18
His eyes felt heavy, so he rested them, letting his head fall lightly back on the deep bundle of furs on the cot beneath him. The air, thick with the scent of herbs and the acrid sting of smoke from the nearby fire, filled his lungs with each breath, and he imagined it was part of the healing magic intended to ease his suffering. The room was dim, the light filtered through a smoke hole in the roof, casting shadows that danced behind his eyelids as he tried to rest.
The fever that wracked his body was relentless, a burning tide that ebbed and flowed but never receded, fueled by the poison from an arrow wound to his chest. The pain was a constant companion, spreading from the dark, purulent wound that no poultice or prayer seemed able to cleanse. Each breath was a battle, the air heavy and difficult to draw, filled with the earthy smell of the medicine house, mingled with the bitter tang of blood and decay.
As he lay there, Connor”s thoughts wandered, the fever twisting memories and fears into a web of regret. Above all else, he thought of Emmy, his sister, the only family he had left in this world. Keeping her safe had always been his paramount concern, a duty that now lay heavy on his heart as he faced the inevitability of his own mortal demise. Together, they left their twenty-first century lives and obeyed the blood born vow they made to their mother, yet Conor knew that soon, Emmy would continue on her own journey without him. Would she forgive him for what would happen next?
Daniel, the Pamunkey man who had become Emmy”s constant companion, was a source of conflict in Connor”s mind. He had never fully trusted the man, his instincts as a warrior and a brother warning him against placing Emmy”s safety in the hands of another. Yet, as the fever drew him in and out of consciousness, he found himself revisiting their interactions, and he could not ignore the way Daniel looked at Emmy with a pure adoration and fierce protectiveness.
It was in these fevered moments of clarity that Connor began to accept a truth he had fought against—the realization that Daniel loved his sister deeply, and perhaps, more importantly, that Emmy loved Daniel in return. This acknowledgment was a bitter pill, harder to swallow than any medicine the Pamunkey healers could brew.
Lying there, alone with his thoughts, Connor understood that his time was running out. He made a silent vow to trust Daniel with his sister”s safety, to entrust him with the most precious thing in his life. It was a decision born not of weakness, but of love—a love that transcended his own mortal life and sought to secure Emmy”s future even as his own slipped away.
As the fever raged and the pain spread, Connor”s thoughts drifted to Emmy, to the life she would have after he was gone. He hoped she would find happiness, that Daniel would keep her safe, and that somehow, she would know he had always loved her, always sought to protect her. In the medicine house of Pamunkey Towne, as his breaths grew shallower and the shadows longer, Connor found a measure of peace in these final thoughts, a warrior at rest, a brother”s duty fulfilled.
Connor lay flat on a long platform, the kwiocosuk at his side. The kwiocosuk worked valiantly to make a difference, but Connor knew the outcome would remain the same. The Indian magic was not enough to change his fate.
Smoke billowed up in a twisting pattern to the hole at the top of the long house from the handful of tightly bound dried roots that the medicine man held. He was an elder kwiocosuk, with his head plucked completely bare except for a small swatch of hair in the middle that stood upright, stiffened and shiny from the bear grease used to keep it in place. Unlike the red vermillion paint the warriors wore, the medicine man painted his face and chest black, and his eyes stood out like bright little moon globes on his dark face.
The medicine man chanted in the language of the ancients, asking the Great Spirit Okee to heal Connor’s wounds. With each pause in his song he waved the bundle of dried burning roots in a circular motion over him to invite the healing smoke into the wound, then waved his hands upward to drive the tainted smoke up toward the smoke hole, releasing the heat from the body to banish the sickness. When he was finished, he stomped the tiny root torch out with his foot, completing the healing ritual.
Connor opened his eyes. Daniel stood beside the healer, watching him work.
“The blood is tainted with stagger grass. I can do no more for him. I have asked the Great Spirit Okee to take his sickness, but this man has gone many days with this wound,” the kwiocosuk said.
Connor already knew the Ricahecrians dipped their arrow tips in poison, as the wound held a distinct odor and spider-web streaked appearance.
“What is stagger grass?” Connor asked.
Daniel’s nostrils flared, and the gesture revealed more than his words. “The Pamunkey used stagger grass to kill off crows in their newly seeded corn fields. As a child I remember helping the women remove the dead birds from the fields.”
“How long do I have?” he asked.
“There is enough poison in the bulb of the white stagger grass flower to kill an animal in a few hours; how long a man will suffer, I do not know,” Daniel answered.
“Thank you,” Connor replied. The medicine man left the dwelling after a few low spoken words with Daniel, in a language Connor did not understand.
Connor tried to sit up on the table. Daniel took his arm and helped him rise, and Connor could see him studying the wound on his shoulder. Although it was cleaned and the wound itself was mostly closed, the stench still emanated from it, accompanied by a trickle of green-tinged fluid.
“Perhaps the ritual will help,” Daniel said quietly.
Connor uttered a deep sigh. “There’s no changing this. It’s infected and I can feel I’m starting to get a fever. You know it, and I know it. I guess the guys who wrote that fucking book forgot to mention I’d suffer for weeks before I died,” Connor said. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, covering the evidence of his affliction with the buckskin vest and long coat.
