Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (123 page)

As they neared her special place, anxiety pummeled her senses like a huge ocean wave; nausea churned in her stomach, rose relentlessly toward the bottom of her throat. As they seated themselves on the stream bank, Emily collected herself, sighed, faced Isna with bloodshot eyes. “Emily must tell Isna her mind. She—”

“Isna must first tell Emily something that may
change
what is in her mind.”

She blinked, glanced at him with wide eyes, parted lips.

He pondered the stream for a moment then faced her with a somber look that frightened her. He laid his hand on hers. “My little white fawn . . . the Chesapeakes say that tonight the Powhatans attack your people with over four hundred warriors. They fear the Powhatans may attack them, as well, since they have been your friends.”

Emily gasped, looked away, swallowed hard; her jaw dropped; she dug her fingers into the cool, damp soil. “Isna, we . . . we will not survive such an attack.”

Isna watched her in stoic silence.

“Saints above. Why cannot Governor White return now, today? We’d at least have a chance.” She looked back at Isna. “Isna, I know not what to do.” She put her arm around his waist, snuggled against his side.

He placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, caressed her cheek with his other hand, held his lips against her hair.

“ ’Tis coming undone . . . everything.” She sniffled twice, began to whimper softly. “We will all surely die.” She paused then whispered, “Isna will leave today?”

He hesitated for a moment. “No. Isna and the Lakota will tie themselves to stakes in the ground beside Emily, remain beside her . . . fight and protect her until each dies a great warrior death.”

Emily covered her mouth, gasped. “No, Isna! You
cannot
do this. I sha’n’t let you. You cannot die for me in a lost fight.”

He eased her slightly away, touched her chin, gently guided her eyes to his. “Many Powhatan women will cry and slash their arms to mourn the men we kill.”

“No, Isna, the Lakota must leave now . . . before the attack!”

“Isna and the Lakota will stay.” He looked into her eyes. “We are warriors; and there is no greater honor than to die in battle against a strong, fearless enemy.”

“Isna, no!” Fie on this warrior thinking . . . like the damnable Vikings and their insane death wish, reckless disdain for danger. How can I love such a man?

“There is another choice . . . the
only
choice that can fulfill Isna’s vision and Emily’s dream . . . but only Emily can make this choice.”

She moaned, laid her face in her hands. “Oh, Isna, I so fear this choice. I’ve thought of it all night and day and cannot decide . . . because I am afraid to leave my people . . . especially now . . . knowing they will all die.” She looked at him. “I must stay and help them . . . even though the end is certain.”

“How will you help your people?”

Frustration, grief, uncertainty—all shadowed her face like a broad-brimmed hat. “I . . . I will carry water, load the big sticks, help wounded ones . . . perhaps fight.”

“These things will not save your people.”

“No, they will not . . . but I must do them anyway, and—”

“Then Isna will be beside you.”

Her eyes pleaded with him; she shook her head emphatically with every word. “Noooo, Isna. Nooo! You must go . . . free yourself of this place, its evil, its danger, save yourself . . . your men!”

“Isna will remain.”

Tears flooded her eyes; she shook her head, stared at him with dull, anguished eyes, wordless, parted lips, heaving breast. “Emily has kept a secret from Isna. Emily . . . Emily no longer loves Isna. She no longer wants to be with him, or the Lakota. She loves another . . . the English
soldier chief . . . Waters. She will marry him tonight. She has loved him for a moon but has not found the words to tell Isna. So Isna should return to his people . . . today.” She stood, looked down at him. “It pains Emily to say these things, but . . . but her words are true.” A gush of tears rolled down her cheeks, dripped off her chin onto her breast.

Isna stood, stared into her eyes.

She shrank from his gaze then threw her arms around him, kissed him slowly, longingly on the lips. “May Isna’s journey be safe . . . and may Wakan Tanka walk with him.” She stood trembling, entranced by his sorrowful eyes.

He stared at her for a long, awkward moment then whispered softly, “ Isna will love Emily until his last breath is one with the wind.”

She moaned, turned away, ran into the forest toward the village.

Tayler sat by the fire, his writing board and a piece of parchment on his knee, pen in hand.

My Dearest Emily
,

’Tis with a heart heavy with grief, humility, and shame that I share with you the following horrible burdens I have carried in my soul
. . .

Emily stumbled through the forest, frantic with grief, nearly blinded by tears. Suddenly, an eerie, overpowering instinct seized her mind, commanded her to stop, listen to its voice. She stared blindly ahead for a moment then slowly relaxed her arms to her sides, leaned her head slightly back, closed her eyes, as if to revel in a refreshing summer shower. She heard only silence; strained for a sound, again heard nothing; tried to quiet her rapid breathing, her pounding heart. “Who . . . who spoke to me?” No reply.

Suddenly, they appeared . . . behind her closed eyes . . . in her mind . . . as clearly as if they stood before her. They held hands, smiled at her—smiles that filled her with peace and serenity, as when she was a little girl; smiles that melted her, sent chills dancing lightly down her back. She calmed herself but startled when Thomas Colman said, “Emily, you
must
go with Isna. No two people can love each other more. God wants you to be together.”

