The Messenger: Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #1

by Pamela DuMond

  “That was expected,” he said.

  “Angeni’s…she’s gone,” I said. “I don’t think she died.”

  “She traveled. She can do it consciously. She told me that if she travels while she is dying, she couldn’t come back. I will miss her. She wanted to teach you to travel consciously as well.”

  “I want to learn.” If only I didn’t have so many fears.

  He kissed my hand. He kissed my lips. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He kissed the wounds on my neck where Tobias tried to kill me.

  He flipped me onto my back and pressed himself on top of me. I wanted everything. But he hesitated and pulled away. “I love you, Samuel. I want this.”

  “I love you, too. But I want this when we are not filled with anger, or fear. I want us to be together when no one attacks us. We know it is our choice, and not simply a way to pass time.”

  He was right. I sighed. “Then hold me until tomorrow.”

  He wrapped his arms around me tightly.

  * * *

  Nikana, Samuel, and I left King Philip’s hideaway at dawn. Philip’s people supplied us with water, food, and weapons: bows and arrows, knives, a couple of hatchets, and a gun. But no Nathan. Philip needed him for war duty.

  I kissed that gorgeous horse good-bye on his snout. Nikana grabbed my arm and said, “We go now.”

  We walked quickly and quietly, heading north. We made our way around a large swamp. Nikana guided. I was in second position, Samuel yards behind me. I wanted to find our way to someplace, where Samuel and I could be together without war. I hoped Angeni was okay wherever she was. I was curious about the new mentor who was waiting to train me. But that person could never hold a candle to Mama.

  We hiked for hours through narrow paths in thick woods. Passed a couple of smaller ponds. I pretty much stayed away from the water, as the anxiety would rise and start to close my throat if I got too close. After nearly being drowned—I now had a thing about water.

  Sunset came and went. Nikana led us to caves close to the cliffs overlooking the ocean, where we could rest until sunrise. The air inside was musty. The waves crashed, muffled, far below.

  Nikana lit a small torch so we weren’t in complete darkness. The caves were narrow and lined with old rocks. The part we were in was tall enough to stand straight, although Nikana’s head almost skimmed the ceiling.

  I was exhausted to the bone. I think Samuel and Nikana were, too. I drank from a flask, but stopped myself from guzzling, as there was only so much to go around. I handed the flask to Nikana. He drank a small amount, and passed it to Samuel. We shared a meal of jerky and corn cakes.

  “Should we keep going and try and get further away?” I asked.

  “It is too dangerous to journey more tonight. You will never outrun a blood enemy,” Nikana said. “But you can be smarter and more prepared than your enemy realizes. Samuel, take the first watch.” He leaned back against the cave’s wall and closed his eyes.

  “Even a Messenger needs to rest.” Samuel squeezed my hand. “We will journey fast tomorrow.” He disappeared into the darkness, and I assumed he positioned himself closer to the cave’s entrance.

  I leaned back against the musty walls. At some point Samuel wrapped his arms around me and we slept.

  I woke to guttural shouts. “No, Malachi!” Nikana cried out.

  Samuel grabbed his knife. “Take the torch. Run!” He pointed in the opposite direction of the cave’s entrance.

  “Where?” My heart pounded and my hands broke into a sweat.

  “Follow the path that leads upwards. Nikana told me there are other exits at the top. Go!” Samuel said.

  Chapter 37

  I stumbled through the caves, practically bouncing off its walls. The ceiling lowered and its width narrowed. At points, the rocks were so close together; I had to turn sideways to squeeze between them. In the distant background, I heard the most awful screaming.

  The voice wasn’t Samuel’s. It was Nikana’s death cry. Malachi was butchering him. I stopped, leaned my head against the cave’s wall, grimaced, and covered my ear with my hand, as I tried to block out the screams.

  And then the screaming stopped, and there was silence. Should I go back? No, no, I had to move forward. There was a glimmer of light ahead of me. I followed that to another opening into and out of the caves. My back against the wall, I peeked out at a forest, the sun rising through the trees on the horizon.

