The Blooded Ones

by Elizabeth Brown

  Other less interested people filled the space, some looking at shelves lining one wall. An assortment of glass jars littered the shelves, filled with varying colors of remedies. A second shelf housed multiple sizes of blown glass bowls. A large round basket filled with squares of clean linen sat pushed against the wall beneath the shelves, and several fine trunks were stacked nearby.

  In the middle of the room a table was currently occupied by a boy of about five-years-old lying flat on his back, flailing his legs as a curly haired teenage girl held his shoulders in place. The boy knocked her white cap off her head in the struggle, and when she reached to grab it, he jumped off the table and ran for the door. An older woman stood behind the table, a rustic set of hot pliers waving in her hand as she laughed.

  “I think the mite wants to keep that rotten tooth, Miss Ellen,” the healer laughed. The sprite made it through the door before anyone could snag him, and the younger girl shook her head with a groan.

  “Did someone lose this?”

  Maggie looked up at Winn’s voice. Winn came through the door, the boy hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of grain, kicking and squealing at his captor.

  “Winkeohkwet, bring the lad here!” the older woman called. He crossed the room and deposited the child back on the table, then held the child while the woman quickly plucked the tooth from his gaping mouth. The child howled and burst into tears.

  “There, there, hush, child! ‘Tis the indignity of it all that pains him, not the tooth,” she assured to the curly-haired girl who soothed the child. “That tooth was plenty numb from the spirits I gave ‘em.”

  “Feel better, ntehem?” Winn asked, kneeling down at her side. He placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Yes. Did I make a mess?” she asked, her pride more damaged than anything.

  He chuckled. “You did it quite properly, your horse did not mind. Did you eat enough today?”

  “I think so. I’m fine now, really. Just a little dizzy.”

  One eyebrow dipped down and he made a dismissive hissing noise through his teeth.

  “Right, then. Fine? I think not. Stay here, I will be back,” he replied. He took Teyas by the elbow and spoke quietly to her. She produced a pouch of dried meat from the satchel tied to her waist, which she proceeded to give to Maggie.

  “I’m not really hungry,” she said, scrunching her nose at the strong smoked smell of the meat and waving her hand at them to fend off the do-gooders.

  “Eat,” Winn demanded.

  “Can you ever just ask me to do something, instead of ordering me around?” she asked.

  He frowned. “Eat…please.”

  “No. I’m not hungry.” She tossed her braid back and turned her shoulder to him, hiding the smile on her lips. He put the meat to her mouth and reached for her head with his other hand as if he meant to shove it down her throat, and she smacked him playfully away. “Ok, ok! I’ll eat, give it to me!” she giggled.

  “Keptchat!” he hissed. He grunted, but she saw him hide his smile as he gave her the dried meat. He watched her chew for a moment and then reached into the small pouch he carried. He fished out her raven and handed it to her.

  “My raven! Where did you get it?”

  “You dropped it when you were sick, Makedewa found it. Did it come with you when you traveled?”

  She darted a glance around to see if anyone listened to their conversation, then ducked her head close to his when she spoke.

  “Yes, Marcus gave it to me when I was a little girl. It scares away the bad dreams,” she whispered. A secret smile formed on his lips, and she narrowed her brows, wondering what he was up to.

  “Do you know what meaning my name has, in your English words?” he asked, his eyes alight, teasing as he gazed down at her.

  She shook her head.

  “No, why?”

  “When I was a young boy, I had dreams that caused me to scream in my sleep. One night my mother took me outside, and she pointed to a great black bird that sat in a tree next to our yehakin. She said the bird would cure my madness and protect me from evil. Since that day, I have been known as Winkeohkwet, The Raven.”

  Her mouth dropped open at his story as he smiled.

  “Fear not, little one. This Raven will always protect you. He has loved you forever.”

  Her heart pounded wildly as he stood up, the voice of Marcus filling her ears.

  “It’s a raven, a great brave bird. The raven keeps safe those he loves.”

