The Blooded Ones

by Elizabeth Brown

  “I thought you might go to your father…”

  “No. This is my place. I will be here when my brothers return.”

  “Do you think Makedewa will come home?”

  Chetan nodded.

  “His spirit is so troubled, he must wander now. Yet a part of it is tied here, in the heart of his son, and I know he cannot run from that forever.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. She was not sure exactly what to say to his explanation, but it made sense in some way. The Paspahegh believed the spirit of a man must be shown the way through life, and sometimes part of that lesson was the act of taking a journey. She knew Chetan had performed some sort of ritual near the ground where Rebecca was buried, but it was only natural that he would consider the flight of his brother’s spirit until he was at peace once more.

  “There? See it? The star you tell stories of, the one that points the way. Perhaps it will point my brothers back to us soon,” Chetan said. She raised her chin and looked in the direction he pointed. He was right, it was a star they had spoken of together many times. Chetan enjoyed hearing things from the future, and sometimes she just needed to talk about the life she once lived.

  “The Northern Star. I see it. I think you’re right,” she said.

  “Hmpf,” he muttered with a grin. “Of course I am.”

  She smiled. The clear night sky held many stories, a welcome distraction from the things they could not change. It was enough for them for the moment.

  CHAPTER 11

  Winn

  PEPAMHU LOOKED thinner than Winn recalled. His mother’s husband walked with a stilted gait, his legs bowed with the weight of time. As Winn watched him sit down across the fire, Pepamhu was seized by a fit of coughing, one that appeared to take the strength from the older man. Had it been so long since he last saw them? Surely Pepamhu’s hair had not been so white before, nor his hands so unsteady.

  Winn listened to the elders speak, keeping his silence as they discussed the business of the village. He knew some of the older men, noting Pimtune with the crooked upper lip and old Kayaro, but he did not recognize many on the council any longer. Those left from the decimated Paspahegh tribe blended in with neighboring villages, and as far as the English were convinced, the Paspahegh had been exterminated.

  The Nansemond had many of the same problems as the Norse. With the English expanding into Tsenacommacah, the Powhatan people were forced to leave or fight. Game was scarce, forcing the men to leave the villages for longer periods as they struggled to feed their people. Many of the smaller villages simply disbanded, their numbers decimated by disease or the fury of the English. Those who left their lands merged with other tribes, blending to gain some semblance of strength. The ones who stayed lost not only their homes, but their lives as well. Although Winn and Pepamhu were of like mind in keeping their people neutral, it was clear that time was coming to an end.

  Soon there would be no choice. Fight what Winn knew was a losing battle, or abandon his homeland to the English forces. Neither option was one he was ready to accept.

  “John Basse seeks an alliance, if our people will accept his Christian God,” Pepamhu said. Winn noted the abrupt silence. Powhatan men listened first before they voiced dissent. Although it was considered polite to give the speaker their attention, it was clear by the stony faces they did not care for the topic.

  “He is a friend to me. If you choose that path, I think it will be a wise one,” Winn answered. He was truthful in his response, knowing what he did of the future. If Winn could encourage even a few of the Powhatans to the way of survival, then he would feel there was something he could do to ensure their blood lived on.

  “Will you accept the White Christ, Winkeohkwet?” Pimtune asked. The old warrior’s twisted mouth turned up in a grin as he placed his palms flat together. He bent his head over his hands with a shrug. “I do not see how they call their God. He does not answer when I do this.”

  A chorus of laughs broke the silence, bringing a smile even to Pepamhu’s lips.

  “John Basse will ask us to be Christians, but he will not force it on those who object. He is not like the other English,” Winn said.

  “He calls his land Basse’s Choice. Is that where you would have us live?” Pimtune asked. All faced turned to him at the question, silently awaiting his answer.

  “It would be a safe place for our people. One where our women would be safe when we must leave them. One where our children need not fear attack – at least from the English.”

