Ian recognized their voices as soon as he was close enough to hear them. His hand automatically went to his side where his dirk should have been. He didn’t have so much as a sharpened stick for a weapon. His jaws clenched tight, so tight, he felt a molar move. He inhaled and exhaled once slowly to compose himself, and then went back into stealth mode, holding back the urge to vomit.
It was them.
He thought the heathens had moved out of the area after they had tortured and nearly killed him last fall. Was it only eight or nine weeks ago? They were still here, though, or were back again.
When he first encountered the gang last summer, he was sure they weren’t locals. They had the gear and social structure of a traveling band of misfits, like colonial gypsies. What could possibly interest them here? These Carolina backwoods held only riches for hunters and trappers. They’d have better pickings working the larger towns or ports where they’d have a bigger pool of potential suckers. Then again, these men didn’t seem to have either brains or ambition.
Ian stayed out of sight and downwind. The gang was preoccupied and wouldn’t be aware of his presence, but the horses were smarter than they were—they would smell a stranger and get excited and possibly alert the idiots.
The men had given up on their ground search and were now clustered together in the center of the clearing, like gnats on a molasses drop, arguing amongst themselves about which direction they should take.
“Dammit, Joel, now ye went and lost the coin. Now we’ll never know if it wuz heids er tails, and wuz we suppost to go east or west. And that wuz my last coin, dag nab it!”
The grumblings continued, now on a different topic—they were low on food. “Not even a weevily bannock crumb….”
One loud, deep voice boomed out over the others. “Weel, you can all jest figure it out fer yerselfs. I gotta go take a shit. And don’t go tryin’ to take off without me agin, ye hear? Goddam good fer nuthin’ idjits...”
The fireman grumbled and hobbled away from the group. Ian recognized him by both his voice and his gait. Ian’s feet began burning with the memory. He was the one who had led the mob in his capture and torture those few weeks ago.
The fireman laughed when his captive’s feet caught fire as he walked the gauntlet over burning coals. He made a joke of it, pissing on them, urging the others to join in the water sport. It was Ian’s most humiliating memory, and it was back in his head now, dancing in circles, taunting his spirit.
Ian wanted to isolate the fireman from the others for more than one reason. Besides wanting his revenge for the indignity, the bearded bastard was wearing his boots. Evie’s moccasins were special to him, but they were no match for his old boot’s tough leather soles. He wanted them back.
It looked as if the fireman was a bit bashful. He walked for several minutes before dropping his pants and squatting to do his business. Ian sneaked up to within eight feet of him and waited for his opportunity.
The man took a deep breath, as if to grunt, then suddenly turned toward Ian. Ian dropped to his belly just as the man let out a big belch. “Ah, that feels better,” the fireman commented aloud, and turned forward again, contentedly scratching his hairy buttocks.
Ian remained face down on the mess of crusty snow, twigs, and leaves. He thought his position was obvious, but the fireman wasn’t looking for him, so hadn’t seen him.
The man with the bellyache stayed in his squat for hours—or so it seemed to Ian—exuding an eye-watering, stomach-churning stench. Ian wanted to wait until he was done so he wouldn’t have to step in his crap, but the man was really and truly full of shit.
Ian brought up his hand to cover his nose, then heard it. The man heard it, too, and quickly jumped up, tugging on his pants, trying to get them up and fastened in mid-squirt.
“Hello there, would you tell Dani you found her phone…”
Ian didn’t pay attention to the words. He was too busy running toward his intended victim, knocking him forward, quickly grabbing and twisting his neck; swiftly, coolly, and effectively breaking it with the pop, snap that indicated the deed was done.
Ian dragged the body away from the site of retribution, into the twiggy underbrush, and waited, his heart racing. The voice had stopped. It sounded as if it had come from his chest! How could that be? He shook his head to clear out the echo of the voice; he had to take care of this situation first.
