The Legend of the Bloodstone

by E.B. Brown

  Chetan bent over her shoulder, nodding encouragement at her work. The milk was slow to start, but then it suddenly began to rush in a steady flow into the bladder skin, filling it quicker than she anticipated.

  “We need another, Chetan, hurry!” she called out, unwilling to risk losing even a few drops of the precious liquid. Chetan shouted to Makedewa, who snapped a curt reply, causing Chetan to groan in frustration. Teyas stepped forward, snatched the water bladder from Makedewa’s belt, and thrust it through the fence rail at Chetan. Teyas stood on the low rail and leaned over to watch, and Makedewa stalked off amid a growl of what she could only imagine was cursing.

  Chetan held the second bladder until it filled, and Maggie stopped milking.

  “I need a knife to cut a hole,” she said. He did not hesitate. He unsheathed a small dagger from the edge of his legging and handed it to her. Their eyes met for a moment, and Maggie was pleased at the trust in his gaze. They both grinned when she plucked a hole in the bottom of the first full bladder and watched the milk shoot out in a steady stream into her hand. She quickly pinched the hole closed and sat down beside the listless colt, which nickered softly at the scent of milk on her hands. He did not struggle when she placed his over-large head in her lap, but seemed not to know what to do when she placed the makeshift nipple in his mouth. The colt wrinkled his nose and sneezed.

  Teyas and Chetan exchanged and anxious glance. Maggie refused to let the colt ignore the life-saving nourishment, and squirted some of the warm fluid into her hand. She cupped her palm to the colt’s nose and fought as he tried to weakly pull away, and then suddenly either from exhaustion or her persistence, he stopped.

  The colt stuck out his tongue and licked her hand.

  She quickly filled her palm again, and the colt licked it dry. She heard a weak nicker from the mare and smiled.

  “We’ll save your baby, momma,” she whispered to the dying mother. She knew it was her last breath. Maggie offered the bladder again to the colt, and he eagerly latched onto it and began to suck. She held the bladder against her breast and cradled the colt’s head in her lap, reaching out to scratch him gently along his mane.

  “The mother is gone,” another voice said. Winn knelt down beside her.

  “I know,” she said softly. She slowly raised her eyes to meet Winn’s gaze, relieved to see his face soft and his blue eyes shining. He looked quite handsome when he was happy, she thought.

  “You have soft hands. My young horse is lucky you care for him. I have no warriors to spare for one sick colt.”

  “Your horse?”

  “A gift from the English. The mare was mine. Thank you for helping this one.”

  His quiet stare held hers for a timeless moment, his brows shading the slits of his deep blue eyes as the corners of his mouth turned slightly up. She could tell neither if he was amused or just grateful, but the intensity caused her belly to do that strange tingling thing and she ducked her eyes downward in response.

  “I’ll stay and feed him. He’ll need to eat several times tonight. And then we need a goat, or a cow, for more milk,” she stammered. The colt began to slow his feeding, and she wiped a froth of milk from his whiskers with the edge of her dress. His lips dropped away, and his head felt heavy again in her lap as he lay satiated and began to snore. A sleepy musical whinny filled the silence.

  Winn glanced down and noticed the knife, which he plucked from the dirt and held out to his brother. “Chetan, your knife.”

  Maggie nearly forgot his brother stood beside them. Chetan took the knife, but his eyes met those of his brother and they exchanged a stare she did not understand. Chetan lifted his chin and held the knife out to Maggie.

  “You saved a life with this weapon. It is my gift to you, Maggie,” he said. Stunned, she was slow to accept the gift, but he reached gently for her hand and placed the knife in her palm. He closed her fingers around it and glared at Winn. He then turned quickly and left the lean-to. Maggie noticed Teyas shoot them a wide-eyed look, and then jump off the fence to follow him.

  “You cannot stay here all night, little one,” Winn said softly, breaking the silence. She chose not to question the knife exchange for fear of changing his grateful demeanor, especially when she meant to challenge him for the right to stay with the colt. Caring for the animal was something solid she could focus on, a way to find some foothold in the insanity of her predicament.

