Wind Talker

by Kim Murphy

  At the same time that I fired, Charging Bear loosed an arrow. Two men sank. One fired a flintlock in our direction, missing us entirely. Another raised his musket. At the same time I fired, Charging Bear shot off another arrow. The man fell. The two that remained standing ran away. Something didn’t feel right. Instead of celebrating our victory, I motioned to Phoebe to remain where she was.

  The surrounding area had grown quiet. Not even a bird sang. I had that uneasy feeling in my gut that we weren’t alone. I traded a glance with Charging Bear. No words were necessary. A seasoned warrior, he felt it too. I surveyed the ground below and the woods behind us. The only sound was my own uneven breathing and pounding heart.

  I checked to my right, then my left. Behind us, the woods could easily provide cover for a number of men. If there had been more than five of them, the others could have circled around. A branch snapped. Definitely behind us. Gunfire. I wheeled around and fired my last bullet. A scream rose from the forest, then I felt the pressure of a sharp blade against my throat.

  Our gazes locked. Only hatred existed in his blue eyes. The knife nicked my neck, but before he cut my throat, he screamed and sank to his knees. A tomahawk protruded from his back. Black Owl. That’s when I knew the secret the skeleton held. “Nows!” I cried in warning.

  Too late. Black Owl pitched forward.

  I wasn’t fast enough. My father hit the ground before I could catch him. More screams surrounded me, then stillness descended on the forest once more. Phoebe was soon beside me checking Black Owl to see where he had been hit. His back was covered in blood, and she pressed a cloth to it. The bleeding slowed.

  Charging Bear and Swift Deer stood beside us. “The remaining tassantassas are dead or have run off,” Swift Deer reported.

  Black Owl spoke, but his voice was so soft I couldn’t make out his words. I leaned closer to hear him better. “This time... I was where... I was needed.”

  Phoebe looked over at me. “I can remove the ball. My momma taught me how.”

  I had hope. She could operate. I would be the blood donor like in Wildcat’s case. “What tools do you need?” I asked.

  “A fine knife.”

  Before I could get up, Black Owl grasped my wrist and gasped for breath. “No, Wind Talker. Both of us... know...”

  As a cop, I had seen many families take heroic measures only to put their loved ones through needless suffering. I swore to myself that if such a situation ever occurred in my own family I would be stronger. Black Owl had made his wishes known. I intertwined my index finger with his, letting him know that I would honor his request.

  A slight smile appeared on his lips. “I shall tell your mother...” He coughed up blood.

  Phoebe held him and whispered words of comfort until his coughing spasm halted. Sadness lingered in her eyes, but she was doing the job she had trained a lifetime for. How foolish I had been to think she could have been a twenty-first-century nurse. I touched her arm. “I’ll see him through to the afterlife,” I said.

  “Both of us shall.”

  We positioned ourselves on each side of Black Owl. His eyes rolled up in his head, and his muscles quivered. A death spasm. Bleeding from the wound increased, and Phoebe pressed the already saturated cloth to it. When the spasm halted, a euphoric grin crossed Black Owl’s face. “Your mother... she calls to me.”

  His muscles quivered as another spasm captured him. I stayed by his side, waiting for him to be taken. But I had witnessed death far too many times. It was rarely that simple. While his body writhed, I spoke to him about growing up in the twentieth century, my life as a cop, and finally when Phoebe had joined me. Every so often the spasms let him rest, and he would tell me of his life with my mother. “Once on... a hunting trip... I broke my leg. The kwiocosuk and... your mother made me whole again...”

  Finally, his muscles relaxed, and the wind blew gently at my back. For the first time, I could hear its words clearly. Like time, death was merely another dimension. “Let the wind carry you, Nows.”

  Black Owl’s breaths grew short, and his pulse fluttered to a halt. His eyes opened in the sightlessness of death.

  * * *

  We had journeyed too far to return Black Owl’s body to his native land, so we buried him in the spot where his skeleton would be unearthed approximately 370 years later—for a renovation project. I took comfort that my future self would contact the Virgina Council on Indians to make certain that he would receive a proper reburial. My only regret was that I had never discovered which tribe had taken him, or where they had made his final resting place.

