Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (60 page)

“Then find peace once more. Go. Be safe, my brother.”

Benjamin clasped his arm, and he returned the gesture in kind. As he held his brother’s embrace, Winn looked into the eyes so similar to his own. It was then that he could see it. A glimmer, a hint, a sliver of hope that someday he would return. After all, they had made a blood vow to protect the Gothi. It was a vow Winn was certain Benjamin would honor when he was needed.

Makedewa

Makedewa did not touch Rebecca as they walked quietly through the village. People bustled in every direction, making the last of preparations for the burial of their fallen Chief.  He was glad for the distraction, since he did not know how to tell her what he planned to do.

“You were brave to save Kwetii,” he finally said. Perhaps if he started off with a compliment, it would ease the way for the rest of what they must discuss. She tilted her head a bit to the side and looked gainfully at him with her soft round eyes, her hair falling back away from her face.

“Thank ye. My teacher was quite skilled,” she said. Her skirts rustled with each pace, her hands swaying at her sides instead of tucked up in fists.  He took a chance by catching her fingers, entwining them in his own. He was glad for the risk when her lips curled into a shy smile.

They walked together to the edge of the village, where the clearing opened up to the meadow. He stopped her when she started to take the path toward the ridge, afraid of betraying too much of himself should they be alone so far from the others. The sounds of the villagers behind them reminded him of his intent.

“I wish to say goodbye,” he said softly, pulling her to a stop. She turned quickly back to him.

“Another task, for yer uncle? I thought ye men were through with doing his deeds,” she said, uttering a sharp sigh as if his statement made no sense.

“It is no task for my uncle. I leave with Benjamin today.”

His chest tightened as her face crumbled and her mouth formed a half-opened denial. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she struggled with her response.

“But why? Is it because…” she said, her words trailing off unsaid. Her fingers clenched tight around his.

“No, little bird, I do not run from you,” he replied. He cupped her face gently with his hand, running his thumb over her lips. He smiled when she turned her face toward his touch and closed her eyes.

“Then why?”

“Because I am not ready to be a husband to you. A man should have a great journey before he takes a wife,” he whispered. A tear spilled down her face, and he brushed it away. They both knew it was a lie. “So you must wait to be my wife. When I return, I will be much stronger. I will be ready to be a good husband.”

He closed his mouth gently over hers as her tears fell, holding her face his hands, his body trembling at the touch of her skin against his.

“
Nouwami, chulentet
,” he whispered.
I love you, little bird,
he thought as the realization of leaving her felt like a stake piercing his chest. He had never considered his heart before, but as he looked down on her, he suddenly felt it breaking. Yet he knew it was what they needed, what they both needed. Soon, when she was ready to spread her wings, he would return, and she would welcome him.

He kissed her urgently once more and then pulled away. It took strength he did not know he still possessed to leave her, but thankfully, it was enough. As he walked away he heard her voice, only a whisper, yet still resilient, and he smiled through his pain.

“I love ye too,” she said.

It was enough for now.

Maggie

Maggie placed a bundle of fine linen into a deep thatched basket for Gwen to add to the burial pyre.  Although she was painfully aware of her new role in the community, she leaned on Gwen’s strength to finish the task ahead.  Hearing the bustle of the villagers prepare the feast, and the roar of the fire in the yard as Finola muttered a pagan chant was near too much to bear. It was expected of Maggie to attend and oversee the details, yet she deferred to the others not out of obstinacy, but of grief. She simply could not look at the lifeless body of her beloved friend without falling apart.

Maggie clutched her thick fur mantle up around her neck with two fists, rubbing her chin against the lush white pelt. It was new to her, an exorbitant gift from her husband to wear to the ceremony. Looking around at the others, her vision began to blur and her heart raced, so she decided she had enough. They could do without her for a short time.

She spotted Winn walking toward her across the yard as she left the Northern Hall. His pace was brisk, his eyes troubled, and she hoped there was no more trouble for him to bear.  Her husband had already borne too much.

“What is it?” she asked as he reached her. He did not touch her, keeping his hands loose at his sides. His pulse danced rapid on his neck, his veins standing out like cords across his skin. She put a soft hand on his cheek, relieved when he did not flinch away, but instead covered her hand with his own.

“Benjamin is leaving,” he said.

“Oh,” she murmured. She was not shocked by the news, but stunned that it was Winn who spoke the words to her.

“He watches Kwetii now, while Rebecca speaks with Makedewa. It seems Makedewa will join Benjamin on his journey.”