  “I will stay, I can take care of him.”

  Her breath ceased when he moved behind her in the straw, sitting close and leaning his back against the base of a tree. He then reached out and pulled her slowly to his chest, pulling the colt with her to remain snuggled on her lap. The colt continued to snore. Winn tightened his arms around her waist, and she felt his chin rest on her shoulder.

  “You argue too much. Sleep. I will watch over you,” he grumbled. Maggie smiled at the twinge of amusement in his rankled tone. She settled back against him and let out a sigh. A truce then, and a welcome one.

  *****

  A series of muffled giggles roused her from her sleep. Her cheek lay flat against Winn’s chest, her hand tucked in a fist beneath her chin, and she lifted a hand to swat at him when he plucked at her hair. It tickled, and she was not ready to wake yet. He persisted despite her attempt to smack him, and she opened her eyes to confront his intrusion of her sleep.

  “Stop it!” she hissed. A pair of soft brown eyes stared back, attached to the biggest head she had ever seen on a newborn colt. He stood over her on long, but steady legs, chewing a piece of her auburn hair between his gums. A smile washed over her face as she stared at the colt in amazement. He was tall, with strong straight legs and a huge, mischievous face. She felt Winn sit up behind her with his arms tight around her waist.

  “Bad horse!” she laughed. “I think I’ll call you Blaze.” It seemed appropriate, considering the swash of white streaking his face from ears to nose. She could not tell what color his coat would be for sure, but she suspected it would be chestnut considering the shade of downy fur he was born with. She scratched him under his chin and he nickered softly. More giggles erupted, and Maggie glanced up at the commotion. Standing on the middle rail in a row were three children, two girls and a boy, watching them sleep in the horse pen. She moved to get up, but Winn held her in place.

  “Stay,” he grinned. “Feed Blaze. I will return and feed you.”

  Her eyes followed him. He made a harsh barking noise at the children, who merely laughed louder, and then he chased them away from the lean-to. He snatched a retreating boy by his breechcloth and knelt beside him, pointing to Maggie and the colt.

  “Go fetch her some water, little warrior. You will make my Tentay teh happy.” The boy grinned, and Winn patted his shoulder, speaking into his ear. “A wise warrior makes a woman smile.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Winn wished to ignore Makedewa as he made his way back to Maggie, but his brother was in a temper and refused to be put off. He paused when the warrior uttered a respectful, but curt, greeting, knowing it would be rude to ignore his brother in front of the other men. Winn shifted his sack of food to his shoulder and spread his legs slightly apart, crossing his arms as he waited to hear what Makedewa needed to say.

  “What say you, brother?”

  “Brother?” Makedewa sneered. He lifted his chin in the direction of the lean-to and flung out a hand to point toward Maggie and the colt. “You fail to kill the Red Woman, then you keep her! You give her your yehakin and sleep alone in the Great Long House? What is this?”

  “I found her. She is mine for what I please. It is no matter to you, I have told you this!” Winn straightened up to his full height and his eyes narrowed as his brother continued to rant.

  “True, you found the Red Woman. So she is your prisoner. Why does she walk free in our village? You let Chetan give her a knife!”

  Chetan moved to stand between the two warriors.

  “I gave her the knife for her kindness. And for he
r protection,” Chetan growled. “If you try to kill her, I hope she stabs your black heart!” he snapped at Winn, then turned to Makedewa. “And yours, too!”

  “You both have no voice in this. I captured her. She is nothing more than a slave. I will speak on it no more,” Winn snapped. He could not believe his brothers. He expected as much from Makedewa, and knew the hot-tempered warrior was angered the woman still lived. But Chetan? Giving the woman a knife as a weapon, a knife to stab him with? He suspected as much when his brother presented the gift, but he had been too pleased with the way Maggie smiled at him to question it further. Curse them, and curse the Great Creator, the woman had him scraping for her affections like a wounded puppy!

