“What time? You mean…what year?”
Teyas nodded. “We do not keep time like the English, but we understand it. Yes, what year?”
The words felt alien on her tongue, but akin to a confirmation of reality. It took her a few moments to compose herself before she could reply.
“Two thousand twelve. The year 2012. That’s what it was when I left,” she answered. Winn muttered a sharp retort in response but otherwise kept silent. The older woman kneeled down beside Maggie and patted her hand. Maggie could not help but smile at the comforting gesture.
“It must be very different, the time you come from,” Teyas said, her eyes wide.
“Yes, I guess it is,” Maggie agreed. She looked up at Winn. Although the two women settled down beside her on the furs, he kept his distance, arms crossed and legs planted in a rigid stance. “Where am I? I mean, what is this place called? None of this makes sense to me.”
“We are the last of the Paspahegh people, of the Powhatan tribe. This land is called Tsenacommacah, where all Powhatans live. Does that have meaning to you?”
Maggie swallowed back the lump in her throat as she nodded. Yes, it did have meaning, but it still seemed ridiculous.
“Teyas, I don’t understand how this happened, how I got here. I just really want to go home.”
She noticed Winn stiffen when she made the confession. Why did it matter to him if she left? The man bordered on infuriating. The span of emotions he incited in her within one day was enough to make her head spin. First, he saved her from certain death, and then he tenderly comforted her through her fear. Then he turned into an angry, stubborn ass that tackled her like a linebacker and proceeded to fondle her bra. Yet he stood there glaring as she spoke, obviously bristling at the notion she wanted to go home.
Well, he could take a flying leap. If he refused to help her, she would find someone who would.
“Maggie, we cannot send you home. The Bloodstone magic is very powerful, but we do not control it. You are here for a reason,” Teyas tried to explain. Chulensak Asuwak spoke rapidly and Teyas struggled to translate her message. “Mother says she gives you her protection. She remembers the summer when the Blooded Ones lived among us. Many of them were Time Walkers. We have never met another woman Time Walker since then, and she tells you she will not let harm come to you.”
“That is very kind, but I don’t understand—what reason do you think I’m here for? Why would anyone want to hurt me?”
“You have traveled here with the Bloodstone. Our Weroance seeks death of all Time Walkers.”
Maggie did not protest when Teyas took her hand, squeezing it in her own, but she swallowed back the stiff lump in her throat at the implied threat.
“Death?” she whispered. She knew she was not ready to hear any more, nor would she ever be, and when she saw the puzzled look Teyas sent to Winn, her worst suspicion was confirmed.
“We will keep you safe, Red Woman. Winn did not kill you, he brought you here to us. There has been no other woman Time Walker since the Pale Witch. The Great Creator must have sent you to us for a reason.”
So they would not kill her – for now. Maggie reached up and twisted a strand of her own hair between her fingers. It gleamed against the shimmer of the firelight. Red Woman, indeed.
Teyas and Chulensak Asuwak left the house after showering her with embraces and welcomes. Numbness seeped through her skin, and although she appreciated their heartfelt acceptance, she could not yet process what had happened or what she should do about it. The absence of the two women was purposeful and it left her alone with Winn. The blasted man still stood there, silent and brooding. She must have misunderstood what the girl meant. It had to be some mistake; she was part of no prophecy, especially one that meant to see her dead. She was just Maggie McMillan, a terribly lost twenty-one-year-old woman in a strange place.
The silence between them stretched as tense as the muscles in his crossed arms. Maggie remained seated on the furs at his feet, and the irony of the position suddenly occurred to her. Is this what Winn expected of a woman? Submission and silence? Of all the places time travel might have deposited her, the irony of being a twenty-first century woman stranded in the seventeenth century did not escape her. She tried to stifle the insane reflexive laughter bubbling up in her throat.
“What is funny?” he demanded.
“Everything,” she laughed, letting it out in a glorious release. “Me? I must look like a filthy mess. And you? You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here!” Frustration waned for the instant as she rocked back and laughed so hard tears squeezed from her eyes. His eyebrows rose and his eyes gleamed cobalt in the light as he watched her laugh. For a moment she feared he would be angry, but she was relieved to see his shoulders relax and his arms slowly fall to his sides. The corner of his lip twitched and eventually turned upward in a lopsided grin.
“You may be right. You do need a bath,” he agreed as he laughed with her. Her laughter slowed when he held a hand out to her. His grin remained but tightened somewhat as he waited for her to respond.
She knew this was an offering of peace and she would be foolish to refuse him. Maggie placed her palm in his and he clasped his larger one around it. He pulled her gently to her feet, the skin of his fingers calloused but warm against her own hand. She tried not to grimace at the burning pain the movement elicited in her shoulder, but the limb was stiff and Winn was not a man easily fooled.
“I would show you my village, but perhaps you need rest.”