  “Opechancanough will slaughter them, just as he will any Englishman. If our families are at Basse’s Choice, they will die as if we were traitors,” Pimtune said.

  Pepamhu straightened his back as much as he could, rising up onto his knees as he leaned forward onto his walking stick.

  “My son knows more of this than any man here,” Pepamhu said. “Speak, Winkeohkwet. We will hear your voice.”

  Amidst the snorts and grumbles, Winn told them what he knew, and with each part of his story to them, his own future became clear.

  The path was not one he wished to take, but it was his path, and he could no longer avoid it.

  CHAPTER 12

  Winn

  He watched from the edge of the tree line, his presence masked by the shadows of early evening twilight. He arrived home to find his wife missing, and when Gwen gave a mumbled excuse for Maggie’s absence, he suspected there was something amiss. It did not take him long to find her in the meadow with her uncle and cousin.

  She was stubborn, he knew it well, but this time…well, this time his wife had gone too far. Winn knew she was troubled in the time since the English came to the village. Now, staring at his wife dressed in braies and wielding a sword, it became clear. Although their sword blades were swaddled with rags to blunt the blow, it still made a solid thud on impact. Cormaic landed a graze across her shoulder, and Winn did not know if he was angered or proud that his wife did not flinch.

  Once again, Maggie defied him. She disobeyed his orders, and even worse, she cajoled his men into casting aside his command as well. Erich stood with arms crossed, surveying the training with his careful eye. Cormaic looked to be struggling more than Winn though he should as Maggie went at him with a sword. Cormaic was a skilled fighter; Winn could see he taught Maggie well.

  Should he turn around and leave, pretend he never stumbled onto her secret? One part of him wished to let her have her glory, let her feel secure in her newfound skill. That was the voice of the one who loved her, the one who was a mere man when they stood next to each other. It would be easy to give it to her. After all, Maggie’s biggest fear was being beholden to others for her own safety.

  Yet the command of the Chief within surfaced, and it was that man that could not let his woman carry on. Maggie had given her word she would stay out of the men’s business, and she had broken it. The danger of her broken vow had deeper implications than just the act; it was the false sense of security it gave her that was the most pressing problem. Maggie could not continue to think she was capable of standing up to fight. If he allowed her such illusion, he was betraying all he was as her Chief, and as her husband.

  The snap of brush under his boots announced his presence as he left the shadows. Erich placed a hand on his knife and turned quickly to the sound, but when Maggie’s uncle realized it was Winn he relaxed. Erich’s eyes met his for a long moment, during which neither of them spoke. Finally, Erich swallowed hard, as if he prepared himself for some punishment. The older man ran a hand through his silver-streaked copper hair. As much as Erich deserved it for aiding Maggie, Winn would not chastise him. It was Maggie who was in need of a lesson.

  “She fights well,” Winn said. Erich nodded.

  “Aye, she does,” Erich agreed. Maggie ducked a blow and delivered a crack to Cormaic’s flank in return, and Erich smiled grimly.

  “She disobeyed me.”

  Erich appeared chagrined at that comment. He lowered his head with a sigh.

  “Sh
e is my niece, Winn. If she must wield a weapon, it should be her kin that teaches her.”

  “Her kin will protect her. There is no need for her to fight.”

  “She has the heart of a warrior inside, surely ye see it. Ye know she is different than other women,” Erich said quietly.

  “She is still only a woman.”

  Erich snorted. “Well, I’ll leave ye to tell ‘er that. I’d have her put down her sword first, fer sure.” Erich whistled low against the tips of his two fingers. Cormaic and Maggie paused and looked toward them. Cormaic had the good sense look away from Winn’s seething stare, but Maggie was full on defiance. After the initial surprise at seeing Winn, she planted her legs and crossed her arms over her chest, her sword cradled between her breasts.

  Despite her bluster, Winn could see her breath coming quick and shallow, and a touch of crimson creeping up the pale skin of her neck. The battle was evident in her demeanor, in those green eyes he knew so well. Succumb or fight?

