Lost In The Heart Of Neverland

Chapter Nineteen

The walk back to camp was silent. Peter didn't talk and I didn't mind. The past couple of days had been wonderful, in their own way, and it seemed strange to admit that I had actually enjoyed myself. I didn't trust Pan. I didn't think that I ever would, but in a way I felt like he and I had formed some kind of bond. A trauma bond, but not just as a result of the siren attack. When he pinned me to the ground and allowed me to struggle like that,he made me feel weak and helpless, showing me just how little control I had over my safety. I felt so angry and ashamed. I felt weak and helpless, and that made me furious, and when I get furious I cry, which only adds to my anger. The way he looked at me when he told me... when he told me that it wasn't my fault. That there was nothing I could have done; that I did the best I could - the right thing. It made me wonder if he knew everything about me:every inch I had walked and every second I had spent and how I had spent it. But it wasn’t just that. The chasm in his eyes gave off a shimmer of familiar pain - the feeling of the terror you feel when your world is falling down around you and you have no way to stop it from happening. You try, but you fail over and over again, and you start to wonder why you're trying. Why on earth don't you just let it all burn to the ground? But as usual the savage instinct to survive takes control and you eventually find yourself in a place you never really expected to be; a place unfamiliar to you before now: the place of hopelessness and confusion, and questions that have no answers, yet you keep searching because there must be a reason all of this has happened. There has to be, because if there isn't then what is the point of going on the way you have been? Why keep living in such empty pain? 

I felt all of that confusion slipping away slowly as I began to accept where I was and that it would, in fact, be my forever home. Somehow having another soul to identify with made life much less heavy. Back then I had no clue that Pan was not the only one with an agonizing past. All of the boys had things they had escaped from. All much worse than anything that they had faced here. Neverland was a place where they would never have to live in torture again. That had been Pan's offer to them, and he had followed through. Though he didn't exactly have a peachy personality, Pan had given these boys more safety and freedom than they had ever experienced in their homes, and that was why he was trusted. It was how he had gained their loyalty. It hadn't been taken by force at all. It was earned, and the Lost boys gave him loyalty and obedience willingly and happily. And now, slowly, I was finding myself doing the same. 

The next few days were fairly docile. Between Baelfire, Beck, and Pan, I learned how to sword fight, How to shoot an apple off of a rock (I refused to risk anyone's life by playing "Target Practice” in the usual manner), and my hand to hand combat improved immaculately. I could even bring Baelfire down, and he was number three on the victory chart. Today was the day I put those newly learned skills to the test: knife training with Bjorn. 

Don't get me wrong, I've always been a good fighter, and my confidence was only boosted by the last combat experience I’d had with Bjorn. Sure, I figured he had gone a little easier on me than he did the others, but nothing could convince me that I wouldn't walk out of this next battle a winner. They say confidence is key. I guess they forgot to tell us that a big head can throw you off balance.

It was a bit rainy that day, definitely not ideal for wrestling, but Pan never allowed weather to become an excuse for his Lost Boys to back out of anything. If they trained the way they wanted to fight they would fight well and without distraction due to things like rain and wind. In turn, they would have the upper hand with most enemies like sirens and Indians who stayed in their homes during rough weather. Pirates, on the other hand, were not so easily defeated by such things. The seafaring life is one of danger and constant work, even in storms and scorching sun. A pirate is not only strongly desensitized to pelting rain, and heat, and even snow, they possess an insane amount of balance and quick, skilled footing. The time spent on the waves does them well in that area. 

I wanted to back out of this fight. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prim, prissy princess who’s afraid to get a little dirty, but fighting in the rain meant getting covered in mud, which, in turn, meant a swim in the lagoon to get cleaned up. As you can imagine, after my last experience in the water I wasn’t too eager to get back in so soon. It didn’t matter, though. What Pan says goes. So there I went.

Turns out I was right to be suspicious of Bjorn’s last performance. I did well, considering, but I still had a lot to learn, it seemed. I had the upper hand for the first half, taking him down with simple flips and wrist bends. Getting his armed hand behind his back was no biggy at first. Man, did I feel like a pro. Beating the second best fighter in the camp gave me an ego I now wish I would have tamped down a bit. 

Usually I’m not the kind of person to taunt a loser, but I felt so good I couldn’t help myself.

“Lost your touch, Bjorn?” I tossed the knife up and caught the blade, staring Bjorn down like a football player facing down his opponent on the field. “You know,” I continued. “I heard Pan talking to Felix the other night about replacing you. Maybe I should apply for the job.” 

He didn’t respond - just smirked and took it when I tackled him and held the knife to his throat. I felt so proud. I knew I was good, but I never thought-

SMACK!

In an instant Bjorn had grabbed the knife from my hand, flipped me over, pinning my arms and legs, and had turned my own knife on me. So much for second place on the charts. I couldn’t see myself, but judging by the heat rising over my cheeks and the laugh from Bjorn I was fairly certain I was actually blushing; something I don’t do often. 

“Maybe next time, Princess.” Bjorn pushed himself up off of me and offered his hand to help me up. Swallowing my pride, I grabbed his hand and pulled myself up, still embarrassed by the blush staining my cheeks. 

“Come on, Aya,” he said as he pulled grass out of my hair. “I’ll teach you how to fight to win.You gotta make your opponent think they are the one winning. Best way to win a fight is to catch 'em off guard. That’s when you gain the upper hand.”

After brushing the dirt off of my clothes I grabbed the stick Bjorn handed me and held it like I would a knife. Bjorn wrapped his fingers around my wrist, and grabbed the ‘knife’ with his other.

“See, when you grabbed the knife like this to disarm me, I let you take it without much of a fight. Now, if I had been trying, I would have used my right arm to create distance,” he snaked his arm between us and under my chin,”then I could grip your shirt, trip you with this leg here, and get you on your back, like this.”

He did just that.

“Now, the risk with this is that, as you’re falling, you could take the knife and slit my throat and I’d be a goner.So when you make this move you’ve gotta be sure you keep a tight grip on the knife, you move fast, and take the knife back quickly if you do lose it. Knife fighting is dangerous. There will always be an extreme risk, no matter what you do, but it’s also fun. I mean, exhilerating. If you don’t love it now you’ll learn to. These lessons just might save your life.”

We practiced for two hours, me failing, mostly, and Bjorn, being kind enough not to make fun of me, taught me how to escape almost any disarming tactic without getting hurt.

By the end of the lesson I was exhausted, and even the master knife fighter looked frazzled. We decided to head to the kitchen to search for something to eat. Maybe Beck had left some deer jerky for the rest of us this time. When we arrived we didn’t find any jerky. Not to place any uncalled for blame on Beck. We didn’t even have time to check the cellar. What we found when we opened the door was too important to ignore for dried meat.