  Maybe there was some truth to Makedewa’s words.

  “We leave to hunt. Get your ponies, and tell your women,” Winn ordered, his voice calming to a lower octave. He put his hand on Chetan’s shoulder before his brother could follow Makedewa. “Tell Teyas to tend to …my captive. I will not see her again before we leave.”

  Chetan shrugged off his hand and stalked away. As Winn heard the muttered curse his brother uttered he closed his fingers into a fist. He deserved Chetan’s curses, and they both knew it.

  *****

  The hunt was a successful one, and Winn was glad to be headed back to the village after two grueling days of chasing game. What once might have been a half day hunt, or at most, a full day, had become much longer, and it took many more men now to take down enough game to feed their families.

  He wondered if it was time to scout for a new spring settlement, a place where they could find more plentiful game and spend more time on their other duties, but they had used their current land since Winn was a boy of ten summers and he was reluctant to make such a change. Furthermore, Winn was only War Chief to his tribe, nothing more, so any such move would need permission of the Council and his uncle, the Weroance Opechancanough. He had led the remnants of the Paspahegh tribe since his uncle appointed him War Chief, but he knew Opechancanough would not approve any change until his plan to drive the whites from their land was fulfilled. Until then, the few Paspahegh people left were trapped living on land that was nearly depleted of resources. All were bound by the Weroance to remain friendly and accommodating to the whites to gain their trust.

  He gave a curt nod to Chetan as his brother rode up beside him. The man was shorter in stature, but still not a warrior to have as an enemy, and Winn was glad to have loyalty from such a man. Wide and muscular, he was a fierce fighter who showed no fear of any threat. Since his wife had died last summer, Chetan spoke less and smiled even rarer, so Winn was surprised to see his brother with a secret grin as they approached the village.

  “What is so amusing, brother?” Winn finally asked as the other man continued to smirk.

  “Well, I look forward to return home. The men speak of what women to take to furs.”

  “So what?” Winn snapped, not intending to sound so irritated.

  “If you do not take your slave to furs, I will take her. I like her red hair and pretty pale skin.”

  Winn felt his teeth snap together so forcefully he feared he cracked his jaw.

  “I am not ready to share my slave,” he growled, incensed at the rage building in his blood. How dare his favorite brother presume to share his captive?

  Chetan lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry smile.

  “Then claim her yourself.”

  “Why do you test me, Chetan?”

  Winn gripped his reins tighter and felt his fingers dig into his palms, trying to contain the urge to reach over and grab his brother by the throat as the man continued to grin and shake his head.

  “If you do not claim her, another man will challenge you. Then I must challenge him, and I do not wish to fight. But if I must save my stupid brother from himself, I will.”

  Chetan smacked Winn’s thigh with the long end of his reins, leaving a welt across his skin and a scowl on his lips. Winn looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the taunt.

  “Any man who tries to take what is mine will die a quick death.”

  “Then stop being a fool. Or I will take her from you and die smiling for it.”

  Chetan smirked, smacked Winn again with the rawhide rein, and took off in a gallop. The village was ahead up in sight, and the warriors began to whoop and holler in greeting. His blood began to simmer at the thought of their usual return from the hunt. It was common for the men to seek release after the task, and there were plenty of widows and wives who welcomed the attention. Winn found there was always a woman eager to warm him, but he rarely joined in the celebration. But now, as they approached the village and the warriors screamed their success, he felt a fire smoldering in his chest as he thought of the woman who waited in his yehakin.

  She belonged to him by right, if not by prophecy, and he would be damned to let another challenge him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Teyas bent over a large iron cauldron, nodding in approval at Chulensak Asuwak as she inhaled the steam from the stew. Thick with venison, it was a special mixture prepared with more meat than usual to celebrate the return of the hunting party. Maggie felt her stomach rumble in response when the heady scent drifted to her. Although they tended to her needs and appeared quite considerate, Maggie felt hungry often as she was not accustomed to the portions or food the Indians ate. She tried everything they offered, afraid to offend, but she still could not stomach some of the fare and had trouble eating enough to ease her hunger pangs.

