The Silver Wolf

"So Dr. Bjornsen, do you think this year's excavations in Newfoundland will lead to any more evidence of pre-Columbian Viking settlement?"

"Yes, Ms. Flanaghan, I'm very confident it will. In a year or two, we will have enough physical evidence to have a clear enough picture of the Norse settlement of Vinland to re-write the history books."

"Thank you, Dr. Bjornsen."

"Thank you, Ms. Flanaghan."

Sarah shut off her recording app, set down her phone, and picked up her drink. The bar had grown quiet just after midnight; the students were off seeking other pleasures in Helena to celebrate Midsummer's Eve. She wore a rose flowered sun dress and sandals; he wore a t-shirt bearing the message "Let's see what we can dig up," jeans, and loafers. "So off the record, Dr. Bjornsen..."

"...Barry, my friends call me Barry. And we've known each other long enough..."

"...yes we have, Barry. So how is it they always find artifacts when they follow your suggestions?"

"My suggestions?"

"Don't kid me, Barry. Dr. Pagan told me about your trip to Canada a couple of years ago."

"Michela needs to learn to keep her mouth shut."

"She is my dissertation advisor, and this is my field of expertise. I've been to Iceland and Greenland already, and next month I go to Norway."

"Very nice. You'll like Norway, I enjoyed my time there very much. Checking family roots was a lot of fun."

"Family roots? But I thought you were Niitsitapi, Pikuni..."

"...my grandmother and great-grandmother's side of the family. My father's side was from the North, Scandinavia, and my French mother was from Normandy, which was also a Norse colony. Could be your family as well, a lot of Norse settled in Ireland and assimilated..."

"Anyway, Barry, every time you point Michela to a new spot, she finds something."

Barry shrugged his shoulders. "Just lucky, I guess."

Sarah sipped her drink and frowned. "Michela said that, too, but I don't believe her and I don't believe you, either. I know your academic credentials: Montreal, Oxford, Paris. But I've found no paper trail for your 'instincts' other than Michela's articles. I think you have inside information."

"Yeah, I know the Native American stories. Heard them in my childhood."

"But you didn't grow up in that part of Canada. Those stories are very local, and these would have to cross almost a continent to get here. The Tibetans don't have any Viking stories."

Barry took a sip of his beer, and licked the foam off his lips. "How do you know?" He smirked and grew thoughtful. "Did Michela tell you any other stories about her expeditions?"

"That you were there? Yes, but I don't want to go into that right now."

He winked. "You should. We had a lot of time to...enjoy nature..."

She stamped her foot. "Barry, I know something's up with you. I traced your records and you first appear at the University of Montreal as an underclassman thirty years ago, age 30."

"My parents were sociologists working with the Inuit. Northern Quebec has lousy record keeping."

"But I traced every study with the Inuit in the 1970s and 80s, every roster. Have every person who was ever there is documented. There is no couple who could be your parents."

"They were very modest...wanted to keep their love a secret..."

Sarah stood up. "If you won't be honest with me, I'm leaving. There are stories of immortals, or long lived people. in antiquity. They could be among us today, I have this instinct, even though I've never been to Shangri-La, and I think you're one of them. I promise to keep your secret, whatever it is, but I have to know."

Barry patted the table. "What tipped you off?" he said after a long pause.

"Michela's pictures. Your Norway excavations in the 1960s. Under another name: Snorri Sigurdson, professor at Uppsala University. I checked him out: no records before adulthood, training in Germany and Sweden, started teaching in 1938, disappeared in 1963. She's in her 20s and you look like you do now, around 50. Found them when I stayed with her last month, so I signed up for your conference."

"I'm flattered. You're sneaky. Why?"

"I need a specialty to get a university job, make a reputation, make a living. Michela's done pretty well with what you've fed her, but she's 70 and retiring soon. It makes sense I'd continue her work." She sat down, and adjusted the strap of her sun dress, putting up a red nailed foot. He admired what she showed him, which pleased her. "By the way, why not come clean, give it up all at once?".

Barry shrugged. "The scientific community can only digest so much at a time; it's always been like that. I know the 20th century has seen an information explosion, but even now challenging the dominant narrative is tough. Louis Pasteur had a tough time, even though it was obvious he was right."

"Louis Pasteur? Why him?" A moment's silence passed, and she realized something. "Did you know him?" she whispered.

He gave her a long look. She stared him down, waiting. After a lifetime, he finally gave a small shake of his head. "I worked with him."

She stood up quickly and almost danced with delight. "This is wonderful! I can't believe it!" Hopping up and down, she turned in a circle, giggling.

"Quiet," he commanded softly. "The world is not ready for multi-centenarians, either. I will have to disappear again, now that you know this, and I'm not ready. What safety can you offer me?"

Containing herself, she sat down again, her hands trembling. "Your secret is precious to Michela, and she's like a mother to me. Anything she holds sacred I won't mess with. It's enough I know the story. Someday the world will be ready for it."

Shaking his head, Barry looked sad. "I hope someday it is, for I have a lot to tell. Not now, I'd be swamped with curiosity seekers and entrepreneurs before I knew it. Not to mention scientific doubt."

They sat and sipped their drinks: she looked at him in awe and wonder, while he looked away in embarrassment. "How old are you, really?"