  Now it was only Samuel and I left to battle Malachi, the man determined to kill me. We could not outrun him. It dawned on me that Malachi desperately wanted to kill me/Abigail not only for revenge—but also because Abigail was most likely my ancestor. Abigail dies and I will never even be born. End of problem. I got up off the ground and ran straight toward the sunrise.

  A low-pitched droning penetrated my ears and rattled my bones. Being a city girl, I usually didn’t care about a little noise. Could be an L train whistling nearby outside my bedroom window, a bus chugging down the street, or a garbage truck picking up trash on any normal day. But it wasn’t any of those, ’cause this day definitely wasn’t normal.

  I tore through a thick wood, my breath ragged as skinny tree branches whipped across my face and body. One slapped my forehead and something warm trickled into my eye. I wiped it away and saw that my hand was bloody. I should be used to that by now.

  But I flinched and tried not to cry out in pain because he was hunting me. If he heard, he would calculate how far away from him I was. Then he would know how quickly and easily he could catch me. And if he caught me, he would kill me.

  But I didn’t want to die, yet. Not here, not now. I had to find a way to be with my Samuel.

  I started running again but this time shielded my face with my arms. My feet kicked up some dirt as well as a few yellow and orange leaves blanketing the ground.

  I fled past ancient pine trees with thick, round trunks and branches covered with needles that towered over me like a canopy when I tripped on the hem of my skirt. I heard a loud rip as I fell toward the forest floor. My arms pinwheeled and momentum, possibly the only thing on my side right now, jerked me upright.

  I stopped for a few seconds to catch my breath. The droning had grown louder. Good. I was closer to that place where desire, action, a little bit of luck, and magic would join forces. I’d find that moment to slip through time’s fabric, travel hundreds of years back to the present and warn or even save people. Especially my Samuel.

  Then I heard his voice, muffled, but close by. And his words chilled my soul. “Stop running, Messenger,” he said. “You cannot save him or yourself. You cannot save anybody.”

  I’m sixteen-years-old and cop to the fact that in terms of life wisdom, people think teenagers have been through next to nothing. But recently I’ve learned the hard way that I’m not your average teenager, and wisdom cannot be measured in birthdays.

  I also knew Malachi had more deadly warrior skills in his little finger, than Samuel and I had combined. It seemed just a matter of time before he caught and killed the both of us. Better me, than Samuel. I sank to my knees, dropped my head forward and waited for death.

  “Hurry!” Samuel grabbed my arm and yanked me up. “You have to travel. Angeni knew you were a Messenger, and gave the last part of her life, here, to train you.”

  “But, I’ll lose you,” I said.

  “No! You will never lose me.”

  “Madeline,” Malachi called. “I won’t hurt you. You are valuable to me. Just like your mama. Let me train you, and I promise; I will spare Samuel’s life. That is a fair trade.”

  Samuel kissed me once, hard and fast on the lips. “Go. Run toward the sunrise, toward the morning light. Travel. You must try. You have to try.” He pulled away from me and ran back into the forest.

  I raced toward the morning light. Really, was there anyplace else to go? I pushed through the forest and ran out onto a moss-covered, rocky precipice, on a cliff jutting high above the Atlantic Ocean.

  The ocean winds s
wept past me. The sunrise nearly blinded me. I peeked down—I was hundreds of feet up in the air, above the shore. I thought of Angeni, and her lessons, and realized what I needed to try. Infinity. Life. Death. Rebirth. The clues were there all along.

  I touched my fingers to my thumbs and chanted, “Sa. Ta. Na. Ma.” I started spinning in circles, the same way I saw Angeni do in her hut, when Elizabeth nearly miscarried. “Sa. Ta. Na. Ma.” I quickly grew dizzy. I hated getting dizzy. If I fell from this height, I would definitely die. But Angeni had told me that I needed to release my fear of letting go, my fear of being dizzy.

  “Sa. Ta. Na. Ma.” I spun in circles as the rainbow of colors from the sunrise washed over me. Their hues seemed to breathe life into the chant. I felt a force tugging at my soul. “Sa. Ta. Na. Ma.” I spun in circles faster and faster as my arms reached higher and higher until they were over my head and my skirt flew in circles above my ankles.

  “I think I’d recognize you anywhere, Madeline,” Malachi said.

