Author's Note: panting heavily, staggering, crosses the finish line Wow! Hard to believe but here is the final chapter of A Bit of Salve and Soul Bonding. Thank you to all who had faith in me to eventually finish this, waiting patiently and impatiently. :) I want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story; I never expected it to be this popular. Also I want to thank those who have not reviewed but have been faithful readers. I hope this will be a satisfying ending to you all.
Once again, thank you for your encouragement and nudges, and for enjoying this story.
Chapter Seven: Fire-Extinguishing Match
Three days later…
Tonight Peter, Wendy, and the boys were guests of the Indians. The full moon had risen and shone down brightly on the gathering. There was much food along with music and dancing.
Peter was moody, watching the Indians performing before him and the others closely. He had been unusually quiet during the feast. Wendy, on her part, was torn between enjoying the evening and worrying about Peter. She had thought about what the possible cause of this divide between them was, but remained unsure. He acted more like a wounded bear than ever, causing the boys and Wendy to try not to offend him. They were all nearly at their wits' end. There was only so much more she could take.
The Chief came over to the disheartened guests and invited the boys to come watch some of the braves take part in matches of wrestling and of fighting with daggers. All the boys pleaded with Wendy to let them go, but she only permitted Slightly, Tootles, and John to go with Peter.
The four boys silently followed the tall Indian as he led them to a small clearing nearby. A large number of young braves were gathered there. Several large circles had been drawn in the dirt. A pair of braves stood in each circle in the midst of either a wrestling match or a fighting match with daggers. Others stood around the circles, watching the contests and waiting for their turn to participate.
The Chief and the boys halted by one of the circles. Two youths were in the middle of a fighting match, moving very swiftly, the sound of their daggers clashing against one another. John, Tootles, and Slightly watched the match with deep fascination, actually becoming a little dizzy by the whirling spectacle. They were startled when one of the daggers flew out of one brave's hand and landed a foot or so from where the boys stood. The defeated brave was down on one knee, panting. The other Indian boy helped him rise and said something in their native tongue, clasping him on the shoulder.
When the defeated brave moved away, the boys were allowed to see the victor as he acknowledged the clapping of those who watched.
"It's him!" Tootles whispered, his eyes widening. Slightly and John nodded simply, gaping and wide-eyed. As one the three sneaked a glance at their father to discover he had stiffened, with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes hard as he leveled a glare at the Indian boy. Almost literally seeing the storm cloud descending on Peter, the three inched away slightly.
The Chief moved forward, smiling and clapping loudly. "Perhaps one of our guests would like to challenge our champion," he half-suggested, half-asked, turning to Peter, John, Tootles, and Slightly.
Without hesitation or a word, Peter stepped into the circle, his attention focused only on the Indian boy before him. A gasp went up from the others, melting into an excited murmur. He picked up the dagger from the ground without taking his eyes off the boy.
Tootles, Slightly, and John gaped, sensing the heavy tension that fell over the two boys in the circle. The Indian boy met Peter's gaze with surprise, understanding, and a strange resignation in his eyes.
The two walked forward until they were less than two feet apart.
Peter drew in a deep breath. His body trembled slightly. Standing here face to face with the boy who had recently become the bane of his existence was almost too much. All the feelings he had experienced rushed to him. The anger, jealousy, confusion, suspicion, possessiveness, fear, hurt – all of it crashed over him. This was the boy who dared to desire something from Wendy which Peter would never allow.
At last, he would find satisfaction in this battle. He would face his foe instead of imagining the conflict. Things would be settled once and for all. He barely was able to wait for the Chief to begin the match before lunging forward.
"Mother?"
Snapped out of her thoughts, Wendy turned from blankly watching the dancing Indians and looked up to find Curly standing next to her. "Yes?"
"Do… Could we please stay here tonight?" he asked, nervous and a little fearful.
