Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (49 page)

“Pale Feather went to Opechancanough, in front of the entire village. Your father claimed it was him that I met in the woods that day, not Pepamhu. My brother accepted his claim, and he arranged our marriage that day. Pepamhu was saved from death, and my shame was spared. Pale Feather is a good man, no matter what you think of his absence. I would have remained his loyal wife, if he had stayed here in this time.”

“But you say you wanted Pepamhu.”

“Yes, I did. He has always held my heart. When my brother ordered the death of the Time Walkers, we helped them in secret. Some were able to get away, they are the ones that you stay with now. Pale Feather was trapped here, with me, and a few others he wished to protect. Pepamhu helped him hide until he could use his Bloodstone magic to leave. Your father gave Pepamhu all the wealth he owned before he left, so that Pepamhu could take me as a second wife.”

Winn fell silent. Never could he have imagined Marcus was such a selfless man. All his life he had thought of his father as a deserter, a coward, no better than any English scum.  Yet if what his mother said was true, it seemed the man had sacrificed much more than many a man could bear.

“Are you so different from your father?” she asked quietly. He raised his eyes to hers, chagrined by the twinkle of mischief he noted there when the matter between them was so serious.

“We are nothing alike,” he answered.

“Humph,” she smiled. “You shall see. So you will stay with the Norsemen. I hear Pale Feather is a brave leader to them, he will be proud to have you by his side.”

“I have made no such decision. My future lies where it is safe for my family, and I am not certain the village is that place.”

“Winkeohkwet,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You belong to more than one place, and there is no shame in that. I only see shame in a man who will not embrace his true path. Do not let your anger stray your journey. I fear you will regret it if you do. Please think on that before you decide.”

“Fine. I will think on it. Go join the women,” he mumbled.

He kissed his mother on her upraised cheek, and then left her to join the men. 

*****

Winn and Chetan escorted the English captive back to Jamestown without incident, and then rode up on the isolated farm where Finola lived and worked. It was far enough away from the city
that it appeared clean and tidy, unlike the squalor those inside the palisades seemed to enjoy living in. It was a working farm, with a large barn housing a small trading post, one they visited often.  It was the safest place for outsiders like Winn to obtain the few items they needed, and whenever they visited they could see that Finola was faring well.  This time, however, she did not run out to greet them, and when only a servant boy stood in the yard, he felt a twinge of unease.

“Where is the healer today, boy?” Winn asked.

The tow-headed youth scowled at him and snatched the reins with grubby hands. His threadbare breeches were torn at both knees, and his shirt, which may have been white at one time, was tattered at the cuffs and hemline. Winn wondered if the English had any care at all for the well-being of their servants.  At least the Indians saw their captives fed and clothed properly. 

“She’s taken ill. Aren’t ye her blood kin? My master will be glad to see ye.”

“Ill? How so? Why did he not send for us?” Winn replied, his ire rising. If his grandmother had been ill, the blasted English should have sent word. He should not be surprised at their incompetence, but still it angered him.

“She won’t move or eat. Maybe an apoplexy. She just stares at ye, sometime she speaks in tongues. Might be the devil himself.”

Chetan handed his reins to the boy and then followed Winn to the house. James Dobson, Finola’s employer, met them at the door.

“Master Dobson,” Chetan said with a nod when the Englishman admitted them inside. Dobson was a stout man, all portly curves squeezed into an ill-fitting vest, with a dark grey cap stretched tight over his brown hair. He glared crossly at them as he waved them toward the back room.

“Thank our Lord ye’ve come fer her! She’s done nothing but stare fer weeks now, and I’ve had to tend the shop myself. She’s no use to me like this!”

Winn knelt down by her side. Finola sat upright in a chair by the window, her body still and unyielding even as he took her hand.
Her pale hair was streaked with more grey than he recalled, strewn down her back with rows of twisted knots. Her blue eyes, once so lively and bright, were empty chasms glazed with a milky white color as she stared out the window into the still yard.  She must have seen them arrive, yet even as he clenched her hand, she continued to stare blankly, as if nothing touched her at all.

He leaned closer to peer into her face, noting the stench of her sweat-laden skin and her soiled English dress.

