His grandmother still held a blank stare as they rode away. She had journeyed to another place, one no man could follow her to. Winn had seen those who entered the spirit world before. For some reason she had passed through to that place, and he knew it would be up to her to return or remain. He noticed she held onto Chetan, but other than that slight protective gesture, she did not stir. What had been done to her, he had no notion, but he hoped she would wake from her journey and tell him.
If only she would give him a word, Winn would be glad to return to Master Dobson and repay his English kindness.
CHAPTER 18
Maggie
While Winn and Chetan were away from the village, she kept as busy as she could. She did not like when they were separated, even for a few days. It seemed like no matter how careful they were, or how much they used her knowledge of the future, they still ran into trouble. She did not regret the decision to remain in the past with Winn, but at times she wondered if was possible to live a peaceful life in the time they had chosen.
She looked at Kwetii as her daughter played with Gwen, and she was certain she did not regret any of it. She was a striking child, with dark wavy hair and a heart-shaped face. Her skin was lighter than her father’s, appearing slightly suntanned against her startling blue eyes, a unique combination no matter what time they lived in. The child spoke words in both Paspahegh and English, and Maggie noticed in the few days they spent with the Norse, she learned the Norse word for no as well.
“Nei! Nei, Da!” Kwetii had cried, begging Winn not to leave. Winn had held the child and whispered into her ear, but Maggie had noticed he was surprised by her use of the Norse language. Kwetii was a clever child who took everything in.
Maggie tended to Benjamin while Gwen prepared a salve. The older woman hoped slathering his head with the thick gooey substance would help his mind heal and let him wake. Maggie was not too hopeful, but she figured it was worth a shot. She was still angry at Marcus for the ease at which he spoke of leaving, so if they could just get Benjamin to wake up, at least that issue would be resolved.
As she filled a pitcher with water by the hearth, she noticed a row of neatly carved figurines on the stone mantle. They were similar in size to her raven, but they looked quite new, with a fresh sheen to the grey metal and few pock-marks like her trinket had. She patted the fold of her skirt where the raven was tucked, relieved to feel it still in her possession. It was a tiny thing, but it mattered to her, being the last remnant of a future life she hoped to share with her daughter someday.
“Where do these things come from, Gwen?” she called. The other woman looked up from her mixing.
“Oh, the charms?” she said. “Erich makes them. He taught yer cousin Cormaic to make them, but the lad’s not interested in such little things.”
“So did Erich make this?” Maggie asked, taking the raven from her pocket. At the sight of the figurine, Gwen stopped mixing and her eyes grew wider.
“Aye, he made this. He gave it to yer mother when she found she was carrying ye. Erich is a Seer as well, ye know, but he will no admit it to ye. He makes these when he has a vision, and only then. I suppose he’s had more visions of late, he’s made more since ye returned than he has in years.”
“What vision did he have for the raven?” she asked, curious to learn all she could of the mysterious magic in her blood. It was rare to get Gwen to open up about it, so if her aunt would continue to answer questions, Maggie would press on.
“Ye know, lamb. A raven, a great black bird, it would protect ye someday. He gave it to Esa, for ye. We all wish to see ye safe, no matter what those blasted men make ye wonder,” she muttered.
“What’s so special about my blood? Aren’t you all Blooded Ones, just like me?” she asked.
“Aye, some of us more than others. But ye have the blood from both yer parents, and that is a very rare thing to us now. Those of us left here have a sprinkling, here and there, but you? Well, you have more power in a drop of yer blood than all of us combined. That is, except fer yer wee miting over there. I suppose she takes that honor now, for want of the Chief’s blood in her veins.”
“But power for what? I can’t do anything!” she sighed, snapping her hands out in front of her in demonstration. She waved her hands, pointed her fingers, and then wiggled her nose like she’d seen a witch on television do once. “See? Nothing. I think you’re all just mixed up.”
Gwen chuckled, bending back to her mixing.
