The Blooded Ones

by Elizabeth Brown

  The village looked worse than before. The Nansemond were a peaceful people, but nevertheless they had supported Opechancanough in his war and they had paid the price. As they rode through the fields, he could see the crops were minimal, hardly enough to sustain a family such as Winn’s, let alone a village of hungry people. What food they managed to grow without being burned by the English he did not know, but if the sight of the soot-blackened fields was an indication, he suspected it was not much. Winn could still smell the smoke from the most recent burning.

  He saw Chetan bow his head as they passed through the fields, his brother’s stout body nodding with the rhythm of his pony. It was brisk again at night as fall descended and Chetan wore a fur-lined cloak Cormaic had gifted to him. It was decorated with the strange rune marks the Norse used on everything, and knew Chetan would wear it proudly among the Indians. No one would dare question Chetan.

  A group of children rang out welcome when they arrived, and as he listened to the joyful cries and laughter Winn felt an ache in his chest. He had lived in Mattanock with the Nansemond for a time, and although to some he had never been truly accepted, he had been treated fairly. For a fleeting moment he recalled how Pepamhu had branded part of the tattoo on his torso, and his hand reached down to cover it as if by reflex. It no longer ached, but it marked him.

  Pepamhu came forth to greet them, flanked by his mother. She looked older than he remembered, her face thinner than he recalled and her clothes fitting loose about her body. Pepamhu, however, retained his lean disposition, appearing younger than his years. His physique still reflected a man who trained daily with his warriors, always prepared to face the next threat to his people. After the children took the ponies, Winn and Chetan bowed in respectful greeting to the brave. Winn was glad to see the man Maggie called his ‘step-father’ and he knew Chetan was happy to visit as well.

  “It has been too long, my sons,” Pepamhu said, clapping his hand down on Chetan’s shoulder as he glanced at Winn. “I hope your journey was peaceful.”

  “It was,” Winn agreed. His mother stood quietly at Pepamhu’s side and Winn gave her a tiny smile. She would wait to be spoken to. He wondered briefly if his wife would ever behave as his mother did, but shook the thought from his mind. No, Maggie did not have a submissive bone in her body, and he would want it no other way. Despite their differences, he loved her spirit and would not wish it dampened.

  When Pepamhu motioned for them to follow, his mother reached out and touched his arm as he passed, dipping her head down. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and continued inside the Great Yehakin with her husband. Winn would find her after speaking with Pepamhu. Women were not permitted inside when the men gathered, but he knew he would see her after they spoke.

  A handful elder tribesmen were gathered inside when they sat down. There was a high platform in the corner which remained empty, reserved for the times the Weroance visited the village. Pepamhu was a leader by his skill in negotiation; he spoke several languages as well as Winn did, and he had a talent for securing peace between enemies when all else had failed. Mattanock had lost its minor Weroance not long after the Great Assault, as many of the tribes had, and they had not recovered the strength of their numbers. Winn noticed a few Tassantassas among the villagers, which was not unheard of, especially since the Nansemond had claimed several English prisoners on the day of the Great Assault. Winn wondered which woman was the one to be returned to the English in trade.

  “Hupotam,” Pepamhu said, holding out a pipe in offering. Winn nodded briefly as he received it, taking a long, slow inhale of the sweet smoke before he passed it to Chetan. It had been months since he enjoyed such things, and although it never crossed his mind to miss it, his spirit lifted as the tingle settled through his blood. As he exhaled, his limbs felt heavy and he relaxed forward to rest his arms on his upraised knees.

  “You come for the English woman. She is not happy to leave, but she will go with you. Governor Wyatt has given much in exchange, so we will honor the trade,” Pepamhu said. The others in the circle continued to pass the pipe, the tangy smoke a cloud around their heads as they murmured in agreement.

  “Good. We will leave when the sun rises. I wish to return to my family without delay,” Winn answered.

  “How is your Red Woman? And your daughter?”

  The pipe made rounds back to him and he gladly took it. It was a powerful blend, causing a ripple of numbness to creep over his skin.

  “They are well. We stay with Pale Feather’s people for now. I know not when we will leave them.”

  The murmurs abruptly ceased, and all heads turned toward Winn. Pepamhu made a coarse grunting command at the elder tribesmen and they resumed speaking amongst themselves, but Winn felt the unease among them. Yes, his wife was safe, according to the order of Opechancanough, but the Powhatans had hunted the Time Walkers for too long to forget. Although the Nansemond elders knew of the Norse village, speaking of it aloud was another matter entirely.

  Winn straightened his back. He would not cower to them over the Tassantassas blood he bore, as he once had. He was no longer that young brave who sought such approval.

  “So Pale Feather has returned, and you join them in their village.”

  “For now.”

  Chetan leaned in toward them, his voice low.

  “His father is Chief of the Norsemen, and a good fighter. They call Winn Jarl now. Jarl Winn, Jarl Winn,” Chetan chuckled. Winn scowled at his brother as Pepamhu grinned.

  “Pale Feather was a great warrior, for a Tassantassas,” Pepamhu agreed. “I see you still have two arms, and two legs. Was your father a worthy fighter?”

  Winn’s eyes narrowed. His mother’s husband had been the closest thing Winn ever knew to a father, and Pepamhu was well aware of the anger Winn held toward the man who sired him. To see Chetan and Pepamhu make light of it caused his arms to clench and his back to stiffen once more.

  “He fights well, but I am better,” Winn muttered through gritted teeth. “Perhaps I should show you, Chetan.”

  Chetan rolled his eyes and plucked the pipe from Winn’s hands.

  “Now, or later, brother? I think you forget the strength of my fist,” Chetan smirked. Pepamhu laughed aloud, jabbing Winn in the ribs with a bony elbow.

  “Ah, enough, the two of you!” he said. “There is much to speak of tonight. Your sister, she is well?”

  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 white 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.