He looks at his mum. “Pot-stirrer,” he says as he kisses her on the cheek.
She flashes him a quick smile, and I follow them farther up the mountain, past her house.
I don’t know where we’re going.
She glances back at us. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Jem tosses his arm around me proudly, and his mum gives us a quarter of a smile.
For Itheelia, I’m gathering, that’s practically a parade thrown.
“Very good.” She nods.
Jem rests his chin on top of my head.
“When?” she asks.
“Just recently.” I shrug demurely.
“Last night,” her son tells her uncouthly.
She rolls her eyes. “Jammie.” She then shuffles me over towards her, not letting me go.
“I go’ her kiss, Mum.”
“Did you?” She looks up at him quickly before searching my face for it, but it’s gone. She tilts her head. “You know, there’s a legend about that.”
“Is there?” Hook looks between us.
“Do you know it, Daphne?” Itheelia asks me, her gaze sitting on me, heavy.
There’s that weight again, thick in the air around us.
I swallow, nodding quickly.
“Anybody going to tell me what it is?”
I don’t look away from his mother but shake my head all the same, and Jem rolls his eyes.
“Go on.” He nudges me.
“Don’t pry, darling,” Itheelia scolds him. “It’s unbecoming.”
Thank you, I mouth to Itheelia.
She nods back, then motions her head towards something up ahead.
“What’s that?” I squint at it. It looks like a—
“A well,” Jem tells me with a smile. He takes my hand, leading me over to it.
Whatever’s in the bottom, it’s glowing, swirling, moving around like mercury.
Jem reels up a bucket and dips his finger in it, then holds his finger out to me. “Try it.”
I frown at it, confused, but he lifts his eyebrows, waiting.
I lick it quickly and barely, and then my eyes go wide.
It tastes like—
“Hope.” Jem nods. “The island runs on it, remember?”
I look over at Itheelia. “Like a fuel?”
“It runs all under the island, like a current, feeding everything.”
I look between them. “But where does it come from?”
Itheelia tilts her head as she tries to explain it. “Your atmosphere is made of oxygen and nitrogen. Ours is made of hope and wonder and also a little bit of oxygen and nitrogen and another chemical called Luxithogen that your lot don’t know about—”
“Mum.” Hook interrupts her and gives her a look.
“Hope is a universal property,” she goes on. “And we are the only exporters of it.”
“Okay?”
“Our island needs it to survive, but it’s also the only place it can be made.”
I eye her curiously. “How do you make it?”
“Similar to how oxygen is made on your planet.” She shrugs. “We breathe in trepidation, and somehow amidst the human experience, we breathe out hope.”
“No’ all the time,” Hook adds as a caveat.
“And only on this planet.” His mother nods. “It’s why the Pan’s important,” Itheelia says carefully. Her eyes flicker between me and Jem. “The heir should bring hope.” She frowns, looking a bit confused. “Instead, it’s in decline.”
“Hope is?” I look down into the well.
“I monitor its levels closely.” Itheelia sighs, lowering the bucket back down. “It’s been in decline the last few hundred years.”
“Really?” I stare over at her.
“Extra lately.” She eyes Jem. “Have you heard the rumours?”
He nods. “Are they true?”
His mum licks her lips and frowns. “I’m afraid so.”
I look between them. “What are you talking about?”
Itheelia breathes out her nose, and Jem nods his chin at me.
“We have t’ tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I frown.
“She’s gon’to hear about it,” he continues over me. “I want her to hear it from us.”
“Fine.” Itheelia waves her hand dismissively. “But speaking of him only summons him faster.”
“Who are you talking about?” I look between them.
Jem sighs, shoving his hands through his hair. “My uncle.”
“Oh.” I purse my lips.