He grabbed the dead man’s right foot and twisted off the boot. The left one was easier to remove and came off at the first tug. At least there wasn’t any crap on them. Just the same, he rubbed the boots with crusty snow and dead leaves. He wanted to get the man’s stench off of them. He’d give them a good scouring when he got back to the cave and its supply of dry, leafless soil.
He frisked the corpse and recovered a poor excuse for a knife, its blade nicked, the handle wrapped in a soiled rag. It, too, was probably stolen. There were a couple of pewter buttons and a ribbon in the fireman’s pockets. He left them there; he had no use for them. He would take the shabby knife, though; consider it payment for the trouble he had to go through to retrieve his own property. The dirk they stole from him when he had been captured—a keen edged blade with a bone handle, carved by his first wife—was gone, probably sold for cheap whisky or loose women. His face flared in renewed anger at its loss. If it were possible to kill the fireman again, he’d do it. The dirk was all he had left of Robin.
Ian waited to see if the others would return to check on their cohort. An hour went by. The dead body was stinking more, now that the wind had calmed. No one came. Evidently they didn’t care, and neither did he.
He left the fetid hulk where it was and headed away from the vermin’s campsite, carrying his boots. If he wore them now, someone might pick up the scent and follow him back. Those men might be stupid, but that didn’t mean one of them didn’t have a good hunting dog that could track him. Then again, they were probably so dim-witted, they wouldn’t even think to try.
So one mystery solved and another discovered. The ‘feelings’ he had been having were because the heathens were back in his home territory. He didn’t like knowing that they were nearby, but felt better now that he had a knife for protection. He also felt worse, though, because those idiots might come back and, finding their slain companion, hunt for the killer. It was time to leave, to take Evie away from here.
And what was that spirit voice? Where did it come from? And why did it sound like Evie?
Ian backtracked to the lake where he and Evie fetched their water. He located his private little grotto, settled in, and built a small fire. Once inside, he recreated the same movements he had made in the grove when he had heard the woman’s voice. He dropped to his belly, just as he had done before, then moved his hand up to cover his nose.
Nothing.
He squatted near the fire and cursed in exasperation. What happened? He was sure he had heard it. He stood up, too mad to stay still, and then saw it—the jacket. That’s what was different—he was wearing Evie’s coat at the time.
He settled his arms into the sleeves, leaving the ragged metallic seam closure in front open like always, and then dropped to his belly.
It was back.
“Hello there, would you tell Dani you found her phone? I guess I’ve lost it again. You can call…”
And then there was silence. He wasn’t hallucinating, was he?
Ian repeated the movement a third time and was saved his sanity: the voice was real. He quickly patted the jacket, searching for the source of the sound. His hand passed over his heart, muffling the words.
The voice without a body was coming from a small, hard piece of the coat, situated close to the heart area, but near the oxter, too. He took it off and found one of those wee seams Evie called zippers inside, just above the hardness. He pulled the metal tab and found a little black packet inside the pocket.
There wasn’t any noise coming from it now. It was shiny on one side and appeared to be made of a dark, smoky-colored glass. The
other side was smooth, its texture like leather, but hard and tough like metal. It had markings, etchings maybe, and a wee hole with a glass button embedded into it. On one side were small slits with pieces of metal pushed into the leather. It was a sturdy parcel, but looked like it was delicate, too. He didn’t think it was dangerous, or meant to be, but it was definitely quiet and harmless now.
That voice; he knew that voice. It was Evie. What did it say? “Hello” and “tell Danny you found her fone?”
He had already decided not to go back to the cave tonight. He had just taken a life and, even though the man deserved to die, he felt he shouldn’t be close to Evie until he was cleansed. She was in no danger where she was, and he was close enough that he would know if anyone approached their home. He also needed to be away from her to think about this new development.
He pulled out the wee box again. He remembered a few things Cousin Ramona had told him about some of the goods in her time—little boxes with pictures and voices, and music that came out of them. Could this be one of those? Maybe, but he hadn’t thought they’d be this small.
