Roam: Time Walkers World Special Edition

by E. B. Brown

  “You’ve said that before to me – but why?” she demanded. “If you teach me to use the runes, I can control it. I can go back exactly where I need to, I can change things – I can make it better. Why do we just – just sit here, doing nothing? Why can’t I try?”

  Erich turned back to face her, but it was her husband’s voice that broke the silence.

  “Because I will not allow it,” Winn said quietly. “The desire of one man – or woman – is not enough reason.”

  “It’s not just me,” Maggie whispered, struggling to control her tone. She felt a flush rise in her neck and she straightened her back. “Are there any of us who do not want Rebecca back?”

  “All of us do. Yet the decision is mine, and it is made,” Winn replied. “And you will not interfere in the matters of men.”

  Gwen’s eyes widened and Erich sat back down beside Maggie. Feeling the beast of frustration rise in her belly, she stared long at her husband. The fact that Winn seemed to know much more about her blood than she was privy to was a topic they would discuss later – alone. Yet his unyielding command was something else entirely and it took all of her self-control to steady herself without a harsh retort.

  “Ye see, niece, I fear ye knowing how to bend this magic. It’s a dangerous thing. If ye let yer heart lead ye, ye might use it when ye should not. And if that happens, then it shall be my fault.” Erich turned and reached for her, taking her hand. He urged her fist open, tracing his thumb over her scar. “I can show ye how to use the runes, but to what end? If ye make a mistake and I lose ye…well, I have enough death to bear o'er my back. I’d not take on anymore, and if ye could oblige me on that, I’d be a grateful man.”

  She closed her eyes, squeezing his hand. Words would not come, her throat dry and her lips creased in a tight line.

  “I can’t help thinking about it. Is it so wrong to want to do something, to make it all better? Rebecca was my – my friend. And Makedewa…I’m afraid for him,” she said softly.

  “Even if you went back, what could you change?” Winn asked. “You could not stop the bleeding, even if you knew it would happen. Maybe you could keep her from marrying him, and then change destiny for all of us. Where would it end? And where would you begin?”

  She stared at her husband, unable to make a reply. He was right, of course. She could not have changed the outcome, no matter how much she knew of what was to come. Saving Makedewa’s life with blood from Dagr’s heel was one thing; going back in time to change an entire sequence of events was another entirely.

  The sharp cry of the newborn pierced the silence, reminding them all that there was yet another future to consider. Gwen patted and rocked him, but the boy would not be consoled, the demands of his empty belly much stronger than his need to sleep. Although it had been a few days since she weaned her own son, Maggie felt the tingle of answer in her body at the cry. There was something clear about a child’s hungry wail, one that stirred a mother to her core.

  In the absence of his own mother, there was a void to fill. If she could not use her power to change things, if there was truly nothing she could do to bring her friend back, well, then at least there was the life before them to watch over.

  As Maggie took the newborn from Gwen’s arms, she looked down on him and smiled. Yes, she thought. This was something she could do. She could care for him. She could feed him.

  And in some small way, perhaps, she might change his future.

  CHAPTER 6

  Winn

  Winn settled back into his chair in the Northern Hall, listening to the murmur of Erich’s voice as he reported on the status of the village supplies. His thoughts were distracted over his brother’s absence, and it was with a heavy heart that he carried on with his duties. Although Makedewa had only been gone for a week, Winn feared he might never see his youngest brother again. The warrior had been careful to cover evidence of his path, disguising his trail so well that even Chetan could not track him.

  When Makedewa wished to return, he would. Until that time, there was nothing Winn could do to help him. Life in the village continued on and the demands of the people who lived there did not diminish. There were mouths to be fed, a home to protect, and a new young life that depended on them. Winn found his duties a reprieve from the worry over his brother.

  “…hunt for perhaps two days. That should suffice, I think. My lord?”

  Winn squinted at Erich, aware he had not heard most of the older man’s words. Shaking his head a bit, Winn cleared his throat and nodded.