Emily began to sob, tremble. Her mother said, “Emily, my dear, dear Emily. Your father is right. There can be no stronger love than you and Isna share. You
must
go with him. Think not of me and your brother. We will meet again someday. Go to
Isna . . . now
. He loves you so.”

Emily wailed, “Father! Mother!” She spun about, began to run back toward her special place. “ Isna! Dear God, let him be there.” She tripped, fell to the ground, sprang back to her feet, sprinted on, gasped for air. Chest burning, can’t breathe, go faster, don’t fall, keep going, hurry, Em. “Isna . . . Isna . . . please . . . please be there.” She burst from the forest into the small clearing; stopped, looked at the stream where she and Isna had sat; fell to her knees, sat back on her heels; buried her face in her hands, wailed. “No . . . dear God, nooo. What have I done?” She shuddered, tried to rise, couldn’t, crouched, grieved on the forest floor. “The village . . . yes, the village . . . must find him before he leaves.” She leaned forward to stand. A hand touched her shoulder. “Ahh!” she rolled away from the touch, looked up into Isna’s sorrowful eyes.

He knelt beside her, took her hands in his, eased her to her knees, then pulled her close, laid his head on hers. “Emily. Emily. Isna loves you . . . will always love you.”

She sobbed, moaned, squeezed him with all her strength. “Oh, Isna . . . my love. Take me with you . . . tonight . . . every night. Please . . . never leave me. Never let me go. Love me. I am yours forever. Love me . . . take me . . . take me.”

Elyoner and Emily sat stiffly at the table, faced each other in awkward silence.

“Emily, what’s wrong?”

“When will Ananias return?”

“Any minute. Why? What worries you so?”

“I’ll wait until he returns. You must
both
hear what I’ve to say.”

“Well, mayhap you’ll tell me what you learned of your locket and the Savage from the massacre?”

Emily stared at the tabletop with bland eyes, scratched at a loose knot with her fingernail, watched the first ant of spring crawl relentlessly toward the center of the table. “His name is Kills-Like-the-Panther . . . a clever, relentless hunter of animals and men . . . a fierce fighter . . . a great leader of his people. His people call him
the Panther
. He’s the one Isna wounded that day in the forest . . . when he and the Powhatans tried to take Isna’s deer.”

“I remember. Sounded frightening then . . . more so now.”

She spoke flatly. “He
is
. . . and his very look chills me to the core of my soul. He’s the most dangerous and respected Powhatan warrior. I shall never hold my locket again.”

“Could Isna take it from him?”

“Isna leaves tonight.”

“Tonight? Oh, Em! No wonder you’re distressed.”

“Yes, Elyoner, but that’s only part of it, and I’ll say no more until Ananias returns.”

“I think I hear him grumbling now.”

Ananias opened the door, walked inside. “Good evening, ladies.”

Elyoner said, “You look unhappy, Ananias.”

“Simply depressed by the arrival of the bad news we’ve expected for a month.”

“And that is?”

“Our food stores are nearly depleted . . . and the Chesapeakes refuse to give us more . . . a bit of an irony since Waters just convinced the very scoundrels who stole from the Chesapeakes and created the problem, to come back to our side to fight the Powhatans.”

“Why is
that
irony?”

“Because now if the Powhatans don’t kill us, slow starvation will . . . and our own people created the problem. Waters considers the
former far more likely, but no one but Baylye and Dare believe him. And in truth, Dare is somewhat dubious about it; for he still harbors the deep faith that Mistress Dare’s father will soon return to rescue us, and—”

“You’re wrong, Ananias,” Emily said.

Ananias recoiled, looked insulted. “What do you mean, Emily?”

“The Powhatans attack tonight.”

Ananias and Elyoner stared numbly at her, groped blindly for each other’s hands. Elyoner glanced at Virginia asleep in her crib.

Ananias said, “But, Emily, how do you—”

“Isna told me. The Chesapeakes told him. They’re coming, Ananias . . . tonight . . . over four hundred warriors.”

The Dares stared dumbstruck at each other. Elyoner paled; her eyes dulled, assumed a spacey stare.

Emily said, “There’s more. Isna says they will kill all the men outright but will use the women and children for a time before also killing
them
, as well, for they want no sign of our presence to remain.”

Elyoner laid her hands on her cheeks, shook her head, again looked desperately at Virginia. “No, Em. This cannot be true. But even if
’twas
, they would never harm the children. Would they not take them and raise them as Savages?”

“No. As I said, they want no trace of us left behind . . . in case more English come. They want no one to know what happened to us or who did it.”

“But . . . but why do they hate us so?”

“It began with the fifteen soldiers left behind at Roanoke by the earlier colony, but ’tis mostly because of the prophecy Manteo spoke of . . . the prophecy by one of their holy men, that says a people from the land of the Chesapeakes will destroy them. So they do not see us as individuals but rather as a faceless threat . . . much as we see them. But the reasons matter not. They attack tonight.”

Elyoner wrung her hands, again stared at Virginia, began to cry. “My baby . . . my poor baby. Let them kill
me
, but not my baby. Please, God, forbid it.”