by E. B. Brown
Her husband, however, was a moose of a man. He wore his dark hair in the traditional warrior style, with the right side shaved in a crescent moon shape above his ear and the rest hanging loosely down his back. He was adorned with an array of copper bands and beaded trinkets, and he wore a simple breechcloth and fringed leggings. Standing taller than most Pamunkey warriors, he was an indomitable figure who had taken on the role of Weroance in the years after Opechancanough’s capture and subsequent death. Although the rule of the tribe was traditionally passed down through the matrilineal line, his marriage to Opechancanough’s daughter sealed his authority. The English called him Toby West, as he was the son of the English gentleman Thomas West, the third Lord De la Warr. With his background and bloodlines, Totopotomoi enjoyed calm relations with both the English and the Pamunkey.
Dagr went down on one knee, waiting to be acknowledged by the leader. The Weroance grunted out a curt order to rise, and Cockacoeske took Dagr by both hands and pulled him to his feet.
“If I had no sight in my eyes, even then I would know who you are,” she said with a smile. She kissed his hands, her delight beaming across her face. “You must be Dagr. It has been too long since your father has visited us. Tell us, how does the family of Winkeohkwet fare?”
He dipped his head briefly in respect. “Yes, I am Dagr, first son of Winkeohkwet. We live peacefully among the English. It is not quite as beautiful there as your Pamunkey lands, but our family is together and well.”
“And what brings you to visit us, son of the Raven?” the Weroance asked, gently interrupting his wife. Dagr turned his attention to the leader while Cockacoeske held his hands. There was no way to diminish the severity of the accusations the English leveled against him, and he could only hope that his kin would believe in his innocence.
“I have been accused by the English of a crime I did not commit. I am here to seek shelter until my father and kinsmen can arrange a meeting with the Governor. If I stayed, there would be bloodshed, as my father will not allow them to take me when he knows the way the English strike their bargains.”
Totopotomoi frowned, one bushy brow raised. His dark eyes drifted to Dagr’s belt where the Bloodstone blade rested at his side.
“Does this great matter involve the Blooded Ones?” the Weroance asked.
“No. But if I stayed, my family would be in danger for harboring me. As you know, there are many Blooded Ones at Basse’s Choice.”
“So you are one of them now? I see you hold the weapon of a Chief. Is there no magic that can help in this matter?”
Shaking his head, Dagr sighed. “If there were a way, I would have used it. My family lives apart from the old magic at all cost. They do not wish to bring attention to the Blooded Ones, nor risk using the dangerous Bloodstones. I am only doing what I must as one who has made the vow of protection.”
Totopotomoi stood up, making himself appear even more imposing on the elevated platform. For a moment Dagr feared the leader would refuse him, yet his worry proved unfounded.
“The blood of great leaders flows through your veins, as does that of your father before you,” the Weroance announced. “Rest here, warrior. Our people welcome you.”
Dagr walked with Cockacoeske through the center of the village, stopping at yehakins to speak with women and warriors along the way. She was the wife of the Weroance, but she was also a high-ranking member of the community in her own right. With each person they greeted she was shown the utmost respect, and as her companion, Dagr was greeted warmly as well. He recalled visiting the village with his father and brother years prior, and how angry Malcolm had been when the other boys made fun of his pale skin.
Wiry and tough as a boy, Malcolm looked the part of a typical Englishman. His dark hair lay in waves around his face, and his skin tone was so similar to that of their grandfather, Marcus. Dagr was the complete opposite of Malcolm, taking after their father in every way. Both Winn and Dagr could easily pass as First People; Malcolm, however, could not.
“They doona know I am one of them! I look like an Englishman.” Malcolm grumbled, poking Dagr in the side with his knobby elbow.
“Of course they know,” Dagr replied, more than a bit annoyed with his younger brother’s sulking. “So you favor our grandfather. ‘Tis no important thing. Be proud to stand beside our father. See how they love him? You should worry on what is in here,” Dagr said, punching Malcolm lightly in the heart with his fist, “than what color is your skin.”
It was a lesson Dagr learned at a young age, and one he suspected Malcolm would never understand. How had they come so far from the kinship they once shared?
They gathered in the center of the village near the fire pit, the sounds of laughter and shouts filling the air. He accepted a generous offering of fresh venison meat and gladly took a bite, since it had been many hours since he last ate and he was admittedly quite hungry. As he worked on cleaning the meat from the bone, the crowd parted, and he was shocked to see three women approach. The women bent their heads and greeted Cockacoeske, and Dagr did not know whether he wished to wring his mother’s neck or thank the Creator that she arrived safely with Skye and Kyra.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. Skye’s mouth was puckered in a frown, her eyes flashing wildly as she surveyed him.
“Ye said ye would keep me safe!” Skye shot back. “How can ye do that when ye are not with me?” Her fists were clenched at her sides, knotted within her bunched up skirt. He wanted to smile at the sheer force of her words, for it been a long time since he had witnessed her petulant side. Yet when she slammed her fist into his chest he reconsidered taunting her.
“I am! This is the only way, surely you see it. The English will not look for me here, and you will be safe with my family,” he tried to explain.