The trauma of the last few hours had wreaked a fatigue on her body she had never experienced, as she certainly was unaccustomed to blunt force blows wielded by a bear. The truth of his observation gave her weary body permission to accept it for now. Maggie felt her shoulders sag and her back relax as she nodded in agreement.
Winn led her toward the back of the yehakin, where a thick pile of furs lay over a mat woven from coffee colored reeds. His intent was clear so she started to sit, surprised to feel his hands at her waist to assist her to the ground. She murmured a word of thanks which he did not acknowledge, but instead he turned away to rummage through a covered basket along the wall.
Maggie watched him, mystified by his presence yet still fighting twinges of irritation. She knew she was too tired to argue anymore, she would have to regroup and save it for another time. Besides, the way her shoulder burned, she feared more damage than could be treated without modern medicine, and with one less functional shoulder, she was as good as useless.
Winn found what he was looking for and returned to kneel at her side. He held out a smooth wooden bowl to her, which he placed in her hands. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the ripe red berries and strips of dried meat that looked like jerky. There was something soft and brown and shaped in ball that seemed the consistency of cornmeal, and he broke it apart and handed her a piece. Past caring what the food was, she was grateful for anything and quickly dug in. Winn sat down facing her with his legs crossed, watching her devour the meal. He smiled as she shoved berries into her mouth, and when she realized he was laughing at her she stopped eating, mortified.
“I’m sorry. Here, have some, you must be hungry, too,” she said as her cheeks filled with crimson. He waved her off.
“No, little one,” he laughed. “You eat. I am a good hunter. I will need to hunt every day to feed you.”
For a moment she considered dumping the bowl in his lap, but she was too hungry to waste any food so she tried to take his teasing gracefully. She went back to eating with a scowl, shaking her head and biting back a smile. He reached over and plucked a few berries from the bowl then tossed them in his mouth as he continued to watch her. When the bowl was empty, he passed a cup brimming with sweet apple juice to her, which she found delightful as it ran down her throat thick and warm. She finished in one long swallow, then quickly wiped the back of her hand across her dripping mouth and handed the cup back to him. Winn refilled it and took his own taste, downing the entire cup as she h
ad, but with much more control and finesse.
“Thank you…Winn,” she said when he put the cup down. He said nothing for a moment, but then nodded.
“You should sleep. You will be safe here in my yehakin.”
He pulled a loose fur from the pile and reached forward. Maggie held her breath as he entered her space, his arms closing around her as he placed the fur on her shoulders.
“This…house…yehakin…it belongs to you?” she asked.
“Yes. I will send Teyas to stay with you. She will be good company.”
Maggie wondered where he would sleep and nearly asked him to stay, more for want of someone to remind her she was not dreaming than for actual companionship, but ended up flushing pink again as she reconsidered. He raised an eyebrow in response and Maggie dropped her chin to avoid his stare.
“Okay. Thank you, Winn,” she murmured.
He made a low grunting noise in reply and stood up.
“Good dreams, Maggie.”
When she looked up, the bear hide hanging over the doorway flapped closed. He was already gone.
CHAPTER 6
Maggie walked beside Teyas through the center of the village, glad the younger girl’s arm was laced securely through hers. The packed clay beneath her feet lined a wide lane throughout the heart of the town, smooth under her moccasin-clad toes. The girl chatted gaily, pointing out the Great Long House that formed the hub of the community, taking care to explain how important it was to her people. It stunned Maggie to see how comfortable Teyas seemed with the idea of her time travel. The girl was patient and thorough as she gave Maggie lessons on their ways, focusing frequently on the role of women and how they were expected to behave.
Although Maggie listened, her scattered memories of history lessons competed with what Teyas said and it was difficult to resolve it all. Teyas said the small village was Paspahegh; from what Maggie recalled, the Paspahegh people were the first tribe that English settlers to Jamestown encountered after their arrival, but the Paspahegh disappeared from the written historical record shortly thereafter.
The numerous horses were another peculiar matter. Teyas explained that many years before, her people had helped Spanish survivors of a shipwreck. Most of the crew were lost, along with all their supplies and cargo, but many of the ponies swam to shore. The handful of Spaniards that survived gifted the Paspahegh with a half dozen ponies, and eventually the foreigners left to search for their own people they believed were settled somewhere in the south.
Listening as best she could while taking in the busy village, her attention peaked when Teyas spoke of her family. She explained how the lineage of the Chief, or Weroance, came from the maternal line, and how their Great Weroance Opechancanough was brother to Chulensak Asuwak. She was not surprised by the role women played, since she knew a bit about the early settlement of Virginia and had once found stories about the First People quite fascinating. However, the reality of living it was a different matter entirely.
Maggie dared a question at that point, hoping she would not offend Teyas or cause a stir.
“So where is your father, Teyas? Does he have light eyes, like Winn?”
Teyas shook her head. “No, Winn and I do not share fathers. Chulensak Asuwak is second wife to my father, Pepamhu. He lives with his people, the Nansemond, and sometimes he visits. Pale Feather is the father of Winkeohkwet.”
