Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (36 page)

“Leave us,” he commanded. His voice held a tremor, yet even in his weakness, he would not be opposed. The wife finished bandaging the wound and quickly obeyed. The Long House emptied on his command. Maggie recalled the last time she had been alone with Winn’s uncle. It was a different Long House and a different village, yet the legendary man lying wounded in front of her was one and the same.

“Come closer, Red Woman. Let me see the child.”

She did as he asked, although her hands trembled as she pulled back the sling and released her sleeping daughter. The child often slept like the dead when her belly was milk full, and she hoped the babe remained quiet throughout their exchange.

“I will hold her,” he said gruffly.  Maggie was shocked when he pulled himself into a sitting position, so much so that she rushed forward to help him when he let out a moan and clutched his side. He grunted and shrugged off her ministrations, instead holding his arms out for Kwetii.

“Not too tight,” she whispered. Seeing her lifeblood held in his arms weakened her, and the only motion left in her power was to sit down next to the Weroance on his dais.  He raised an eyebrow at her and chuckled, but quickly returned his gaze to Kwetii, appearing enamored with her. 

“You think I do not know how? I am a Great Warrior, as well as your husband is,” he said. “This life means much to me.”

He ran one crooked finger along her cheek, and she opened her blue eyes to stare at him. Usually the child made her presence known by screaming upon waking, but laying there in the arms of the elder Weroance she merely studied his weathered face. Maggie let out a sigh.

“Why did you save me?” he asked, keeping his gaze steady on the babe. Maggie swallowed hard and cleared her throat before she spoke.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. She had no urge to lie to him, only the desire to serve him the truth as she knew it, as scattered as it was from her slivered memory of childhood history lessons. “I didn’t think of it as saving you. I just realized too late that it was all poisoned. I didn’t want to see anyone die.”

He nodded, more to himself than to her, and patted the babe as he rocked her.

“Was this my time, Red Woman? Did you chase death from me today?”

“No,” she replied hoarsely. “You won’t die just yet. I know you live to be a very old man.”

He smiled.

“I have ordered the death of all the Time Walkers, and all my warriors obey my command. Yet my own nephew, my favorite, son of my sister, he defies me … for you. For one red-haired Time Walker, he defied me. And now here in my arms, is this blood of my blood, this blood of a Time Walker.” He bent down and pressed his lips gently to Kwetii’s forehead, and the babe continued to stare peacefully at the warrior. “I see you there, you know. You are the one who will send me to death. You are the Time Walker who will bring death to me.”

Maggie put a hand on his arm. Her touch was light, yet she needed to connect to him, to show him somehow that she was no enemy.

“It will not be by my hand, and it will not be today. I can promise you that.”

He winced once more, seeming in pain, and gently turned to place the babe back in her arms. She helped him lay back down, yet as he stretched back onto the furs he reached up with one hand to cup her cheek.

“Keep safe my blood, Red Woman.”

She nodded. The old warrior closed his eyes, and she tucked a fur around him, placing Kwetii next to him as they both gave in to slumber. She would sit with him until his wife returned.

A shadow crossed the doorway. It was Winn, and Maggie threw herself into his waiting arms. Bruised and bleeding with the scent of smoke searing his skin but blessedly intact, he held her tight as his body shuddered.

“Don’t ever leave me again!” she cried, not caring that she was smeared with blood and sweat, nor that he shook his head furiously and clutched her harder.

“Shh,
ntehem
,” he whispered.

Only a few warriors returned from the peace treaty dinner. Winn was back, and he was safe. It was all she could ask for.

They spoke each night in quiet whispers as they embraced beneath the furs, seeking answers to the question of where to take their small family.  Although Chulensak Asuwak decided to return to the remains of the Paspahegh village, Teyas insisted on staying with their band of misfits.  Ahi Kekeleksu refused to leave, and although Maggie thought it merely an excuse for Chetan to stay, she was surprised Makedewa opted to join them as well.

Rebecca, however, was another matter entirely. She grew stronger while she lived amongst them, eventually coming to the point where she could tolerate interaction with the men without flying into a panic. Luckily her mind was sharp and she found comfort in the daily labors of living with them, and she knew the people who saved her from the Massacre meant her no harm.

For all his faults, Makedewa was still a brooding male, yet they all noticed the change in him since that fateful day. Formerly rash and loud, he became more thoughtful in his actions and made effort to speak in a neutral manner instead of round-the-clock angry.  Clearly, he held more interest in Rebecca then just friendship, and Maggie found it amusing to watch him around the girl. She would have never expected him to fall for an Englishwoman, but as she watched him follow the girl around the camp like a lovesick puppy, she knew he was smitten. He knew how she had been damaged, and for all the desire in his eyes, there also burned a temperate patience he never showed before.  Maggie was sure he would never do anything to harm her.