  In a blur I glimpsed him draw his bow with an arrow aimed at me.

  “Madeline, come to me,” I heard Mama say. I smiled.

  I’m coming, Mama. I’m coming! I’m learning how to be a Messenger.

  I kept spinning on top of that cliff overlooking the ocean in the most glorious sunrise I’d ever experienced. I felt an arrow pierce my back next to my shoulder blade, and punch its way through my lungs out toward my chest. It hurt something awful. At the same time my soul ripped from Abigail’s body. I flew high into the heavens and blended with the sunrise for moments.

  I watched Abigail below me spin slower and slower, multiple arrows hitting and piercing her body, until she finally collapsed on the ground.

  Chapter 38

  I heard soft voices and my nose crinkled from a harsh antiseptic scent. Firm hands rubbed my shoulders. They felt like my dad’s. A smooth, cool, gentle hand stroked my cheek. “Come back to us, Maddie,” a woman said.

  I blinked my eyes open and stared, groggy at a pretty woman’s face. “Elizabeth?”

  “Raymond!” Sophie jumped.

  The shoulder rub stopped abruptly. I was in a room that was small, white, and blurry.

  “Oh my God, Raymond, oh my…” Sophie said.

  My dad’s face loomed in front of mine. “Madeline? Talk to me.”

  “Daddy?” My vision focused. His hair wasn’t combed, his T-shirt had stains on it, and his eyes were bloodshot and tired. He looked perfect.

  “Yes, honey.” He smoothed my hair back from my forehead while tears welled in his eyes. “Talk to me. Ask me anything.”

  “Is Samuel okay?”

  “Nurse! Nurse!” Dad yelled. “Where’s the dang emergency, call button?”

  There was hospital machinery and an IV bag hung from a metal pole in this small, pristine, white cubicle. The furniture consisted of small, vinyl chairs and a skinny hospital bed that I lay on outfitted with metal guard railings. I was connected to monitors and tubes. A curtain separated me from the other half of this place.

  I noticed what was not in the room. There were no autumn leaves, or smoke billowing from fires. No war cries, no gunshots, knives, or tomahawks. And no skilled, malicious Hunter determined to kill me. These were all good things.

  But there was also no Samuel.

  My waking incited a blur of activity. Techs and nursing assistants ran into the room. Some shone lights in my eyes; others took my reflexes: my elbows, knees, and the back of one heel. ’Cause the other one was in a cast up to right below my knee.

  A nurse told my parents to leave the room until after the doctor checked me out.

  “How long have I been here?” I asked her.

  “You were in the hospital for two weeks,” the doctor said and perused my chart. “You were transferred here about a month ago.”

  “I’ve been out six weeks?”

  “Yes.” She smiled at me. “But, now you’re back. We’re going to run a few tests.”

  After that I was scanned and probed, and poked for most of the day. It seemed pretty much everything turned out all right, because they allowed my family back in the room, including Jane.

  Sophie squeezed my hand.

  “Am I going to be okay?”

  “You’re going to be perfect.” She smiled. “Who’s Elizabeth? I don’t remember her as one of your Preston friends.”

  “She saved me after the attack at the Endicott settlement. You know, during the war. You remind me of her.”

  Sophie frowned. “What war, honey?”

  “King Philip’s War.”

  “I’m blanking on that one,” Dad said. “When was that?”

  “1675.”

  He shook his head.

  “How come I didn’t get creamed on the train tracks?”

  “There was a young man. He jumped onto the tracks and pulled you to safety. You were very lucky. You had a good Samaritan.” Sophie said.

  Oh my God. A “good Samaritan?” Could it be Samuel?

  “So, um, what did he look like?” I asked.

  “We don’t know, kiddo,” Dad said. “He disappeared right after he saved you.”

  An aide wheeled in a cart with a tray on it. Apparently I had to eat pudding, Jello and more liquid-based foods before they’d take out my feeding tube that was stuck down my nose. Very uncomfortable.

  Jane leaned in, and examined all the food-like items on the tray. “Tapioca. Ew. Let me see if I can score some chocolate.” She kissed me on the cheek and whispered. “I’m glad you’re back.” She left in search of better pudding.

