult to summon my powers. I’m unworthy to
wield such immense abilities. I’m not wholly Fae or human. I am nothing.
Nature made a mistake in creating me. I am a shame and an abomination to everything
the Fae stood for. They were admired by all as amazing, powerful beings who coexisted with the
commonfolk.
How am I to ever make these people believe that I come from that legacy?
Peter’s hand is on my shoulder in an instant. The feel of his touch is a shock to my
system, jerking me back to reality. He always seems to know when my anxiety begins to pile like
building blocks of a concrete wall, guarding myself from danger.
“You don’t have to go through with this,” he whispers in my ear.
I shake my head. “I have to prove myself to them.”
“There will be other opportunities.”
“No. This needs to happen now. You said it yourself: we need to buy time.” He closes his
eyes as he remembers the exact words he said to me.
I brush him off and face the crowd. With regained certainty, I close my eyes and
straighten my posture. Moving my hands from where they were locked at my side, I absorb the
energy of the wind and pull it from both flanks.
I force a wind cylinder to travel through the treetops, extracting a bundle of leaves to
carry in the airstream. Now, my power is fully visible. I feel the energy surging through me.
A few of the men’s hats blow off their heads. One man chases a brown hat down the
white pebble avenue while another catches his before it blows away. The ladies grip their floral-
etched pastel skirts.
A faint smile purses my lips.
I direct the bundle of wind and leaves to the sea’s edge that has been calling out to me
since I arrived in town. Everyone watches as the wind disappears, anticipating its return. I must
close my eyes to navigate the wind to its destination. I visualize the water droplets getting caught
in a wind tunnel and floating back to me.
Nature obeys me. I am one with life and death and everything in between.
A swirling column of air and water whirls above the crowd. I hold it in place with my
hands positioned directly above my head.
I notice an absence in the crowd. The old woman is gone. She disappeared into the mass
of people.
I draw my hand from the air to extract the droplets from the wind, forming a ball of water
between the palms of my hand. I toss it into the sky, letting it burst into tiny beads over the tops
of people’s heads. Some reach up to touch their heads, curious whether it was real or a figment
of their imagination.
For my grand finale, I use the power of light which means I must pull directly from the
Sun itself. The bright hot light compresses into a yellow orb in my palms; right arm above, left
below. I hold the brilliant ball of light for a minute, letting the crowd take a good, lasting look at
the absolute power to behold. If I hold it for too long, it’ll begin to scald my skin.
I crash my hands together and the light disappears into thin air. With it goes the energy
flowing through my body. I suck in a deep breath. It is done.
There is a mass of applause, while others stand in stunned silence.
 A miracle. She has come to save us! exclaims a woman dressed in trousers and a loose
knit blouse.
Are you a god? asks a little boy about the age of four.
She’s going to reverse the curse! says an excited middle-aged man in a grease-stained
shirt.
I search the crowd three times for old lady, but she is nowhere to be found.
Before the swarm gets too rowdy, Peter steps into the inner circle where I’ve been
performing.
“We have been training Jane to hone her abilities. This is the extent of her training so far,
but every day we make progress.” He pauses to glimpse at the blank eyes staring back. His gaze
locks with an older man, strong build and rather short, who was cursing earlier. “I made a vow to
you all years ago that I would free us after I realized what a horrible mistake I’d made. I was a
stupid, miserable kid looking to flee childhood. I did not intend to curse us all to this land,
trapped for eternity. Hook has done nothing, though he shares responsibility for our island’s fate.
This woman,” Peter gestures towards me, smiling pluckily, “is our only shot. She is a gift from
nature. She is our salvation, and I urge you to consider the possibility.”
He grabs my hand and ushers me out of the gathering before we are bombarded with
questions. We walk swiftly, one foot in front of the other. I keep peering sideways to gauge
Peter’s thoughts. His face is blank, but his eyes keep scanning his surroundings.
When we reach the tree line, a cold, bony hand grips my right wrist.
It’s the old woman, hiding behind the trunk of a large ash tree. She places a finger over
her mouth and gestures me closer. Peter notices and tries to wrench me out of her grasp.
“Agetheia,” Pan scowls. “Jane, get away from her,” Peter instructs me.
I slip my hand from his grasp.
“Jane,” the woman repeats my name like she’s saying the word aloud for the first time.
“Jane.” Peter steps between us. I stop him, holding up a firm hand. He does not command
me. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.
“What do you want?” I ask, the woman, Agetheia.
“Where did you get your powers?”
“From my parents,” I answer honestly
“Jane…” Peter warns. “Careful.”
“Your mother?”
“How do you know my mother?”
“You are my granddaughter.”
Every bone in my body freezes. I am stuck in this moment of time, immobilized by her
words. Granddaughter. It’s not true. It can’t be.
Though, I never met my grandparents in the mortal world. The only family I knew was
my mother, Danny, and Adam. I shiver at the thought of Adam being considered family.
“No,” Peter says before I can think or respond. “It isn’t possible.”
Agatheia nods.
Peter points a finger in her face. “Leave Jane alone. She will not listen to your
preposterous bullshit. You may have tricked me once, but that was the first and last time.”
“She’s—” I let my voice trail off as the realization slaps me across the face.
“The witch who cursed us all?” Peter clenches his jaw. “Yes.”