No Time For Witches, page 22
The Mohawk he’d seen earlier said nothing as he launched himself at Mingan and though still on the ground, Mingan maneuvered himself to dodge the attack. He jumped onto the man’s back and savagely stabbed at the back of the man’s neck. He felt the warmth of blood as his hand came up, over and over. The warrior didn’t move beneath him and he looked over to the man whose leg he’d opened up. The man was still alive and he was holding his wound.
The man’s eyes were wide open as though he stared past Mingan and into the next world. He picked up his tomahawk and wiped it in the snow. He cleaned his knife and walked to the man and scalped him. Then, he attended to the other man and cut his scalp, the blood dripped black dots into the snow around him. He took a handful of snow and held it to his head. It throbbed now and he realized how foolish he had been. He had been looking one way, when he should have been looking all around. He looked back down at the man and he was dead, his eyes still open but his hand had fallen away and he lay in a puddle of black snow. He picked up the man’s war club and looked at it. It was plain and unadorned. He tossed it back on the ground. The scalp was enough.
He scooped up another handful of snow and held it again to his wound. He would move again in a few minutes, he needed to get the bleeding stopped or slowed down. He didn’t need his vision impaired by blood. He kicked the other man over and looked down at him. He had a tomahawk, but it wasn’t as nice as his own. He picked up the knife that the man had attacked him with and studied it. It felt good in his hand and had a nice balance to it. He reached over and cut the sheath off the dead man and set the blade home and tucked it into his waistband. He shivered, the cold was now starting to seep in and he picked up his rabbit cloak. There was some blood on the white fur and he swished it over the snow, getting most of the blood off.
Covering himself, he moved silently past the dead men, this time aware of everything and everywhere. Somewhere ahead was the snap of a branch and he froze. The snow was about six inches deep and so whatever stepped on the branch that made that noise was big. He waited. Then he saw it, a massive bull moose and he groaned inwardly. It would have made some good food this winter and fed many families. Perhaps he and his friends could come back this way when the fighting was over. He watched as the animal lumbered past him.
He moved slowly now, moving on and after nearly two hours, he came across no one. He looked to the sky and knew it was time for him to turn back. He stopped a moment and looked all around him. Nothing moved or made a noise. He began the long walk back. He moved more swiftly now, but with an equal measure of care, he didn’t want to break an ankle or leg with a misstep. Within an hour he knew he was in the presence of one of his friends. He had seen someone moving up and to the left of him. He’d paused in his movements and waited. Sure enough, it was Hassun and he made a soft clicking noise at the back of his throat. Hassun froze in mid stride and turned. It was difficult to see the man but then he saw Hassun’s hand raise and he lifted his chin.
Now both men kept pace with each other. An hour later, Machk and Chogan joined them, though they were spread out twenty feet apart. They kept each other company while watching out for stray Mohawks. He saw Hassun freeze in midstride and he and the other men froze as well. His eyes darted around but he saw and heard nothing. He readied his tomahawk and knife, waiting. Then he saw them, four men, four Mohawk. Chogan made a hand signal to come in closer, and Mingan moved in slowly. They closed the gap and were nearly to the Mohawk when the Mohawks turned and realized they’d been flanked.
Machk rushed forward, followed by Mingan, then Hassun. Chogan brought up the rear and they fell on the warriors. There were sounds of grunts but that was all. There was no screaming or shouting. To do so was to perhaps draw an enemy and not a friend. It didn’t take long as the sound of blade upon blade echoed in the muffled forest. There was a grunt of pain from Chogan. Mingan felt a thrill of fear for his friend, they were of the same age and were like brothers. He moved forward after his man was dead. He had shoved the pointed end of his tomahawk into the man’s eye and buried the spike into his brain. The man had dropped quickly and quietly. Machk was on the ground rolling in the snow with a man and both men’s arms were pumping up and down in stabbing motions. Then the man beneath Machk stopped and Machk staggered up, a long gash across his cheek, his eye nearly cut from his head. He grinned as blood ran down his face and onto his chest.
