by E. B. Brown
With a flick of his wrist to one of his men, Agnarr pointed at the departing riders.
“Follow them,” he said.
*****
As Agnarr continued on his way to Wakehill, Benjamin left him with the claim of returning to the tavern. He immediately doubled back, and although it was dark and he was unskilled at tracking, it was not too difficult to find the way.
He needed to find the scout. If the man found the village, all would be lost.
Moonlight lit the sky, shimmering down upon the sandy path. Shadows plummeted around him as he rode, taunting him with memories of what once had been, and the promises he had made long ago.
He saw Marcus as he lay dying, demanding an oath from his sons. Despite the years, the sound of his voice was clear, ringing through Benjamin as if his father still stood before him.
“The power of time travel must remain our secret, and ye are sworn to protect it. Put aside yer quarrels, for the good of your people. I left my family, and all those I loved, to see it safe. Do not make it for nothing. Keep them close, see that they live on. I was born to protect them, and so are ye. I ask ye both, as my sons, to make it so.”
The memory was fresh as he came upon his brother in the woods. Kyra, still astride her horse, was waiting by the edge of the tree line that opened to the meadow, silently watching her father. She was an eerie outline in the light of the moon, her dark hair streaming back off her face with the cool night breeze. In the middle of the path before her Winn crouched down, pulling his knife from the body of the tracker sent to find them.
As Benjamin stopped, Winn wiped his blade off on the dead man’s jacket. The hilt of the knife flashed in the glare of the moon, and Benjamin could clearly see the rune engraved on the end.
It was the knife their father used to seal their bond. Brother to brother, blood to blood. They made a promise, and as Winn stood up and stared back at him, Benjamin knew it was only the beginning. They exchanged no words before Winn left.
He watched them ride away, safe for another day.
CHAPTER 21
Maggie
THEY GATHERED THE SICK into the Northern Hall. When the fever affected only a few, they cared for them in their homes, but when the number of those sick became greater than those who were healthy, the only way to care for them was by having them all in one place.
Maggie did not know what ailed them. At first she suspected it was a simple flu, with the fever and body aches that accompanied a virus. Yet soon she realized it was a more serious illness. It spread rapidly, claiming the life of an elderly woman as the first victim. Several children deteriorated, and she feared there was nothing they could do to stop it. They received word the Nansemond people suffered as well, pointing to some contagion likely spread during the gathering.
“How does he fare?” Winn asked. She wiped the sweat from Dagr’s brow. Her son smiled in thanks but did not open his eyes.
“The same,” she said quietly. “Have you seen Kyra?”
Winn shook his head and his jaw tightened. She sighed. Kyra and Winn had not spoken since they returned from town. Kyra avoided her father at every turn, taking her meals alone in the longhouse and settling down to sleep before Winn finished his duties with the men. Winn did not seem eager to fix the situation, making no effort to mend things with his daughter as the days wore on. With so many sick in the village, Maggie knew it was not a priority, but she could not help but wish her husband and daughter would resolve things.
“I sent a rider to Basse’s Choice. We cannot go until all of our people are well again.”
“I know. We’d just make more people sick,” she murmured. She placed a hand on Winn’s lower back and was surprised to feel him tense. When Morgan entered the Northern Hall, she understood why. Morgan searched the hall, obviously looking for someone, and Maggie bit her lip when his gaze settled on Winn. With the tension still fresh between them, she hoped Morgan had more sense than to confront Winn.
“Come quick, it’s Kyra. I canna rouse her,” Morgan stammered.
She lay quiet on her pallet when they arrived, her skin dappled with sweat and colored a sickly shade of grey. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse rapid. Maggie clutched her daughter’s hand, as helpless to do anything as she had been long ago when Kyra was stung by a bee. All of her future knowledge meant nothing, all of her magic blood meant nothing. Those she loved were suffering, and there was not a blessed thing she could do to stop it.