She searched his gaze for a hint, anything to guide her in what Winn expected of her.  She sighed with the realization that she had never been any good at doing what he ordered, and now was not the time to fret over it. Her husband was hurting, despite whatever had transpired between him and his brother, and she could plainly see he was troubled over the impending departure.

“You should go see to Kwetii,” Winn said quietly, his voice low and hoarse. He drew her close then, pressing his lips gently to her hair, his voice meant only for her ears. “Go. Go see to our daughter now. I will wait for you in the Northern Hall.”

She closed her eyes to his words. No, this was not her husband sending her to tend their child. It was her husband sending her to say goodbye to his brother, in the only way he knew how, the only way he could accept.

“Go,” he whispered. He swept the hair back off her face and kissed her roughly, his lips harsh with possession, although they both knew she belonged only to him. She tried to cling to him, but he gently peeled her hands from his face and placed them at her sides. He turned abruptly and walked away.

She folded her arms across her chest, her breath coming fast as her heart pounded in her ears. How could their lives have taken this turn? To finally find safe haven, a family, for Winn to have a father? Now they stood on the edge of losing it all.  His father had fallen, and now he would lose two brothers as well. For all they had suffered, she could not watch it end this way.  Instead of a goodbye, there would be a different conversation.

Kwetii was asleep when she arrived, snoring peacefully on the bedding platform. Benjamin sat beside her, swaying gently in the new rocking chair Erich had made for her. His eyes were closed, but he opened them and stood up when she approached.

“She’s sleeping sound, I bid ye she’ll stay like that for some time. Give ye a spot to yerself,” he said, as if he did not guess why she was there. She knew him better than that, and she resented his games.

“How can you leave like this? Now, of all times?” she asked.

Benjamin placed his hands on his hips, in that way he did sometimes when he had no answer, giving himself time to say something meaningful in return. She could recall him making the gesture as a child, and later as a man. He looked like Marcus then, his blazing eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow. Suddenly he flinched and turned his back to her, as if to shield himself from her accusations.

“How can ye ask me to stay? You, of all of them. Ye who know me best,” he replied.

“Marcus wanted you here, with your family. He risked his life using that damn Bloodstone, just to come here to find you!”

“Aye, he traveled far to find me. But it was ye he meant to see safe, on his sworn vow. I know now what it means, to be the son of such a man. In yer blood lies the power of the
Gothi
, and mine is bound to protect ye.”

“You can’t protect me if you leave,” she said.

His shoulders stiffened.

“I think my brother will serve ye well in my absence.”

She put a hand on his arm.

“But you can’t leave,” she whispered. “What can I say to make you stay?”

He swung around, his hands shaking in closed fists at his sides. He came so close they nearly touched, staring down at her with a mixture of despair and sadness she had never seen in him before.

“Your words would not make me stay. Nay, woman, get ye gone. I have no more for ye, except goodbye.”

She wanted to comfort him, to give him something. For all he had given her of his heart, she could not keep it, yet looking into his red-rimmed eyes she was flooded with grief. Grief for what he had suffered, for what pain she had caused him. Anguish at the truth that lay between them, as thick as the smoke from the burial pyre burning in the courtyard. He had given, and she had taken. She knew he could not stay.

“Where will you go?” she asked quietly. He lifted his head, his tousled hair falling back from his face. Stark blue eyes faded to dull glimmers as he looked at her.

“I don’t know. I shall know when I get there, I suppose.”

Her breath slowed as met her gaze.

“Your family is here,” she insisted.

“Aye. And they will be here someday, when I return.”

“Benjamin, I—”

“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Say nothing more except goodbye. Bid me farewell, as your good brother.”

“I cannot.”

“If ever a woman could bear such things, it is you. Look at me, with a smile on your face, so that I might remember it.” He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes hard yet searching, until he dipped his head down. She felt his hand brush over her hair, and then the soft touch of his lips near her ear. He brushed past her, close, but without further contact as he headed for the door. She heard his voice behind her, low and strained with the last few words he might ever speak to her.

“I know ye never belonged to me,” he whispered. “But I loved ye once, and I loved ye well. I do not regret that part of it.”

The tears came unbidden as she heard him walk away and the door flapped shut behind him. She settled there, wishing there was another way to keep him close, not for her selfish heart, but for his family and all those who loved him.

But even the asking of it was too much. She could not bear to wound him further. He was right, she could see it then.