“She speaks to no one. Take her. I had to take on her share of work myself. But ye’ll pay me fer her, she’s cost me much in food and board as she sits there, like a blasted barmy witch!”

Winn dropped
Finola’s hand and turned on Master Dobson in a fury. He snatched him by the neck and drove him straight back into the mantle, knocking the man’s head into the wood with a distinct crack.

“You let her suffer like this, sitting in her own filth? And you say I should pay you for your care?” Winn growled. He felt Chetan’s hand on his shoulder and shook it off. Winn released his hold on Dobson, who fell to the ground in a heap. The man’s face swelled up like a ripe melon as he choked and sputtered his indignation.

Chetan gently lifted Finola from the chair, and although his brother remained silent, he could see his nose wrinkle at the stench.

“Ye can’t just come here and take my property, she’s indentured to me!” Dobson shouted.

Winn snatched the knife from his belt and pressed it to the man’s throat.

“Consider her debt paid,” he said, the tip of his knife drawing a bead of blood next to Dobson’s quivering pulse. Dobson wisely kept his mouth shut when Winn dropped his hand.

Chetan carried Finola out of the dwelling. Winn took a quick glance around the room, noting that there was nothing she owned worth taking with them.  It would be enough of a journey just to return with her to the village.

His grandmother still held a blank stare as they rode away. She had journeyed to another place, one no man could follow her to.
Winn had seen those who entered the spirit world before. For some reason she had passed through to that place, and he knew it would be up to her to return or remain. He noticed she held onto Chetan, but other than that slight protective gesture, she did not stir. What had been done to her, he had no notion, but he hoped she would wake from her journey and tell him.

If only she would give him a word, Winn would be glad to return to Master Dobson and repay his English kindness.

Maggie

While Winn and Chetan were away from the village, she kept as busy as she could. She did not like when they were separated, even for a few days. It seemed like no matter how careful they were, or how much they used her knowledge of the future, they still ran into trouble. She did not regret the decision to remain in the past with Winn, but at times she wondered if was possible to live a peaceful life in the time they had chosen.

She looked at Kwetii as her daughter played with Gwen, and she was certain she did not regret any of it. She was a striking child, with dark wavy hair and a heart-shaped face. Her skin was lighter than her father’s, appearing slightly suntanned against her startling blue eyes, a unique combination no matter what time they lived in. The child spoke words in both Paspahegh and English, and Maggie noticed in the few days they spent with the Norse, she learned the Norse word for
no
as well.

“
Nei! Nei,
Da!” Kwetii had cried, begging Winn not to leave. Winn had held the child and whispered into her ear, but Maggie had noticed he was surprised by her use of the Norse language. Kwetii was a clever child who took everything in.

Maggie tended to Benjamin while Gwen prepared a salve. The older woman hoped slathering his head with the thick gooey substance would help his mind heal and let him wake.  Maggie was not too hopeful, but she figured it was worth a shot. She was still angry at Marcus for the ease at which he spoke of leaving, so if they
could just get Benjamin to wake up, at least that issue would be resolved.

As she filled a pitcher with water by the hearth, she noticed a row of neatly carved figurines on the stone mantle. They were similar in size to her raven, but they looked quite new, with a fresh sheen to the grey metal and few pock-marks like her trinket had.  She patted the fold of her skirt where the raven was tucked, relieved to feel it still in her possession. It was a tiny thing, but it mattered to her, being the last remnant of a future life she hoped to share with her daughter someday.

“Where do these things come from, Gwen?” she called.  The other woman looked up from her mixing.

“Oh, the charms?” she said. “Erich makes them.  He taught yer cousin Cormaic to make them, but the lad’s not interested in such little things.”

“So did Erich make this?” Maggie asked, taking the raven from her pocket. At the sight of the figurine, Gwen stopped mixing and her eyes grew wider.

“Aye, he made this. He gave it to yer mother when she found she was carrying ye. Erich is a Seer as well, ye know, but he will
no admit it to ye. He makes these when he has a vision, and only then.  I suppose he’s had more visions of late, he’s made more since ye returned than he has in years.”

“What vision did he have for the raven?” she asked, curious to learn all she could of the mysterious Gothi magic in her blood. It was rare to get Gwen to open up about it, so if her aunt would continue to answer questions, Maggie would press on.