“Do ye know how much power it takes, to send a Longship full of people through time?” Gwen whispered, as if to herself. “Most of us can only travel with a Bloodstone, and then we take only ourselves. You, my dear, ye could take a village with ye, if you meant to. Aye, ye have the power. Yer the one who’s addled.” Maggie opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, not sure exactly what she wanted to say to that revelation. In a reflexive motion, she pressed her hand to the Bloodstone that lay nestled beneath her shift. Gwen shook her head, muttering in Norse.
“Go tend to young Benjamin. Here, take this,” Gwen said, thrusting the bowl of salve at her. Maggie followed her command, her thoughts scattered as Gwen abruptly stopped talking and dismissed her. With her mind distracted due to the tidbits of information, she went to tend Benjamin.
Sitting down beside him, she put her hand on his arm. She looked away to search for a towel, and suddenly felt fingers close around her wrist. She slowly turned to him.
He was awake.
His blue eyes were tinged pink around the edges, his brow creased, and his jaw hung slightly open. His lips looked so parched and dry, she could think of nothing else to do but help him drink. She grabbed a cup, filled it with water, and leaned over to press it to his lips.
He remained silent, his eyes locked on hers as he pushed to a sitting position. She saw him grimace and waver, so she reached out to steady him back to the pillows. He took a few swallows of the cold water, and then ran his tongue over his dry lips.
“Yer verra beautiful today, wife,” he finally said, his voice cracked in a hoarse whisper. She felt her stomach drop at his words and made to pull back, but he caught her hand, surprisingly strong, and held her there.
“Let go of me!” she whispered, yanking away from him. The cup overturned and splashed his bared chest, but he seemed not to notice. She sat back, pulling against his grip and staring into his frantic eyes as if it might jog his delusional memory. He had been asleep too long, however, and after his initial burst of strength, his grip loosened and he dropped her hand.
“I’m not your wife anymore,” she said. He cocked his head slightly to one side.
“Are ye a ghost, then?” he asked.
“No, I’m flesh and blood. I haven’t seen you since Finola and I gave you the Bloodstone,” she whispered. Suddenly his face fell.
“Oh, aye. I remember that.”
He closed his eyes and laid his head back on the pillows.
“Here, drink this,” she stammered, refilling the fallen cup and holding it out to him. He squinted through one partly opened eye and sighed.
“Why are you here?” he asked. She put the cup to his lips and he raised his hand to take it, but when his finger touched her knuckles, he pulled back.
“Your father has been searching for you. He came looking when you never made it to the future,” she said, her words slow and careful. She was uncertain as to how to speak to the man who had once been her husband.
“Was he expecting me?” Benjamin asked.
“Yes. I wrote him a letter. He found it and figured out where, or rather when, we were at. He’s here now, I’m sure he would like to see you awake. You have a lot to catch up on.”
“Is this hell? I’ve gone to hell for using that evil magic, haven’t I?” he whispered.
She subdued the urge to tell him that yes, it was hell, and that he had gone there for his deceitful ways. After all, she had forgiven him, hadn’t she?
“No. It’s not hell. Don’t you remember your father? Or the f
arm we lived on?” she asked. Yes, he had been a child when the Bloodstone first took him, but he was old enough to recall a few details. Finola once told her Benjamin had arrived half-naked, starving, and mute, but eventually he told Finola fantastical tales about his future time.
“I remember. All of it,” he said softly. “Ye were the last one I saw that day, when I picked up that stone as a boy. And ye were the last one I touched before it took me again, as a man. Aye, I remember.”
His eyes met hers, soft and knowing.
“Ye say yer no longer my wife. Ye found him, then?”
She nodded. She knew who he referred to.
“Be off with ye, Maggie. I need to piss, and it willna be fit fer ye to see,” he mumbled. She tried to contain her smile at the absurdity of his words, seeing how serious he was about the matter, but she failed in her attempt and let out a muffled laugh. After all, they had been married once, and she had seen much more than that.
“Really? Come on now, if you try to sit up by yourself, you’ll fall on your stubborn head! Here, I’ll help you, then I’ll leave you to it,” she laughed. His pale cheeks filled with color, yet his lip turned up in a grin.
