Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (59 page)

Winn

Winn stood at the doorway of Gwen’s house, watching in silence as Maggie took hold of
Finola’s hand.  His grandmother sat motionless in her chair by the hearth, her grey eyes wide open, yet staring off at the wall as if something entranced her. She had spoke little since her arrival in the village, and he feared the outcome should she chose to finally find her voice again.  The Pale Witch would not find any consolation in the truth of her predictions this time. He could see now why such things drove her to madness.

“Finola, it’s me. Maggie,” his wife murmured. Maggie brushed a stray lock of yellowed hair from the older woman’s forehead and gently shook her shoulder with her other hand. With her chest rising in a deep breath, Finola closed her eyes, and then turned toward Maggie.

“I know why ye come here. I see my son in Valhalla, waiting to feast with the Kings,” Finola whispered, her voice surprisingly steady. It was if she possessed her old strength on simple impulse, finding some purpose in the grief of the Chief’s passing.

Maggie’s eyes opened wider, and she moved back away from Finola to stare at the older woman.
Finola’s face was a flat slab, an empty canvas as to what her true feelings might be.  Winn recognized the sudden light in her eyes, the way the blue eyes glowed like tepid orbs beneath her fair brows. The spirit of the
Gothi
had returned to her, and he was glad for it.

“Take me to him, my Chief,” she whispered.  The voice was not her own. It was the voice of a priestess, the commune of the
magical host within her, a welcome intruder that would use her earthly body for the duty ahead.

They escorted her to the Northern Hall. The space was filled with the villagers, each tending a task to send the Chief on his way.  Winn did not fully understand the ways of the Norse, yet from what Erich explained it was the only way to send Marcus to the afterlife. Women were busy at tables, preparing food for the journey. Fresh honeyed mead and the scent of charred lamb filled the air, mixed amongst the smoke of the funeral pyre sneaking in from the courtyard. Someone had sparked it when Marcus took his last breath, and from what information he gleaned from the Norse, the fire was meant to keep burning until the Chief was sent on his way.

The hall fell silent when they entered. In the few days since his father had passed, Winn felt a growing discomfort with the sudden title thrust upon him, and the further reverence others showed him.  They called him Chief, and Jarl, and waited for his command on all things. What once had been a source of amusement for his brothers to tease him with was now a stark reality.  His father had fallen, and now Winn was expected to take his place. There was no fight over such a position; it was his by right of blood, the blood of the first born son.

The heads of men bowed when he entered the hall, and women bent low at the waist as he passed. He could feel Maggie tense beside him, also unsure of her new role, her fingers entwined tightly in his as she walked at his side.

Gwen and Erich approached and Winn grimaced when they behaved in a similar fashion. He placed his hand on Erich’s shoulder.

“Will it be today?” Winn said.

“Yes, my lord. The fire burns, and his vessel is ready to receive him,” Erich replied.

“The other men are in agreement?” Winn asked. Erich’s eyes squinted down, darting toward Gwen for a moment. Gwen took
Finola’s hand and led her toward the other women, and Maggie followed them after giving Winn’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“The decision is yours,” Erich answered. Winn tightened his grip on the older warrior’s shoulder, looking him in the eye.

“I wish to know if the men agree. They have labored long to make the ship. I would not allow it if they object,” Winn insisted. He did not fully understand the Norse ways, and it seemed wasteful to him to burn a ship for a dead man. Yet, if it was what the people wished for the fallen chief, Winn would agree to honor the tradition.

Erich sighed.

“Winn, I know ye have doubt in leading these men. But this is not the time to dwell on yer fear.  Send yer father to Valhalla on the ship, give him the respect he deserves. We saw his own father buried the same, and his father before him. Our Chiefs deserve such a reward when they have given their very lives in battle. It is an honorable way to die.”

“I was not born to this life, as you were. If I lead them, it will be in my way,” Winn replied. “And my way is to know what the people I serve wish of their Chief.”

“Then give me yer trust, as yer faithful man. I tell ye, yer people wish it so. It will give us all great pleasure to see him sent off as such.”

“And my brother? What does he say of this?”

“That, I cannot tell ye. He made his offering this morn, and I have not seen him since. I would not worry on it. He is like ye, born of another place, he does not understand our ways.”

Winn was aware Benjamin had been absent from the funeral preparations.  In fact, Winn had not spoken with him since the day they knelt down at his father’s deathbed and heard the Chief’s last words.

“Benjamin…my son,” Marcus said. They could see the strength leave his limbs as he lay prostate on the platform, the rune stones lying over his scarred skin like brands on his flesh. The scent of death surrounded him, a dank fog amidst the echo of his fading spirit.  His color fell gray, his lips tinged blue as he spoke, and Winn was glad Maggie was not there to see him falter. Benjamin slipped his hand around that of his father, and bowed his head down, his dark curls falling over his anguished eyes.

“I’m so sorry, father,” Benjamin whispered, low and strained.

“No. Say nothing of the sort. I am sorry fer leaving ye lads like this. There is much I meant to tell ye,” Marcus said. He grimaced then, uttering a stifled groan with a deep sigh, after which he was silent for a long moment.  He opened his eyes again once more, however, and this time he stared at Winn.

“I failed ye both, as I was never a father to either of ye…for that I have suffered. But by right of our blood, I served our cause, as my father did, and his father before him. You must both bid me promise that ye will do the same.”

