Wind Talker

by Kim Murphy

  “Thank you.” She gave me a sisterly hug. “And if you see Charging Bear, tell him... tell him—”

  “I will.” The wind picked up, warning me that my time in this realm would soon end. Meg’s image faded, and I returned to my spot overlooking the river.

  * * *

  William chose to come with me, and Wildcat agreed to be our guide. I was thankful for my brother’s help. Otherwise I would have stumbled aimlessly through the forest. At dawn, we said our goodbyes. Black Owl saw us off, and we agreed to meet at Elenor’s in the spring. With the onset of winter, the air was cold, and I was grateful for the warmth of the duck-down mantle the chief had presented to me for being Black Owl’s long-lost son.

  As we set out, I worried about my ability to contact Phoebe during our journey. If the trip was anything like my arrival to the Sekakawon town, I’d probably be too exhausted to even try to enter the dreaming during our few quiet moments. Wildcat set the pace and easily outdistanced William and me. Oftentimes, he needed to double back just to be certain nothing out of the ordinary had happened to us.

  “You differ from the others, Wind Talker,” William said, when Wildcat was far in front of us.

  His words brought me out of my thoughts and momentarily distracted me from my encounter with Meg. “In what way?”

  “For one, you speak English—quite fluently it seems—only it differs from mine.”

  I hadn’t confided in William that I had spent most of my life in the twentieth century. “I was raised by a whi—colonials. I’m also married to one.”

  “Will I have the opportunity to meet her?”

  I wished. “Not right away. It’s difficult to explain.” I debated whether to tell him the truth, but decided against it. Now was not the time. The others that I had revealed the truth to had been family or tribal members. So much remained unknown about William.

  Like before, our trip went slowly. Once again, I placed my pack on Wildcat’s back in order to slow him down, and when we met others on the trail, he was only too happy to stop for a chat and smoke. I attempted to express my urgency for haste, but Wildcat merely waved a hand that all was fine.

  Before bedding down on the fourth night, Wildcat informed us that we should arrive at our destination the following day. Although I had done my fair share of camping in my previous life as well as learning to sleep in some pretty strange places in my duties as a cop, I had not grown accustomed to sleeping on the cold, bare earth. I tossed and turned on the unforgiving hard ground until I finally gave up. I bundled my mantle around me. As I got to my feet, the winter wind cut through me. An owl’s hoots traveled on the gusts, making the sound eerier than usual. Only then did it dawn on me: the wind was talking. I merely had to listen for the message.

  I closed my eyes and envisioned the candle in my mind. Even the flame was governed by the wind—for if the blasts were too strong, the fire would be snuffed out. I settled back against a tree and for some reason, I thought of a wind chime, blowing gently in the breeze. Drafts. Squalls. Gales. Hurricanes. My head was overloading with information. All were forms of communication.

  In the background, I heard a ferocious cawing—loud and fast. I covered my ears, but Crow’s call only grew in intensity until the sound emanated overhead. I looked up, and Crow flapped his wings on the branch above me. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He took flight. At first I hesitated, but he circled back to me, cawing unmercifully. Never having seen the bird this agitated before, I had no doubt that I was meant to follow him. We traveled through the woodland until reaching the James River. The gentle roll of the land seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I was. Upstream, I spotted smoke and ran toward it.

  A familiar pitched-roof house came into view, engulfed in flames. Smoke billowed in the wind. The closer I got, the more difficult it became to breathe. Coughing and choking, I made my way through the black clouds. Near the door lay Christopher with an arrow in his back. I kneeled down and felt for a pulse. The boy was dead. Beside him lay Elenor with an arrow protruding from her breast.

  I gasped for breath and struggled to my feet. Hoping that I might rescue someone inside, I kicked in the door. Smoke surged out, instantly blinding me. I tripped over something in the entryway and crashed to the floor. Glass shards that were scattered across the floorboards cut into my arms, but I reached out to the object.

  The small arms were cold and lifeless, and the hair was long. A little girl. Elsa.