  As was tradition, Phoebe smudged her face to look black and wailed. My brothers sang. Numbness spread throughout me, but a crow cawed and I looked to the sky. Two more flew over the grave. They perched in the trees near us, calling the entire time. Soon, a dozen or more flew toward us. Was I dreaming? I pointed to the flock, and the others admitted to seeing the birds.

  The group perched in the branches. They cawed for a while, then one flew in front of the others, like it had taken center stage, and gave a shrill call. The others grew silent, and the lead bird made sounds as if giving a speech. The pattern continued until another crow flew forward. Four more birds took their turns. When they finished, all but one flew off. The remaining crow cawed constantly. Instead of the usual high-spirited ringing caws, these sounds were raspy and descended in pitch. Finally the last bird flew away.

  Uncertain what I had witnessed, I inquired to the others.

  “Isn’t the crow your guardian?” Charging Bear asked. “They joined you in your moment of need.”

  A funeral? I had once read about “crow funerals,” but at the time, I had believed it was nothing more than a myth. The birds had come to pay their respects and eulogize Black Owl. I faced the east and held my hands out with my palms facing up. I had much to learn, but I was thankful. Black Owl’s sacrifice would not be in vain. For the first time in my life I said a real prayer—a silent one to Ahone.

  When I finished, I placed my arm over Phoebe’s shoulder. “Let’s find Heather.”

  * * *

  32

  Phoebe

  For two days, Phoebe traveled with the others across land, then along the river in a dugout. At the town of the Appamattuck, she and Swift Deer were greeted as guests. The last time she had visited an Indian town Henry had taken her to the Arrohateck when the smallpox had broken out. Not ’til she had studied nursing in the twenty-first century had she learned the native people had no natural immunities to English diseases, which was why they suffered more losses than the colonists. During the pestilence, her momma and stepfather had died, but others had survived due to her treatment.

  Now, she mindlessly went through a long line of people, each and every one of whom was introduced by the weroance, including her nephew Strong Bow. If it hadn’t been for the crisis with Heather’s absence, she would have rejoiced at being surrounded by her people once again. After a round of speeches of welcome, they feasted on venison and rabbit.

  Afterward, the men smoked pipes, and the women chatted amongst themselves. Phoebe told them about her recent adventure and missing daughter. The women sympathized with her loss. She managed to keep a brave countenance, but inside she wept. When the dancing began, she watched from the sidelines, not wishing to participate.

  So numb and exhausted, all she wanted to do was sleep and begin her quest anew for Heather. The dancers moved in rhythmic steps to the tempo of the drum round the fire. Lee joined her. “I know the last thing you’re in the mood for is a party.”

  “I cannot rest ’til she’s found.”

  “I know, and as soon as you’ve recovered your strength, we’ll set out for Elenor’s house.” He held out a hand and showed her to a guest house. Weary to the bones, she climbed onto the sleeping platform. Lee moved in aside her. Comforted by his arms round her, she fell into a deep sleep for the first time in weeks.

  * * *

  As Phoebe entered the dreaming, the mist grew thin
ner. He whispered in her ear to follow the light. Up ahead, she spied what looked like thousands of torches. She emerged from the fog. Lights upon lights, swarming with people surrounded her. And the clattering noise. She covered her ears and stepped into the road to escape the racket.

  More lights chased after her, blinding her. She froze. The earth trembled, and she went flying. Soon, my beloved, I will join you.

  But she was no longer afraid and ready to relive what had come next.

  When she awoke from the accident, men and women in blue garments clustered round her. Some wore white coats, but the light... unlike dim candles, the light blinded her. Demons. Fearing that she had been cast into the bowels of hell, she fought against the garbed people. One masked woman put a slender tool against her arm, and she felt a pin prick. After a few minutes, she grew dazed and slept.

  “Ma’am.”