“When I left Basse’s Choice, my cousin’s wife was near the time to birth her child. The child surely is born by now, or else will be soon. ‘Tis a day’s trip by foot,” Daniel said. Conner shook his head.
“I won’t make it that far. My fate is set,” Connor replied. “My mother tried her best to change things, but some things are not meant to change. You know, Emmy was supposed to come here with a vial of her blood.”
“Her blood?” Daniel asked, leaning back on the table and crossing his arms.
“Yeah. My mother secured a bit of my sister’s newborn blood in a vial, like she had been taught to do by her own mother. But once she found the book of the Blooded Ones, she made the mistake of reading it. And then she made an even bigger mistake by trying to change things. She read about my death in the past—and that of my father—and she made sure Emmy kept it with her. My mother wanted Emmy to use it to heal me and my father when the time came. The only problem is that she already used it to bring me back to life in the future.”
“So if your mother changed things, then it is possible,” Daniel offered.
“I think so,” Connor replied. “I’ve been trying to figure it all out in my head. From what I know, you can change something that has not happened yet, but if you try to change an event that already happened – like Emmy and my mother did – time will eventually set itself right.”
“It makes my head hurt to think on it,” Daniel admitted. “You think changing the past is impossible, but changing the future is not?”
“Exactly. My mother brought us to the future. She read about what happened in the past and she thought she could prevent it with Emmy’s infant blood. But by the time she did that in the future, I had already died in the past. So time ripples, and some other event happened to set it all straight again – hence, the day I was shot and killed in the future.”
“What meaning is ripples?”
Connor shrugged. “It was something my mother always said whenever we’d get déjà vu, you know, that weird feeling you have when you think you’ve been somewhere before? She called them ripples, and she said it happened whenever something changed in your timeline. I used to get it a lot when I was a kid, so I’m guessing whatever my mother did screwed up my destiny pretty good.”
Connor ran his hand over his brow, wiping away the sweat on his skin. It was clear he did not have much time. There were much more important matters he needed to discuss with the man who would someday be Nicholas’s father.
“I need to ask you to do something for me,” Connor said, his voice strangely calm. “I need you to take care of my sister when the time comes. She will fight you, you know. But you must not let it sway you. Give her this, and she will understand.”
Connor unsheathed the knife at his side and handed it to Daniel. It was the blade of a Chief Protector, meant to be held by those who made the life vow to protect the Blooded Ones at all cost. His uncle and cousin each held one, and they both knew what it meant to carry such a weapon. A Bloodstone was embedded in the hilt and rune carvings circled the finely worked handle. It felt heavy in his hand when he handed it over, from the weight of weapon or the burden of the duty it carried, he did not know. He released it, relieved to see it go.
Connor then held his hand out and Daniel accepted it, making a promise to the man with clasped arms.
“I will. Above all else, I will protect her,” Daniel promised.
“Thank you,” Connor replied. “This is what we will do,” Connor said. “I want you to return me to Wicawa Ni Tu. Tell him I will share the secret of how to use my blood, if he agrees to let you go on your way.”
Daniel immediately drew back, dropping Connor’s hand.
“We can take you to Basse’s Choice – the blood of a newborn will heal you. There is no need to think of this. We will take you there and you will be healed – and then you will share this journey with your sister and me,” Daniel replied.
Connor shook his head, a bitter grin on his face. “I told you, I will not make the journey—and his wife does not give birth for two more weeks. I looked in the book, the family bloodline trees are there. I’m not making it through this, Daniel. You need to help me do this. For Emmy. So at least it means something when I die.”
Then, with the smoke of the medicine hut burning his throat, Connor explained what Ronan had told him. He was not sure if he believed it himself, but by the time his tale was finished, neither man was willing to dispute it.
Connor gave his blessing to Daniel to marry his sister. And in return, Daniel agreed to bury him in shallow ground, with a means to breathe when he woke. Connor thrust his hand out and grasped Daniel’s arm once more. Daniel gripped him in return, and it was decided.
By the time they gathered their belongings and supplies and headed out towards Basse’s Choice, Connor could not move his left arm or shoulder. He could move his right arm and only then did he accomplish it with great difficulty. The paralytic effects of the stagger grass had set into the wound and spread, locking the muscles of his chest so that it took effort to breathe. It would not be long before his lower limbs were useless as well.
They took turns carrying the travois, rotating from sharing the task between two of them to having one person simply drag it.
They did not stop to rest for hours. The travois added time to their journey, and it was not long before they realized they would not make it before nightfall.
The chilling scream of wars cries shattered the silence, echoing off the trees like the wail of spirits condemned to death. Emmy looked to Daniel, her eyes wide, and she slipped her bow into ready position. Connor closed his eyes for a moment, knowing the end was near. Could he do it? Could he truly follow through with what he meant to do?
Keke lowered the end of the travois to the ground. The black tipped feather entwined in Keke’s hair twisted in the easy breeze off the river that came before dusk. He looked up at the sky as if he searched for guidance, his jaw firm and defiant in his resolve.