Wendy was unable to hold back a sigh as a weary smile touched her lips. "So you all can stay up past your bedtime?" she teased, lifting one eyebrow.
Curly fidgeted. "Oh, no…well maybe a little," he admitted.
The girl laughed softly. She knew the real reason the boys wanted to spend the night at the Indian village.
"I suppose if Tiger Lily and her father consent, it will be all right," she permitted.
The boy's face brightened with a beam, and he hugged her thankfully before rushing off. The twins, Nibs, and Michael, noting his leaving Mother and the happy expression on his face, quickly went after him.
Wendy shook her head and chuckled as she shifted her position on the bearskins. She feigned interest as her eyes returned to the Indians before her. She would not be able to stay much longer. She now wanted only to return to the house under the ground and sleep. And try to push away the troubling, lingering thoughts she harbored regarding Peter.
Peter did not jump back quick enough; Running Deer's dagger caught his shoulder and arm. But the boy did not scream at the hot pain which settled there, rendering his arm to hang nearly lifelessly at his side. The pain was nothing compared to the fierce emotions which had been bottled up in him for so long and were being released during this fight.
As soon the blow was dealt, Peter only fought harder, the rage and jealousy turning into a determination he had never possessed before. He panted heavily as he and the Indian boy went on, seeming to be equal, unable to beat each other. Peter only gnashed his teeth at this. This would not, could not, end in a draw. One of them must be defeated.
John, Slightly, and Tootles watched all with bated breath. They were the only ones who watched the match with a sense of dread instead of excitement. Peter and Running Deer both moved so quickly that they were almost nothing but a blur to the observers. Their daggers clashed time and time again.
The two boys suddenly cried out as their daggers met a final time, and Running Deer's flew from his hand. He and Peter stumbled away from each other, breathing heavily, staring down at the weapon on the ground.
There was a long, heavy silence in the clearing. It was the Chief who laughed and led the clapping. He stepped forward to congratulate Peter; yet his presence went unnoticed.
Slowly Running Deer retrieved his dagger. He hesitated as he knelt in the dirt. Peter's eyes were hard as steel as he watched the Indian boy before him. For a short moment they gazed at each other knowingly. Running Deer nodded slightly and dropped his gaze as he rose and walked off.
A sigh exploded from Peter. Suspicion lingered in his eyes, but he understood the boy's gesture. Finally, the burning anger cooled, and for the first time in a long while, he felt some satisfaction.
Wendy yawned and rubbed her eyes sleepily. It was quite late, and she had left the boys at the village. She looked forward to the nice quiet of tonight without having to fuss over the children. She stepped into her tree and zoomed down into the house under the ground, which was lighted by a small fire.
Wendy was startled by a low groan coming from a dark corner. Going to investigate, she was horrified to see Peter sprawled on his bed, his shoulder and arm red with blood. His face was twisted with pain.
"Oh, Peter!" the words came out as a whisper. For a moment, Wendy could only clasp her hands to her mouth as she gazed at the suffering boy with wide eyes. Then she regained her senses and sprung into action.
She lighted a candle and set it near Peter so she could see better. She got some water, gathered some rags and supplies, and sat on the edge of Peter's bed. He hissed sharply, and his eyes flew open as she started to wash his shoulder. He tried to shift out of her reach.
"Hold still," she instructed, trying to work quickly, thoroughly.
"It hurts!" Peter tightened his jaw.
"I'm sorry. But this will help."
Suddenly Peter sneered up at her. "Will you use the same salve that boy used on your hands? And when I am well, you will thank him, for if you did not know how to make it, I would not become better. I would sooner die!"
Wendy refused to rise to his bait. Instead she asked with a calmness she did not feel, "And what will become of Neverland, the boys, me?"
Peter did not answer but let Wendy work in peace for a time. As she bandaged his shoulder and arm, a frown darkened his face.
"You will leave when you are done, will you not? You'll go back to the village and leave me here alone," he accused her. "Go back to him. See if I care, Wendy."