“No! How dare ye, after what happened between us –”
He clasped his hand gently over her mouth, pulling her close despite the fascinated onlookers surrounding them. Despite her anger, he knew she would regret it if the entire village knew the intimate details of their night together.
“Skye,” he whispered his voice hoarse. “Here, come away. Let me speak. You’ll understand.”
By this time, however, the Weroance had come out from the great yehakin to see what the discord was about. Totopotomoi joined his wife, who was standing with Maggie and Kyra, and they seemed to be enjoying the spectacle before them. Skye twisted her mouth away from his grasp, apparently not yet finished with what she meant to say.
“I’ve had enough of ye men telling me what I must do, who I must marry, or where I must live. My head is splitting with the thought of hearing yet another command. I willna let it happen anymore, Dagr Neilsson, do ye hear me?” Skye demanded. “I willna let ye leave again. And by the laws of the land I was born to, ye know verra well that after last night – well, ye know we are bound. Must I explain that to ye?”
Dagr could not help the bemused grin that surfaced on his lips, brought on by the stubborn young woman in his arms. By the Gods, he thought, what have I done to deserve such love?
“I think that means they are wed,” Maggie announced.
“Oh, yes, I suspect they are,” Kyra added with a sly smile.
“They should say the words then, and we shall bear witness,” Cockacoeske said. She glanced at her husband, who nodded his approval.
Dagr considered the women watching him. Dagr had the suspicion that this was no chance encounter, but he was eager to fulfill his part in the game despite that knowledge. His sister, his mother, his kinswoman. They smiled at him as he looked at Skye, and it was then that he knew where his path would end.
It would end at her side – no matter where it might lead them.
“Is this what you want, my lady?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Someone in the crowd shouted, “yes!” and Skye smiled.
“With all that I am, and all that I know, ‘tis here by your side that I wish to stay,” she replied.
He took her han
ds in his and kneeled down before her, staring up into her eyes. He thought of the story his father once told him, and of the words that would bind him forever to the woman at his side.
“Now you will feel no rain, for I will shelter you,” he said softly, his voice gathering strength as the words spilled forth. “Now you will feel no cold, for I will warm you. Now you will never be lonely, for we will be together. There is only one life before us. Now we walk as one.”
When she smiled, the crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers. He stood up beside her and took her into his arms, kissing her soundly in front of the witnesses.
“The words are binding, just as the King’s law?” she asked between his kisses.
He nodded, kissing her forehead. “We are wed for the rest of our days.”
Dagr reluctantly released her when the crowd closed in on them with well wishes. He was slapped heartily on the back more times than he could count, and he could see Skye’s cheeks flushed pink as Maggie and Kyra embraced her. Despite the way he had arrived at the Pamunkey village, he could imagine no other way to have married the woman he loved.
The shouts of approaching riders broke through the celebration. Dagr stood next to Totopotomoi, and it was with a sickly knot in his gut that he recognized them.
The English had come for him as promised – and Malcolm had led them to the village.
Nathanial dismounted first. A half-dozen armed English soldiers remained mounted behind him, flanked by a dozen more men in homespun clothes. Malcolm was slower to dismount, handing the reins of his mount off to a soldier as if he meant to make a speedy escape.
“We have a badge, and serious reason to enter your lands,” Nathanial said, tipping his hat to Totopotomoi and then turning his attention to Dagr. “Ye know why we are here, Neilsson. I’ll ask ye once to come with us. ‘Tis no need to see anyone harmed over this,” Nathanial said. The Englishman held out a length of rope, which Dagr assumed was intended to bind his wrists.
“This man is of our blood. He says he had no part in the crime he is accused of. What witness do you have to support your claim?” Totopotomoi asked.
“Why, ‘tis his own brother,” Nathanial announced. Gasps were heard amongst the people in the crowd who understood the Englishman’s words.
Dagr looked at his brother. Malcolm’s face was eerily devoid of emotion, his eyes shadowed with a sickening calmness. Where was the brother he once loved, the one who ran behind him as they raced down the beach?
His gaze then shifted to Skye. With her dark hair streaming down her back and her cheeks still flushed with the happiness of their marriage vows, she was the image of all that held him steady. If he did not surrender, Skye and countless others would be harmed. He loved her too much.
This is what those vows meant, he thought. It was her love and trust he needed to protect, and with that notion, Dagr knew what he must do.
“You’ll leave this village peacefully?” Dagr asked. It as more of a statement than a question, but Nathanial knew his intent and readily agreed.
“Ye have my word.”
He swallowed hard and extended his arms in front of him, holding his hands flush together towards Nathanial. With a regretful nod of his head, Nathanial placed the rope around Dagr’s wrists and knotted it.
“No!” Skye shouted. She broke through Maggie’s grip and thrust herself between Dagr and Nathanial. When Malcolm pried her away she struck out at him, slashing his face with her fingernails until he was able to subdue her.
“Skye,” Dagr said. Nathanial allowed him to go to her, and although his hands were still bound, he took her face gently into his hands. “I will return. I promise you, I will come for you.”
Turning to Malcolm, Dagr stepped away. He had no cause to trust the man before him, but for all that they had once been to each other, he prayed some sense of brotherhood remained.