The decision on where to live, however, fell only on Winn, and for that matter, Winn demanded answers of Maggie that she could not give him. It frustrated her that she had not been a better student of history, but hindsight was a luxury she no longer dwelled on. He wanted to go south to live among the Nansemonds, where he knew they would be welcomed, but Maggie had doubts living among any Indian tribe would be safe for very long. She was fearful of relying on what she knew of history, yet Winn banked their lives on the few facts she was certain of.  It was an impasse, for sure, but one that had to be rapidly resolved. Winter would overcome them soon, and to be settled well before the first frost would see much to ensure their survival.

The decision was made, however, and they believed it to be the right one. Maggie could offer no guarantee, and Winn had only his knowledge to guide them.  Their destiny lay ahead, a future in the past.  South, it would be.

They left on one of those lingering days of summer where the sun still scorched their skin as they worked, but the night brought enough chill to chase them beneath layers of furs.  The horses stood waiting, Blaze tied to Maggie’s fat older mare, the yearling nipping at her flanks and causing her to squeal and stomp. 

“Ready, Maggie?” Teyas called.  Maggie finished tightening the rawhide strap that held her traveling sacks around the barrel of her pony, and Teyas peered over her shoulder.

“If Winn is ready, I’m good.”

“Find him, then, sister, I think he lingers too long at the waterfall.”

“All right. You go on, we’ll catch up. I think Kwetii will sleep some more,” Maggie replied.  Teyas shrugged and mounted up, Kwetii carried in front of her in a makeshift pouch. Maggie crafted it after the babe outgrew the swaddling board, and Teyas liked to use it when they rode. The child was nearing too big to use the contraption
any longer, but it would serve well for the ride, at least when she slept.

He was not difficult to find. Winn stood looking out over the waterfall when she approached, his countenance sculpted in thought, his warrior’s body softened in a forgiving stance as he gazed at the crashing water.  When she moved to his side and slipped her arm through his, she was surprised to see her bloodstone suspended from a rawhide cord, hanging from his hand.

“You still have that,” she said softly.

“It belongs to you,” he replied. He placed it in her hand, closing his fist over it for a moment before he let go.

“I belong to you.”

“And I am yours,
ntehem
,” he whispered. “But I wonder if it is wrong of me to keep you here. I wonder if it is wrong of me to love you so much, to want you…to make you stay in this time.”

“You’re a fool, warrior,” she said softly.  She placed her hand on his cheek and kissed him. “You can’t
make
me do anything! Haven’t you learned that yet?”

She turned abruptly. She would end his troubles, strike the worry from his heart, and tear the seeds of doubt away with one quick launch. Pulling her arm back, she prepared to throw the Bloodstone into the waterfall, but he stopped her with a firm hand around her wrist.

“No, little Fire Heart,” he murmured.  He placed the lanyard around her neck, then pressed his hand over the stone against her heart. “It is part of you now. Keep it with you, as I will keep you, and let the right or wrong of it be damned.”

Maggie brushed her fingers over his.

“All right, then.”

They could see the others downstream from their spot on the waterfall, traveling in a line beside the river. Chetan let out a holler and Winn returned it in kind. She took her husband’s hand, and they left to join their family.

THE END

R
eturn

OF THE

P
ale
F
eather

__
________________________

Time Walkers, Book 2

E.B. Brown

A farther Confirmation of this we have from the Hatteras Indians, who either then lived on
Ronoak-Island, or much frequented it. These tell us, that several of their Ancestors were white People, and could talk in a Book, as we do; the Truth of which is confirm'd by gray Eyes being found frequently amongst these Indians, and no others.

- John Lawson,
A New Voyage to Carolina, 1709

Maggie

Maggie reined her mount in closer to Winn’s war pony, taking comfort in the touch of her husband’s knee against hers as their horses brushed together. She reached for him, her fingers sliding against the slick skin of his golden-brown thigh. It had been a long ride on a humid summer day without rest, a sacrifice made to speed their journey home, and she was glad it would soon come to an end.

“Do you need rest?” Winn asked, placing his hand over hers. She shook her head.

“No. I just want to get back. The sooner the better.”

He tipped his head toward her, a slight movement, yet she felt the sudden tension of his leg muscle under her hand as his blue eyes met hers. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but if she knew nothing of his warrior ways by now, she knew enough when to keep silent. Her own body stiffened, her response attuned to his.  He slowed his pony and hers followed suit.

“I think you are right. We will stop to rest,” he said, his voice louder than necessary. She felt the pressure of his fingers as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then slid down off his mount.  Unease crept in as he lifted his arms to her waist to help her down.

He never helped her dismount, there was no need. She was perfectly capable, and he was no gentleman.

