I threw down the sling-bag in frustration. All my weapons, all my plans—they were useless against a boy who could fly.
The fire-stones rolled out of the bag. The breeze went through my hair. The wind was blowing from the south, almost directly from the south.
“Burn them,” I said, and grabbed the stones. “Burn them all out.”
Sally understood immediately. She always knew precisely what I was thinking. She ran to collect wood that would be useful for torches.
If we burned the plains, then the Many-Eyed would have nowhere to go but the sea—if they survived the flames. The wind would help send the fire where I wanted it to go—toward the nest and away from our forest.
Peter might still try to drop Charlie in the middle of the plains and hope the little boy cooked to death. I was going to run ahead of the fire for just that reason.
Nod and Crow shot out of the forest just as I lit the first torch.
“Good, this is better,” I said when I saw them. “Nod, you take this torch and go west. Light all the plains grass all the way to the sea on that side.”
I touched the tip of the torch to another piece of wood, and when it caught I handed it to Crow.
“You do the same going east, all the way to the mountains.”
They didn’t even ask why. They just took the torches and ran, lighting the grass as they went.
I pulled some cloth out of my pocket to wrap around my face. Sal took it from my hand and tore it so she could do the same.
“I’m not staying behind,” she said. “Don’t ask me to. It’s down to me that Peter got away with him.”
There was no time to disagree, no time to talk about what she ought to do or who was at fault. Maybe it was Sal, for sleeping when she ought to be watching. Maybe it was me, for underestimating Peter.
Or maybe it was Peter, because he was a monster.
We ran, and we set fire to everything.
Soon the smoke billowed and surrounded us, and the flames were curling at our heels, trying to catch us, to drag us down, to eat us alive. Sweat poured off my face and over my body, soaking my clothes. My throat was parched, scorched by the smoke despite the cloth I’d tied to prevent that.
The fire roared all around, a hungry, mad thing that swallowed everything before it, and I realized that we needed to run for our own lives, not just Charlie’s.
Then I heard, just above the howl of the flames, the terrified screeching of the Many-Eyed, and I smelled them burning.
We ran straight into the nest. The egg sacs were all aflame, and any adults that were in their silks had caught fire as well. Most of them were running ahead—I heard their mad buzzing as they tried to escape the fire.
There was so much smoke, so much heat.
I didn’t know it would be like that.
I didn’t understand fire was that kind of monster.
We kept running. The nest was enormous, a series of spun silk caves connected by longer threads, one after another. If Peter dropped Charlie, it would be here.
But if he was here, how would I find him? I hadn’t reckoned on the smoke, a black billowing cloud that was drowning everything.
And the noise. The fire was so noisy, a roaring, howling thing. Calling out for Charlie was pointless.
Then Sal grabbed my shoulder. Her eyes were streaming from the smoke and so were mine, but she pointed to the ground ahead of us.
There was my Charlie, half wrapped in Many-Eyed’s silk, his arms and head exposed.
“Not dead,” I moaned. “No, not dead.”
I ran to him, and picked him up, and held his little body to mine.
And felt his heart beat.
Sal tugged me up. The fire was already there, hunting us, relentless.
We ran and ran and ran toward the sea, and I held Charlie close to me and promised that I would keep him safe. Over and over I promised that, if only he would live.
And then somehow we were out of the grass and falling on the dry sand of the beach. Before us were the Many-Eyed that had outrun the fire.
There were so many of them. So many I couldn’t count. I’d never really understood.
They filled the space between the plains and the water, and they didn’t seem to notice us at all. The ones that were closest to the sea were screeching in terror, as were the ones that were being burned by flame. All the Many-Eyed in between were pushing and buzzing and trying to find a way out when there was none.
I scrambled, exhausted, toward some jumbled rocks on the west end, and Sal followed me. We stayed low, crawling, avoiding the Many-Eyed’s teeth and legs and stingers. I clutched at Charlie with one arm and pulled myself along with the other.
We reached the rocks and I made Sal go up first, so I could pass Charlie to her. Then I followed, taking Charlie again, and we climbed until we were well above the sand. Sal collapsed at the top, pulling the cloth off her face and coughing. There was no flat space to rest on—all those rocks were jumbled and sharp—but the sea air was fresh and we were away from the madness of the Many-Eyed.
I took the cloth off my own face and then cut the silk off Charlie’s body with my dagger. I pressed my ear against his chest and listened. His heart still beat, but slowly, and his breath wasn’t easy.
Sal watched me with frightened eyes. “Is he . . . ?”
“He’s still alive,” I said.
My voice was strange and croaking and my lungs burned. I felt like I was still inside the smoke, even though it was billowing away from us, up above the island. I wondered what the pirates made of all this.
I wondered where Peter was now.
I propped my back against one of the rocks and pulled Charlie into my lap, his head on my shoulder.
Below us the Many-Eyed were now in a frenzy. At first I was too exhausted to realize why. Then I saw about a dozen of them knocked off their feet and swept into the ocean.
The tide was coming in.
The tide was coming in and the fire in the plains had reached its peak fury, the flames twice as high as the grass that burned. As the Many-Eyed in front ran from the seeking ocean, the Many-Eyed in the rear caught fire. Some in the middle were trampled as others panicked and tried to run.
There was nowhere for them to run.
We stayed on the rocks for a long, long time, watching the destruction of the Many-Eyed. It should have given me more satisfaction than it did. I’d always wanted to rid the island of that vermin. I’d finally succeeded.
Soon the beach was littered with the bloated, stacked corpses of the Many-Eyed as far as my eye could see. Some of the dead ones closest to the fire caught and burned, and the air filled with the acrid smoke from their flesh.
Charlie’s eyes did not open. And I didn’t know how to tell Sally about the tree.
We’d thwarted Peter. He hadn’t been able to kill Charlie, and he wouldn’t have another chance. The smaller boy wouldn’t believe in him a second time.
But we were still trapped on the island. The tunnel to the Other Place was gone.
Sally didn’t speak for a long time. She stared dully out at the slow massacre of the Many-Eyed. Then she said, “Did you know he could fly?”
“I saw him once,” I said, and the words seemed thick and heavy in my mouth. I was so tired. “I never could catch him at it again.”
“How?” she said.
“If I knew, I would have flown after him,” I said.
“Maybe Charlie will tell us,” Sally said, and stroked his yellow hair.
It seemed so overwhelming then, so impossible. How could I defeat a boy who could fly, a boy who had destroyed our best means of escape?