“Ye know, lamb. A raven, a great black bird, it would protect ye someday. He gave it to Esa, for ye. We all wish to see ye safe, no matter what those blasted men make ye wonder,” she muttered.

“What’s so special about my blood? Aren’t you all Gothi, just like me?” she asked.

“Aye, some of us more than others. But ye have the blood from both yer parents, and that is a very rare thing to us now.  Those of us here have a sprinkling, here and there, but you? Well, you have more Gothi power in a drop of yer blood than all of us combined.  That is, except fer yer wee miting over there. I suppose she takes that honor now, for want of the Chief’s blood in her veins.”

“But power for
what
? I can’t
do
anything!” she sighed, snapping her hands out in front of her in demonstration. She waved her hands, pointed her fingers, and then wiggled her nose like she’d seen a witch on television do once. “See? Nothing.  I think you’re all just mixed up.”

Gwen chuckled, bending back to her mixing.

“Do ye know how much power it takes, to send a Longship full of people through time?” Gwen whispered, as if to herself.  “Most of us can only travel with a Bloodstone, and then we take only ourselves. You, my dear, ye could take a village with ye, if you meant to. Aye, ye have the power. Yer the one who’s addled.” Maggie opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, not sure exactly what she wanted to say to that revelation. In a reflexive motion, she pressed her hand to the Bloodstone that lay nestled beneath her shift. Gwen shook her head, muttering in Norse.

“Go tend to young Benjamin. Here, take this,” Gwen said, thrusting the bowl of salve at her. Maggie followed her command, her thoughts scattered as Gwen abruptly stopped talking and dismissed her. With her mind distracted due to the tidbits of information, she went to tend Benjamin.

Sitting down beside him, she put her hand on his arm. She looked away to search for a towel, and suddenly felt fingers close around her wrist. She slowly turned to him.

He was awake.

His blue eyes were tinged pink around the edges, his brow creased, and his jaw hung slightly open. His lips looked so parched and dry, she could think of nothing else to do but help him drink. She grabbed a cup, filled it with water, and leaned over to press it to his lips.

He remained silent, his eyes locked on hers as he pushed to a sitting position. She saw him grimace and waver, so she reached out
to steady him back to the pillows. He took a few swallows of the cold water, and then ran his tongue over his dry lips.

“Yer verra beautiful today, wife,” he finally said, his voice cracked in a hoarse whisper. She felt her stomach drop at his words and made to pull back, but he caught her hand, surprisingly strong, and held her there.

“Let go of me!” she whispered, yanking away from him. The cup overturned and splashed his bared chest, but he seemed not to notice. She sat back, pulling against his grip and staring into his frantic eyes as if it might jog his delusional memory. He had been asleep too long, however, and after his initial burst of strength, his grip loosened and he dropped her hand.

“I’m not your wife anymore,” she said. He cocked his head slightly to one side.

“Are ye a ghost, then?” he asked.

“No, I’m flesh and blood. I haven’t seen you since Finola and I gave you the Bloodstone,” she whispered. Suddenly his face fell.

“Oh, aye. I remember that.”

He closed his eyes and laid his head back on the pillows.

“Here, drink this,” she stammered, refilling the fallen cup and holding it out to him. He squinted through one partly opened eye and sighed.

“Why are you here?” he asked. She put the cup to his lips and he raised his hand to take it, but when his finger touched her knuckles, he pulled back.

“Your father has been searching for you. He came looking when you never made it to the future,” she said, her words slow and careful. She was uncertain as to how to speak to the man who had once been her husband.

“Was he expecting me?” Benjamin asked.

“Yes. I wrote him a letter. He found it and figured out where, or rather
when
, we were at. He’s here now, I’m sure he would like to see you awake. You have a lot to catch up on.”

“Is this hell? I’ve gone to hell for using that evil magic, haven’t I?” he whispered.

She subdued the urge to tell him that yes, it
was
hell, and that he had gone there for his deceitful ways. After all, she had forgiven him, hadn’t she?

“No. It’s not hell. Don’t you remember your father? Or the farm we lived on?” she asked.  Yes, he had been a child when the Bloodstone first took him, but he was old enough to recall a few details. Finola once told her Benjamin had arrived half-naked, starving, and mute, but eventually he told Finola fantastical tales about his future time.