She looked down at the twisted scar on her palm. As she closed her fingers around the time travel brand, suddenly things seemed clear. Had Marcus not said her blood was powerful? That the blood of the
Gothi
was so dangerous it must be protected? That the secret of time travel lay squarely in her hands?

“Maggie? Are ye here?” Rebecca called. Maggie swung around, her hands shaking with the realization of what she meant to do.

“Would you stay with Kwetii until I return?” she asked the younger woman. Her shimmering curls bounced as Rebecca nodded.

“Of course. But will ye not come to the Northern Hall?”

“I will. I have something to do first.”

Maggie avoided looking into her friend’s searching eyes as she brushed past her, clutching her mantle around her shoulders. A dampness in the air betrayed the upcoming storm, and as she made her way to the ridge, she felt the sprinkle of cold raindrops on her face.

Yes, she thought, as she climbed to the peak.  Her legs ached from her rapid gait and her lungs felt the stress of the journey as she reached the clearing. As she stood, trying to slow her breaths, she looked down upon the ship below. White tipped waves splashed into the vessel, rocking the final resting place of her beloved friend as the men below filled it with gifts. She could see the line of warriors and women, even the children, and although they were small at the distance she stood from them, she could see their arms filled with treasures intended to ease his journey.

None of it needed to happen. She had the power to change it, didn’t she? Winn had suffered without a father his entire life because of her blood. Countless others unknown had given their vow to protect the blooded MacMhaolian
Gothi.
Marcus had given his life.

“I know ye think ye have no power here, Maggie. But ye have it all, ye just don’t know it yet.”

She took the bone-handled knife from her waist. No, she did not know how to control it. If her Bloodstone could take her to another time, could spilling a greater amount trigger the magic? She recalled Harald’s story of Chief Drustan, and how he said all the blood of a Chief, or that of a
MacMhaolian,
could send a ship through time. She knew the others feared the
Gothi
power, but Marcus had believed enough in her blood to spend his life in service of protecting it. Perhaps it was as simple as draining her vein and demanding her wishes be done. Then they would all wake up, together again, before death took Marcus.

She lifted her chin against the wind, the rain now needles spiking her skin. Her shift was soaked through, sticking to her skin, her cloak feeling heavy with the dampness over her shoulders. She shrugged the cloak away and it fell to a heap at her feet.

“Listen to me, Odin! Whoever you are! I want him back, do you hear me! I want him returned to me! Take my blood, and bring him back!” she screamed into the rain. A crash of thunder rolled close overhead as she drew the knife across her forearm. She felt no sting as she watched the blood trickle down her wrist and drip to the ground. “Bring him back!”

The wind continued to howl, whipping her hair back off her face as she confronted the storm. She felt the fight leave her body as her demands went unanswered. As she covered her face with her hands, she heard his footsteps behind her on the wet grass.

Winn pulled her into his arms and slipped her fallen cloak over her shoulders. When he spotted the blood he uttered a sigh. He ripped the edge of his tunic and bound her wrist with the strip of fine cloth. It seemed fitting that he stemmed her bleeding with the garment of a Chief. Had they not already died to protect it? Her precious, useless, magical blood?

“You’ll catch your death up here,” he said softly, his blue eyes gleaming sadly down at her.

“I want to bring him back. Get Finola, or Gwen, and make them show me how,” she demanded. She grabbed hold of his tunic with fisted hands. “Please. Please, Winn.”

“No,
ntehem
,” he said.

“This is something I can do! I can make this right, I can bring him back! I’m the one who has this power, right? I’m the only one left to do it!”

“Yes, you can. You can bring him back,” he said softly. “You can travel back in time to stop it. You can take us all to another place. But you must not.”

“I must,” she replied.

“How would you change things, Maggie? Would you change the day I was born, or the day the Norse came here? Would you change the visions of my uncle, or bring back the men he killed? Would you change the day you bloodied your hand and came through time for me? Is that what you would change? Our future lies here. Death is part of it. Living is more of it. This life here, this is our future.  Yes, you can change it if you wish…but I know that you must not.” His hand slipped down over the gentle swell of her belly. No, she had not told him yet.

“I don’t know what will happen. I can’t see the future like Finola can.”

“I see it. I see our son, here with us. He laughs at his foolish father, and loves his brave mother…so very much,” Winn answered. He sank to his knees before her on the sodden ground, placing his forehead to her belly. “Tell your mother to give me her hand, my son. Tell her I will stand by her side in this life, and always.”