“Sounds complicated,” Maggie said. Teyas smiled and nodded to a group of women seated in a circle working hides. Maggie followed suit and smiled, not too surprised to see a few glares returned among scattered shy smiles. Teyas noticed the somewhat unfriendly greeting and pulled Maggie to a stop in front of the women.
“Chitkwesikw! Eholekw toholao!” the younger girl hissed. Several pairs of eyes widened at her words and a few heads ducked to the ground in shame. Teyas hooked her arm back through hers and continued walking.
“What did you say to them?”
“They are jealous women. I told them to be quiet.” Teyas squeezed her arm as she smiled.
Maggie swallowed hard and did not reply, but squeezed back. She was at loss over how to get out of the situation, knowing she had no weapons in her arsenal to combat the predictions of an Indian prophecy. She changed the subject back to where they left off.
“So Pale Feather has light eyes then?”
“Oh, yes. He is like you. A weopsit.”
She gasped and swallowed so fast that she choked, ending up in a coughing fit. Teyas patted her back, eyeing her strangely.
“Does Pale Feather know how to use the Bloodstone?” she sputtered, trying to catch her breath and get more information before Teyas clammed up again.
“Of course. He used one to leave many summers ago, before Winkeohkwet was born.”
The sliver of hope she allowed to surface found a quick death. The only person she knew so far who could help her besides Winn was gone. Could it be any more unfair?
“Oh. That’s too bad,” Maggie said, more to herself than to Teyas.
Two familiar warriors approached, just as Maggie gritted her teeth against the pain of a sharp rock stabbing through her moccasin. She would never get used to the clothes or shoes, and failed to understand why she couldn’t just wear her own boots. After all, it was not like it was some big secret that she came from a different time; everyone she met so far acted as if it was a perfectly normal occurrence.
“You look much better today, Red Woman,” Chetan said with a shy grin.
“Thanks,” she replied. Teyas seemed welcoming to the men, and Maggie wondered how they were all related after the mini-genealogy lesson she received. Makedewa flanked Chetan, his demeanor much less flattering, and Maggie again felt a twinge of unease in his presence.
“Did the mare drop her foal yet, Chetan?” Teyas asked, pointing toward a lean-to and corral where several horses stood eating.
“Yes, but neither will live. The mare bleeds, and the foal will not stand. They will die soon.”
“What mare?” Maggie interrupted. Chetan waved his hand toward the corral.
“She lies there. The colt is too big and his legs too weak. Go see,” he offered, moving aside to let them pass. Maggie pushed in front to see what they spoke of, and was sad to see a large sorrel mare lying motionless inside the lean-to. Her barrel heaved with each breath, her silken nostrils flaring with the effort to push the air through her lungs. Her belly was slathered in sweat, and her eyes sallow.
Maggie made no decision to ask permission. She lifted her leg and ducked under the wooden rail, sinking to her knees in the straw beside the mare. The sorrel twitched her ear forward and made no other movement, except to shift her eye back to the foal at her side. Lying in a heap, gangly legs curled under his body, the nose of her colt lay buried against her lathered flank. He could not reach her teat to nurse, nor could she move to help him.
“He can’t reach her—he needs her milk,” she said when the man reached her side. Chetan squatted down beside her, but Teyas and Makedewa hung back, silent.
“Yes, he will die without her. He is not even strong enough to stand. I know little about this mare, she came as a gift from the English. She is much different than our Spanish ponies,” he answered. He ran his hand down the neck of the mare and patted her softly. “Go in peace, nehenaonkes.”
Maggie already knew the mare was past hope from the pale color of her gums and the way her skin hung limply from her muscles. She had lost too much blood in the birth, but the colt might still be saved. If she could get him to nurse, perhaps he would stand, and then he would have a chance. Her eyes darted around the corral, and when could find nothing of help she turned to Chetan.
“Do you have a sack? Like you can carry water in?” she asked.
“Sack?” he frowned. “Mpiakhakw?” He held out a soft skin that Maggie thought might be the bladder of some animal, but it was perfect and her face broke into a wide smile.
“Yes, that’s perfect! Mpiakh-akw!”
“Do you know horses, R
ed Woman?”
“I raise horses back where I come from. I think I can help this one, if you help me,” she replied. She saw the hesitancy when he glanced back at his brother, but was relieved when he quickly returned to her for instructions.
“Help the new one. What do you need?”
“We need to milk the mare, the colt needs the colostrum.”
“The first milk?”
“Yes, we need to milk it from her.” Maggie crawled closer to the mare, fairly certain there would be no resistance, but she watched for a swinging hoof in case the dying mother objected to her teat being milked. Maggie never had a mare die at birth, but she had helped milk a sick mare once, and knew she could extract something to help the colt. The mare let out a sigh when Maggie grasped the base of the swollen teat and massaged it downward, but other than that, the horse did not stir.
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.
The Blooded Ones Page 4
