Wals was working the line when the trio came up the exit ramp to say hello. He looked so envious of their day together that Lance almost felt sorry for him.
The lead cast member on the ride, Anne, came right over when she spied Wals’ good-looking friends. She pushed her dark, curly hair back behind her ear. “Who’re your friends, Wals, and why haven’t you introduced us before?” She smiled at the two men, not even looking at her co-worker.
She quickly spotted Lance’s wedding ring, not recognizing him out of his uniform, and turned her dusky gaze to the tall Mato. Her interest wavered when he merely grunted some kind of hello and turned away to watch the spinning carrousel.
“I’m Peter.” The little boy with them chimed in and held out his hand to her.
“Anne.” Expected to be polite, she had to respond, the wind evaporated from her sails. Wals’ smug expression was seen and ignored as she turned to go back to work. The train had tooted its approach to the station and would soon unload. “You’re up next, Wals.” She hadn’t liked being snubbed by the men, and her voice showed it.
Biting back a retort, Wals plastered another fake smile on his face and muttered to the men, “I’m up next. Lucky me.”
Saying good-bye, the friends walked down the exit ramp. Lance led them over to the carrousel and asked Peter if he wanted to ride it. Glancing up at Mato, who gave a quick shake of his head, Peter told his dad he would rather go on Peter Pan. Lance put the walkie-talkie he had just used back on his belt and led the way to the popular ride’s exit. As their elaborate pirate ship lifted them up into the air, Lance knew another call was being made. By the time they banked past the nursery scene and soared over London, he knew Wals would be waiting for them at the exit to Space Mountain, already dressed in his street clothes.
Days later, Lance, Kimberly, Peter, Wals, Wolf, and Mato stood on the bank of the Rivers of America. It was late at night, far too late for Peter to be up, but the excited boy was allowed the special treat of saying good-bye to Mato and Wolf. The time had come for them to go back to their family. Knowing it was useless to try and keep him down any longer, Wolf had received the reluctant go-ahead from Doctor Houser and was declared well enough to make the jump again. Unable to form any concrete plans, still in a sense of shock over the loss of Rose, Wals had asked if he could go along with them for a visit.
While they had been in the Brentwood’s house that last day, Kimberly brought out a small black metal box to show Mato. Rolling his eyes, he was prepared to be unimpressed by yet another one of their worthless gadgets. True, some of the wonders he had seen—like Wolf’s Mustang—had proven themselves to be worth the trouble they seemed to cause. But most—like the Zippo lighter and the television—proved to be a waste of time.
“Just wait,” Kimberly had promised. She brought him over to where Wolf was sitting at rest in a chair until it was time to go. She had Mato stand behind the chair and place his hand on the tall back of the antique wingback. “Just stay there a moment.” She backed up, putting the small box in front of her face. Wolf knew what she was about to do, but said nothing to his brother. “Smile,” she commanded for some reason. Both men remained straight faced, as usual. “Fine.” Giving up, she muttered as she pushed a button, producing a clicking noise and then a louder ‘whirr.’ A flat object was ejected from the box. Kimberly pulled this away from the box, smiling smugly as she slowly shook it back and forth in the air. Coming back to Mato she held it up for him to see.
He saw nothing. Muttering something to Wolf under his breath, Wolf just gave him a smile. “Keep looking.”
In front of his eyes, he could see Wolf’s face and his own slowly appear on the shiny gray surface. He took the picture by the edges as he had seen Kimberly handle it, and grunted as their image became sharp and defined. “Not worthless,” he declared. “What’s it used for?”
Kimberly looked over his shoulder at the picture. It was a good shot of the two brothers. “I thought you might like to give it to your father as a gift. Wolf mentioned that the Shaman hasn’t seen his actual face since he was a boy.”
Both men looked sharply at her. It was a nice, caring idea that Wolf had never thought of. They were quite touched at her thoughtfulness. Not that they would tell her, though.