  Between the lemon Jello and the tapioca pudding, someone had placed a sprig of lavender.

  “Could you call Aaron and Chaka?”

  “We did. They’re showing up here tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Did I tell you how much I missed you? Did I tell you how much I love you?” Everyone got a little weepy then.

  * * *

  I ate. I slept. I woke. The next day they took out my feeding tubes. (Note to self: be grateful for small blessings.) An O.T. evaluated my speech. Apparently, yes, I still talked too much. I hung out with my family while a P.T. did joint mobilization on my arms and legs.

  The Doctor popped her head in. “Good girl. You need to exercise. Get stronger. You’ve got some metal in that ankle, but you’ll be in a walking cast as soon as you get out of here. You broke a couple of ribs. But those are healing. You obviously had a hard blow to your noggin, and a scar on your forehead. But all your test results seem to indicate there is no permanent damage.”

  I touched my forehead and felt a small soft indentation. “I have a scar?”

  “It’s not that big. We’re using medicine to help it fade.”

  Angeni had said, “Every Messenger needs a marking. Otherwise, how would other Messengers recognize her?”

  “When can I go home?”

  “If you keep doing this well, probably in a couple of days.”

  That afternoon the P.T. fitted me for a walking boot and showed me how to use the cane properly.

  And then Aaron and Chaka walked in the door. Squee! It was a love fest.

  “I love you. Don’t hug me,” I said and we tried to catch up. “Give me the dirt about the accident.”

  “You lay on the ground, and you were already unconscious,” Aaron said.

  “When this guy—” Chaka said.

  “Sexy, a little older than us,” Aaron interrupted.

  “Literally jumped off the platform down next to the tracks. He grabbed you, hauled you up the wall and—” Chaka said.

  “He pushed you back onto the platform and managed to avoid the train, by seconds. But that’s when all the commotion started.”

  “And he disappeared,” Chaka said. “They had it on the news and everything.”

  “What did he look like?” I asked, hoping.

  “Late teens, early twenties. Dirty blonde. Kind of a young Brad Pitt,” Aaron said.

  I had no right to feel disappointed, but I did. “Aar
on, do me a favor please.”

  “Almost anything.”

  “I have memories about what happened while I was gone. I wasn’t here, lying in a bed.”

  “Whoa,” Chaka said. “Like you went someplace different, while your body was trapped in a coma?”

  “Yeah. Can you Google King Philip’s War? 1675, in the Americas?”

  “America,” Chaka replied.

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t called that back then.” I told Aaron and Chaka about Samuel and some of our adventures. They were skeptical. Then Aaron went online. The more info he discovered about King Philip’s war, the more excited they became.

  That’s how we spent the next two days, with the exception of me having P.T., and my psych evaluation, and therapy with Dr. Broing, who I nicknamed Dr. Boring. He kept insisting my memories of Samuel were just coma-induced delusions. So, I insisted on calling him Dr. Boring.

  Aaron would find something on the Internet, bookmark it, and then read it to me. King Philip’s War with the colonists during the years 1675-1676 was real. The sites confirmed Philip’s ancestry, his ascent to power, his decision to go to war as well as the details on how that conflict played out.

  We found a snippet of information about the garrison I lived at in Rhode Island. The attack was brutal, but about half the colonists survived, and the garrison was rebuilt. I found Jebediah’s name, but I couldn’t find anything on Elizabeth.

  We found a bunch of info about Patience Donaldson and her abduction. After King Philip ransomed and returned Patience to her family, she wrote about her experiences, published, and her book actually became a bestseller.

  No matter how many times we Googled Angeni, or Samuel—nothing came up.

  The day I was scheduled to come home, Aaron thought he hit pay dirt. “This isn’t warm and fuzzy,” he said. “It’s not going to make you feel better.”

  “I’d rather know.” I clomped around the room with my new cane, wincing as I tried out my walking boot.

  “I found this on a website called webbooksdotcom. During an ambush in the summer of 1676, over one hundred and seventy three members of King Philip’s tribe were slaughtered. His wife and son were taken prisoners. The colonists sold them into slavery to English planters in the Dutch West Indies.”