Winn sat down beside her. He brushed the damp hair from Kyra’s face and kissed her softly on her forehead. The regret was etched into his eyes, his anguish reflected back at her.
“What is this? What can we do?” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I think it’s an infection. I don’t know for sure,” she replied.
She stood up abruptly as the solution occurred to her. No, she could not go back to change the past, but was there any reason she could not go to the future to save them all?
At home on the farm in the future she came from, she had a cabinet of medicine. It was full of bulk bottles, with several different types of antibiotics one might use for sick animals. As far as she knew, the medicine would work the same for people. Bactrim was Bactrim, wasn’t it?
“Winn,” she said. “I have an idea.”
*****
Maggie intended to go, but Winn would not allow it. As she watched Erich paint the runes on Winn’s arms, Gwen reminded her she could not go to a time she once lived. It was impossible for Maggie to use the Bloodstone; it must be Winn. Reality did not ease her mind, nor did it sway her husband’s resolve. Presented with a way to save his children, Winn could not turn away.
Erich explained to Winn how to return, and how the order of the runes on his skin would take him to the place he meant to go. The only belonging she still possessed from the future was her wristwatch, and she gladly surrendered it to her husband to guide his way.
“But how can we be sure he’ll return to us?” Maggie asked her uncle. Erich’s face clouded at the question.
“The runes will help point the way, and yer bracelet will steer him there. But to return here, to this time, he needs one of these,” he said, taking one of the figurines from the mantle. It was a turtle, with a rune engraved on the shell.
“Can’t we give him this one to take?”
“No. It will keep him tied here, or confuse the magic. He must find one in the future. It is the only way.”
“What if it’s not there waiting for him?” she demanded.
“I buried a few in a place only Marcus knows. Marcus must have looked fer them, there’s no o’er way he could have ‘em in yer future time. If he gave ye the raven, and gave Benjamin the eagle, then he must have the others I buried as well.”
It made her head ache to think of it. She knew in the future she had her raven, and she suspected Marcus had other figurines as well, yet she could not be sure. If Winn did not have a figurine to return, he might not come back to them – or worse yet, he might go somewhere else.
Yet he made his decision and there was nothing Maggie could say to sway him. With the strength of his resolve bending her into submission, she tended the task of preparing him for the future. She thought it was best that he make an attempt to blend in, and it was only with Erich’s persuasion that Winn allowed her to shear his hair. If Winn should find himself lost in the future or worse yet, go too far ahead, she feared he might run into trouble if he appeared too out of place.
She did not expect the simple preparations to bother her. Yet standing over her husband with his fresh shorn hair in her fist was the strike that sent reality crashing home.
Although she bit down on her lip, he still heard her sigh. He turned his chin slightly as he placed his hand over hers where she braced it on his shoulder.
“Do you know,” he said softly, “that our history was written even before you were born?”
She swallowed back the rush of despair that gripped her as she shook her head. Not trusting herself to s
peak, she clenched her fingers into the thick of his shoulder.
“Before you took your first breath, I had already loved you for all my life.” He turned on the stool to face her, his hands slipping around her waist as he gazed up at her.
They kneeled down together on the fur by the hearth, neither speaking lest the words make it all too real. They had only a few stolen moments before he must go. Maggie knew he might not return to her, but she pushed that painful truth to that dark place deep inside where it could not hurt them yet. As she peeled the clothes from his body, she took him in with hungry eyes. Each inch of his skin, every crease. Every sculpted muscle covered by taut flesh. She knew his body as she knew her own, but she felt the need to score each part of him into her memory to ensure he would always be hers.
He removed her dress, and she suspected he was thinking the same as she, except that Winn needed the touch, the feel of her. It was one way he communicated when he could not speak the words of his heart. Ever the warrior, he fought against despair, but when he traced his fingertips over her face, she knew what he could not say.
