My blistered feet turn bloody

So I take to the air

And I am everywhere, I am starlight,

Oh, I am moonlight.

- Shearwater, "Lost Boys"

We should not have stayed out so late.

But tomorrow was market day, and Father insisted that there must be at least three bushels of potatoes left in the last field by the edge of the wood. My sisters and I had tarried too long in idleness where the wildflowers grow under the hedgerow, and now as blue twilight crept over the fields, we rushed back to our work before night could fall completely.

Alyse danced ahead of us, a tiny wood-sprite in the dimness, prattling to herself, pausing now and again to sift her fingers through the dirt in desultory dreaminess. I might have called to her to mind the work, but she was a child yet, only eight years old. There was time enough for strictness and scolding.

Rose worked steadily beside me, lovely Rosaleen, my proud, golden sister. Two years my elder at sixteen, and the village beauty, for all that we spent our days bent over the rows of potatoes and cabbage. We worked without talking, in the steady rhythm of long familiarity: I found the still-rooted plants, she drove the long potato fork down into the earth with a confident push, and I pulled the plant up while she stomped the fork sideways and lifted the tines through the resisting soil. In the gathering darkness we sifted dirt and roots quickly, dropping the sound potatoes into one basket, the soft diseased ones into another. Rose tramped the dirt flat while I sought another plant, bent double, fingers brushing the earth.

At the end of a row we paused. Rose thrust the fork into the soil with her easy swift grace, then straightened, pushing her fists into the small of her back. "Alyse should not run so far off – it will be full dark soon," she said. I nodded absently, peering into the gloom for the child. "Alyse, love!" Rose called out, her clear voice ringing across the rows of trampled plants. "Come back, sweetheart!"

She strode away toward the edge of the wood and I watched her go, wishing for a moment that my hair could glow golden like hers where it escaped her kerchief, even in this fading light. But Alyse and I were drably dark, like our father, while only Rose had our mother's golden curls. And Rose had indeed been mother to Alyse, and to me too, since our own mother died when Alyse was but a baby. I liked to think I had done my share of mothering for her, elder though she was.

I turned to the next row and found a plant to pull, though I struggled with the heavy fork in Rose's absence. "Alyse!" came Rose's voice across the field, and again, "Alyse?"

I sighed and stabbed the fork back into the earth. The silly child has lost herself in the woods again, I thought. There would be no finishing tonight until we found her. I set off after Rose, whose white apron made a pale smudge in the dusk. Then her voice rang out again, rising sharply: "Isobel!"

And all of a sudden the pale smudge was gone, and a sound like the cry of an animal came keenly through the air, cut strangely short. Fear clenched tight in my belly, and I ran. Was Alyse hurt? Was there a snake, or a wolf? The heavy fork would have made a powerful weapon, if I could wield it, but I had left it behind and there was no time now to turn back. The uprooted potato plants caught at my bare feet and I stumbled in the uneven soil. In the blue light I could see nothing at the edge of the wood but tangled darkness.

I stopped at the edge of the wood. "Rose?" I called, my voice strangely high. Was that movement, deep in the shadows?

With a crash, a pale figure burst out of the underbrush. A flash too fast for sight, and I was trapped, lifted bodily off my feet, my arms pinioned by a terrible strength. One cold hand clamped over my mouth. I struggled in panic as I was dragged into the black wood. Outlaws, I thought wildly. They must have taken my sisters as well. Alyse was just a tiny child and no sane man would touch her, but Rose was a woman grown and lovely, and there were horrors aplenty for a girl in the hands of desperate men. I shrieked, though the sound was muffled, and kicked out at my captor.

"Be still," a voice hissed in my ear, a voice strangely accented and husky as if with disuse. "It will go easier if you are still."

I heard sounds of struggle and looked to see Rose, fighting like a trapped cat in the arms of another pale figure. Her eyes rolled in terror, and her captor – tall and strongly built – released one of her arms, raised his hand, and brought it down in a crashing blow across her face. I cried out into the hand over my mouth as Rose collapsed bonelessly.

Save us, I cried silently. The world went black.

***

I woke in a flickering darkness. I was facing a wall of rough stone, and someone lay humped up in a heap beside me. Golden hair poured out over the stone floor – Rosaleen. I rolled toward her, ignoring the ache of bruised limbs.

"Rose," I whispered urgently, shaking her shoulder. She didn't stir, but I heard her sigh, and went limp with relief; the blow to her head had not killed her, and from what I could tell, no one had meddled unduly with us yet. And perhaps Alyse had gotten away before the outlaws took us, perhaps she had run home to Father and perhaps the men of the village were on their way already with staves and firebrands. They could not have taken us far; these caves were peppered throughout the hills above the village...