“Thank you.” Wolf bestowed her with a rare smile. “I think he’ll like this. It will need to be protected.” The memory of what happened to the tape recorder came to mind, the one he had so carefully prepared and hidden for an emergency just like the one that had happened. He would have to look for it in the forest when he got back.
Reaching into her pocket, she had pulled out a plastic zip-topped sandwich bag and let it swing slowly back and forth in front of his face.
Now that bag and the picture were now tucked securely into the waistband of his deerskin trousers, Mato stood impatiently by the small canoe while everyone said their good-byes. Peter, dry-eyed at first, dissolved into a puddle of tears as he hugged Wals and the two warriors. He was so upset that they were leaving that he couldn’t remember any of their words—and that made him even more emotional.
“Be brave, little one, we will see you again,” Wolf whispered to him. Pulling away, he shook hands with Lance and endured a rib-crushing hug from Kimberly that made him grunt in pain.
With a nod to the others, Mato, Wals and Wolf climbed into the canoe. When Lance and his family had gone back far enough to be safely out of the way, Wolf called for the portal.
As they slowly paddled out in the River that became more agitated by the second, only Lance and Kimberly noticed an odd blue light. Coming from the upper story of the Hungry Bear, it sparkled and glimmered over the water as it hurried to catch up to the bobbing canoe. Ignoring the two men in the back, the light settled on Wolf’s head and disappeared into his gray-tipped black hair. Intent on the storm that rapidly approached, Wolf didn’t seem to notice anything else.
“Did you see that?” Lance whispered to Kimberly.
She merely shrugged as the pink of the vortex exploded and consumed the canoe and its riders. “I don’t know what that was.” It wasn’t until the terrifying phenomenon was over that she was final able to answer.
Torn between the grief of losing his friends and seeing something better than any of his video games, Peter stood silent and wide-eyed as the men disappeared right in front of his eyes.
Sitting on the top peak of the restaurant’s roof, watching the storm angrily swirl the River and the canoe around into a whirlpool, a very small Merriweather smiled as her wand settled down in her hand. Now that Rose was back in her proper place in time, Merri and the other fairies were now able to travel freely and come and go as they liked. Thrilled to no end that they had all of their powers back, Merri had wanted to do one last thing for the wolf. “There is our last gift to you, Sir Wolf. Good journey!” Humming a lively tune, the wand now circled her head and she vanished in a brilliant cloud of blue dust.
The Island — 1817
Standing at the edge of the River, the Shaman let out a disgusted grunt as a small, empty canoe floated by. It still was not the favorite canoe in which he had sent his son off so long before. “What’s the use in having nice things if you don’t take care of them?” he mumbled to no one in particular.
To hide his impatience, he stood in his rocky overhang and fussed with his wolfskin robe. The storm and the canoe meant at least one of the travelers had returned. A broken paddle now bobbed past the encampment, carried along by the current. There was no way to know who was going to come home. He had been shocked when the last storm had only produced the man Wals and not his son Wolf. The banks of the River continued to be scanned as far as he could see when some of his braves came to his side, silently waiting for instructions. Mato’s wife stood anxiously at the edge of the meeting place.
“We will wait.” His authoritative voice was calm and didn’t betray the high feelings he hid inside. “We will see what this storm has brought us.” Apparently it has not brought back my canoe….
Nodding, the men went back to their duties around camp. Mato’s wife resolutely stood where she was, her hopeful eyes following the small canoe as it floundered on the far bank.
Soon a shout went up from the outskirts of the camp. His heart beating erratically in his chest, the wolf headdress of the Shaman was held high as his face still betrayed no outward emotion. He bit on his lower lip when his son Mato emerged from the forest and he envied the joyful reunion as Mato’s wife threw herself into his arms with a happy cry. He could see someone else coming behind his son and his heart beat joyfully again. His breath caught in his throat, though, when he saw it was Wals who emerged from the shadows of the trees. While glad to see he was alive, the Shaman strained to look beyond the man with the hope to see four familiar black paws that would bring up the rear. His heart plummeted when he did not see the shape of the wolf. As he was about to turn away and go greet Mato, he caught sight of another man emerge slowly from the depths of the forest, one he did not recognize. This man had black hair tipped in silver and clutched his side as if in pain, a slow trickle of blood seeping out between his fingers.