  “Yes. Hunt for two days? If you think it needs be, then we shall make it so. I trust you will gather the men?” Winn answered.

  “I shall. And on the matter of the wean? Ye shall take him as yer own?”

  “The child?” Winn asked, aware that he appeared addled. It occurred to him that he had missed more of the conversation than he previously thought.

  “Yer brother’s child, my lord. Yer wife is here to request yer blessing.”

  Winn stood up when Maggie was ushered into the Great Hall. In her arms she held Makedewa’s son, swaddled so tightly in his bundling he remained soundless and still. When his wife kneeled before him and he saw her red-rimmed eyes, his first reflex was to drop to his knees beside her and comfort her. Yet with a glance around the hall he could see the men were watching him; this was some sort of test, and Winn felt helpless at distinguishing what was required of him.

  To comfort his wife would show weakness. To ask others to make a decision would make him powerless. If only he had any idea what they wanted from him, he could try to make a ruling.

  “Speak, wife,” he said, in the most even tone he could manage.

  “I ask you to look on this child with no mother…and no father to claim him,” she said softly, her voice barely audible to his ear. “I ask you to wash him, dress him, and give him a name.”

  Winn grimaced as he looked down on his wife. He did not like the fear spread across her face, nor the way her hands were clenched so tightly around the child. To see his brave woman in such a state riled him to the core, and be it his lack of Norse upbringing or his flaws as a leader, he thrust away his pride and went down to one knee in front of her. He thought his heart might crack when he reached for the babe and Maggie pulled away, but suddenly what was being asked of him became clear.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Claim him. Give him a name. I cannot turn him out. I’m begging you. Please.” 53

  Through dry lips he murmured a word of consolation to her in his native Paspahegh and she nodded, relief flooding her face. When he reached toward her again, Maggie placed the child in his arms. Winn looked down upon his nephew, a child he would now call son, and he looked at the woman he loved more than his own life.

  “Wife,” he murmured. “You beg of no man.”

  He rose to his feet with the newborn in his arms, letting the swaddling cloth fall to the floor. The child squealed at the intrusion but Winn still held him up for all to see, raising the squirming mite above his head.

  “I claim this child, son of my brother, now son of my heart. His name –”

  He paused and glanced down at Maggie, who whispered, “Daniel.”

  “– his name is Daniel. Let him live a long life!”

  It never occurred to him he would need to claim his own nephew, but Winn knew he had made the right choice when he finished to cries of “Daniel, Daniel!” Maggie held a copper basin as he bathed the crying child, and then together they wrapped Daniel in fresh swaddling clothes. Winn made the sign of the hammer over the wean’s head and the ceremony was complete; Winn claimed the boy, and as thus, the child was one of them.

  “Thank you,” Maggie said softly. Winn placed his hand on her waist and she leaned slightly into him, the child wedged between them.

  “Have no doubt,” he replied. “What you ask of me, I give it gladly. Your fear wounds me, ntehem.”

  “I’m so sorry. Finola told me I must present him to you, or he could be cast out with no one to
claim him. And it had to be you – a man – I mean, I’m not allowed to claim him. I would have, but it’s not in the rules, and –”

  “Ah, enough,” Winn said. A smile turned up the corners of her lips, and as difficult as it was for his wife to show deference, he grinned when she bowed to him. “Go now,” he added. “Take the boy to join our children. I shall be finished here soon.”

  Maggie nodded. She gathered the child snug to her breast and turned to go, but not before glancing up at her uncle. Erich responded with a slight dip of his head toward her, the edge of his mouth tight in what might have been a grin. Winn briefly wondered what his MacMillan kin had been plotting behind his back, but dismissed the thought as fast as it surfaced. Let Maggie and Erich have their victories; Winn was glad to oblige them.

  The scream of steel suddenly pierced the air and every man in the Northern Hall responded in kind. It was Cormaic who drew first as he stood guarding the entrance, his broadsword unsheathed and held in readiness. Maggie, who was near the door, was thrust behind her cousin where she had the good sense to remain as newcomers approached. Winn stood up and was immediately flanked by the Norse and Indian men of the village, with Erich barking a terse command to be ready in his foreign tongue.