Then I heard familiar laughter, Alyse's high rippling giggle, and my heart sank.

I sat up stiffly, turning toward the source of the light. Alyse sat near a smoky red fire, bony little arms wrapped around her knees, and beside her was a man – no, a boy – a lanky boy, cross-legged and hunched, making shadow puppets on the stone wall.

I rose unsteadily. The boy turned his face to me.

I am not brave like Rose, but nor am I craven in my heart – I have often gone into the tavern to find Father when he has had too much to drink, and once I coaxed a rutting bull out of our cabbage field, all alone. But when this boy turned toward me my knees turned to water. His skin was silver-white, even in the ruddy firelight, and his long hair, though matted with grime, was as fair as Rose's, metallic and gold. I think that perhaps he should have been beautiful, as beautiful as an angel, as beautiful as summer. But his eyes glittered with a darkness that no firelight could touch, and his slow wide smile had nothing human in it. It was the feral grin of a jackal, a polecat, a screaming jay in a starling's nest.

Alyse looked up and saw me. "Isobel!" she cried in delight, and ran to me. "We're making animals on the wall!"

I shushed her before she could go on. "Alyse, you must mind me very carefully now," I said softly, keeping my eyes fixed on the boy's although I felt my blood chilling in my veins. If he were the only one guarding us here, if the others had gone off, she might slip past him and get away. "You must run as fast as you can, down the hill and all the way home. You must find Father and bring him back here." I risked glancing down at her, her dark eyes gone large and serious in her pointed little face. "See how fast you can find Father, my love!" I whispered, looking again into the glittering emptiness of the boy's face.

"No," said a voice. My heart plummeted in my chest.

Out of the shadows rose two figures. They stepped forward in the half-light, and I tried not to cringe back against the wall.

One was tall and dark-haired, with an ox's great shoulders, scowling like a thundercloud. The other was shorter and more slight. His hair was the color of the firelight, red and bronze, smoky, tousled, wild. I looked at the three of them – the two standing, the fair-haired boy still sitting hunched on the ground. All three of them had the same silvery pale skin, and all three had faces like angels in stained-glass windows, but the three sets of eyes looking at me were black and unfathomable, with no more feeling or warmth than if I'd been staring down three vipers. And even while I shrank from the feral emptiness of the fair one's smile, the malice pouring off the dark one in waves, I noticed in wonder that none of them was more than a boy – none could be older than Rose, perhaps not even older than me.

At that moment, Rose made a soft sighing sound behind me. Although I hated having those three figures, human yet inhuman, behind my back, I turned and dropped to my knees beside my sister. She rolled toward me, a frown between her brows, a great purple bruise mottling one side of her face.

"Isobel?" she whispered, only half-awake.

"I'm here, Rose," I murmured, stroking the hair away from her forehead.

She struggled toward waking, pushing herself feebly upright. Seeing the stone walls and firelight, putting a hand gingerly to her bruised cheek, she said, "Where are we?"

"It does not matter," came the strangely accented voice behind us. Rose looked up behind me, and I watched her face as she saw our captors – her eyes widened, and her skin paled further. She scrambled to her feet, gripping my hand tightly.

Together we faced them, Alyse looking between us in some consternation. It was the third one, the bronze-haired one, who had stepped forward to speak. He seemed to be the leader.

"Where are we?" Rose repeated.

"It does not matter," the leader said again. I thought I recognized the voice that had spoken in my ear as they had captured us, but that couldn't be possible – this boy, not much older than I, could not possibly possess the strength I had felt.

"What do you want of us?" Rose demanded. My brave sister, I thought, clinging to her hand. "If it's ransom you want, our father can pay nothing, and the men of the village will be searching for us."

"No ransom," said the leader boy. "You are ours now."

I shrank in closer to Rose, who glared in defiance. If they were going to try to hurt us, she would fight them. I felt strength flowing from her into me.

Yet the boys made no move toward us, simply staring with their unblinking eyes. I felt the tension growing between us, tight as harp strings. At last I could not bear the silence. "Who are you?" I burst out. "We have never seen your kind here. Where did you come from? Where are the men who stole us, and why did they leave you alone with us?"

The biggest boy, the dark one, made a bitter barking sound. I realized belatedly that it was laughter, horrible laughter, as if from a throat that has forgotten how to laugh, forgotten anything of joy. "Who are we?" he spat, speaking at last. "We are no one."

