Roam: Time Walkers World Special Edition

by E. B. Brown

  Winn nodded.

  “She seems so,” Winn replied, eager to change the topic of the discussion.

  “It is time to see her back to her mother. The warrior Osawas has given many gifts for her hand, so she must return here to marry him,” Pepamhu said.

  Winn’s head jerked up.

  “Osawas of Weanock?” Winn asked. “To Teyas? She is to be married?”

  “She is too long without a husband. Would you have her stay with your family, with no hope for a husband of her own? It will make her mother happy to see this match. It will please me as well,” Pepamhu answered.

  Chetan passed Winn the pipe, but he waved his brother off. He had no idea if Teyas wished to marry or not, but he had learned something of the ways of women after watching his wife and sister over the last two years. They had a strong bond, one which would pain them terribly to break. Yet if Teyas left to live with the Weanock, she must leave alone. It was at least five days ride to Weanock, and that meant it would be a very long time between visits. How he would break such news to his sister and his wife he did not know.

  “I know she must have a husband. But she has grown attached to my wife, and I fear they will not wish to part.”

  Pepamhu raised a brow.

  “Then you must show them the way,” he said. “Return here with Teyas after you exchange the English prisoner. Osawas will arrive with his family, and I want my daughter here to welcome them.”

  Winn opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it. Chetan uttered a low cough, clearing his throat and exhaling a long breath of smoke. Chetan leaned forward, pushing Winn aside.

  “We will see our sister home, father. Do not worry. It is a great match,” Chetan murmured, casting a sideways glance at Winn.

  Pepamhu nodded, and they resumed sharing the pipe in silence.

  *****

  Winn spotted his mother walking toward him as he made way to the Great Fire. He shook his head a bit to clear the remnants of the smoke, feeling his stomach rumble as the scent of fresh cooked meat filled his nostrils. At least he would enjoy a good meal before he returned to the Norse, and perhaps have a few words with his mother. He did not wish to upset her, but he thought she would want to know that Pale Feather returned.

  “My son,” she said softly, bowing her head down before him. He placed both hands on her shoulders and pulled her gently upward, shaking his head.

  “No, mother, please rise,” he insisted. She smiled as he kissed her cheek.

  “It has been too long. How is Kwetii? Does she have a new name yet? And Ahi Kekeleksu? I miss the children.”

  “They grow fast, like weeds in a swamp. Kwetii has the look of her mother, and a temper to match,” he grinned. Chulensak Asuwak laughed, her weathered face creased in a grin over her small white teeth.

  “What color grows her hair?” she asked.

  “Still black as a raven. At least she has that much of me.”

  They walked side by side to the Great Fire, where the entire village was gathered for the meal. He noticed Chetan sitting with Pepamhu, deep in conversation. The warrior had always favored Chetan, and although Pepamhu claimed Winn as a son, Winn had known he was different. Chetan looked much like Pepamhu. Short, stout, with a squared stubborn jaw and almond-shaped brown eyes, the men shared many traits. For a moment, Winn was reminded of how Benjamin resembled Marcus.

  Perhaps someday he would have a son with Maggie, one who might share his features in the same way. With all the future talk and bleak predictions, it seemed a simple thing to hope for, yet it comforted him to think of such base desires for their lives.

  “And Pale Feather? He has returned to you?” Chulensak Asuwak murmured.

  Winn nodded.

  “I know not why you married him, mother. He is nothing like us.”

  She smiled, casting her soft brown eyes downward, her face holding a secret amusement he wondered if she would share.

  “Your father was kind to me, and a good husband. Would you hear now why we were married, my stubborn son?”

  “No,” he muttered.

  She stopped walking and grabbed his wrist, her fingers wrapped in a surprisingly tight grip.

  “Pepamhu was always the man of my heart. Your uncle forbid us to marry, and he arranged Pepamhu’s marriage to another woman. Opechancanough thought he must control everything, even the heart of his sister. You should know no man can sway a woman’s heart once it has set.”

  “Stop, mother, I do not wish to hear this.”

  “You will hear it!” she hissed, stomping her foot so that even her long braid shook. “I disobeyed your uncle, and I met with Pepamhu. Even though he was married, and it was wrong, I met with him. One day, a warrior found me leaving Pepamhu, and he told Opechancanough. I was to be shamed before the village for meeting with a married man…and my brother wished to see Pepamhu dead for my shame.”

  “You make no sense. Then why Pale Feather? Why did you wed him?” Winn snapped, listening to her tirade despite his agitation.

  “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 whit
e 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.

  CHAPTER 18

  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 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 Blooded Ones, 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 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 snap
ped 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.