  “Goor viroar!” Erich grunted.

  Winn stayed on the dais only so that he could see over the heads of his men as visitors entered the hall. When he noted the leader of the group he realized why his men were so unsettled.

  It had been years since a Powhatan emissary had stood before the Norse. And if Winn recalled his father’s family history correctly, he suspected the last time the two groups collided it had ended in the near extermination of the Norsemen from the lands of Tsenacommacah before Winn was even born.

  One warrior stepped forward from the group of five. Dressed in the simple breechcloth and leggings most warriors wore, the man’s attire held few clues to his identity. His skin, however, was littered with a swirl of dark tattoos that decorated a path from his neck to his waist, giving Winn the impression it was only a common man who stood before him. Those who accompanied the leader held the same look about them, and it was with some relief that Winn noticed it. He decided to greet them with a simple welcome friends and let them proceed from there.

  “Sesegan, wìdjìkiwe,” Winn called out. Erich muttered an oath in Norse at the use of the friendly Powhatan greeting, but Winn ignored him. Winn switched to English so that most in the Northern Hall could understand the exchange. “Who are you, and what brings you here?”

  “I am Pìmiskodjìsì, sent by Weroance Opechancanough,” the leader replied in a stilted tone. “We come to speak with Winkeohkwet, nephew of our Great Leader.”

  “Then you have found him,” Winn said. He met Cormaic’s eye across the room and gave the younger man a nod. Cormaic obeyed the command and lowered his weapon, the other men following his lead. Winn waited to speak until Erich relaxed his sword hand and then he sat back down in his chair. “What need does my uncle have for his nephew? It has been many years since he sought my counsel.”

  “He sends these gifts to show his favor,” Pìmiskodjìsì said. Two of his companions came forth, placing bundles of hide-wrapped gifts before Winn. “For you and for your Red Woman.”

  Winn nodded his acceptance, but his entire body tensed at the mention of Maggie. The warriors obviously had been instructed to deliver the gifts, yet the mention of his wife as the Red Woman was no doubt purposeful. It was very much like his uncle to remind Winn there were thousands of Powhatans ready to strike down a Time Walker upon a single command.

  Winn did not need a reminder, nor did he take kindly to threats.

  “Tell my uncle I thank him for his gifts. Tell him he need not thank my wife again for saving his life.”

  Pìmiskodjìsì met Winn’s gaze. One of the Powhatan placed a hand on the knife sheathed at his waist, and Pìmiskodjìsì grunted a command at the man. The man dropped his fist.

  “Your uncle will be pleased to hear his gifts were favored,” Pìmiskodjìsì said. “He sends us on another matter as well. The English are as rodents, spreading in number. They drive our tribes west and claim the lands for their king.”

  “I know this,” Will replied tersely. His patience was ending after the veiled threat at his wife, and he was in no mood to hear what he already knew. “What does my uncle ask of me?”

  “Our Weroance asks that you send five of your strongest men to join us. He has need of more warriors for the journey we must make.”

  So it was war Opechancanough planned, the true intent behind the gifts and threats. For years Winn had kept his people away from the skirmishes, away from the disputes. Although he would gladly kill any English that warranted it, Winn knew the best way for his family to survive was to stay out of the fray. In the Great Assault of 1622, hundreds of English had been slaughtered, yet even that did not stop their expansion for long. 54 Shiploads of English arrived from across the Great Sea, replenishing the numbers and bringing more weapons. Retaliation from both sides left more Powhatan dead than English; for what purpose, Winn did not know.

  What did it mean to fight, if it meant your family lay dead before you? What good was land stained with the blood of the ancestors?

  Opechancanough viewed Winn’s neutrality as weakness; Winn saw it as the only way to survive.

  He leaned forward in his chair as he spoke so that there was no confusion as to the intent of his message.

  “Tell my uncle I have no warriors to spare. Tell him I thank him for his gifts, and I wish him the blessings of the Creator.”