The Shaman stared at the stranger, and his eyes began to widen as the man steadily approached his position. His eyes darted over the face and the high cheekbones and finally settled on the sharp, blue eyes. “My son?” He said the hopeful words in a whisper, not daring to say it out loud and possibly cause the apparition to fade from his sight.
“Atewaye ki,” came from the smiling lips in a voice that he did recognize. My father.
Reaching out his arms, all semblances of propriety and stoicism gone, the Shaman took his son into a warm embrace. “How can this be? I never thought to see your face again!”
He held Wolf at arm’s length now, staring into the face that looked so much like his beloved wife’s. His hands ran over the cheeks and the chin, across the broad shoulders. He laughed when he saw the patch of white hair within the matt of black that covered Wolf’s chest. “Just like when you are a wolf.”
Mato came to join them, his son hanging on to his leg and refusing to let him go as he stared at the stranger in their camp. Wolf laid a hand on Igmutaka’s head and smiled at his nephew. The Shaman clasped arms with his oldest son, thanking him for this great gift.
“I don’t know how it happened, either, Father. But, we’re happy it did.”
Wals was called to come over, but he was unable to keep up with all the words the leader kept saying to him. Turning to his friend for translation, Wolf told him, “He says thank you.”
Knowing that was all he was going to get, Wals nodded and chuckled. “Glad it all worked. You’re welcome.” He left the family alone to catch up as he went back to the fire where the Cooking Woman still held court. Accepting a bowl of stew from one of her daughters who smiled encouragingly at him, he settled onto the ground to eat.
The Shaman indicated Wals with a tip of his chin. “What happened to that one’s golden-haired wiya? Does she wait for him in the other place?”
Wolf shook his head and told him about the Prince who came back and reclaimed his love.
“I saw great sadness in his eyes. More than usual. Perhaps Tato Kala can help him forget,” the Shaman smiled knowingly as the pretty young woman made sure Wals had something cool to drink.
“Time will tell.” Wolf could only shrug as he turned back from his friend. “That would mean he would have to stay here. I don’t know if that’s the answer for him either.”
“So, you have that odd red stone pendant? It seemed to mean so much to the two of you. It is where it should be?” His father recalled the strange vision of his future that the stone had given him, one that his son had not completely explained to his satisfaction.
Open-mouthed, Wolf could only stare at his father. He had forgotten all about the pendant. They had just been through a small war over that red diamond, and he had left without it. He briefly closed his eyes at his own stupidity, momentarily forgetting he had been under a powerful spell and had not been in any shape to remember much of anything.
Seeing his son’s reaction to his question, his father commented dryly, “Let me guess. It’s with my canoe.”
Wolf knew the small boat in question was safely stashed behind the Settler’s Cabin. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he shook his head. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be that easy. “No. It’s buried. Back in the wiya Rose’s time.” I think it was near a tree….
“Ooh,” Mato grimaced as he handed his son his beaten-up, empty quiver and motioned for him to take to their tent. Once the boy ran off and was out of earshot, he was clear to ask the question on everyone’s mind: “Do we have to retrieve it? Is it so important that we must go back there again to get it?”
Wolf just nodded, and then realized what his brother had said. “No,” he corrected, “I have to go back and get it.” He fell silent as he thought about the trip he must soon make, unconsciously rubbing the wound in his side, and mentally chastising himself over his forgetfulness.
While Wolf was left alone to work out the newest problem, Mato handed their father the snapshot Kimberly had taken before they left the twenty-first century. “This was made for you. If Wolf wants to explain how it was done, I’ll leave that to him.”
