Neverland

Chapter Eight

"Let's get started, shall we?" I rub my hands together. "Only answer when I ask you a question, is that understood?" The Lost Boys nod in unison. I assume the magic can work as a truth curse, so it will suit my needs.

"How's the little rebellion going on, eh?" I ask. No one answers me. "Oh, right. Silly me, I need to call you by name." I turn my gaze to the boy on the left. He does nothing under my hateful stare.

"So tell me, Charles," I snarl. "Is there a rebellion?"

Swift and smoothly, Charles answers, "Yes."

"Are you a part of this rebellion?" I demand.

"No."

I relax slightly. One follower. But I have to check the others' alliance. Charles will not be dying tonight.

"James," I say, switching my attention to him. "Who is the founder of this rebellion?" James doesn't answer. Is the magic fading? I decide to ask again.

"Who is the leader of the rebellion?" My voice is deathly quiet. James whispers something, a name.

"Speak up, James," I say. He clears his throat. Good. The magic is still working. The air is silent. He gives me the name.

"Lyam."

I am frozen in position, hand raised, mouth open, ready to cast any curse. Lyam? It cannot be possible. Lyam is my right-hand-man. But James is unable to lie under this magic. Lyam is as silent and unmoving as the rest of the Lost Boys. I step towards Lyam. I come only a few centimeters short of him.

"Lyam," I say. "Are you the leader of the rebellion against me?" The muscles in his jaw twitch. His face turns red. The truth magic is suffocating him. Lyam spits out the word, "Yes."

I am in disbelief. Out of all the people to rebel against me, I would not have guessed Lyam, though he had not earned my full trust.

With limited questions left, I ask, "What are your reasons for starting this rebellion?"

"You don't understand," Lyam says quickly.

"Oh?" I say, arching an eyebrow. "What is it that I don't understand?"

"You... you..." Lyam's eyes clear and he shakes his head. He looks at me staring at him. His face is a mask of horror. And he runs. I watch him sprint into the dark jungle full of night. The Lost Boys rush to my side.

"Do we go after him, Peter?" Charles asks.

"No," I say. "He will come back. I'm sure of it."

It sometimes scares me how accurate I can be. I stalk through the jungle, alone, until I come to the place where I killed Tinkerbell. Sure enough, Lyam is here. He is almost hidden from crouching down so low.

"Now what do you think you're doing?" I ask. Lyam jumps. I see him paw at the ground frantically. A memory comes back to me. Tinkerbell ripped out some of my hair and said something along the lines of, "I need some of your magic."

"Are you looking for my hair?" I shout. This is so sick and wrong, but for some strange reason I am enjoying this. Lyam looks up at me.

"I need magic," Lyam says.

"Why have you decided to do this whole 'rebellion'?" I ask. "It's a bit far-fetched, don't you think?"

"See, that's your problem," Lyam says, standing up to me. "You think you're so clever because you defeated Tinkerbell and you are now the leader of the Lost Boys. You wouldn't have done that without me!" Lyam is shouting now. "You are nothing without your magic! Your magic is making you weak, and we don't need a weak leader." His hand goes for his spear behind his back. I draw my dagger in a second.

"You sure you want to do this?" I ask. "You know I'm better than you." Lyam smiles in the moonlight.

"Absolutely," he says and lunges, point forward. I slice and his screams fill the night.

See, there's a difference between a knife and a spear. A spear is good for stabbing, but a knife is excellent at slicing. And that is what my friend Lyam just experienced.

He tries to stem the blood with his leaf cover for his spear. The spear is unmoving at his side. We both take in the damage I did. I took the right hand clean off, there's nothing but a stump. I suppose the severed hand is somewhere, but I don't bother looking for it.

"A lesson to you, my friend," I say coldly. Lyam glares at me. The blood is already soaking through the leaf. He hoists himself up, and melts into the jungle's arms.

This is how I deal with traitors. I don't chase after him.