“I remember. All of it,” he said softly. “Ye were the last one I saw that day, when I picked up that stone as a boy. And ye were the last one I touched before it took me again, as a man. Aye, I remember.”

His eyes met hers, soft and knowing.

“Ye say yer no longer my wife. Ye found him, then?”

She nodded. She knew who he referred to.

“Be off with ye, Maggie. I need to piss, and it willna be fit fer ye to see,” he mumbled. She tried to contain her smile at the absurdity of his words, seeing how serious he was about the matter, but she failed in her attempt and let out a muffled laugh. After all, they had been married once, and she had seen much more than that.

“Really? Come on now, if you try to sit up by yourself, you’ll fall on your stubborn head! Here, I’ll help you, then I’ll leave you to it,” she laughed. His pale cheeks filled with color, yet his lip turned up in a grin.

Benjamin let her help him sit up and put his feet on the floor. His legs were thin, and he had lost weight all over, but it was his face that was most changed. Covered by a full, black beard, even through the mass of hair she could see the sharp lines of his cheeks and the way his blue eyes seemed hollow in his head. Eyes so much like his brother.

“Oh, damn!” she murmured.

“What?”

“I’m going to fetch your father. Don’t fall over, you’ll split your head. Again,” she said. She left him sitting on the edge of the
bed, pulling the curtain behind her as she went. She kicked a piss pot under the curtain, sending it sliding across the floor until it stopped with a thump.

“Thank ye,” he called.

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled.

Maggie updated Gwen on Benjamin’s awakening, and the older woman ran off to find Marcus.

Benjamin took the news surprisingly well. After Marcus entered the cottage to speak with his awakened son, Maggie and Gwen played with Kwetii to keep occupied while the men talked. With a few glances between them, Maggie and Gwen made a silent pact to remain in the adjacent room. Maggie stayed out of curiosity, and she figured Gwen stayed from loyalty to her Chief.  The voices started out low, but as the conversation wore on it became louder, and at one point there was a dull thud against the floor.

As Gwen fiddled with some kindling by the fire, Marcus parted the curtain. He stood wide legged, arms flexed, and Maggie could see he shook as if cold. He eyed them up, his face a mixture of confusion and joy.

“Will ye help him? I’ll send Cormaic and Erich to bring him to the hall, but he’s a bit weak still yet,” he said.

“Of course we’ll help him, but do you really think it’s a good idea to get him up so soon? He’s been unconscious for a week,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

She heard Gwen gasp, but ignored her. Maggie knew she was expected to defer to the Chief’s every whim, but for Pete’s sake, he was still the same old Marcus. Marcus ruffled Kwetii on her head as he met Maggie’s questioning gaze.

“The lad wants to meet his kin. It’s about time he takes his place among his people.”

*****

The Northern Hall was louder than it had been the night they arrived, if that was possible.  She counted the numbers but rapidly
lost track. There were over thirty people joining the celebration, and she knew that was not the whole of them. The crowd was a mash up of cultures, with Indians and Norse living together, and Maggie suspected she heard the inkling of other languages among a few of the men and women. She listened intently to tidbits of conversations around her, and in the days they spent in the company of the Norse she came to realize they had a close relationship with the Nansemond who lived nearby. She imagined it was that alliance that helped keep them hidden in the mountains, essentially undisturbed by the encroaching English settlers. Unless the Norse chose to interact, the village was unlikely to be of interest to the English. It seemed they ventured into town very rarely, trading on occasion with the Indians more than they did with the English. Gwen told her they had settled in the area prior to the arrival of the English, and since they kept to themselves high up away from the James River, they had very little trouble.

Without Winn there, she did not feel up for celebrating, but when both Teyas and Rebecca were excited to go, she decided to join them. Ahi Kekeleksu made friends with a group of boys his age, among them the Indian youth she noticed earlier, and they raced around the Northern Hall screeching and play-fighting. Maggie noticed Makedewa hanging back in the shadows, his eyes following Rebecca, yet he stayed away with the other men while Rebecca carried Kwetii. Cormaic was speaking with Rebecca and fussing over the child as much as a big lug could, and they both laughed as they spoke. Maggie took her tankard and made her way to where Makedewa stood.