  As he walked toward her, her scowl deepened.

  Ah, well, fight it would be then.

  Cormaic muttered something about leaving them alone, but Winn was too focused on his wife to acknowledge it. She opened her mouth as if to explain, then clamped it shut. Instead of retreat as he stalked toward her, she revealed her weapon and met him halfway, her eyes gleaming with insolence and daring him to challenge.

  He could not let this go. She might hate him after this moment. Yet if he must choose between her hate and her life, he would always decide the same. She was his woman, his wife. His life. And he could not allow her to continue down this path.

  Her eyes shifted to his waist as he unsheathed his sword. Her new weapon was slightly smaller, fitted to her stature, yet just as deadly as his own if used well. He could see her effort to slow her breathing as he reached for her, and he knew she expected him to take it from her. Instead, he removed the padding from her blade and tossed it aside.

  The lesson between them would not be blunted. Maggie needed to feel the force of the truth, there was no other way his stubborn wife would yield.

  “I don’t want to fight you,” she said.

  He leveled the tip of his sword at her breast.

  “Why? Because you cannot fight? Because you are weak?”

  “I’m not weak. I’m–I’m good at this!” she insisted, her voice rising a pitch.

  “Then show me. I am your enemy now.”

  He struck first, his blade screaming as it crashed down on hers. She went down on one knee with her sword raised over her head, blinking rapidly as she recovered. When she thrust upward to shove him away he stepped back, giving her a moment to recover. Strands of her red hair peeked out beneath the cap she wore, and it took one flick of his wrist to snatch it from her head. She let out a screech as her hair fell loose about her shoulders, the thick mass now a burden that impeded her vision.

  He hated the anger in her eyes, the rank despair that swelled in her soul. Perhaps it was not normal to know another so well, but to him, it was akin to taking his next breath. He could feel her thoughts as if she screamed them, and when she raised her sword and charged him, he knew he had no choice but to carry on. It was a lesson she must learn, one he trusted no other to teach her.

  “Is that all you have learned?” he taunted.

  “I’m just as good as some of your men, and you know it!” she snapped.

  With some effort he blocked her blows, met each swing of her sword. Yes, she was strong, with a power born of pure frustration and ire. The future life she had been born to had given her confidence, and it was that fire that drew him to her flame. In the end that would not serve her victory; it was her strength that would take her from him if she did not submit.

  His eyes widened when she sliced the edge of his tunic with a glancing swipe.

  “Oh, you are good, Fire Heart,” he agreed.

  When he took a step back she grinned, and that moment of introspection was enough for him to pounce. He struck high, side-to-side, giving her half his might, until finally he put his weight into a crushing blow that flung her sword from her hands and sent her to her knees.

  She scrambled away to fetch it, and he knew he could not let her. His vision clouded with a haze, and he told himself it was for her that he did it.

  She must know she cannot fight like the men.

  She must understand.

  He snatched her by the back of her man’s tunic and shoved her to the ground, slamming her hand into the dirt when she reached for her weapon. As if she did not know she was beaten, she twisted beneath him and clawed at his face, drawing his blood with her jagged nails. He tried to see himself as a marauder, some enemy that would give her no quarter, yet it still burned him to feel her soft flesh gripped in his hands and see how he would leave bruises on the one he loved most.

  He tossed her onto her stomach and pinned her with his body, ending any question that she might escape.

  “You are not strong enough,” he growled. She bucked up against him.

  “Get off me!” she screamed.

  “I am your enemy! Is that what you say to your enemy?” he shouted.

  “I’ll kill you!” she insisted, even as he pressed her face into the dirt. He looped his hand across her shoulders from behind, drawing his knife and pressing it into her neck as he drew her upward onto her knees.

  With one hand he groped across her stomach, his heart like a blackened ember when he gripped the belt of her braies. She had been sneaky to steal his clothes. She writhed but did not cry, her chest rising and falling in rapid sequence as she struggled to free herself. He bent over her, his fingers digging into her skin.