“I suppose I could use a drink,” she whispered.

His eyes held hers as she slid off the horse. He kept her close, her body sliding down tight against his bare chest, and if she had not been so scared she would have been lost in the delicious sensation as
he kept her shielded between him and the horse. She welcomed his touch, even knowing it was a ploy. His lips traced a path over her sun-scorched cheek to her ear where his words fell whispered in her hair as if only sweet endearments.

“We are being tracked. I think there are two men. One is behind us now. The other circles us.”

She bit down over her lower lip as he pressed a kiss to that soft sensitive place near her collarbone.

“How long have you known?” she asked. His arm slipped down around her waist and he pulled her closer.

“Since we left the river.”

“That was miles ago! You should have told me!” she hissed.

“There was no need for you to know!” he snapped back.

She ran her hands through his thick black hair, in part to continue the rouse, yet also to convey her frustration. He uttered a low growl in warning before he shoved her away. Stumbling backward a few paces before she regained her footing, she watched as Winn crouched into a defensive stance to face the two men who approached them.

The men were not strangers.

One stepped forward, knife raised.

“Kweshkwesh. You slither like a snake to follow us. Why?” Winn said, his words tempered with restraint. Maggie kept her eyes on them as they squared off, the two men circling as if bound in a creeping dance, each poised to strike.

Kweshkwesh glanced at her, his eyes dark orbs seared into the twisted mask of his face. She remembered him well, the sneaky warrior who had once stolen her from her husband. A scalp lock braid ran down the back of his neck, his skin a mesh of pox marked scars, and she could see him tremor as he confronted Winn.

As well he should. Her husband had spared his life on one occasion, and she was certain Winn would show no such mercy a second time. She ran her thumb over the butt of the knife tucked in her waistband as she watched them, noticing the second man observing as well. She knew enough of the Powhatan ways to understand the test of honor before her. Kweshkwesh had been deeply shamed in front of the entire village when Winn refused to take his life nearly a year ago. It was a matter that would be settled now by blood.

“You know why. I will have the head of your Time Walker,” Kweshkwesh said, his eyes shifting back to Winn.

Winn straightened from his crouch, extending the knife he held out toward Kweshkwesh, pointing it with precision at the other man’s heart.

“I regret I spared your life once before. Come here, little warrior,” Winn taunted him, waving to him as if in welcome. “I will end your suffering today.”

They crashed together with a slew of slurred Powhatan curses, Winn taking the upper hand almost immediately. The muscles flexed across his broad back as he wrestled Kweshkwesh to the ground, and although Winn was built much thicker than his opponent, Kweshkwesh was still a formidable fighter and used his wiry strength to twist from Winn’s grasp. Winn fell forward onto one knee and scrambled to rise.

Kweshkwesh lurched for Winn with his knife and the men crossed paths again. Maggie let out a cry as she watched the blade slice across Winn’s chest and he kneeled down onto the sandy soil facing away from her. Back to back, both warriors paused, the sounds of their ragged breathing filling the dank humid air.

Kweshkwesh straightened upright in front of Maggie, his mouth contorted in a bizarre grin. He took a step toward her, then wavered, his gait unsteady, and raised a hand to his throat as his eyes widened. His words came forth garbled and wet, as were his hands, drenched in pulsing blood.

“
Elek
?” he choked.

He plummeted forward onto the ground with a sickening thud.

Winn turned toward her, rising up from his crouch, his chest smeared with crimson blood.

“Winn!” she cried.

He looked beyond her, his crystal blue eyes narrowed into slits, as if she neither stood there nor spoke to him, focused on something else to her left. She had no time to consider what he was looking at, too worried about the second warrior that now moved in to attack her husband.

“No!” she screamed.

Her skin prickled as she heard footsteps crush the forest debris near her flank, and before she could turn she felt a whoosh of air ripple her hair as something flew by from behind her ear. She choked on her own scream as the second man fell, taken down by a long-handled axe impaled in his sternum.

Winn reached her side, and she fell into his arms as they stared at the fallen warrior.

“Bloody Indians!”

They looked toward the brush as a man strode toward them. Of equal height to Winn and just as threatening in his demeanor, he parted a new path, stomping on the undergrowth and breaking through low growing branches as if they were twigs. Eyes of a berserker glared at them from a dense bearded face, the thick muscled arms flexed at the sides of a broad chest as his skin dappled with droplets of sweat.

He placed a foot on the body then closed his hands over the axe handle, jerking it away with one quick motion. Maggie could only watch, stunned as he sheathed the weapon on his back, and Winn pulled her to her feet.

“I can see nothing’s changed. Ye still find trouble, no matter where you go, hmm, Maggie-
mae?”

She flew into his arms.