Benjamin let her help him sit up and put his feet on the floor. His legs were thin, and he had lost weight all over, but it was his face that was most changed. Covered by a full, black beard, even through the mass of hair she could see the sharp lines of his cheeks and the way his blue eyes seemed hollow in his head. Eyes so much like his brother.
“Oh, damn!” she murmured.
“What?”
“I’m going to fetch your father. Don’t fall over, you’ll split your head. Again,” she said. She left him sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling the curtain behind her as she went. She kicked a piss pot under the curtain, sending it sliding across the floor until it stopped with a thump.
“Thank ye,” he called.
“You’re welcome,” she mumbled.
Maggie updated Gwen on Benjamin’s awakening, and the older woman ran off to find Marcus.
Benjamin took the news surprisingly well. After Marcus entered the cottage to speak with his awakened son, Maggie and Gwen played with Kwetii to keep occupied while the men talked. With a few glances between them, Maggie and Gwen made a silent pact to remain in the adjacent room. Maggie stayed out of curiosity, and she figured Gwen stayed from loyalty to her Chief. The voices started out low, but as the conversation wore on it became louder, and at one point there was a dull thud against the floor.
As Gwen fiddled with some kindling by the fire, Marcus parted the curtain. He stood wide legged, arms flexed, and Maggie could see he shook as if cold. He eyed them up, his face a mixture of confusion and joy.
“Will ye help him? I’ll send Cormaic and Erich to bring him to the hall, but he’s a bit weak still yet,” he said.
“Of course we’ll help him, but do you really think it’s a good idea to get him up so soon? He’s been unconscious for a week,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest.
She heard Gwen gasp, but ignored her. Maggie knew she was expected to defer to the Chief’s every whim, but for Pete’s sake, he was still the same old Marcus. Marcus ruffled Kwetii on her head as he met Maggie’s questioning gaze.
“The lad wants to meet his kin. It’s about time he takes his place among his people.”
The Northern Hall was louder than it had been the night they arrived, if that was possible. She counted the numbers but rapidly lost track. There were over thirty people joining the celebration, and she knew that was not the whole of them. The crowd was a mash up of cultures, with Indians and Norse living together, and Maggie suspected she heard the inkling of other languages among a few of the men and women. She listened intently to tidbits of conversations around her, and in the days they spent in the company of the Norse she came to realize they had a close relationship with the Nansemond who lived nearby. She imagined it was that alliance that helped keep them hidden in the mountains, essentially undisturbed by the encroaching English settlers. Unless the Norse chose to interact, the village was unlikely to be of interest to the English. It seemed they ventured into town very rarely, trading on occasion with the Indians more than they did with the English. Gwen told her they had settled in the area prior to the arrival of the English, and since they kept to themselves high up away from the James River, they had very little trouble.
Without Winn there, she did not feel up for celebrating, but when both Teyas and Rebecca were excited to go, she decided to join them. Ahi Kekeleksu made friends with a group of boys his age, among them the Indian youth she noticed earlier, and they raced around the Northern Hall screeching and play-fighting. Maggie noticed Makedewa hanging back in the shadows, his eyes following Rebecca, yet he stayed away with the other men while Rebecca carried Kwetii. Cormaic was speaking with Rebecca and fussing over the child as much as a big lug could, and they both laughed as they spoke. Maggie took her tankard and made her way to where Makedewa stood.
“Fire Heart,” he mumbled gruffly with a nod when she approached. His arms were crossed over his lean chest as he watched Rebecca eat with the women. He wore a new vest over his bare torso, made from the thick hide of a brown bear and edged with a knot work of intricate silver thread, a gift from Erich to welcome him to the village.
“You could go sit with her,” she commented. He made a shallow grunting sound.
“I can stand here, just as well,” he replied.
“You’re as stubborn as your brother,” she teased, taking a sip of her drink. He tilted his head a bit and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Hmm. Who is more stubborn, my brother, or his wife? He is much changed from the brother I know.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged, turning back to watch the crowd.
“My brother forgets his people for you. Yet still you cannot be happy. What would you have of him? To live here? With his white brother, whose bed you once shared?”
She froze at his hateful words, her response caught in her dry throat.