  “Well,” she sniffed, “how do I know he loves me? He just met me!”

  Marcus chuckled.

  “He’s always known ye, lamb. He’s loved ye forever.”

  She shuddered despite the warmth but managed to smile weakly back at him all the same as he dared a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.

  Winn left her side to clasp arms with a man near the doorway as a melee ensued, with the two men standing nearly head to head amidst the crowded room. Winn wore a brown tunic over leggings, with tall moccasin boots covering his limbs up to the knees, a living enticement to illicit thoughts as he stood there oblivious of his charm. His hair flowed loose down his back, unencumbered by the usual braid, and she could see the side of his head above his ear was still shaved close. Maggie smiled thinking of how she had helped him with it.

  The stranger grinned broadly in greeting, and Maggie could see the gray woolen breeches he wore against a royal blue waistcoat when she caught a glimpse through the crowd. Tall knee-high boots covered his feet, different from the other men who wore flat shoes with square metal buckles. His thick curling dark hair was pulled back with a blue ribbon at his nape. Taller than the others, but standing straight and proud, he was thick through his shoulders and unintentionally demanded a presence from those around him.

  The men were too far away for her to hear any of their words, embroiled in such a conversation that Winn took to using his hands to illustrate his speech, and the stranger responded with his own gestures. Hands planted on hips, body arched, the stranger threw his head back and laughed, then thumped Winn boldly over his shoulders while Winn held a boyish grin on his own face.

  Maggie rose up off the bench, pleased to find her legs were steady again and her vision seemed clear instead of like a swirling typhoon. Winn met her gaze from where he stood talking to the stranger, cocking his head inquisitively at her, then smiling back when she nodded reassurance to him.

  The healer motioned Maggie closer with a tilt of her head and a smile, and Maggie tore her gaze away from Winn and approached her rather than interrupt the men. The curly-haired girl brushed by Maggie on her way out, the child sobbing with his little legs wrapped around her middle and his pudgy hands twisted in the girl’s apron.

  “Hello,” Maggie smiled. The healer nodded. She clenched the front of her white apron and wiped her hands clean, her linen stained with the bloody remnants of previous tasks from the day. Her hair was a bright shade of gold that laid in a thick braid down her back, a few loose strands of gray at her temples the only testament to her age.

  “You must be this Fire Heart I hear of. Welcome, dear. I am pleased to finally meet you. You’ve caused quite a stir in the village, yes?”

  The woman held a twinkle in her eye as she gazed at Maggie, the corners of her thin lips turned up in a smile. She had an odd lilt to her voice, not quite the same formal English accent as Maggie had heard the other townsfolk speak with, but something different altogether. Her words, although innocent in appearance, sounded laced with knowing, as if she held some secret knowledge she wished to share.

  “Why, yes, I guess I have,” Maggie replied evenly. Finola winked and tittered with laughter as she turned and dumped the tongs into a copper pot beneath the table.

  “Does my grandson treat you well?”

  “Your grandson? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh? Winkeohkwet is so full of himself now, he does not speak of his grandmother? They call me the Pale Witch in his village. Here, I am Mistre
ss Finola, a healer,” she said, casting a wink at Maggie. “Witch is a word we do not speak loudly in this time, dearest.” Finola turned away to tend to a potential customer and smiled an apology to Maggie.

  Maggie felt the color drain from her face at her words. Finola was the Pale Witch? Finola knew about the Bloodstones! She wished she could speak privately with her, if only for a few minutes, but she knew the conversation would be too risky around the English ears.

  She felt the gentle pressure of a hand on the small of her back. Winn returned to her side before she made a fool of herself by getting sick again, and she gave him a terse smile. The man he had spoken to earlier accompanied him. The stranger extended his gloved hand to her with a genuine broad grin streaking across his face. She placed her fingertips in his hand, and when she looked up at him to smile in greeting, she noticed his kind blue eyes darted downward and a flush crept up his neck.