“I do not understand,” Benjamin said. Winn felt no power to answer, knowing exactly what his father meant.  Marcus had tried to tell him of the old ways, many times, and each time Winn had let his anger rule him and refused to listen. How curious it was that he now understood. He knew the power of the magic in Maggie’s blood, the magic in his daughter’s blood. Even before now, he would have protected them with his own life, yet now he understood there was a much greater duty upon him than that of a husband to his family.

“The blooded MacMhaolian, our most powerful Gothi,” Winn answered, his eyes meeting those of his father. Marcus made a small nod, staring back at him with those ice-laden blue eyes so like his own.

“It was the blood of a Gothi Chieftain that brought us here. Only great magic can send a Longship through time. The power of time travel must remain our secret, and ye are sworn to protect it. Put aside yer quarrels, for the good of your people. I left my family, and all those I loved, to see it safe. Do not make it for nothing. Keep them close, see that they live on. I was born to protect them, and so are ye. I ask ye both, as my sons, to make it so.”

“Father—” Benjamin said. Marcus shook his head.

“No. Give me yer oath, as protectors of our blood. Give me yer oath!”

The choked demand strained Marcus, and he fell back onto the furs. Winn took his father’s hand and bowed his head to him.

“I give it to you, father,” Winn said. Marcus clenched his hand, a slight gesture, yet enough for Winn to know his pledge was accepted.

“As do I,” Benjamin agreed.

“It may take ye from this time. It may take you from yer own people. But it is yer duty now, and I expect ye to honor it. I tell you now, be ready. Others will search for her, as they have always searched for her kind. No other King must ever take her from us, lest all will be lost. The secret of Time Travel is ours to bear, ours to guard. Give me my knife.”

Winn handed Marcus his dagger. He had tried to learn the meaning of the runes and did not expect to recognize the markings, but when he looked down at the weapon he felt his chest tighten. His father’s dagger bore a familiar twisted knot on its hilt, a deep carving on a weapon meant for the Chieftain Protector of the Gothi.

Winn did not flinch at the cut, nor when Marcus sliced Benjamin as well. Marcus clasped their bleeding arms together, brother to brother, their blood bound now more beyond what time or family could envision. Marcus seemed satisfied at that, and he lay back onto the furs with a long sigh.

Death took him. In the shadows of the Northern Hall, Winn saw them descend. The Norse called them
Valkryies; he thought them only messengers of the Great Creator. Across the divide of time and the separation of their lives, they came together in that moment, two sons and a father, as they watched his lifeblood slip away.

“See to the final arrangements. We will send my father to Valhalla tonight. I will speak to Benjamin,” Winn said. Erich nodded and left to join the men.  Winn went in search of his brother.

*****

Winn searched the village for Benjamin without a hint of his whereabouts, finally checking on his wife again in the hall before he
looked in one more spot.  In his travels he had seen nearly every person in the village, and none knew of where Benjamin might be.  There was only one place Winn had not thought to look, and it was that place that he finally found his brother.

The door to the Long House he shared with Maggie was ajar, and Winn could hear the murmur of
Kwetii’s laughter inside.  She was a cheerful child who reveled in any attention shown to her like a hungry scamp, taking it all in with her greedy little smile. Although she likened to most adults with ease, it made his chest heavy to see her so enthralled with his brother. She sat perched in Benjamin’s arms as they stood by the hearth, speaking softly and pointing to the figurines on the mantle. Benjamin handed her one tiny sparrow, which made her coo with delight, and then he carefully returned it to its spot so they could consider the next one.

There was little resemblance between Benjamin and Winn, other than the peculiar blue berserker eyes and their physical size. With Kwetii, however, Winn could see the
Nielsson blood. Her small, round tipped nose, her thick brown brows, and the shape of her high, flushed cheeks. Did her heart-shaped face come from them as well, or was that a feature of her
Gothi
blood? Yet it seemed to no longer matter as he stood watching his brother hold his daughter, and Winn knew with a sickness in his gut it would be the last he saw of Benjamin.

Winn cleared his throat, more in defeat than meaning to disturb them, but Kwetii quickly perked up, distracted from her quiet conversation with Benjamin.

“Da!” Kwetii cried. She held her arms out to Winn.

“Go on, then, ye fickle one,” Benjamin chided her, handing her over.  She smothered Winn with a wet kiss, and he smiled.

“I thought Rebecca watched her,” Winn commented.

“Makedewa walks with her to give her his farewell.”

Winn took in that confession, the ache in his chest growing stronger. He had suspected it of Benjamin, but not Makedewa, yet he was hardly surprised by the revelation. Both men were damaged. Perhaps they would find peace as they journeyed together.

“Must I order you to stay?” Winn asked. He saw a wry smile twist his brother’s mouth.

“Aye, order me, then, my Chief. And I will disobey you. Then what? Will you take your sword to my neck?” Benjamin shook his head. “Nay, give me no order, brother. It is better this way, surely you know it.”

“If it is for the sake of her,” Winn said, unwilling to speak Maggie’s name, “Then put it from your mind. She wishes you to stay, as I do.”

Benjamin shook his head.

“What part would I play in this life here? It is our father’s blood that stains my hands, just as surely as if I dealt the blow. It was my mistake that ended him. I cannot see the faces of these men every day, knowing what I have done. I cannot see yer face, each day….knowing what I have done.”

Winn knew his meaning ran deep. Benjamin had not forgiven himself, and for want of the truth Winn was not sure he had forgiven him, either. He did not blame his brother in the least for the death of their father; that was a separate thing, more of an excuse to give him more strength of resolve.  No, the thing that drove his brother away was the love Benjamin still held for Winn’s wife, and they both knew it.