  “You are beaten, woman,” he whispered hoarsely against her ear. “You are weak. And I will end your life for your weakness.”

  He drew the knife slowly across her throat, careful to cover the blade with his fingers, but the intention was clear. When he released her she did not move, remaining bent over on all fours, her hair hanging over her face as she panted.

  He stepped away and stumbled, his eyes fastened on his wife. She finally stirred, turning on him. She stalked toward him, covering the space in only a few paces, then flung herself at him. Her open palm connected with his cheek and then her closed fist pummeled his chest. He let her have her revenge, letting her blows fall on his flesh until she raised her knee with intent to smash his groin.

  “You bastard!” she screamed. “You just couldn’t let it go? Do you have to prove to me how helpless I am? Well, I know it! Every single day I’m reminded of it! I may be weak – I may be a woman – but I can still fight!”

  When she raised her hand to strike him again he caught her wrist, slipping his hand along the nape of her neck to still her struggles. She refused to let him hold her, and he did not blame her as she slapped his hand away.

  “No. When the time comes, you will not fight. You are weak. You are small. And you cannot win,” he replied. Her throat contracted as she stifled a furious sob, and though her eyes still flamed defiance she met his gaze.

  “But I can fight. I won’t just sit here and do nothing again,” she whispered. He tightened his fingers in her hair, as if holding her close was enough to shield her from the truth.

  “You can run. You can hide. When the time comes, that is what you will do.”

  “So I’m helpless.”

  “No,” he whispered. He clutched her face in his hands, smearing the dirt over her tear-stained cheeks as she clenched her eyes closed. He would not let her succumb to self-pity, forcing her to meet his gaze instead of run from it. “You are brave. You are clever. My woman is the most powerful one I have ever known.”

  “But you said –”

  “I do not doubt the strength in your heart. If it took only that to strike down your enemies, then I stand here, trembling in fear for them,” he said. “But it is more than that. If you fight you may take the life of a man, even two men. Will you be glad that you felled one man, while your children lay dead beside
you?”

  A strangled moan escaped her lips. Tears spilled from her jade eyes as she shook her head.

  “No,” she said softly. Whether her response was to deny him or the truth, he was not certain.

  “Then give me your trust. Do as I ask. If a time ever comes where I am not standing before you with my sword, you will run. If you have a choice, you will go, you will take our children and hide. You will see them safe. Only you can do that. Leave this fighting to me. It is my burden, the vow that I made. Yours is only to…go on.”

  He sighed when she allowed him to pull her to his chest. She shuddered, with rage or fear he did not know, and as she succumbed to his embrace, he felt the fight leave him. The stark anger at her impudence and foolishness ebbed away, replaced with the heavy mantle of devotion he felt for her.

  “I will strike our enemies down. I will wield my sword for you. It is I who will carry that task. It is I who will bear that promise. In this life and all others, I swear this to you.”

  He felt her lips move against his skin.

  “Because I am a MacMhaolian?” she whispered.

  He clutched her harder.

  “Because you are my beating heart.”

  Winn joined the men in the Northern Hall after Maggie returned to their longhouse. As much as he wished he could simply stay with her, it was for her and his children that he must make plans. The sooner he could discuss the future with his men, the better off they all would be.

  “That went well for ye, I see,” Erich chuckled, his eye on the tear in Winn’s tunic as Winn took a tankard of ale from him. It was not as sweet as the mead, but supplies had been scarce over the winter and mead making was no priority. Cormaic joined them, a burly eyebrow raised in question.

  “No thanks to you,” Winn muttered. He glanced at Maggie’s cousin. “And no thanks to you, as well.”

  “What harm is it, if it gives her peace?” Cormaic said. Winn winced at the whiff of Cormaic’s ale-tinged breath.

  “It will give her no peace when she is dead. If there is a fight, she must take our children to safety. That is all I wish of her.”