Chapter 0.1 - Prologue
„Second star to the right and straight on ’til morning.”
Author: Sir James Matthew Barrie (1860 - 1937)
A mist breeze laid a billowing, grey-white veil over the beating heart of England. A soft whisper rustled away over the gables and tiled roofs of London, rustling through cracks and holes in the houses, groped through chimneys, and tickled the warm flames of small and more significant fires in the chimneys there. Long ago, the many windows had been closed, and the flickering lights behind them extinguished so that the pulsating silence of late night hours could take hold. But... that was only the case for some.
One child raised his eyes to the sky. It was a small boy with light brown strands that lay in wild curls around his chubby little face. He wearily rested his arms on the window ledge and rested his chin on the palms of his hands. From outside, a cold night breeze blew into the sparsely furnished room, moving the holey curtains like ghostly shadows and soothingly stroking the sleepy child’s little nose. But he did not allow himself to be distracted but looked up unflinchingly to the cope of heaven.
From there, a sea of tiny lights shimmered toward him as if an artist had scattered thousands of diamonds on night-colored velvet. If he closed his eyes and listened intently to the silence - as his mother had always told him in her soft voice - one could sometimes hear the gentle whisper and even the sparkle with which the stardust trickled down from the sky and brushed its moonlight-soaked shine on the exhausted child’s eyes. Now and then, on special days - like today - two stars would shine especially brightly, competing with each other and having a great time up there, where they could watch the bustling activity far below them.
The boy blinked against the sleep, but eventually, fatigue prevailed, and his eyes fell shut. It took a few minutes for his little face to slip through his hands, and he sank wearily onto the window sill. But only a little later, the same night wind he had been keeping company with all this time woke him up. A little confused, his clear eyes opened, blinked, and slowly shook his head. His gaze searched the night sky, scanning the blue band he knew so well because he looked at it every evening. But... hadn’t there been two stars just now?
The boy fixed his gaze on the sky and searched it until he was no longer sure whether he might not have been dreaming. A light sigh was heard before the window was quietly pushed shut, and small children’s hands painstakingly pushed the latch forward. A thin mattress creaked treacherously under the little bit of weight as the boy pulled his duvet up to the tip of his nose and muffled himself into the stained pillows. Around him, he heard the soothing breaths of the other orphans. Murmurs sigh grumpy snores. It wasn’t long before his weary eyes closed, and, like all the other children, the boy sank into a sound slumber.
The night wind peered through the windows for a while longer, silently plucking at the roof tiles and purring against the glass... but no child opened to him at his request or continued to listen to the stories he had to tell. So he stroked on restlessly, drifting over the nocturnal city, playing with a few leaves and caressing the murmuring flow of the Thames, which did not mind the late hour.
By the time morning peaked in windows and over chimneys, the wind had left London behind. It pranced over high cliffs, vast seas, deep gorges, and endless forests. Even if the observer firmly expected it, the night wind did not take its steps indiscriminately. It dawdled a little, picked up speed again, and finally reached an almost complete standstill. Stardust, sun-gold, and wave-glow had caught in the formless mane, invisible to the naked eye, but the wind admired its reflection in the smooth masses of water that rolled beneath it. An ocean, still dark and black out here, but the closer it came to the small mainland, the more bright azure mixed in.
At some point, white sand shimmered through the water’s surface, punctuated by the darker patches of reef and seaweed that speckled the light carpet. Colorful schools of small, large, and medium-sized fish in all shapes and colors trundled back and forth between algae and coral. The wind gave only a moment of its time to this lively hustle and bustle at such an early hour of the morning and continued to prance until it reached the silver beaches of Cannibal Cove. He almost stopped here as if to pause and listen to what his brothers and sisters, the sea breeze, the cool forest breezes, or the warm summer breeze, had to tell him. He warmed himself with pleasure on the balmy sand, which the sun’s rays would heat mightily in the day. He stroked invisible fingers caressingly over shells and smoothly polished bone splinters that nestled in the shimmering ivory of the unnaturally white beach. But even there, he did not linger long, for the wind had never been one to stay long in one place. It always drove him restlessly on.
Waves broke quietly on the pristine stretch of coastline not far from the anchorage of the huge three-master, the Jolly Roger. From there drifted the busy sounds of a buzzing hive, heavy boot steps, calls of deep voices, and the smell of waxed ship’s planks. In contrast, the nuance of the forest, which also opened up barely thirty paces away from the turquoise blue shores, tasted quite different. Dense bushes that made light-hearted progress were a feat, but after a few meters formed into broad trunks and soft forest floor. It was easy for the wind to weave through and taste a little of the fresh morning dew that flashed through the blanket of treetops from green foliage, multicolored flower heads, blades of grass, clumps of moss, and creepers. There they were, the gems of the night, previously tethered to the sky and now shaken down by the day onto the green thicket of the island.
For a split second, the wind might admire all the beauty before it calmly moved on and continued its way around the island. Past the blue lagoons of the mermaids in whose colorful scales the rising sun’s light refracted over the high cliffs, it plunged howling down to the water and whipped up a few waves. Faster than before, he dashed across the water, carrying the salty smell of the sea higher up, into the clouds, and back down again, where he finally felt the smooth torture stakes where the bones of dead bodies were still bleached by the sun.
Almost at the other end of the island, there were hardly any sounds except birds chirping, gentle winds, and rustling leaves. The people who inhabited this part of the forest knew how to camouflage themselves, to keep themselves hidden, so that even the wind had to look closely to catch a few spots of color on copper skin. But once he spotted her, it was never too much trouble for him to stroke the feathers and beads in raven-black hair with loving warmth, to ruffle them a little, and to purr a greeting with soundless words.
So the wind moved on, escaping the dense forests and dashing up to the top of the mountain, past dark cave entrances and dangerous animals noisily sharpening their claws on dead wood. He knew the old colossus well, even if he had become quiet and silent. But the old giant with the crown of silver-white clouds listened to his stories when he told of distant worlds and shining children’s eyes until he decided to move on. The wind dislodged small stones, bent tough brushwood that clung to the top of the bare rock and rolled down again along with a few small torrents to the mouths where freshwater rejoined the sea. There he pranced over the coral gardens of the mermaids, watched their game for a while, and flew on hurriedly so that the beautiful women would not feel disturbed.
At some point, he finally peaked against the proud rock that hovered above the churning sea some distance from the mainland. Overgrown and enclosed by nature’s green embrace just as much as the rest of the island, it was not so enthroned as settled there, letting the sunshine on its lush surface. Life reigned there at all times of day and night, where lianas and endlessly searching creepers dipped their long arms into the glittering spray. Caressed by children’s hands, they climbed down and up to the small plateau around which a crown of waves glistened tenderly, constantly wetting the bleached stone.
This is where the wind loved to sit down, toss through wild curly heads and nudge round noses, whisper sweet or admonishing words, and... talk to those who knew how to listen. Well - especially with one who could. But sometimes came the time of the wind, when sun and moon met over the sea, and where the fiery gold was pressed beneath the surface of the water, the silver disc regained its dominion. Then the wind was on its feet again as quickly as it could, dropped a few gentle farewell kisses with loose petals, and started on its way back. Thus the game repeated itself for a long time and seemed endless and everlasting in harmony.