  “Benjamin, this is Maggie,” Winn said.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss,” he murmured. “Benjamin Dixon, your servant.” He bent at the waist, a considerable task for the tall man, and pressed her fingers quickly to his lips before he released them. She saw his throat tighten and he swallowed before he raised his head with a stunning grin.

  “How long have you lived with the Paspahegh, miss? I cannot recall seeing ye on my last visit to the village,” Benjamin commented.

  Her tongue stuck to the dry lining of her mouth, and her back stiffened at the thought of disclosing anything to him. No matter how friendly he seemed to be with Winn, she was fully aware of the history of violence between the English and Indians, and she was still perplexed trying to make sense of their relationship. She suspected time traveling and Bloodstones would stick her right into the category of witch, so she clamped her mouth shut and shrugged demurely in return.

  “She is under my protection,” Winn said. He still smiled, but Maggie could see his eyes darken with caution.

  “Ye haven’t been raiding, have you?” Benjamin asked. He tilted his head toward Winn and lowered his voice an octave. “You know the folk here willna abide you having a white slave! I beg yer pardon, miss,” he stammered, darting a quick look at Maggie. “Tempers are high today, man! I heard an Indian left with the Elder Morgan two days ago and he hasna been seen since. Do ye know any ‘bout that?”

  “I know nothing of it, but I will see to it. I’m sure it is just idle talk,” Winn replied.

  “Then take yer rest at my yard tonight, and I shall speak to ye later on it. I think it best for ye to lay low,” Benjamin said, nodding curtly at Maggie. “Especially seeing the womenfolk with ye.”

  Winn and Benjamin clasped arms in farewell. Benjamin tipped his head to her and made a quick exit.

  “What was that all about?” she asked as soon as he was gone. “And your grandmother? The Pale Witch? That information would have been helpful before we arrived, don’t you think?” Maggie hissed. Winn moved a bit closer, his breath warming her ear when he spoke.

  “So there is something you don’t know from your school? I thought you learned all about my people?” he teased. She nudged him with her shoulder in his chest, a little more forcefully than she intended, but she smiled nevertheless when he let out a grunt.

  “I don’t know enough, Winn. Not nearly enough,” she sighed.

  CHAPTER 18

  THEY SETTLED DOWN for the night on Benjamin Dixon’s property, which Winn knew was the safest place to rest. Winn watched Maggie from where he sat across the fire, her smile lighting up the night as much as the flickering flames between them. It was a cool night, one of those unsettled days between fall and winter before the cold overtook the warmth entirely, and Maggie sat huddled next to Teyas with a fur draped over her shoulders. He could tell she was chilled by the way she bit her lower lip, her small white teeth closing down as if to ward off trembling. At some time since they arrived, she had loosened her hair, and now her hand darted up several times to push the wayward waves behind her ears. Her red hair shimmered in the flicker of the fire, amber gold against the curve of her jaw, and he had to subdue the urge to go to her. As soon as Benjamin left and there were no eyes upon them, he would warm her well.

  He glanced over at Benjamin, who sat next to Chetan, the two men sharing sips of rum from a shiny metal flask. Winn noticed Benjamin watching Maggie as if he had never seen a white woman captive before. It was not common for the Paspahegh to have slaves, but it was not unheard of either, so Winn was unsure of why Benjamin was so curious about it. It was quite common for other Powhatan tribes to have white slaves, so it should truly be of no consequence.

  Benjamin had always been the voice of conscience, the one to point out the good in every situation, even when the outlook was bleak. Winn spent two summers in the care of the Dixon family as a youth, and he and Benjamin became fast friends, despite their obvious differences.

  Benjamin continued to watch Maggie across the fire.

  “Benjamin,” Winn called. Benjamin broke the stare and looked over at Winn, one eyebrow raised in question. “Sit with me, brother.”

  “Ye mean to share my rum, more likely,” Benjamin grinned as he sat down beside Winn. Winn took a swig from the proffered flask, smiling as the burning warmth heated his belly and traveled down to his toes.

  “Good drink.”