He pulled out his phone and pulled up a picture, which he showed her. "Baptismal registry, Notre-Dame du Quebec, Quebec City, 6 September 1767. "Jean-Baptiste Loup d'Royale Bjornsen." I was seven years old, and my grandmother wanted me and my siblings to receive baptism and First Communion, wouldn't take no for an answer. We were visiting, a long ride from the Blackfoot Confederation."

"Did they know your secret? Your mother's family?"

"Yes, they didn't mind. They called me 'Petit Loup', and I still use Jean-Baptiste when I live in French speaking lands. I keep in touch with their descendants, my extended family. Same with the Pikuni: my grandmother and great-grandmother were from that tribe."

"But your father's family...?"

"Norway, then Iceland, then Greenland..."

"Then Vinland?"

"Yes. My great-grandfather was born in a Viking village in Vinland they haven't discovered yet."

"Wow! And you know where it is?" she whispered. He gave her a quick nod.

Two patrons at the other side of the bar tottered toward the door. The bartender wiped the counter and looked at the clock. Coming over to their table, he said: "Still a half hour before last call. Would you like anything?"

"No, Charlie. Think we'll be goin' soon. Night."

"Night, Barry. Miss."

He walked away, and disappeared into the kitchen. They sat in silence for a moment, then a wicked smile crossed her face. "You know, Michela told me about some adventures you had in the woods. At night, in the moonlight..."

A smirk crossed his lips. "Yes, the woods can be a wonderful place after dark. Magical."

Sarah sat up and put her hands on the table. "I'm a jock, you know, done a lot of distance running, woodcraft, even some orienteering. Also enjoy some...different sports...unusual things..."

"Like Michela?"

"Most definitely."

He put his hand on the table, barely touching her left index finger with his right pinky.

"I'm sure we can work something out..."

***

"Is this what you wanted, Sarah?"

She woke up to Barry's voice in a strange position. Her wrists were tied to two small trees at head height, and she sat on a stump with her ankles tied to the same saplings. She was naked and covered with sweat. Illuminated by moonlight, she could see Barry in front of her in a clearing, his cock hard and a smile on his whiskered face. He had three wooden switches in his hand. There seemed to be thousands of eyes peeking from between the trees, the sound of panting filled the air, a panting she couldn't identify.

"I think you need to wake up some more."

Coming close, he switched her behind a couple of times, stinging with sharp tingles of delight. Her eyes popped open and she gasped; he hit her again and she sighed. The switches visited her shoulder blades, her thighs, her breasts. "Is this what you wanted, Sarah?"

"Y-yes," she gasped. Breathing heavily, she took another teasing tap to her butt. "Please. I've been a bad girl..."

"You certainly have. Spying on me, building up a dossier, poking into my secrets." New lines of wood kindled fire sprung up on her back. "Just like Michela. She loved getting tied up in the woods and being switched." Reaching around, he prodded her pussy and found it eager for him. "You're wet, just like Michela would be. Would you like more?"

"Oh yes, master, yes. Can't get enough."

He grinned in the moonlight, and came in front of her to flog her breasts. Howls came from the woods around them, the whole pack was encouraging their Alpha Male. She bit her lip, and rolled her head, eyes closed, a whimper escaping her lips from time to time.

A young man jumped into the clearing, his long cock hard and bouncing in front of him, running straight at her. "Young enthusiasm, and ignorance!" Barry said. He changed into a wolf, growling to intimidate the young man. The young man's eyes gleamed, and he dodged back and forth, trying to get by. Barry growled again, and the young man kept trying. Out of patience, the wolf chomped the young man's package when he got close enough. An intense scream of pain went into a wolf's yowl as the intruder ran awkwardly back into the woods; his howling tracked his flight far into the distance.

Barry smiled as he resumed human form. "Can't keep the young ones in line any other way. My apologies: the children of my kind who are born of wolf mothers never have more than wolf brains, even when they change. He runs on instinct. The young have to learn. Well, what next, my dear?"

She breathed heavily, her eyes gleaming, her body shining with sweat, blood and grime. "Scratch me, take me, fuck me," she panted.

"You're sure? Michela told you what would happen?"

"Yes. I want to run with you."

"All right. Here goes..." He unbound her legs and tied her ankles next to her wrists, raising her legs high and giving him complete access to her pussy. Picking up the switch, he put some more lines across her buttocks before throwing it aside. Then he scratched her thighs with his long, sharp fingernails, which drew blood even when he was in human form. Her eyes closed and her head rolled, lost in an alternate state of consciousness; he pulled his dick and started putting it in her wet, gaping chasm. It took three thrusts to fully impale her, and he started pumping slowly while his pack barked and howled their encouragement. The noises transitioned to human cheers and moans, as the pack assumed human form, masturbating grotesquely among the trees. The cries of the injured intruder still wafted across the valley, which only seemed to encourage them.

"Give it to me...give it to me...yes, yes, yes...don't stop, damn you...oh, my God!" She tried to move toward him as best she could in her bound position. Some couples in the woods around them started copulating, some in human form, some not. Sarah and Barry started climbing the mountain together, and reached their heights together. He held her tightly against him, their sweat mingling, as they recovered from their orgasms.

He pulled out and stepped away. She gave him a smile: "Better than Michela told me. Woof!"