“See her safe, brother. Send our women home to our father. It is time for you to be the protector. It is time for you to be the one to carry that task,” he said.
Malcolm held Skye tight to his chest, his arms wrapped around her as tears fell down her face. When Dagr met Malcolm’s unyielding stare, he closed his eyes to the silence and let the Englishmen lead him away. Dagr had no choice; he had to believe that somewhere inside Malcolm was some remnant of kinship and that he would do what was right for those he loved.
Dagr resigned himself to walking behind Nathanial’s horse.
“Wait!” Malcolm shouted.
Nathanial paused, one foot in the stirrup as he prepared to mount up.
“I made an error. Dagr was not in town when Emry was killed. I saw him at Basse’s Choice. He could not possibly have been the cause of the man’s demise,” Malcolm said. His voice was surprisingly steady, considering his declaration.
Two of the English soldiers rode up beside Nathanial, both ready to draw weapons based on their careful attention. Nathanial shook his head furiously at Malcolm, his words spewing forth in a sputtering mess of barely coherent accusations.
“You cannot mean that! You saw him there – you said he had reason to kill Emry!” Nathanial shouted.
“’Twas my grave error. It was not Dagr Neilsson. And his family will attest to that fact as well if ye do not take my word.”
Nathanial glared at Malcolm. He spat on the ground at his feet and drew his knife from his belt, cutting through the binding on Dagr’s wrists. One of the soldiers dropped the reins of Malcolm’s horse, and Malcolm fumbled to catch it before it followed the herd of departing riders.
“I’ll have words with the Governor about this, be sure,” Nathanial warned. He motioned to the other Englishmen and they urged their mounts into a gallop, leaving a thick cloud of dust in their wake.
Skye broke away from Malcolm. She plummeted into Dagr’s arms, nearly knocking him off of his feet with the power of her embrace. He cradled her against his chest, knowing his heart was beating like a rabbit beneath his tunic with each breath he took. Over her shoulder, he met Malcolm’s gaze.
“Thank you, brother,” he said.
Malcolm nodded, wordless. Around them the people began to celebrate, and Dagr held Skye and watched as Malcolm was swallowed up by the loving arms of their mother and sister.
They walked along the shore together, leaving a trail of footprints in the sand behind them. Although his wife had pleaded her concerns to him when he rose early to meet with Malcolm, Dagr assured her that Malcolm’s days of vengeance were over. If he had ever known his brother, he knew the look of regret in his eyes, and it was that notion that Dagr held onto as he met with Malcolm on the beach. Dagr did not need to hear words of apology from Malcolm’s lips; it was enough to see it in his face to know the truth in his heart.
“Do you remember when we were boys and came upon father and mother on the beach? He asked us to find eggs for dinner,” Malcolm said, his voice wistful.
Dagr stopped at the edge of the surf, letting the cold water splash up upon his ankles as his feet sank into the sand. A few feet away, Malcolm did the same.
“I remember it,” Dagr agreed.
Malcolm picked apart a piece of kindling and tossed it into the foamy waves. He seemed to search across the water as if he needed some answer, as if he sought guidance from those memories they shared. Dagr recognized that look, for it was one he had felt in his heart so many days when he ached over the distance between him and his brother.
“You thought I was angry because you found the eggs first,” Malcolm said. “But it was more than that. It was because I wanted father to know I tried. You were older and stronger. You were better at everything. But still, I tried. I only wished that other would see that in me, that they would think as well of me as they did you.”
“You have done what is right. You set the truth free. All who look upon you will see the man you are, because of what you did yesterday. What is done in the past is over. You walk forward with the love of your family at your side,” Dagr replied.
Dagr turned to face
his brother. Malcolm unsheathed the knife at his waist and held it out to Dagr, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Take it. ‘Tis the Ninth Key. Please take it before I make another mistake,” he said.
Taking the blade, Dagr glanced down at the intricate carvings on the hilt. The Ninth Key. He recalled reading something about it in the Leabhar Sinnsreadh when he and Skye had gone through the book, but he could not remember exactly what power it held.
“What mistake might that be?” he asked.
Malcolm’s jaw tightened. “The Ninth Key has the power to return a man to the day he was born. It is for those beyond redemption. A way to erase a life that has brought only suffering to others. I meant to stop this madness before it began.”
No, Dagr thought, an ache settling heavy in his chest. Was his pain so great that he meant to end himself on the day of his birth?
“Malcolm –”
“No, brother, I shall not do it. ‘Tis why I give it to ye. And in any case, I am no Chief Protector. That is an honor you hold, one that you deserve.”
Dagr nodded, placing the knife in his belt. As Malcolm turned to walk away, Dagr placed a hand on his shoulder. He took the blade Kanor had bestowed upon him and held it out to his brother. It was all he had, but it seemed it was what might make Malcolm whole once more.
“You gave me your knife. I give you mine. The exchange is even. What is mine is yours; our bond is shared now,” Dagr said, thrusting his knife into Malcolm’s hand. “It is the way of the Chief Protector. Take it now, and travel your path, brother.”
Malcolm stared down at the knife, turning it over in his hands.
