Roam: Time Walkers World Special Edition

by E. B. Brown

  “You foolish wench!” the man roared. He threw Kyra to the ground and grabbed Skye’s arm, twisting it upward against the small of her back. There was not enough time to celebrate the fact that she had made him bleed before he landed a blow to her belly with his closed fist, sending her to the ground in a heap. All the air left her lungs with the punch and she choked back a soundless sob while on her hands and knees. Was it the man’s foot on her back? She did not know. She tasted blood and dirt in her mouth, struggling to take in a breath of air. Her fingernails dug into the earth as if holding it tightly might somehow dull the pain.

  “Check the house. There’s a chest inside by the fire, he says the jeweled weapons will be there,” the man with the wide-brimmed hat said. Skye heard their voices like echoes between her pounding ears.

  “Did ye have to hit ‘er, Emry? I think ye kilt her!”

  The tip of a hard boot smashed into her hip, sending Skye sprawling onto her back.

  “Nay, she lives,” the man called Emry answered.

  From half-lidded eyes she saw their footsteps as they walked away. The man with the long jacket was headed to the house, and there was no one to stop him. Skye could make out Kyra lying very still a few feet away while Maggie was held by the third man with an arm latched securely around her throat and her own knife pressed to her chin.

  Using all of her strength to rise up on her forearms, she choked on the dust in her mouth when she was finally able to take in a deep breath. Her blood rushed cold through her veins at the sight of the man with the long jacket kicking at the door where she knew the children were hidden. The dry wood gave way, making a sickly snapping noise as it flew off the hinges.

  “Oh, you’re the man of the house, are you? Lay it down, boy. Or I’ll gut that woman like a swine,” the man called out, his voice tinged with amusement.

  The man who held Maggie shoved her to the ground, leaving her there to approach the house and assist his friend. Young Jonathon walked carefully through the doorway with the spare musket leveled against his shoulder, one eye squinted shut as he aimed at his target. The man with the long coat stepped backward and held up one hand as if to placate the child.

  “Put it down,” the man growled. “I won’t tell you again!”

  The shot roared through the quiet of nightfall as it tore into the man’s chest and he was thrown to the ground. The eight-year-old boy dropped the flintlock musket to the ground and drew his bow off of his shoulder. He stared down at the fallen man, his face devoid of regret.

  “By my trowth, ye will never lay yer hands on my kin!” Jonathon replied. The man did not stir. Looking up, the boy was ready for the other two men, taking an arrow from the quill strapped to his back and tucking it neatly into his bow. He drew it back and took a step towards them, his blue eyes narrowed and his face twisted in a scowl.

  “He’s dead – you kilt him!” the third man shouted, his words no more than a keening wail.

  “My uncle taught me to shoot. I’m a better aim with the bow,” Jonathon replied. Skye could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, and although he seemed to control his emotion, she noticed the way his throat contracted as he swallowed.

  The man the others called Emry considered the boy for a long moment. He shook his head and made a low whistling sound.

  “C’mon. Get him on a horse. The Neilsson men will return soon. ‘Tis not worth being caught,” he said.

  Taking full charge of the situation, Jonathon kept his arrow pointed on them as the two men dragged the body to their horses. It was not until they rode away that he finally lowered his weapon and ran to his aunt Maggie.

  Chapter 5

  Dagr

  DAGR FELT THE disquiet in the air before he noticed anything else. He had always been one to feel things deeper than others, and since knowing Skye that part of him seemed intensified tenfold. Be it the way she opened up the darkness in his soul, or the way he felt when he knew he captured her heart, he could not account for the way they were linked. Even at Castle Dunloch when they remained apart, he still knew an ache in his chest when she needed him. When he dismounted in the courtyard the unease assaulted him like a brick in the belly.

  The door to the house was shattered, hanging crooked from one hinge.

  “Stay here with your daughter, Morgan,” Winn said. Dropping to the ground beside Dagr, Winn drew his sword with a quick motion, the squeal of steel piercing the air. No matter where their lives had taken them, Winn would always be their leader, and the men immediately drew their own weapons and flanked him. Even Malcolm did his duty, bearing his knife in his tight fist while he glanced nervously at Winn for direction.