“I guess all their gadgets aren’t worthless after all.” Extremely pleased with the gift, the Shaman studied the front and the plain back of the photo. “This is very special. I‘ll keep it in my tipi. But I’d rather have my own son in front of me to see for all time.” The hint was broad and obvious.
Wolf, after deciding at what he needed to do, just gave the Shaman a half-grin as he stood, trying not to waver or grimace from the pain. “I need to pay my respects to the rest of our people and to the Cooking Woman.”
“Have her look at your wounds,” his father called after him as he limped off. Once Wolf was over by the fire, the Shaman had his other son stay by his side. “Now, Mato, tell me all that really happened. Why do the three of you appear to have been in a battle and had a hard time of it? Did it work? Did you travel back in time as well? What’s wrong with my son that he forgot something so important to him? Tell me the story. I will want to tell it to our people around the fire and hand it down for generations to come.”
Taking a deep breath, Mato settled in and complied. It would be a long tale.
Sitting back, the wolfskin drawn closer around his body as the coolness of the night surrounded him, the Shaman respectfully listened to his son as he began to weave this marvelous story. Leaves swirled unseen through the camp and wisps of the cooking fire wafted over them as he listened. Darkness fell and a torch was lit and noiselessly set in place next to the father and son. In silence the Shaman sat, staring at Mato, rapt in the tale.
When, finally, Mato had done justice to their journey, the Shaman released him to go join his family in their tent. Wolf then came to his father’s side and sat quietly next to him, the flickering torchlight playing across his handsome, angled face. The older man couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the face of his son. There was happiness and relief on his weathered face. “I’m glad you’re here, my son.”
“As am I, atewaye ki.”
England — 1291
“Here we go again, Wals.” Wolf was glad to see, as they slowly got to their feet, that they had landed on the same sandy beach.
“I just hope it’s a little easier than the last time we were here.” Wals had to rub the sand out of his eyes before he was able to remove his red cape and shake out the wet, sticky grit. “I’d hate for your wounds to open again.”
Nose in the air, Wolf quickly took a survey of the surroundings. Once the ocean had returned to its normal ebb and flow, he could hear the usual sounds of a deserted beach. Early evening, the sun was near the horizon and the blazes of reds and pinks streaked the western sky. A prickling along his spine—his harbinger of evil—was not present, which was a welcome relief. Like it or not, he hadn’t fully recovered from the last fight and the effects of a
deep sword wound. “Me, too.” Satisfied that they were alone on that deserted stretch of sand, he could finally respond to Wals’ comments. To rid himself of the dripping water and clinging white sand, he gave a vigorous shake of his coat. “Ah, that’s better.”
“Hey!” Wals let out a yell and had to quickly turn his back to the wolf as the spray of water and sand again coated him.
“What? Oh, sorry.” Unaware that Wals had been in his line of fire, Wolf gave him a brief apology and then got down to business. “Let’s get to the trees and out of sight. Then we can determine what to do next.”
After one, final adjustment to his brand new princely costume and polished sword, Wals looked up. “Next? What do you mean? I thought we were just going to grab the pendant and get back home as quickly as we can.”
Wolf started to trot toward the edge of the forest, and threw a vague answer over his shoulder. “That would be ideal, but we have to make sure of a couple of things first.”
Wals wasn’t didn’t know if he should be amused or worried. “You do know where it is, don’t you?”
“Yes.” More or less, he muttered in a low undertone. Amazing how alike all the trees look….
As they walked through the forest, Wals came up with another possible problem. “I see you’re talking now, but will you continue to do so? Before, you didn’t want to be known as a talking wolf.”
Wolf had to think about that. If the wrong person heard him at the wrong time, Wals was right. It could be deadly. “Well, I think it’ll be all right for now. If we are spotted by Nimue, she would probably just assume her ‘spell’ to make me talk was still working. We’ll have to play it by ear the rest of the time.”
Wolf! Happily Ever After? Page 22