  “Came in on the last ship from England.”

  “Ah, well, English are good for something, then.”

  “Come now, we’re not all such rakes,” Benjamin grinned, taking a sip. “Speaking of…tell me of the woman. Where did ye steal her from? I cannot help ye if I know nothing of it, and ye know they will want her returned, whoever her kin are.”

  “No kin will look for her, I promise you that,” Winn answered truthfully. “She is mine, that is all you must know.”

  Benjamin looked back in Maggie’s direction where she sat laughing with Teyas. Winn felt a twinge of unease at the way his friend stared at her. Was it curiosity, or something more in his eyes?

  “You’ve never kept a slave woman before, brother.”

  They watched her stand, make a shrugging gesture at Teyas, and then rub her belly before she set off toward the woods. Winn stood up.

  “I must make sure she’s safe,” Winn muttered, leaving Benjamin with the others. He followed her into the trees, reluctant to let her out of his sight although it was obvious she needed a moment alone.

  She had learned to be fast with such things, and Winn caught her as she was righting her dress. She let out a squeak when he snuck up behind her and grabbed her around the waist, but her alarm dissipated as soon as she realized it was him. How he loved to hear her laugh!

  “Winn!” she laughed. He kissed the back of her neck.

  “I like your hair down,” he murmured against her ear.

  As she pressed her face to his chest with a muffled giggle, he kissed her hair, loving the way she fit curled up in his arms. He heard the snap of a branch, and then another, and was stunned when he found the source of the noise as he looked over her shoulder.

  Winn saw Benjamin’s face as a pale outline against the evergreens, his mouth parted open, his eyes wide. Winn felt his throat tighten as he met the Englishman’s gaze. Benjamin quickly turned and left.

  CHAPTER 19

  Maggie was glad Benjamin left before they returned to camp, certain their stolen moment in the forest would be evident on their faces when they returned. Winn showed little surprise his friend retired without seeing them settled, so Maggie brushed off her insecurity and felt no qualm over lying down beside him to sleep. She was restless, however, and thought Winn was in a pleasant enough mood to field her questions, so she turned her curiosity onto him.

  “How do you know Benjamin?” she asked. He let out a long sigh and pulled her closer before he answered.

  “My uncle sent me to live with the English for a time. I spent two summers with the Dixon family, and Benjamin became my friend.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Benjamin?
More than I trust any white man,” he said. “My uncle wanted me to learn the English ways, so I could help in his plan to drive them away. He was not pleased we became friends.” Winn nuzzled her neck and nipped her with his teeth. “Just as he will not be pleased to know I keep a Blooded One here, safe in my arms.”

  He looked a little sad at this confession, his eyes darkening, and his hands tightening around her.

  “Why does your uncle hate the Blooded Ones so much?” she whispered as they snuggled beneath the furs.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious, that’s all.”

  “It is a story much older than my years. Blooded Ones lived peacefully among the Paspahegh until Opechancanough had his vision. He saw one of them, a Time Walker, end his life, and after that, they were all in danger. My grandmother was spared death and instead banished by my uncle, but this happened before I was born. I have only known her as the Pale Witch, living here with the English, and I visit her as much as I can.”

  “So it is true, then, that your father was English?”

  Winn shook his head. “My father was white, but not English. He traveled here with Bloodstone magic when he was a boy. Finola told me the tale. They came from a place where they had great long boats to travel far, and his people read from books and wrote in them. Grandmother speaks little of him; I think it pains her to know he is gone.”

  “Why did he leave without his wife?”

  “I know not, and mother does not speak of it. He used his Bloodstone soon after he wed my mother. After he left, she became second wife to Pepamhu of the Nansemond, and bore my brothers and sister.”

  He lifted the necklace from his neck and separated the black feathers that shielded the pendant. In his palm, enclosed in tarnished melted copper, was a tiny Bloodstone charm. She felt his eyes upon her as she slowly reached out to touch it and then jerked back away before she could make contact. She had no idea how it worked and was not willing to test it any further.