“Marcus! How? Why? Oh!” she cried as he closed his arms around her. He lifted her off the ground, squeezing her so hard she laughed through the fresh burst of tears. She touched his face, covered with at least a few weeks worth of beard. “I didn’t recognize you with this thing! You’re here, you’re really here!”

“Aye, lamb,
s’all right now, don’t cry,” he said. “Ye were tricky to find, and worse to follow. Did ye know those men tracked you for miles?” he added, directing his question over her shoulder to her husband.  She stepped away from Marcus and grabbed Winn’s hand.

“Yes, I knew,” Winn muttered.

“Winn, it’s Marcus! I can’t believe it, he’s…he’s…here.” Winn was tense at her side, glaring at Marcus. Maggie felt as if she faded away at that moment, watching the two men locked in a silent battle as they stared each other down.

She squeezed Winn’s hand. He nodded at Marcus.

“Time Walker,” Winn said.

Marcus grunted some sort of acknowledgment.

“Winkeohkwet,” Marcus replied.

Her eyes darted between the two men, her words jumbled as they poured forth amidst her rising confusion.

“Wait a second! You…you used a Bloodstone? Why? How? What are you doing here, Marcus?” she asked.

He shifted his stare to Maggie and sighed, running one hand through his thick black hair and then down to rub his beard.  Maggie had never seen him with facial hair, the unkempt growth giving him a menacing demeanor despite her knowledge of his gentle nature. Standing before her with two wide leather straps crossing his chest and his muscles tensed in readiness to strike, she hardly recognized the man she had known her entire life.

“Aye, I have a lot to tell you, but most of it can wait for now. I’ve been to this place before, and God knows I never thought to see it again so soon. First off, I came for my son.”

Winn’s eyes narrowed.

“Benjamin returned to his time. That was more than two years ago,” Winn answered.

“No, he’s still here,” Marcus insisted.

“But he went back. He used his Bloodstone, I saw him leave,” Maggie replied.

Marcus shook his head. “He never made it. Last trail I could find of him was a record of his release from jail at Jamestown.  Seems no witnesses survived the massacre, so there was no one to
speak against him. Did he really murder two men, Maggie? Can ye tell me nothing else about it?”

She glanced back at Winn, who remained immobile. As much as revisiting the past pained them both, she could not stand in front of Marcus and withhold it from him.  He deserved to know what happened to his son.  By right of blood and sacrifice of his journey, she could give him nothing less. After all, Benjamin had once been her husband, and despite what he had done she still believed there was something redeemable in him.

“If he was held at Jamestown, then something went wrong with the Bloodstone. I last saw him at Martin’s Hundred on the day of the Massacre…in the church,” she placed her hand on his arm. “I have so much to tell you, too, Marcus, things I couldn’t put in the letter. I think we should go home, and–and you’ll come with us, won’t you?”

He placed his hand over hers.

“I didn’t hunt ye down through time for the hell of it, for sure. Of course I’ll go with you. Can’t leave ye alone with all these angry Indians about, can I?” he replied, raising a brow with a glance at Winn. Winn nodded in response but said nothing more.

“Marcus–”

“I’ll get my horse.”

Marcus went back the way he came, leaving her standing there with Winn.  She watched Marcus go through the underbrush, afraid he would disappear like a wisp of a memory once he left her sight.

Winn led her pony close and gave her a leg up. He rested his hand on her thigh for a moment as she gathered her reins, and she looked down at him. The shallow wound on his chest was no more than a scratch, the bleeding crusted already across the flesh. Thankfully, it would need no stitches.

“What about–about them?” she asked, nodding toward the two fallen men. Bile burned in her throat as she glanced at the deceased and she turned away lest she vomit.

“Leave them. Let the scavengers feast.”

She swallowed back against her dry mouth at his words, yet nodded in agreement all the same.

“And Marcus?”

“Let him return with us, if it pleases you,
ntehem.
”

“I can’t believe he’s here. You’re going to like him, you’ll see,” she promised.  She could read the uncertainty etched into his face. It was a rare thing to see him rattled, yet she had a feeling it was not the last time the two men would rankle each other.

“Did you know he was a Time Walker?” he asked.  She shook her head.

“My arrival here was an accident, I didn’t know anything about the Bloodstones. What difference does it make, anyway? I’m happy to see him no matter how he got here.”

He gave her leg a gentle squeeze.

“He is right in one way,
ntehem.
Trouble follows you,” he sighed. “It is good that I have two sharp eyes to watch you with. If I knew Time Walkers would come for you, I would have dropped all the Bloodstones in the ocean so no other could use them.”

“He won’t be any trouble, I’m sure of it,” she replied. Filled with the excitement of seeing Marcus, she had failed to consider how his arrival would affect her husband. As Winn stood looking up at her, she suddenly suspected what drove him to deny her happiness.