Evie had said a few things in the past two months that made him wonder about not where she was from, but when she was from. She couldn’t remember anything in particular about her life before her fall, but had told him she knew North Carolina was one of the fifty united states. The fifty states she had said. He didn’t tell her he had only heard of thirteen, and that they were called colonies or commonwealths.
He thought at the time she was just babbling from the head bashing. But then there was the time she called him Huck and said something about ‘before slavery ended’ and Missouri—wherever that was. There was also her backpack and all the things in it: the fancy knife, the lantern, the food bags, water bottles made of soft glass, and the thin metal blanket. He knew they couldn’t possibly be from Italy—but he wouldn’t tell her that.
She couldn’t even recall her own name, although she did like the name Evie he had given her. Could she be that Danny? The voice sounded like her, but Danny was a boy’s name.
He didn’t want to believe she was like Auntie Sarah, Cousin Ramona, and her husband Gregg—fairies, travelers through time—but there was no other explanation.
Ian’s mind was going in circles. He couldn’t complete a thought because there were no beginnings or endings to the person he knew as Evie. She just ‘was,’ was who she was—beautiful, compassionate, intelligent, resourceful—but ignorant of life as he knew it. He had already decided to keep joking about how clever those Italians were when using her tools, trying to make her believe that that’s where they were from. He never commented when she mentioned events or knowledge he knew were not of this time. He kept hoping she would forget about those, too, and would believe they were all a dream. He wanted to make her understand that this land, this time, was her reality—and where she belonged.
But this was her coat he was wearing, the one he had found her in. He held onto the wee box and pushed the flat, shiny piece on the top. It was flush with the rest of the box. It didn’t stick up, but did push in slightly at his touch. He heard a small musical tone and the glass lit up with pretty blue colors dancing across its surface. Suddenly, a fine painting of a multi-colored cat appeared, then quickly faded, went back to smoky black, and then there she was…
Evie.
Only it wasn’t the Evie he knew. This woman looked like Evie, but was 30 or 40 years older and fat. Not obese fat, but fat like an older woman tends to get if she’s lived an easy life. The picture of the plump, mature woman with a sly smile covered the whole glass side of the box.
“Hello there, would you tell Dani you found her phone? I guess I’ve lost it again. You can call…” The voice and picture disappeared even faster than it had appeared.
Maybe this was Evie’s mother and she just sounded like her. “Yeah, and maybe wee magic boxes jest fall out of the sky with pretty young lasses attached to them; pretty lasses who make ye fall in love with them, and then go back to their own time like Auntie Sarah and Cousin Ramona did, rippin’ out yer heart, and leaving ye as an empty shell.”
Ian’s head dropped forward into his hands. He rubbed his forehead so hard and for so long, he was inadvertently inflicting pain on himself. He pulled his hands back and saw that they were still filthy from the trip. He gently picked up the dark box and put it back into the hidden pocket of the jacket. If Evie hadn’t found it by now, she probably wouldn’t—if he put it back where he found it.
He couldn’t believe she was deceitful. If she did know who she was or where she was from, she would have told him by now. He would talk to her about it, but he would talk about it when he was ready. Right now, he wanted to cleanse himself of the day’s events. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do.
*21 Journey to New Bern
Ian was fully aware that I didn’t like his idea of leaving our home—I wouldn’t budge, and he had had to do all the packing. It really wasn’t much of a sit in; there wasn’t much to get together, just my backpack and the elk-hide bundle containing our preserved meat.
I sat on a moss-covered log, elbows on my knees, hands cupping my jaws. “Pbbtt.” I pursed my lips again and blew a complete raspberry serenade. “Pbbtt, pbbtt, pbbbbbbb….”
“Now, what kinda song is that?” he asked as he kicked the remains of the fire into the snowy rubble around us, hiding all evidence of our first night’s campsite.
“It’s a protest song. Only I don’t know any words I can sing that won’t make you angry, so I’ll just make rude noises. Pbbt, pbbt, pbbbbbbt.”