  Was my whole family dead? Dizzy from the smoke, I struggled to my feet. In the parlor lay Henry, Bess, and the two-year-old Nicolas. Blood covered the top of Henry’s head where his crown of hair had been cut away. The only person missing was Bess’s son.

  Throughout the years, I had viewed more murders than I cared to count, but nothing compared to the death of my own family—yet again. My legs weakened and I slumped to the floor. Ready to die with my family, I lay there, watching flames engulf the floor above. Coughing back the smoke, I sang my death song.

  Wind Talker.

  Phoebe’s voice reminded me that if I chose death over life I would be shirking my responsibilities and abandoning her and Heather. With renewed determination, I crawled toward the door on my hands and knees. A blazing beam crashed to the floor next to me. Smoke nearly got the best of me, and I gasped for air. Near the door, someone tugged on my right arm, then my left. Gripped in an arm lock, I was unable to move.

  “Wind Talker.”

  At the sound of my name, I blinked and Wildcat’s face came into focus. Beside him stood William. I coughed, and a moment passed before I realized I was no longer in the burning house. “They’re all dead.”

  Wildcat’s brows wrinkled. “Who is dead?”

  I cast my gaze around me. Dawn had arrived, and there was no smoke nor burning building. I had never left camp. Meg had somehow shared her vision with me. “I’ve had a vision that my people had murdered my English family.”

  “You were sent the vision for a reason,” Wildcat said.

  “Something that will come to pass?”

  “I cannot say. Perhaps you’ve been given the opportunity to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.”

  All the more determined to reach Elenor and Henry’s house, we set out. By midday, we reached the mass grave where my mother had been buried. I halted briefly to pay my respects. The bleached bones rekindled the death screams in my mind.

  “What is it?” William asked.

  “It’s where I should have been buried,” I replied.

  I had to make certain everyone at the house was all right. I turned abruptly, and for once, I was able to keep pace with Wildcat. But I got that odd gnawing in my gut. I tried to dismiss the suspicion, attributing it to my earlier vision and passing the mass grave, but the forest had grown quiet. Too quiet—not even a bird sang.

  At the same time that I reached for my Glock, Wildcat readied his bow. I motioned for William to remain behind us. His face paled, but being unarmed, he complied.

  A flock of turkeys fluttered across the path. Breathing easier, I started to re-holster the Glock, but Wildcat waved at me to halt. A shot rang out, and Wildcat flew back. Before I could return fire, a gun butt connected with the side of my face. Blinding pain coursed throughout my head, and I reeled to the ground. Blood ran into my eyes.

  A shadowy face loomed over me.

  The fog nearly sucked me under. “William?” I managed to utter.

  “You speak English?”

  The accent was definitely a colonial one. “I do.” I struggled to sit up.

  “Stay where you are, savage.”

  I wiped the blood from my eyes, and a bearded face shimmered in and out of focus. In his hands, he aimed a flintlock musket at me. My own gun lay a few feet out of my fingers’ reach.

  “Don’t e’en think about it.” His booted foot kicked me in the groin.

  Rage blinded me from feeling any pain, and I rushed at him. The flintlock discharged, but the ball struck the ground. My hands encircled
his throat. The stench of his unwashed body only fueled my anger. He gasped, and the veins in his neck bulged. His hands clawed at mine, but my grip grew tighter. His lips turned blue.

  “Let him go!” A red-haired colonial aimed my own gun to my temple.

  Bloody bubbles appeared on the bearded man’s mouth, but I loosened my grip. His own hands went to his throat as he leaped out of my reach.

  “Poor bloody bastard,” said the man holding my Glock. Menacing blue eyes stared at me, almost daring me to move. His fingers were poised near the trigger, and even though he would never have seen a Glock before, there was no doubt in my mind that he’d be able to carry out his intention. “On your knees.”

  I needed no encouragement. The pain that I had blocked from the blow to the balls doubled me over in agony.

  Both men laughed. “He’s not so mighty,” said the red-haired man.

  The bearded man rubbed his neck. “I’d like to teach him a lesson afore you shoot him.” The other man waved him on, and he withdrew a knife. “My father was tortured to death by the likes of your kind. The women sawed away his fingers, then his hands, and threw them on the fire whilst he watched and screamed in agony. What do you have to say about it?”