Wendy rose to her feet quickly, her face flushed with anger. If he wanted to push her away, she would not fight back this time. Let him have his way. "If you truly wish for me to leave you here all alone with your wound only half-bandaged and to never come back, then I shall grant it!" Wendy's voice became higher and more excited with each word. Tears came unbidden to her eyes. She turned away from the boy.
"I'm sorry!"
It was the first time she had heard him speak those words in a long time. She looked at him sharply. His eyes were lacking their earlier hostility, and new vulnerability and fear shone in them along with another emotion she had never seen before: regret.
"I missed you," he added in a softer tone.
Wendy wiped her sleeve across her eyes. "Then, please…one minute you tell me to leave and the next you say you're sorry. What am I to think? Do?" she demanded with a half sob.
"Stay, please. Wendy…"
She sniffed and dried her cheeks with her hand. Then she silently sat back on the edge of his bed and resumed bandaging his shoulder and arm.
Peter rested his head on his pillow. "I missed you," he repeated in a whisper. "I've missed your smile, laugh, and sparkle in your eyes. Our long talks..."
Wendy breathed deeply, hoping this would not end the same as it had in the past. "How you would stay up late with me before the fire. You would work on your wood carvings while I sewed," she murmured.
"I thought you would no longer be my mother," Peter confessed.
For a moment Wendy simply gaped at him. "Why did you think that?"
"Because of how that Indian boy made you so happy and looked at you. He wants you to be his mother."
"Running Deer?" Wendy chuckled.
Peter's eyes were serious as they bore into hers. "Yes. He wanted that and…something else from you. I could see it in his eyes, how he watched you." He frowned thoughtfully.
"Oh," was all Wendy could say as, finally, everything came together and she at last understood. She became lost in her own thoughts, stunned that Peter was jealous of her friendship with Running Deer and that he had sensed the boy wanted something from her.
"Will you give him what he wants if he asks you?" Peter asked fearfully.
"No, Peter," she answered after a moment, recalling Running Deer's farewell.
He studied her closely. "Do, do you wish to be his mother, Wendy?"
"No, Peter," she said firmly, letting him read the truth in her eyes.
Pure contentment filled the boy's face, and Wendy smiled a little as she got up and put everything away.
"Wendy…" Peter paused before going on. "You will always be my mother, won't you?"
She had her back to him, so he did not see the strange flicker in her eyes which vanished when she turned to face him. "If you wish it, Peter," she replied softly. She sat back down beside him.
He nodded firmly. "I do. I never want to fight with you again."
Wendy readily agreed.
"We'll make a pact to never fight ever again," Peter said solemnly. "First cross your heart."
As one they crossed their hearts.
"Give your hand."
They clasped their hands in warm, friendly shake.
"And a thimble to seal the pact."
Wendy had no time to voice a protest or question before Peter had propped himself up with his good arm and elbow and carefully used his hand to bring her head down towards him, an eager light in his eyes. Her eyes widened as their lips touched. This kiss lacked the harshness and fire and ice from the one before. This kiss was everything Wendy had ever secretly dreamed of late in the night. The taste of rainbows was on his lips, and shooting stars raced from where Peter's fingertips brushed her skin. With his gentle, feather touch, he branded her.
She drew away first, causing Peter to sigh in protest. She blushed and got to her feet a bit unsteadily.
"Go to sleep, Peter," she urged, uncertain of what to say.
He detained her a moment as he grasped her hand.
"Good night, Wendy-lady." His words set her heart racing.
"Good night, Peter."
As she lay down to sleep, Wendy wondered if Peter would truly get over being jealous of Running Deer or if he would always be suspicious of the boy. She sighed softly. She wondered what would change between her and Peter because of all this. Or perhaps nothing at all would change. He would always be the boy who would not grow up; and she would always be only his mother. Only time would tell.
THE END