He looked Chogan over and realized that the man had a slash across his belly and the muscles and fat were bulging out. That was not good. It wasn’t bleeding much.
“We must bind you, brother,” he said and took off his cloak. Chogan looked down and started to finger the opening when Hassun stopped him. He shook his head. Mingan cut a long thick strip from the bottom of his cloak and he and Machk placed the hide side in over the wound. Hassun used his hands to push the flaps together and he and Machk secured the wide band tightly across the man’s middle. If the bowel wasn’t nicked, perhaps his friend would be alright. Mingan hoped so. They took a moment to check over the bodies and found nothing of interest. Each man took their scalp and tucked it away.
Hassun led the way and the men spread out once more. Chogan moved slow, but Mingan thought he moved without interference. Twenty minutes later they stopped once more and Hassun made a clicking noise in the back of his throat. It was answered deep in the woods. More of their people. They were getting closer. They passed several dead men, Mohawk. Then they passed two of their own people, dead. He sighed; he was glad it wasn’t his father. More and more of his people were in the forest around them. They moved more quickly now and the snow was falling heavily. It was getting more difficult to move through the woods since they could no longer see what was beneath their feet.
At one point, Mingan nearly fell when he tripped on the leg of a dead Mohawk. He looked to the sky and he could tell that it was roughly an hour before dawn. They should be hitting the main body of the war party. Once more, the men slowed down and it was then that he heard the sounds of battle ahead. There were distant shrieks and wavering yips. The men now broke out in a run, even Chogan. He looked over at his friend and saw the joyous grin on the man’s face and Mingan gave a whoop of delight.
Ahead of them were the men of his village and the Mohawk. There were many and the fighting was fierce. He came up to a Mohawk that was delivering a knife to the man on the ground. Mingan used his tomahawk and opened the man’s skull. He didn’t stop to check on the man on the ground. He was either dead or he wasn’t. He moved on and began to pick off the Mohawk. His friends did the same and there was clashing of knives and axes. The tang of copper and iron filled the air as blood flowed and the ground was muddy mix of blood and snow. Several times he slipped and nearly fell in the mixture.
His arm raised and lowered a hundred times as he fought his way through the butchery and he shrieked and screamed with the rest of them. He didn’t feel the slice of a knife as it worked its way down his back and when he turned, the man who had struck him was now dead on the ground, his father grinning at him. He grinned back and he was sure his face was as bloody as his father’s. Slowly, the fighting eased and the ground was littered with the wounded, dying and the dead. When he came across a dying Mohawk, Mingan buried his tomahawk in the man’s head, sending him on his way quickly. There were many of his people hurt and badly injured on the ground and he helped them up.
Hassun’s ear was hanging off his head but he was grinning like a fool. When he looked around, it dangled wildly. He hoped that Wapun could sew it back on. They went back and began to hunt their kills, taking scalps as they went along with any armament they fancied. The men made their way back to the village. Taking the injured with them. They would come back for the dead later, when the injured were situated and safe. He thought that it had been a good plan and a good fight.
As dawn spread its fingers across the forest, the snow grew deeper. The men made their way home and saw the village in the distance. Several runners came up to help with the wounded and several runners went to the village to alert them to the arrival of the injured. Mingan felt happy, they had defeated the Mohawk for now. There might be more to come in the future, but the Mohawks had taken a bloody nose. There were close to a hundred warriors killed over the last few months. Perhaps they would not venture south for a while. Mingan hoped not.
It had been a good day, a very good day and he felt very light in his heart. He looked forward to seeing Kimi and he knew that she was now safe. When she healed adequately, he would begin her lessons once again. He sighed. He would marry her soon and he looked forward to their honeymoon.