As his hands trailed down her neck and then her shoulder, she shivered and moved closer to him. If she touched him now, she feared she would lose her last grip on reality, but at the same time she could not stop from reaching for him. She placed her palm flat over his heart, over the puckered scar where he had once been shot. The wound was shallow and long healed, the skin smooth yet tough. She could feel his hand twist into the hair at the base of her neck as she dipped her lips to his warm skin. The salty tang of his sweat seared her tongue as she licked him, and she heard him moan when she bit gently on his nipple. This was her husband, her man. He uttered a guttural cry when she bent down and closed her mouth over him, wanting every bit of him to keep selfishly to herself. She wrapped her hands around his buttocks and surrendered to him, loving the way he cradled her head as she brought him to the edge.
“Stop,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. She obeyed him, panting as she rested her head against his belly. He pulled her down onto the furs beside the fire. The flames danced across his skin as he rose above her, giving him an amber shimmer in the flickering glow.
“Please,” she said. It was all the invitation he needed. With one swift thrust he joined them, pinning her down beneath his body. He pushed her hands above her head and held them there, their fists clasped together so that their flesh melded that much closer. She felt his lips on her shoulder where he would often curl into her, but this time his teeth bit down as he plunged. The pain was brief, but it was possession he meant to convey and she yielded to it. If ever in their lives they fought, it was this that made them whole again, the act that bound their lifeblood as one.
“Mine,” he growled. “You are mine!”
Frantic and needful, they clung together through the shuddering release, their breaths coming in near unison as they collapsed. She slowly lowered her arms around her neck, feeling bruised from the restraint, yet cherished. He tried to lift his weight away, but she held him tighter.
“Stay here. Please. Don’t go,” she whispered. He sighed with a shake of his head and bent to kiss her shoulder. She felt him shudder as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. Her words were a simple request, yet they both knew beneath simmered so much more.
“You must listen to me,” he said quietly. Every muscle in her body tensed. She knew what he was about to say and she did not want to acknowledge it. If they spoke of it, then it meant it could happen. She could not make that recognition; she felt like she was giving up if she did.
“Please, Winn. I’ll be waiting for you. That’s all we need to say.”
“No. You will listen!” he said, his voice rising an octave and his blue eyes gleaming. She swallowed, and he closed his eyes. “I ask you to listen.”
“All right,” she whispered.
“Erich will protect you and the children. Chetan will watch over you as well. You will move into town and join with the Nansemond and English at Basse’s Choice.”
“But Winn–”
“It is the only way to keep you all safe. I cannot take on this task without knowing you, and our children are safe. Promise me you will abide. Give me your word.”
“You must come back to me,” she whispered.
“Time is nothing to us,” he said, kissing her tear-stained cheeks. “For all that I am, I am nothing but yours. Every moment of every day. In this life and all others. I will not let you walk alone, ntehem. I will find you again.”
She took his hand and placed it over her heart. As their breathing moved in unison, their staggered gasps tapering to gentle sighs, he bent his head and pressed his lips to her skin. Over the swell of her breast he laid his cheek flat, his arms surrounding her in an unbreakable hold. When he clutched her close, she bit back her denial, knowing it was time to let him go.
Maggie helped him dress, knowing it might be the last time she ever completed that task. He handed her his knife and her hand shook as she slit his palm, but the blood flowed quick in response.
With his eyes fastened on hers, he closed his hand around his Bloodstone and faded into nothingness.
CHAPTER 22
Winn
He closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself before he entered the house. With the knowledge that Maggie would soon be taken by the Bloodstone, he knew he had precious little time to speak to Marcus. If Winn did not get what he needed before that happened, he doubted Marcus would be willing to listen to anything he had to say.
His father sat at a small table, his head bent down over a book. He seemed to be scribbling in it with some sort of quill, one without a feather or ink. A heaviness surged through him, squeezing his chest as he watched his father.
As Winn pushed open the door, Marcus did not glance up.