  Ahi Kekeleksu snuck up and snatched a piece of bread from the rations the women divided, and giggled when Maggie caught him by his elbow. She squeezed the child as he howled in mock disgust at her attention, then whispered a warning in his attentive ear.

  “Don’t tell anyone I let you have that, you menace,” she laughed.

  “No, Tentay teh, I will not!” he promised in his most fierce warrior pledge voice. She released him, and he sprinted back toward the corral. He was one of the children who watched the first feeding of the orphan colt, and in the days since the warriors had been away hunting, he became a shadow to Maggie. Teyas explained he was Chetan’s young son, and had lost his mother only a few months prior. Maggie took an immediate liking to the child, and was pleased to cultivate his interest in the colt by showing him how to feed and care for the orphan.

  Maggie watched from afar as the child leaned over the fence with the offering. The colt trotted over, taking the bread from his flattened palm with gentle bites.

  “Maggie, the stew will cook longer. We can change your bandage now, sister.” Teyas handed Maggie a bundle of rolled cloths they would use to dress her wound. The scratches were healing, but the site remained sore, and so far free from signs of infection. Skilled at healing, Teyas tended the villagers with remedies made from herbs and roots, a craft she explained was handed down from elder women of the tribe. Maggie did not know what Teyas applied to her wound, but she was grateful for her care since she knew the alternative was likely death from infection.

  Teyas served as her constant companion while the men hunted, leaving her no opportunity to escape the confines of the village. Maggie searched the yehakin thoroughly the first night Winn was gone without success, and with no idea where else he may have hidden her Bloodstone, she felt even more hopeless as the days wore on.

  Maggie glanced up at Teyas and smiled. She took the proffered bundle and tucked it under her good arm. As Teyas bent to throw more wood on the fire for the stew, a group of riders entered the village.

  Greased with paint but otherwise undecorated, the warriors looked surprisingly fresh after their two day hunt, especially considering the large amount of game they dragged on a sled behind one of the horses. Amid the impatient snorting and stomping, the warriors handed the animals off to younger boys to be tended while they allowed the women to fuss over them. Maggie watched the scene from across the village yard as women flocked to the warriors in welcome. She spotted Winn among them, aware
that the breath left her body in a relieved sigh with the knowledge he returned safe. His eyes met hers through the crowd and she saw his lips curl up as he nodded to her in acknowledgement.

  “Good, the men have returned,” Teyas said. Maggie nodded absently, and Teyas prodded her with a wooden spoon. “He will come for you, just wait,” she teased.

  Maggie frowned and shook her head. “I don’t care what he does. I’m just glad he’s not dead, that’s all.” She felt hurt by the way he left so abruptly, not even wishing her goodbye, but she would not show the arrogant man how he wounded her.

  Teyas giggled. Maggie kept her head down to shield her flushed cheeks, but she could still see the group of warriors surrounded by the women. One young beauty threw her arms around Winn and proceeded to kiss him, and Maggie watched as he turned his head from the kiss but picked up the woman and swung her around, laughing at her squeal. Another warrior plucked her from Winn’s arms, but two more women blocked his exit with eager embraces. He wore a frustrated smile as he met her eyes again, but this time Maggie looked away. He could have his half-naked women, it was no matter to her. She only needed Winn to return to her own time, nothing more.

  “Such a stupid man,” she mumbled, much to the amusement of Teyas.

  “You should tell him that, Maggie,” she laughed.

  Maggie sent a scathing glare in her direction just in time to see the glistening warrior swoop in and yank her off her feet. His skin was slick and hot as she squirmed against him, letting out a shriek of surprise at his ardent enthusiasm. Cradled in his arms like a child, her chest heaved with uneven breaths to match his own. His eyes squinted against the sun and a boyish grin graced his face.