  “I wasn’t there. I was raised by colonials.”

  “Then why were you traveling with other savages?”

  I presumed Wildcat was lying somewhere either wounded or dead, and I had no idea what had happened to William. “I was paying my respects to my mother. She was murdered by colonials around thirty years ago. The warrior you gunned down is my half-brother.” The pain in my groin eased somewhat, and I met the bearded man’s gaze in challenge. If they were going to execute me, I would die like a warrior.

  I spotted three figures behind the men in the distance, one carrying a flintlock. At first I thought they were joining the men in front of me, but one cried out, “You will release him!”

  As they moved closer, I recognized Henry, James, and William. William retrieved the bearded man’s flintlock from the ground.

  “I said release him,” Henry shouted once more. “Drop the pistol.”

  The Glock lowered slightly.

  Henry placed the flintlock in the red-haired man’s back. The Glock dropped to the ground, and I snatched it out of his reach. “Wildcat?”

  “I couldn’t find him,” William said.

  Unable to stand straight, I scrambled to my feet as best as I could. When I walked, I hobbled, but I returned to the spot where Wildcat had been shot. I followed the tracks. They led me to some scrub where I discovered his limp form beneath a tree. I bent down. His pulse was flighty, but he was alive.

  “Wind Talker?” came Wildcat’s voice.

  I hushed him and inspected his wound. “Save your energy.” Fresh blood oozed from his chest. Henry was beside me and handed me a cloth. I pressed the linen to Wildcat’s wound to staunch the flow.

  “Let’s get him to the house,” Henry said. “Elenor and Bess will be able to help.”

  I pulled Wildcat’s left arm around my shoulder and helped him sit up. He wavered, but I held him steady. William got on his right side and together, we helped Wildcat stand. None too stable, he took a step, then another. Slowly, we moved forward. When we reached the area where we had met the colonials, there was no sign of them.

  “They ran off,” Henry said, as if reading my thoughts.

  “As long as they don’t return.”

  “If they do, James got their flintlocks.”

  I should have known that Henry would leave nothing to oversight, but my vision of the family’s death remained strong in my mind. After we got Wildcat to safety, I would tell him about it. Although our progress was slow, the house came into view. Once inside, Elenor and Bess guided us to the other room, and we carefully placed Wildcat on the bed.

  With shears, Elenor cut Wildcat’s shirt away and inspected the wound. “The ball must be removed if he is to have any chance to live.”

  The thought of surgery without anesthesia nearly sickened me, and I questioned my fortitude more than Wildcat’s. “If that’s what must be done,” I finally said. “Do you need my help?”

  “Bess will assist me. Wait outside, and I’ll let you know any news when I can.”

  Almost with relief, I turned away and staggered.

  “I think you had best sit down, lad.” Henry grasped my arm and led me to a chair.

  “Thanks, Henry. I’m fine.” Even William stood over me with an uneasy frown. “I’m just worried about Wildcat.”

  “Elenor and Bess will do their best to save his life.”

  “I know that.”

  A groan echoed from the other room. Anyone else would have screamed his fool head off, but Wildcat was a warrior and as such, he would do his utmost to not show pain. Resisting the urge to check on him, I waited. I’d only get in the way, I reasoned. Then, I heard a whisper, and another. Unable to make out their words, I presumed the women were discussing their course of action. While Elenor comprehended some Algonquian and Wildcat knew some English, they’d need a translator for any extensive conversations.

  I stepped forward, but Henry drew me back. “They’ll let you know if you’re needed.”

  Or if Wildcat had died. Neither of us voiced the thought aloud, but he was right. Unused to being inactive, I paced. Even when Heather had been born I hadn’t resorted to striding back and forth across the floor, but then I had remained involved by being at Phoebe’s side and coaching her through the birth. Now, I felt totally helpless.