"No one!" shrieked the fair one, still grinning, rocking backward and forward.

"There are no men," said the leader, searching my eyes.

"But – But I – " I began, not understanding.

"No men," he said again.

Again now the silence stretched between us. I held Rose's hand.

It was Alyse who moved, little Alyse all unheeding, and she walked back to the fair one where he sat hunched, great pale empty hands draped over his knees. She crouched down and touched his wrist. "Can we make animals on the walls again?"

He looked into her dark eyes, his wide grin fading, and in the uncertain light I saw a shadow pass over his face. For a moment, a frown creased his brow; for a moment, there was memory in his eyes, and pain. Then the moment was gone, his angel's face blank and smiling, and when he raised his hands a great dark bird flapped on the wall.

Rose and I faced the two boys, wondering what could happen now. Rose put up her chin. "Might we have some water, at the least?"

The leader looked full at her, his head a little to one side. "Water," he said, a sort of light dawning in his face. "For drinking." It was almost a question.

Rose snorted. "Of course."

The leader turned to the dark one, who nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

The leader seemed to be finished with speaking, and Rose and I settled uneasily near Alyse. I took up the corner of my apron and dabbed it wet in my mouth, then wiped gently at a streak of dried blood on Rose's cheek. She searched my face with her wide blue eyes.

"Isobel, I'm frightened," she whispered.

I nodded, glancing toward Alyse, who was giggling and clapping at the shadow puppets. "As am I."

It was some minutes before the dark one returned, bearing a chipped jug. He set it down beside Rose, who looked up at him. "Thank you," she said.

He looked intently down at her from his great height, then in a heart-stoppingly swift motion he was crouching beside her, his face only inches from hers. Rose shrank away from him, but his hand shot out and caught a tendril of her hair.

"No – please – no – " she said, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her into his lap. I seized the hem of her skirt, ready to pull her back, but all he did was push her kerchief back off her head with one great hand, then with unexpected gentleness he touched her golden hair. Rose sat still, eyes closed, hands clasped tightly in her lap, trembling like a bird.

There is no worse feeling than powerlessness. I could not help Rose; I could not run, I could not call for anyone. I could only watch her pale frightened face as the boy stroked her hair over and over, letting the brilliant curls wrap around his fingers, stretching them out to their full length before they tumbled to her shoulders again. His free arm was clamped inexorably around her waist. The cave was silent but for the crackle of the fire.

Pinioned there between my two sisters, each captured in her own way, I felt that something in me must break. I looked up and over the firelight at the leader, who was staring at me. The beauty and utter chill of his face tore at my heart.

"Who are you?" I asked him again.

He didn't answer me.

"Why are you doing this?" No answer.

I cast about for something, anything. My hand hit against the jug of water, and I realized how thirsty I was. I brought it to my mouth and drank, then looked back at the boy, who was still watching me with something of hunger in his face. I held the jug out toward him. "Water?"

"We do not drink," he said, and his voice seemed to come from far away, from deep underground, as if he had reached back a long way to find the words. "We do not sleep. And we cannot die."

I shivered long and deep. If he would not speak sense, I would not speak to him any more.

The silence went on and on. At some point I saw Alyse curled up with her head on the fair one's knee, and even Rose let her head drop back against the dark one's shoulder with his fingers tangled in her hair. I must have lain down myself, and the dark one must have released Rose, for I felt her where she lay behind me, her back pressed to mine.

The night had gone somehow. The fire was nothing but dying embers, and I saw faint daylight, which must have shown the direction of the entrance to the cave. The three boys sat together there in a circle.

I sat up. The fair one looked toward me and grinned his slow grin. His teeth were dark as if with wine.

Alyse was gone.

******

A/N: Standard disclaimer goes here. Recognizable names (even archaic ones) belong to SM; everything else is mine.

This is my first published fanfic, and I'd love to hear what you think!

The inspiration for this story fell into my lap while I was listening to the kickass and hilarious Twigasm podcast, and they mentioned the story The Lost Boys by hwimsey... and without knowing anything else about the story, I started thinking about the Cullen boys, and Peter Pan's lost boys, and this story popped into my head more or less fully formed. So I owe a debt of gratitude to hwimsey, even though my story has nothing to do with hers (though I have gone on to read it, and it's incredible, and you should all go read it too.)

If you're the kind of reader who likes to have a soundtrack for a story, go check out Rook, which is a great album by the band Shearwater. I listened to it on repeat while writing this.