“I’m happy as long as I’m with Winn,” she finally whispered.
“My brother is the strongest brave I know. But even he could not bear what you want of him.”
“I’ll go wherever he wants.”
Makedewa sighed as he shook his head.
“No. You will stay here, and Winn will let you. He forgets who he is, for you. With each sunrise I see less of my brother, and more of a Tassantassas in his skin.” Makedewa drained his mug. “If that is what being bound to a woman makes a man, I will stay away. Let her find a Tassantassas to make her happy.”
Her mouth dropped open when he abruptly turned and walked away. His hateful words stung, the truth of it mixed in with his conflicted feelings for Rebecca. She shook her head to clear the rush of tears that threatened, trying to convince herself he did not mean what he said. Yet on some level, she knew he did, and the guilt nipped at her heart.
She took a long gulp of mead and made her way back to the table to join the women, where perhaps the conversation would be more welcoming. She took a seat on the bench next to her aunt.
“Who is that boy?” she asked Gwen, as the Indian youth began to wrestle with Ahi Kekeleksu in the crowd. Gwen was fussing with her kirtle strings which had fallen loose, and she stopped for a moment at Maggie’s question.
“Iain? He’s son to Ellie-dear, by a Chesapeake brave. Some of them stayed here for a bit when the Powhatans attacked. We’ve taken in quite a few stragglers. We’re not the only people who’ve lost their kin,” she said. Maggie raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Why did he go after the Chesapeake?”
“We heard it was a prophecy. It was the old Chief Powhatan back then, he and his brother Opechancanough were much alike in that way,” Gwen said with a shrug of her shoulders. “A priest said the Chesapeake would rise up against the Powhatan Empire, so he attacked them. We sheltered some of the Chesapeake for a time. Most of them moved on with the Nansemond,
but Ellie and Iain stayed with us.”
“Is Ellie-dear here?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, aye. She’s the blond one, sitting near yer sister. Her bairn’s an Indian, like yer husband,” Gwen replied, nodding toward the end of the table where Teyas sat.
Maggie did not know how to respond to that as she looked over at her husband’s sister. Cultural tolerance aside, she was well aware that the Norse were uncharacteristically welcoming to the Indians. Perhaps it was their shared history that bound them, or the need to have allies to survive. Whatever the reason, she was glad for it.
She spotted Ellie-dear sitting beside Teyas, engaged in a discussion. Ellie had long, straight blond hair, pulled demurely back with a single tie at the base of her neck. Her features were delicate, like Rebecca’s, and although Ellie was older, she was clearly English.
“What a pretty lady,” Maggie murmured. Gwen chuckled as Maggie took a bite of bread.
“That Chesapeake brave thought so, too. He took her to wife from that group of Roonok settlers, and she’s lucky to be alive. I think all her kin are dead.”
The bread caught in a dense lump in her throat and Maggie gasped into a choking fit. Gwen thumped her on the back with a closed fist until Maggie was able to suck the air back into her lungs and catch her breath.
“Shoo, slow ye down! Can’t have ye choke yerself into the grave!” her Aunt chastised. Maggie took a swig of the proffered wine, coughed up more bread, and took another sip.
“Elli’s from Roanoke?” she sputtered.
“Nay, I said Roonok. The English left a few of their people on the Island early on, and they right starved to death until the Chesapeake took them in. Elli-dear’s one of them. Her ma died when she was still a wee thing, so they called her by her ma’s name. Eleanor,” Gwen mused, “Eleanor died early on. Terrible time, that was.”
“Eleanor Dare,” she whispered. The lost colonists, starved and desolate, had sought shelter with the local Indians, just as historians had suggested. She recalled no one knew for sure what happened to them. Some surmised they went to the Chesapeake, others believed they went to the Croatoan. There were various rumors of blue-eyed, fair-haired people living amongst the Indians, but the reports were unreliable and impossible to verify. Knowing firsthand how those early years of English settlement played out, Maggie was not shocked to hear of whites living among the Indians. Yet the village of Time Walkers had apparently escaped documentation in written history, just the same as the fate of the Roanoke Colony.
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