  At the sound of a man’s voice, she fought through the layers of fog, and her eyelashes fluttered open. Aside the man in a white coat, stood another man—a tall one with black hair and brown skin. Though he dressed strangely and had short hair, for some reason his presence brought comfort. “Netab?” she asked. Friend?

  He pointed to himself, then opened his hands to her. “I’m Detective Crowley.” He gestured to her. “And you are?”

  He looked so familiar. Soothed by his presence, she grasped his hand. “Netab.”

  “Whatever she’s saying,” the man in the white coat said, “she’s comfortable with you. She hasn’t exhibited that kind of feeling toward the rest of us.” The two men relayed an exchange of words, but they spoke too fast. She had difficulty understanding their words. ’Twas English—of that she was certain, but it differed from the way she spoke. She tilted her head, attempting to single out their words and make sense of them.

  “I’m Detective Crowley,” the tall man said one more time. “You are?”

  His countenance was uncanny. “I’m Walks Through Mist,” she replied in Algonquian. “Walks Through Mist. Surely you’ve heard of me?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t understand.”

  She leaned forward and traced a line with her fingertip across his prominent cheekbone. His features reminded her of someone. “Netab,” she repeated.

  A woman in blue garments joined the tall man and handed him a book. He opened it and began turning the pages. “Point to where you’re from,” he said.

  Henry had shown her maps, but she had ne’er seen one in a book afore. Amazed by their bright colors and the feel of the paper, she ran her hands along the pages as the man flipped them. She had him halt at one page.

  “The West Indies?” he asked.

  “Tongoa,” she said. Let me see. She grasped the book from his hands. Frustrated that she seemed unable to communicate in English, she turned the pages on her own ’til England was afore her. She jabbed a finger to the page.

  “England?”

  She looked into his dark brown eyes and nodded. Satisfied that her message had been received, she blinked back the residual effects of the dreaming. She sat near the fire in the guest house. Why had she envisioned their first meeting as adults?

  Lee stared at her momentarily. His appearance had changed to shoulder-length hair, and he wore a woolen shirt, instead of a suit. “You asked if I was a friend. At the time the language sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”

  “You reminded me of Black Owl. That’s why you looked so familiar.”

  His countenance etched in sorrow. “I had such a short time to get to know him. What if we end up like our parents?”

  “We can’t know what the morrow will bring, but we have Elenor’s help. ’Tis time that we return.”

  * * *

  Phoebe swayed in a rocking motion as the dugout headed downriver to Elenor’s. Charging Bear and Swift Deer had joined Lee and her on the trip. Like the times afore, she rowed alongside the men. More than once, they had to halt their journey to elude English boats or nearby plantations. The settlements dotted the landscape and extended far beyond what was once Paspahegh land. How vast the colony had grown since her arrival in 1609.

  Charging Bear brought the dugout to a halt a few miles from Elenor’s plantation, and they set out on foot. As the one most familiar with the land, her brother led the way, but even she felt the familiarity of the trail from the time she had lived there. Thankfully, she had cast off her English garments and traveled in the comfort of doeskin and moccasins.

  Alongside the river, they made their way through the forest trail. By the time they reached the pitched-roof house, the sun had sunk in the west. Smoke drifted from the chimney, but no candles were lit yet. Phoebe shivered. On another occasion, the guards had waited for her, ready to take her back to James Towne and try her as a witch. If they were present again, there would be no trial.

  As if reading her thoughts, Lee gripped her arm. “You wait here.”

  “But—”

  “Phoebe, please, you know we can do our jobs better if you remain here until we’re certain the coast is clear.”

  She blinked. “Coast is clear?”

  He gave her a slight smile. “Never mind. Let us find out what awaits us. I’ll call you if there’s nothing to worry about.”

  She vowed that she would remain where she was. The men readied their weapons and set out. Lee no longer had a gun, but he carried a knife. They crept forward and crouched neath the windows. After a quick check, they approached the door. Her heart thumped a frantic rhythm as they went inside. No sounds. Minutes passed. She stepped forward, but halted, recalling her vow to wait.