Ψ
Philip sat at the table, he held the pewter locket and gold chain in his large hands. Tears slipped down his cheek and the necklace went in and out of focus. His aunt had been hanged and he’d not gone to watch as all the others in the village had. He had heard the jeering and laughter and his heart broke. It was as though the people of the village had forgotten that his aunt, though abrasive and sometimes contrary, was a good soul.
He hated them, all of them. He even hated Martha, a little. But, how could he blame her? He did indeed believe her when she said she was from the future. When he’d first seen her, her skin, though slightly abused, was clear and beautiful. Her hands had been soft. She’d had an odd scent to her, almost floral, when he’d held her up for his uncle to carry, he’d breathed her in. He thought perhaps he’d fallen in love with her then. She was in the wrong place though. His aunt had become jealous and he’d seen the ugly side of her he had never seen before. Or perhaps, as a child, he could see no wrong in his aunt? He didn’t know, but she was dead now and any sins that she had committed had been paid for in full.
The magistrate had left and had gone to Boston. He would return in a few weeks and a new trial would begin for Martha. He had gone to George to see what they could do for her, but his uncle simply stared into space. He’d left him alone and come back home. He would give his uncle a few days to grieve. He felt brokenhearted for him and for himself. He put the locket and chain into his pocket. He would keep it safe and perhaps they could work something out to set Martha free. He hoped so.
Martha sat huddled in the dark, it seemed to accuse her of murder. You’re a murderer! the room whispered, but it was the wind coming in through the cracks. She shivered. At least the old toad wouldn’t stare at her all day. It had grated on her nerves but at least she hadn’t hit or beat her again. Nor did she stomp on her foot. She looked down at her foot. The shoes sat in front of the bench. She had gotten up the nerve to pull off the stocking and wished that she hadn’t. Her little toe was black and the tip of the other toe was black as well. Her foot was swollen three times its size. She had raked in snow from the bottom of the door and had placed a small snowball on her bare foot. It had stung but after a while, the numbness grew and she had blessed relief.
Philip hadn’t come to see her in several days. George delivered her food but he said nothing, his eyes dull and blank. He came, left the food and water on the ground and turned and locked the door. Martha spent days without uttering a word or seeing anyone. Part of her didn’t care, she hated these people. They were her enemy and they were trying to kill her. When Philip told her that the magistrate had gone and wouldn’t be back for a while, she’d been glad. It was a reprieve. She just wished she could get warm. It was a struggle and her body never seemed to find that spark within. She was growing gaunt, the food she consumed was used to keep her body heat up.
The brazier was little help and she had pulled it over to her bench. During the day, she let it get down and fed it sticks periodically to keep the coals going. When no one came and brought more, she went three days without heat. She had gotten on the ground and curled into a ball. It was the only way to keep the heat tight to her core. When Philip did come, he spoke little and didn’t ask questions about the future. She thought he was afraid to know. He did bring her extra food when he could.
“My uncle has a girl come to cook and clean for us,” Philip said. Martha simply nodded. The food was tasteless and most of the time scorched. But Martha thanked him each time and ate it. When he brought her bread, she saved it for later in the night. She woke with terrible hunger pains, bringing her out of a dead sleep. She nibbled on the bread, trying to make it last. The days were endless. She had taken the needle and had started keeping track of time. She scratched a small mark on the edge of her bench.
It had been well over a month when the magistrate had returned.
“Can you ask your uncle to ask Louder to allow me back to your home? I can cook and clean while we wait for this trial to do whatever it does?”
“I shall ask my uncle. Though I shall caution you, he does not speak over much and has withdrawn into melancholy,” Philip said. She though he too looked a little thinner and there were purple bags under his eyes. They were swollen and she thought perhaps he cried a lot.
“Thank you, Philip. I know this is all difficult for you.”
He had asked and the magistrate had said no. She was not even allowed to go to her own trial. Philip came back each day and told her what had happened and who had been called as witness.