“Ye ken, I wouldna do this if it wasna necessary. I ken you liked it at the cave, but we’re not safe there anymore. We canna go back again. Now, I’ll find my auntie and she’ll ken how to help ye. As I said before, she’s a great healer. I think she can aid ye with the fatigue, and yer memories, too. I trust her, and I want ye to tell her everythin’ ye ken. If ye can be mended, she’s the one to do it. Now, ye may not like this, but I’ll have to leave ye with her fer jest a short while. But then I’ll be back before ye have a chance to miss me.”
“But you know I don’t care if I can remember my past or not. I just want to be with you. I miss you now, and you haven’t even left.”
“Now, I’m yer husband and ye must do as I say. And I say to come with me.”
Ian’s voice was stern and compassionate at the same time. I could feel the love and pain in his voice and, no matter how much I didn’t want to go, I knew I’d do as he asked.
“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. It’s just that when you say you have to go and leave me behind, I kind of freak out. Can’t we just pretend we’re only visiting your family and not talk about me needing help or you taking off?”
“Aye, darlin’, that will suit me fine. Now, would ye please put on yer coat so we can get started?”
“Yes, dear,” I replied dutifully, nearly choking as I swallowed the sarcasm. I stood up and reluctantly slipped into my jacket.
“I have a question, though.” I took a deep breath, paused, then blurted out, “Where are we now, where are we going, and how long will it take?”
“Weel, that’s more than one question, but we’re somewhere in the middle of North Carolina. We’re headed to New Bern to see my Great-uncle Angus and his family. He’ll ken where my Uncle Jody and Auntie Sarah are. Uncle Jody can help me to, weel, we willna talk of that now, but any time I need help, he’s there fer me, and me fer him, too. As fer how many days it will take, I’d say that depends on the weather and how yer feelin’.”
“Hmph,” I grunted. I almost had the hang of that Scottish all-purpose response. I really wanted to stay in the wild with him forever. I knew it wasn’t possible, though, at least not now.
A couple of days ago, one of those vile thugs who had almost beaten him to death two months back, found our home. Ian told me that if it hadn’t been for Rocky intercepting the man before he got to the cave, we would have been captured, maybe even murdered. As it turned
out, he said, the man escaped, managed to limp back to his horse, and got away.
It was good for us that the creep left his boots and knife behind. When Ian told me how it happened, I thought it was odd. I guess the man had literally been scared out of the boots. Either that or he took them off to sneak up on us and didn’t get a chance to retrieve them after being discovered. Yeah, one look at Rocky and the man probably dropped his knife and ran.
Even though it was a sorry excuse for a knife, it did have a hard cutting edge. It was nice to have as a spare, but the boots were a definite blessing. They were big enough to fit Ian, too. My first attempt at moccasins were nearly worn through, and he needed something.
When he came back from the confrontation, Ian told me we had to move out quickly. “We were found,” he said bluntly, “and now we have to leave.” He mentioned something about ‘taking care of the man,’ and then stammered onto another subject. I didn’t want to ask how he had taken care of him since he had just said the man had escaped. He didn’t seem too keen on volunteering the information and, in this case, I preferred the story be left as a mystery.
So, I supposed, there was no way out of it—we had to make an exodus. Those creeps were sure to come looking for their missing comrade. And if they knew Ian was around, they might try to recapture him, too. It was also possible that I had been seen, and that was real scary. If the heathens didn’t want to keep me just to anger Ian further—or for their own personal, carnal pleasures—Ian said they were sure to know that a healthy young white woman would fetch a good price on the slave market. I realized he was right; we had to leave now and get us—me—to a safer spot.
Ӂ
The first few days of travel were easy enough. The sun was shining and the air was still, so the trek itself was quite pleasant. We were back to the original triad. Lady had left just hours before Ian came home, then Rocky returned from another of his personal forays soon thereafter. I doubt Lady would have wanted to join the road trip anyway; she had her own agenda with impending motherhood.
Naked in the Winter Wind (The Fairies Saga Book 1) Page 16