  “Erich, take Benjamin and Malcolm and check the barn. The rest follow me,” Winn commanded.

  Dagr reached the house before the others. Despite the desire to obey his father ingrained deep in his bones, he could not linger any longer without knowing if Skye was safe. He heard Winn swear a Paspahegh oath but ignored him. As Dagr crossed the threshold he could see the dim glow of a dying fire in the hearth and the shadow of his mother kneeling beside it. Kyra sat with Rebecca curled in her lap; young Jonathon watched over them. When Jonathon saw the men, his entire body seemed to relax, his narrow shoulders slumping as he lowered the musket he held to the floor.

  His mother was in his father’s arms in the next moment, but her gaze met Dagr’s wild eyes. What he knew about his mother was that she always saw through him, no matter what façade he chose to display to others. For once, he was grateful for it, and when she looked towards the back room he let a sigh of relief exit his lungs.

  “We’re all okay. She’s all right. She’s just resting,” Maggie murmured.

  Dagr entered the room without knocking. The shimmer of a flickering oil lamp illuminated her body. She stood by the cot with her lowered dress gathered around her hips, her head turned as she tried to peer at herself in the looking-glass on the wall. Along her flank, her pale skin was stained with a fresh purple bruise, spreading from her ribs down past the swell of her rounded hip. The floor beneath his feet seemed to pull him down at that moment as his blood ran cold.

  “Skye?” he whispered. She lifted her eyes and turned to him, clutching her dress to her breasts. All sense of propriety left him. He pulled her into his arms, thanking the Gods that she was alive.

  She clutched his tunic with one fist and he cupped her face with his hand, kissing her trembling lips. Explanations and promises spilled out as they held each other, the reality of what could have happened crushing Dagr into submission. Guilt assaulted him, the darkness swallowing what was left of his control. She could be dead. There was no time to lose on the journey of life. The time for regret and carefulness was over.

  “I cannot lose you. I will find the one who did this and I will end him. It will not go unpunished,” he vowed. She nodded, her head resting on his chest.

  “Take your hands off her!”

  Malcolm entered the room, his eyes wide at the sight of Dagr holding Skye. He barreled into Dagr without warning, shoving Skye out of the way and tackling him to the ground. They landed in a tangle of limbs and flailing fists, pummeling each other with nothing held back.

  Despite all that had happened, a part of Dagr died each time he felt the blow of his brother’s fist. He should hate Malcolm, but he did not. He deflected Malcolm’s blows in an attempt at defense, but soon it was clear Malcolm was beyond reason. Dagr had no choice but to fight back. Malcolm’s face was twisted with hatred, his eyes glazed like a berserker as if he could not see that it was his own brother he was trying to kill. With an elbow to the gut Malcolm was subdued, rolling over onto all fours as he gasped for air.

  “You… you can never … be what she needs,” Malcolm hissed. Blood trickled from his mouth, his eye swollen from Dagr’s blows.

  “What do you know of it, brother?” Dagr demanded, rising to his feet.

  “Your duty will always come before her, as it did tonight.”

  “She is my duty,” Dagr repl
ied.

  “Her, and all the Blooded Ones. Susanna is safe, but at what cost? What kind of husband will ye be to Skye, when ye must always leave her to tend to others?” Malcolm spat. He struggled to his knees, steadying himself with a hand on the edge of the cot.

  “He will be the husband I love,” Skye interrupted. She stared at them from across the room, and Dagr could see that she was shaking. So much chaos in one night – was there truth in Malcolm’s words? How would he ever keep her safe from it all?

  “I do not release you from our contract,” Malcolm said, his voice hoarse. “Not to him. Not to any man!”

  Dagr watched, his legs frozen in place as Skye approached Malcolm. She pulled him to his feet, her cheeks flushed pink and her chest heaving with her rapid breathing. Gently she placed her hand on Malcolm’s cheek, her dark eye searching his. It was Dagr’s instinct to intervene, but he held back, a sliver of reason assuring him that Skye needed to have this moment with Malcolm. Despite the base response of jealousy that flared inside him, he felt relief at knowing her feelings for Malcolm were just as conflicted as his own. She believed in some remnant of goodness inside of Malcolm, just as Dagr still did.