  Winn’s men shifted stance, closing in their ranks around him. The Powhatan warriors bowed their heads in deference and turned toward the door. As Pìmiskodjìsì crossed the threshold, the decorated warrior paused. The dark tattoo on his jaw stretched tight as the man shot Winn a sly grin.

  “Your brother told us you would not fight. He told us you have abandoned your people. Opechancanough will not be pleased Makedewa spoke true. Many blessings, Winkeokwhet. Be proud your brother is there to slay the English for you.”

  The last of the pronouncement slammed through Winn, but he would not show the Powhatan his weakness. He nodded stiffly to the warriors and motioned to his men to let them pass. As they left, Winn leaned back in his chair.

  So Makedewa had proclaimed an alliance.

  Winn glanced at his wife who still stood behind Cormaic. She clutched the swaddled child to her chest, her green eyes shadowed in confusion as she met his gaze.

  Makedewa made his choice, and there was nothing more they could do but carry on. Winn’s life and that of those he loved hinged on the decisions he made as a leader. He had no luxury of chasing after his wayward brother, of asking him to return to his family. Winn wondered if the killing would dampen the hate inside of Makedewa, or if it might consume what remained of his soul.

  It was a question Winn feared would be answered soon enough.

  Winn unclenched his fingers and gave a slight flick of his wrist. Erich took note and gave Winn his attention.

  “Speak on the next matter,” Winn said.

  He settled back on the chair and placed his hands on the armrests. The sting of splintered wood cut into his palm, reminding him that he was yet still only a man, powerless to stop what tale history had already written.

  CHAPTER 7

  Maggie

  The babe latched onto her breast, but all she felt was the tug of his hunger and the failure of her body to respond. She closed her eyes to the sensation, begging her body to let the milk flow. Yet no matter what she envisioned, or where she sent her scattered thoughts, it was Rebecca’s face that haunted her thoughts, a ghost that would not be chased away. The boy let out a weak squeal, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. She could feel his frustration, as thick as the despair that rolled through her bones, leaving them both helpless in the face of shared disappointment. She could not give the infant what he needed. The harder she tried, the more she failed, and as
his tiny weak hand gripped furtively at her breast she felt the tears slide down her cheeks. 55

  For now, they called him Daniel, but he had no Paspahegh name. There was no one to claim him, with Makedewa still missing in the shadow of Rebecca’s death. If the Norse followed their tradition, the babe would have been set out exposed, left to the fate of the wild to decide if he should live or die. At the time, Maggie had been relieved Winn supported her objection to the old ways, granting her claim to the child. Now as she looked down at his pale face and sunken brown eyes, she wondered if it would not have been kinder to leave him to his fate. After all, a swift death would be preferable to slow starvation. Despite her best intention, she knew he pulled no sustenance from her breast. The milk simply would not flow.

  As she dipped her head to the rush of tears, she felt a pair of hands take the babe from her arms. It was Winn. He tucked the babe into the crook of his elbow. Too weak to object, little Daniel snuggled close to Winn’s bared chest.

  “You’re crying,” he said.

  “I can’t give him milk. It just – it just won’t flow. Maybe it’s been too long since Malcolm weaned,” she whispered. Winn’s brows scrunched down and he took her hand in his free one.

  “Gwen told me,” he replied.

  She nodded, wiped the back of her hand over her damp eyes.

  “But there’s no one else. None of the other women have nursed a baby in months. If I can’t do this, he …. he won’t live,” she said.

  Winn pulled her to her feet.

  “Come with me,” he said simply. She followed, more of duty than desire. Numb with the truth of her failure, knowing the child was suffering for it, it was too much to bear.

  Winn led her through the village to the edge of the woods where the bathhouse lay nestled in the mountainside. After he guided her inside he closed the door behind them, and she watched numbly as he unfastened her shift. He pushed it off her shoulders until it billowed to the ground in a heap at her feet, and then he removed his braies. She let him pull her into the warm water as he continued to hold the tiny babe in against his chest.