  Finally, the door opened. Lee waved at Phoebe to join him. Afore reaching it, he reappeared outside the door with a squirming child in his arms. At first she thought it was Tiffany, but—she blinked. Tears of joy entered her eyes, and she ran toward them. “Heather!”

  Heather squealed. As soon as she had her daughter in her arms, she checked to make certain she hadn’t been harmed, but ’twas growing difficult in the fading daylight.

  “She’s fine, Phoebe,” Lee said. “Elenor, Bess, and Meg have already checked her.”

  Elenor joined them. Satisfied that Heather was fine, Phoebe hugged her other daughter. “I can ne’er thank you enough.”

  “ ’Twasn’t me, Momma. I had naught to do with bringing her here.”

  In confusion, she looked up at Lee. “Then how?”

  “You can thank William and his friend Chloe.”

  “William and Chloe?”

  Lee looked over his shoulder. “William, your presence and your friend’s have been requested.”

  A shy lad with shoulder-length brown hair stepped outside and joined them. She vaguely recalled seeing him with Lee and Christopher when they had broken her out of the James Towne gaol. After that, he had vanished. The lass had dirty blonde hair peeking out from her linen cap, and her skirt was rumpled.

  “Phoebe,” Lee said, “I’d like for you to meet William Carter and Chloe. My wife Phoebe. When I thought William had run off, he had gone back to rescue Heather. When he originally came to James Towne, he sailed with a future servant to Mistress Hopkins’s neighbor.”

  She planted a kiss on William’s peach-fuzz cheek. “I’m fore’er in your debt.” Fighting the tears, she grasped Chloe’s hands. “Thank you.”

  Embarrassed from the attention, William shuffled a foot in the dirt. “ ’Tis my repayment. I was naught but a runaway, but these kind people didn’t turn me in. Instead, they made me part of their family. Your daughter is the sister I ne’er had, and now Chloe has joined me.”

  “Momma,” Elenor said, “shall we go inside to greet e’eryone?”

  Phoebe brushed aside her tears and nodded. Lee’s arm went about her waist. Inside the door more hugs and kisses were exchanged with Meg, Bess, Tiffany, and Phoebe’s grandchildren. For the first time in as long as she could recall, her melancholy faded. Surrounded by family, she joined everyone in the parlor. They sat in chairs and chatted, whilst Heather clung to Phoebe’s bos
om.

  Sadness filled the room when Lee relayed Black Owl’s death to Wildcat. “He died bravely,” Lee said, “saving my life.”

  Wildcat’s eyes were downcast, but he nodded. “I would have expected nothing less from our father. After all, you saved my life.”

  Phoebe gripped Lee’s hand. In the coming days, they would face many difficulties. Lee, Wildcat, and Swift Deer would need time to grieve, but they were amongst family and friends. She most of all could put months of separation behind her. They were a family again.

  * * *

  33

  Wind Talker

  After our reunion at Elenor’s, I traveled to the mass grave to say goodbye to my family. Instead of death screams running through my head, there was silence. The quiet didn’t fool me. Their souls weren’t at rest, and I vowed that someday I would return and give my tribe a proper burial. Only then would they truly be able to journey into the afterlife in peace. As I turned away from the grave site, a gentle spring breeze blew. If I listened carefully, I could hear the wind talking. I walked along the path to the homestead when Phoebe appeared on the path before me. “Where’s Heather?” I asked.

  “She’s with Meg and Elenor. Lee, there is one thing that we must do afore we set out.”

  “And that is?”

  “I vowed to Shae that I would let her know what had happened.”

  Shae. In all of the recent turmoil, I had forgotten that I had made the same promise. “I did too.”

  She grasped my hands. “Then, pray join me.”

  “You know I will.”

  We located a secluded spot in the woods away from the burial site. With Phoebe beside me, I found it easy to enter the dreaming. Crow guided me, and when we emerged from the mist, Phoebe and I stood outside Shae’s office. “You should be the one to speak to her,” Phoebe said.