  “Malcolm,” she said softly. “Ye told me ye would see to my happiness. Please, keep yer promise. Release me, and let us live in peace.”

  Malcolm placed his hand over hers for a long moment and then slowly nodded. He lowered her hand from his face, his voice shaking when he finally spoke.

  “I release ye. Ye are no longer my betrothed,” he whispered. He turned away from her, pausing when his shoulder brushed against Dagr’s before he left the room. “And ye are no longer my brother.”

  Dagr left Skye sleeping in the back room. He did not know where Malcolm had gone, nor did he wish to chase after him. The time for coddling his brother was over. It was a stranger he saw when he looked into Malcolm’s eyes, and Dagr could only ask the Gods to watch over him.

  Instead of returning to their homes, the family stayed at Winn’s dwelling as the events of the day cast a shadow upon them. It reminded Dagr of when he was a boy and they still lived in the Norse village and gathered in the Northern Hall, sharing meals and bound together in companionship. Kyra and Maggie tucked the girls into beds above in the loft, while young Jonathon stayed by his father’s side. Although Dagr did not mind the way they lived at Basse’s Choice under the rule of the English King, it was times like these when he understood the meaning of loyalty. The men sat around the fire sharing a jug of whiskey as they spoke in low tones. Dagr suspected they did not wish to worry the women further with their talk, so it was with great care that he joined them.

  “The leader knew of our weapons,” Winn said. “Someone who has been in this dwelling gave him that knowledge.”

  The truth was grim. At first they all assumed it was a Time Walker who attacked, yet it turned out to be strangers who heard rumors of jewel-laden weapons hidden on the Neilsson farm. It was a clever plan on the part of the thieves, stealing Susanna and leaving her unharmed on a marshland trail. Dagr was a skilled tracker, and even he did not suspect that the trail was too sloppy, or that it was too obvious the child was meant to be tracked. Susanna was just far enough away to keep the Neilsson men occupied while the thieves ransacked the house – a perfect crime with very little risk, except that criminals underestimated what a terrified eight-year-old boy was capable of.

  “’Tis only family who knows of that chest. And John Basse. He and his kin are above reproach,” Morgan added.

  Young Jonathon scowled, his lower lip trembling as he spoke despite his brave words. “He was an Englishman,” Jonathon said. “They took the man I killed with them. Slung him o’er a horse like a sack of grain.”

  Benjamin placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll ask about it in town. I doona recall the name, but how many men named Emry might be there with a dead man in tow?”

  Dagr stared at the men, incredulous as his grandfather and uncles nodded. When Winn joined them in agreement, Dagr bunched his fists tight at his sides.

  “Will ye let this go unpunished?” he demanded. Dagr knew he was losing what was left of his control. It was too much. He expected much more from them than a vague plan to visit town in the morning.

  Rising from where he kneeled by the fire, Winn furrowed his brows in question as he considered Dagr. “No. We will not,” Winn said. “For now, our family is safe. We will find the men who came here when we find the one who is dead. The English keep records, I expect someone in town will talk. And we cannot do that tonight.”

  “We should go now,” Dagr insisted.

  “Dagr, your father is right –” Marcus interrupted. Dagr shook off the hand his grandfather placed on his arm.

  Let them feel safe, he thought. Let them sit and wait. Yet they were not the ones who saw the bruises on Skye’s pale skin, nor the fear in her eyes when she told him what happened. Perhaps it was the time he spent in the past, where he survived on pure instinct and the notion of unquestionable duty. Maybe it was the way his head still pounded over his brother’s behavior. Or was it the blood of the Chief Protector that roared through his veins, urging him to avenge the wrong done to the Blooded One he swore to protect?

  “I made a vow,” Dagr said, his voice level.

  “As did I, son, and my father before me,” Winn replied. Dagr stared back into his father’s eye’s, the mirror image of his own. Was it sadness there behind his mask, or was it patience? Winn was a man that held his thoughts close, shielding his family from all that might harm them as he carried it on his shoulders. But Dagr was no longer that boy who needed protection – he was an equal to his father in the bonds of family and duty.