“Mistress Beatrice has been speaking volumes about you, I am sorry to say. She has been spreading gossip about you and telling spiteful lies.” Philip had paced back and forth within the confines of the shed. The snow was deep outside the shed and there was a path that had been dug to the door. More people came up with more lies. Martha was not surprised since there would be a ton of lies in a couple years. And more than two hundred people would lose their lives to out and out bullshit. She personally felt it had all been due to greed and hysteria. Just as now, people were telling their bullshit stories. She almost laughed, but didn’t. Philip would not understand.
The trial had been going along and there had been much arguing about bringing a lawyer in. Philip pushed it, urging his uncle to go to Boston or at least send word to Boston to have a lawyer come for Martha’s sake. When George had argued cost, Philp told Martha that he’d shown his uncle the necklace. George had taken the gold chain and left the locket. No word after that. Martha wondered if George planned to sell the necklace and keep the money?
Then, the magistrate took ill and the trial was paused for several weeks. Many began the rumor that Martha had caused it. There was an overwhelming fear and overzealous fervor, that one night, men showed up with a torch and a rope. She had coward in the corner and the men yelled outside the shed, yanking on the door, the chains rattling. If they got in, they would tear her to pieces and she knew it. The door held as did the lock and she’d been relieved and surprised. The shed didn’t seem that sturdy or perhaps the men were just making a show of it. Either way, she didn’t sleep that much for the rest of the night.
Ψ
Nuttah combed and braided Kim’s hair. There was no big ceremony to being married. Nuttah had been married to Hassun just last month. Hassun had brought her the long bone of a deer and she’d given him a cob of dried corn. It was done and she’d moved into his family’s lodge. Kim was excited and it was kind of a double celebration. There was to be a feast and then the men would head out and find the moose that Mingan had seen the day of the battle. Mingan would not be going, but his friends were. Even Hassun was going, his ear healing after it was sewn back on. Chogan was healing but he was ordered not to move around too much.
She had nearly screamed when she’d seen the long knife slice down Mingan’s back. The head wound was bad enough but the cut down his back looked horrific. He was one of the lucky ones though. Several of the men had succumbed to their injuries. It had taken three days to dispose of the dead, get the injured men taken care of. They had used the fur trader’s horses to help with that task, though the men were nervous around the horses. The Wabanaki didn’t have horses during this time, Kim figured out, but that didn’t stop them from learning quickly and learning how helpful and useful they were. Several boys were put in charge of their care along with several young men.
The horses were valuable and because they could move heavy loads, had become indispensable with bring the dead home. It had snowed nearly a foot and the people moved it and trampled it down inside the palisade. Large fires were lit in the longhouses. They would celebrate into the night, mourn their dead and talk about their deeds. Mingan had waited until the night of the celebration to marry her. When she asked why he had blushed profusely.
“It is because we will be there most of the night,” Wematin said helpfully. When Kim still didn’t understand, Nuna helped a bit more, causing both Kim and Mingan to flame.
“He wishes to be alone with his wife for a time,” Nuna said, one elegant eyebrow raised.
“Oh,” Kim said and laughed nervously.
Nuttah had finished braiding her hair and looked over her face. She nodded and stepped back.
“You look good. You look like a wife,” Nuttah said and smiled, her eyes nearly disappearing into the crease of her cheeks. Nuna and Wematin sat watching the two, Wematin smoking a pipe. Then as if on cue, Mingan walked in with the long bone of a deer. Kim stood and went to the low bench and picked up the ear of dried corn.
“I give you food and will sustain you with my hunts,” he said solemnly. “I will protect you with my life. I will give you children. I give you all that I have.”
“I give you food and will build your shelter and feed you. I will make you clothing and give you children. I will give you all that I have,” Kim said softly, speaking around the lump in her throat. She saw that Mingan’s eyes were bright and he seemed to burn from within. He gave her the bone and she gave him the corn and they were married. Nuna said a little chant and Nuttah echoed the chant and both women smiled.