“Change yer mind? Good. We can worry over the barn another day,” Marcus said.
Winn cleared his throat.
“Marcus,” Winn said, not entirely sure how to start the conversation. Marcus lifted his eyes and dropped his pen. He surveyed Winn, much as Maggie had done. Winn could see some sort of denial, and then recognition change his features, and Marcus stood slowly up from his chair.
Winn had never seen him without a full beard. His father seemed younger, and if Winn was correct on the date, Marcus was a few years younger than they day they met. He wore a snug black shirt with short, tight sleeves, similar to what Maggie wore, and a pair of blue trousers that looked terribly uncomfortable. Marcus backed up against the cabinet before he spoke.
“Who are ye?” Marcus asked, his voice betraying no hint of welcome.
“Sent by Erich,” Winn replied evenly.
“Oh, aye? I know no Erich. Perhaps ye are mistaken, lad. I think ye found the wrong house.”
Winn saw Marcus move his arm, but he could not see what his father was doing. Winn suspected Marcus was grabbing a weapon. Winn knew he had to diffuse the situation before it escalated into a brawl.
Without hesitation, Winn dropped to one knee in front of Marcus, holding both his hands out in front of him. He thrust his palms upward and bowed his head to his father, knowing his father could see the fresh Bloodstone scar branded into his hand.
“Chief Dagr, your First Man Erich sent me here. I give you my word, as your servant, that I bear you no ill-will. I have come for your help in a grave matter.”
“Why should I believe ye, Time Walker? I know ye not. What tribe do ye hail from?” Marcus growled. Winn kept his head bowed, praying that Marcus would not lop it off before he could explain.
“From your own tribe. The Clan of the Chieftain Protector of the blooded MacMhaolian.”
Marcus grabbed Winn by his neck and jerked him to his feet. Winn winced when his father threw him up against the cabinet and thrust a knife to his throat.
“Now I know ye lie, as all my kin are long dead! And ye, an Indian? Yet a Time Walker? What game do ye play, and what do ye know of my Clan?”
“I know if you kill me, Maggi
e’s daughter will die,” Winn ground out through his narrowed airway.
Marcus loosened his grip, only slightly, but enough for Winn to speak without his throat being compressed. His father’s suspicious gaze wavered and his slate-colored eyes widened.
“Speak,” Marcus ordered.
“Maggie’s daughter is sick. She needs medicine, Maggie says it is called antibiotic. She says it is the only way to cure her fever. If you don’t believe me, take me to your storage closet, I will prove it to you. She told me you keep it there.”
Marcus remained silent, but lowered the knife and stepped back. He pointed to a door next to a series of waist-high cabinets. Winn walked slowly past him, keeping eye contact lest his father try to kill him.
Winn opened the door and struggled to recall Maggie’s description of the jars. She called them bottles but explained they looked like white jars, and that there would be six of them stacked next to each other on the third shelf from the top. He scanned the contents of the closet, his eyes nearly blurred with the assortment of brightly colored boxes inside, and when he spotted the white bottles he let out a sigh of relief.
“Here,” Winn said, picking up one white bottle. “She said you had these for the horses, but that they would work for people. Are these the ones for fever?”
His father’s face had paled considerably. Marcus dropped the knife onto the table and put a hand on the edge as if to steady himself.
“Take them all. Whatever ye need, take it,” Marcus whispered. Winn dropped all of the white bottles into his satchel. He had satisfied two of the tasks he set out to do, and with that knowledge the panic ebbed slowly away. His last task was to return safely to his family, and for that he needed one more thing from his father.
“I need something to return. Erich said you had something of his that you would give me,” Winn said quietly, keeping his eyes averted. It was too difficult to look at his father, standing before him. Although Marcus was confused and worried, he was still blessedly strong and alive. Winn ached with the memory of the short time they had to know each other, wishing with the longing of a youthful heart that he had known his father as Maggie had.