  “Then you will know why I must honor it now,” Dagr said. He turned his back on his family and drew his Bloodstone blade from his belt as he left the house, yet his father was not ready to let him leave.

  Winn moved swiftly to confront Dagr in the span of a moment and followed him outside, but Marcus was faster, placing himself between the two men. Dagr regretted his harshness but he did not regret his intent.

  “There is more to our vows than what one man desires. You must look past what you think you must do now, so that you can see what is best for all of them,” Winn said.

  “I said I would protect her,” Dagr insisted. He knew what he had sworn to Kanor Bystrom when the Norseman had pulled him back from the hands of death. Yes, he had made the promise in haste because of his need to find Skye, but it was one he fully intended to honor.

  “You promised to protect all of the Blooded Ones. Not only Skye,” Marcus said. “Ye vowed to serve and protect them, above all else, fer all yer days. ‘Twill only bring danger to all of them if ye act in haste tonight.”

  Dagr’s chest tightened as he recalled the day he accepted his duty from Kanor. Growing up watching his father and grandfather, it was a duty he had longed for his entire life.

  “Yer a first son of a Chief Protector. ‘Tis a duty ye did not expect to take before the death of yer father, but I give it to ye now. As one of the Five North Men, I can give you this honor. Do you accept it?”

  Dagr did not hesitate. Of course he accepted. It was his duty, his birthright. It was everything he had ever been taught, every way he meant to live his life. No, he had never thought to have it while his father still lived, but these were different times and he could accept a change in what he was taught.

  “Yes, I accept it,” Dagr replied.

  “Know ye that this is no light promise; this is no easy debt. Ye will serve to protect the Blooded Ones, above all else, for the rest of yer days. Cast no promise to any other, for ye shall uphold what we know to be true and right. It may take ye from this time. It may take ye from yer people. But it is yer duty now, and you will honor it. The magic of Time Travel is ours to bear, ours to guard. As long as ye hold this blade,” Kanor said, thrusting his knife into Dagr’s hand, “Ye shall be true to yer word.”

  “Yer still a young man,” Marcus said quietly. �
�This life we live here, in this time? Nay, ‘tis not the same as it once was. Ye dinna live the same life as those before ye. When I was not yet a man full grown, I took the vow on a longboat as I watched my father give his life’s blood to save his people. I married to protect my people – more than once – as I watched the one woman I truly loved fall for another. Was it what I wanted, for my own heart? No. Yet it is what we are. It is what you are.”

  Staring at the two Chief Protectors standing before him, the truth seeped into reality. Yet Dagr was not yet ready to face it. Today, his vow kept him from vengeance. Tomorrow, would it take him from Skye?

  He sheathed his knife at his side. It was the blade Kanor gave him, an even exchange. Embedded in it was a Bloodstone, the handle carved with the runes of the Fifth Key. ‘Twas a rune that would return one to the time one came from, which was useless to Dagr in any way.

  Winn moved to stop him, but Marcus said, “let him go.”

  Turning away, he stared off into the night sky as he left. He needed to feel the wind on his face and smell the salt in the air. It would remind him of all he was, and all he must be, if he were ever to make sense of the path he must take.

  It was near dawn when he walked along the shoreline towards home. Ahead, he could see a mounted man on a sorrel horse and he recognized his brother. Their eyes met for one long moment, and then Malcolm wheeled his horse around and galloped off towards town.

  Chapter 6

  Skye

  SKYE REACHED HER arm under the wagon, her belly pressed to the dirt. Her fingertips grazed the edge of a full nest of chicken eggs and she swore under her breath when she could not grab it. With so many mouths to feed that day, the chore of gathering eggs had turned into a tedious job, but she was insistent on doing her part to contribute. Although it was easy enough to do, she was not accustomed to such work and she lived in constant reminder of the girl she once was and the woman she must become. Every day she lived with the kindness of the Neilsson family, a family that had taken her into their home without a second thought. Even if it took her the rest of her adult life, Skye was determined to be a productive member of their family.