“I am tired of running, cousin,” he said, lowering his head. Daniel widened his stance, planting his legs slightly apart. He took the bow from his shoulder and held it in one hand, placing the palm of his other hand on the butt of the knife at his waist.
“As am I,” Daniel replied. “I feel the weight of their stares on my back, and I am weary of it.”
Connor knew they were close even before he heard their war cries. They would not make it to Basse’s Choice in time. The Ricahecrians would not stop – and it was time to face them.
The men placed their belongings in a pile near the tree line next to the place where the travois rested. Connor raised his head and when Emmy approached and kneeled at his side.
“Here, take this. There’s one bullet left,” she said. She removed the gun from her belt and placed it in Connor’s hands, even twisting his finger around the trigger in readiness.
Connor let her position it and he nodded. It was the last comfort he could give her, and it tore at the remains of his heart as he lied to her.
It was time.
Emmy drew her bow and stood beside Daniel, while Keke flanked his other side with his sword ready.
They came from the trees, one by one, stepping out around them in a circle as if they simply were born of the earth and merely there to confirm it.
Wicawa Ni Tu stepped forward. His eye bulged from the socket where scar tissue pulled at his face, but on his lips was the hint of a harsh grin. Despite the cold, the man was bare-chested, with paint streaked across his skin and a deerskin hanging loosely from his shoulders.
Daniel unsheathed the long-handled ax from his back. Connor watched him, in awe of the man who loved his sister. He was a warrior, fierce and loyal, and he would serve her well, Connor had no doubt.
“You should have died at the Falls for your treachery,” Wicawa Ni Tu called out. Daniel walked forward a few paces to face the man, keeping a barrier between him and the others.
“Yes. Your warriors made a mistake by leaving me while there was still breath in my body,” Daniel replied.
One of the warriors behind the War Chief snickered, and Wicawa Ni Tu scowled, snapping a quick utterance back at his men in a guttural growl.
“Perhaps. Yet now it is time to finish this. I see you have the woman,” the War Chief said.
“The woman is not part of this bargain,” Daniel said. “I will return your captive to you. He will show you the way to use the magic, if you agree to let us leave in peace.”
The moment the words left Daniel’s lips, Emmy gasped. Connor was glad that Keke had a firm grip on her arms, preventing her from leaving her spot. Daniel came to his side as he tried to get off the travois. He was too weak to push himself up, but once Daniel supported him, he was able to stand. Connor shuffled towards Wicawa Ni Tu.
“No! No, I don’t agree!” Emmy shouted. “Conner, no!”
At Emmy’s outburst Connor paused and looked back. His right hand hung limply at his side, clutching the gun that Emmy had given him. He stared directly at her as he raised it, his hand shaking as he pointed it towards the trees. He pulled the trigger, releasing the last round, and Emmy let out a low moan when Connor dropped the gun into the dirt.
“Please, Daniel. Please, no,” she begged him. Tears streamed down her face as Connor allowed Winn to walk him to the War Chief. The Ricahecrians pushed him down on his knees and held him there, awaiting the command of their leader.
“I accept this gift,” Wicawa Ni Tu announced. He turned his attention to Connor, grabbing him by his hair to lift his face.
Tears sprang to Connor’s eyes, not from pain, but from regret. He wished with all his being his sister did not have to witness what would come next.
“Tell me now, Time Walker. How will your blood save my people? Tell me the secret of your magic.”
Sweat poured down Connor’s face and his hair stuck to his grey-tinged skin. His mouth moved and he spoke low, but when Wicawa Ni Tu shook him brutally by the hair, Connor raised his voice.
“You must choose one person you wish to save,” Connor ground out. He closed his eyes for a long moment before he opened them and spoke again, and all of those in the clearing seemed to lean in closer to hear him. He uttered the words meant to save them all. “You can save one who is dead or dying if you use all of my lifeblood. I can only exchange my life for another. I cannot heal them all.”
Behind him, Connor could hear Emmy sobbing softly. Wicawa Ni Tu dropped Connor’s head, seeming to consider his words.
“Is this true, Daniel Neilsson?” he asked.
Daniel nodded. “Yes. It is the way of the magic. A Blooded One may give life to the dead or heal the sick, but only by the gift of his own life.”
Wicawa Ni Tu issued an order to his men, and one of them pulled back Connor’s head and thrust a knife under his chin.
“I fear you tell me what I already know,” the War Chief said. He looked past Daniel, pointing his spear at Emmy. “Yet I have heard stories that the children of Time Walkers are even more powerful. I have heard tales that say every child from your womb will have this power, and that they can heal many people until the day the child no longer drinks from your breast.”
“That’s not true!” Connor shouted hoarsely. Wicawa Ni Tu’s head snapped back to Connor.
“Oh, yes, I think it is. That is why you think you can fool me. Why should I have a dying Time Walker, when I can wed the Time Walker woman and make many more?”
No. No. His sacrifice was meant to free the others—it was not meant to make matters worse. Connor lunged at Wicawa Ni Tu. The man holding the knife raked the blade across Connor’s throat, slicing cleanly through his throat. Chaos erupted as the blood spilled onto the earth and Connor dropped to the ground, shuddering as his mortal life drained away.