  Suddenly the other room grew mighty quiet. I strained to hear any sounds, but there were none. No one came to the door, which led me to believe Wildcat must still be alive. I reseated myself and took a few deep breaths. Was this how Ed felt when I had been shot? I lowered my head to my hands. Don’t die, Wildcat.

  Time drifted. I had no idea how long I sat there, when a gentle hand went to my shoulder. “Lee?”

  I looked up at Elenor, standing in front of me. Her usually neat hair strayed.

  “Bess and I have removed the ball from Wildcat’s chest. He lives, but I fear he has lost too much blood.”

  I swallowed. “So you’re telling me...?”

  She squeezed my shoulder. “He will perish.”

  “Then he went through the pain of surgery for nothing?”

  “ ’Twas the only chance he had, but ’twasn’t enough. I wish I could do more.”

  “May I see him?”

  “Aye.” Elenor turned and led the way to the other room.

  Wildcat sprawled on the bed with his chest covered in a hemp cloth. Blood spattered the bandages. Thankfully, he was unconscious and suffered no pain. I, too, had lost a significant amount of blood after being shot, but I had received a transfusion. Why not Wildcat? “Elenor, you can give him my blood.”

  “Give your blood to Wildcat?”

  “In the twenty-first century, we do it all the time. I’m O positive, and if I recall what I know about biology correctly that means I can donate to him, unless he’s Rh negative. But if it’s the only chance he has, it’s the risk we must take.”

  Her eyes flickered. “I know not what you speak of. ’Tis something I’ve ne’er done. Where would I begin?”

  “Your mother will know how. She took some nursing courses before Heather’s birth.”

  “Then we must contact her.”

  “We?”

  “Aye, I will need your guidance to reach Momma, but I need to speak to her in order to make sense of how I go about giving one’s blood to another.”

  I worried about my recent lack of success in reaching Phoebe. Time was critical. I had to try. “We’ll contact her right here. It’s important that we remain near Wildcat.”

  Elenor nodded in agreement.

  Phoebe. I attempted to clear my mind, but found it difficult with Elenor standing nearby. Wildcat’s life is at stake. I pictured the candle in my mind’s eye. Absorb the flame. Nothing. I tried again and closed my eyes. Phoebe, I need to speak with you. Sti
ll nothing. I reopened my eyes and shook my head.

  “You’re trying too hard,” Elenor said.

  “I’ve been unable to reach her lately.”

  “You shall be successful this time. Pray try again.”

  Her words gave me the confidence that I needed. I took a deep breath and formed the image of the candle in my head. Mist surrounded me, and Crow flew ahead of me on the wind. Once again, the dragonfly joined us. When the mist cleared, we entered a hospital room—the same one as before. Meg lay on the bed still unconscious, and another woman bent over her, talking to her gently—a red-haired woman. “Phoebe.”

  “Lee, I still can’t get through to her.”

  The voice had come from behind me. I turned to Meg. She stared at Elenor, who looked about the room in wide-eye amazement. “Did you warn her?” Meg asked.

  “Not yet. Meg, I’m here for another reason, and there’s no time to explain right now. Phoebe—”

  “I told you that I can’t communicate with her.”

  How could I see Phoebe but be unable to speak with her? “I’ve got to get through somehow. Wildcat must have a blood transfusion or he’ll die. Elenor needs to know how to go about it.”

  “Phoebe’s never done a transfusion, but I have.”

  The dreaming had led me to Meg for a reason. I explained the situation.

  “A transfusion might save his life,” Meg agreed, “but what about typing?”

  “I’m O positive,” I said.

  “Still a risk.”

  “A chance we must take.”

  “All right then.” Meg looked toward Elenor. “Do you have anything to keep the blood from coagulating?” Elenor stared at her transfixed, and Meg tried again, “So that it won’t clot?”

  “Nay.”

  “I don’t like the idea of someone who’s inexperienced drawing from an artery.” Meg shook her head. “I’m not certain... do you have syringes?”

  “Aye.”

  “And needles?”

  “Aye.”

  “But they won’t be hypodermic needles. I don’t think they were invented until the nineteenth century. Do you understand what I’m saying? The needle has to have a hollow point so the blood can be drawn into the syringe.”