Chapter One
Island of Croatoan, Area of Chacandepeco
Region of Ossomocomuck
June 1586
O one is to speak of the English we attacked,” Ompeu cautioned his friends as they entered the village. An exuberant mother-in-law was among the group that converged upon the returning men. Ompeu and his small hunting party were relieved of their burdens of fresh meat amid happy chatter, whooping, cheering, and words of congratulations, and blessings. The hunt was good. This was a reason to celebrate, and among the joyful voices, he discovered that three days prior, his wife, Sequan, gave birth to their first child, a boy.
“Sequan?” he asked for anyone to answer as the small crowd followed him toward a dome-shaped dwelling. He searched their faces in the dusky glow of a fading summer sun, thinking to find his wife among them.
“It was an untroubled birth,” his mother-in-law, Poussu assured him, a grin splitting her face. “She and your son are well.”
Paukunnawaw gave his friend some breathing room, genially dispersing the crowd of friendly faces, allowing Ompeu a moment to gather himself before entering his wife’s yeehaukan. The reality seemed to hit him all at once, and his feet became leaden and rooted to the ground beneath him. Paukunnawaw laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder, noting the happy but anxious look on Ompeu’s face. “Go to your wife and son,” he encouraged.
Ompeu returned his friend’s look with a blank stare, causing Paukunnawaw to chuckle. “Go,” he urged, giving Ompeu a good-natured shove toward Sequan’s dwelling.
Ompeu moved as though in a dream. A man of twenty winters, he had experienced much. An accomplished hunter, he fought enemies, he faced the Tosh shonte without fear. Now he was a father. I have a son. The thought caused his lips to curve in a smile, and his heart swelled as Poussu lifted the door flap for him, urging him to go inside.
A small fire glowed in the center pit. Ompeu remained still as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, finding his wife seated, nursing the infant.
Sequan’s face was radiant. “Come husband,” she beckoned with an outstretched hand. Ompeu never failed to make her heart flutter. Tall, lean and well-muscled, his long black hair hung loose about his shoulders, draping above his waist. His dark eyes reflected the glow of the fire, which cast the angles of his handsome face in light and shadow. Full, sensual lips were slightly parted in wonder. She studied his expression, swallowing the lump that lingered in her throat. She had loved him since they were children. They grew up together. He was a steadfast friend who matured to become a good and honorable man. Though his affection for her did not match her level of passion, Sequan chose to accept this.
Her thoughts fled as Ompeu knelt before her. His son’s eyes were closed as he nursed contentedly. Sequan gently pulled the baby from her breast, the break in suction creating a smacking noise. Ompeu laughed softly as he took the infant in his arms. He studied the child, stroking the fine, black tufts of hair, touching the soft brown skin of the baby’s cheek. The infant’s pursed lips continued to make sucking motions as Ompeu lifted the infant’s hand with a forefinger. His son gripped tightly. “You are strong, little one.”
Sequan relaxed, breathing an inward sigh of relief, at her husband’s contentment. She knew Ompeu married her out of a sense of honor and obligation to her family, who raised him after his parents were killed in a tribal war, long since ended. Many seasons passed, and after the Englishmen had come and taken away her brother, Towaye, Ompeu made an offer of marriage. Though he would never say it, she knew it was for this reason that they were joined. Ompeu perceived a responsibility for her, as well as for his missing friend, Towaye. It no longer mattered. Now their marriage bond would be stronger with the coming of the child, and perhaps in time her husband’s love for her would deepen.
Ompeu tore his gaze from his infant son to look up at his wife, his admiration evident. “You are well?”
“Yes, husband,” the corners of her mouth turned up in a tender smile.
His eyes flitted down to the child. “Nuqisus,” My son, he murmured softly. “I am honored.”
“As am I,” she replied, taking the boy from him. Now that the initial anticipation of meeting his son passed, Sequan noted Ompeu’s tired expression. “Sleep now,” she said, motioning for him to take his place on the sleeping pallet. “The child will not awaken yet, and you’ve been away. The hunt was good?”
“Kupi,” he answered. “Winganouse.” Taking her suggestion, he undressed quickly, and moved toward the indicated spot.
“And the Tosh shonte?”
He knew she asked about the English, in the hope there would be news of her brother. “We did not see them,” he winced inwardly at the lie, but rationalized that keeping the truth from her would protect her.
Sequan joined him in the blankets, and as she listened to the soft masculine voice of her husband talk of the hunt and the days he’d been away, she dozed, lulled into sleep.
Ompeu lie awake listening to his family’s soft breathing, and the sounds outside the yeehaukan. A camp dog yipped. The voices of the few people who dwelled outside in muffled conversation drifted to his ears. Different, fleeting thoughts filled his head. Thoughts of fatherhood, and responsibility, and how he would teach his son the ways of a man. Thoughts of his friends, Towaye and Manteo who had gone away with the English, left him empty. The Tosh shonte were a strange, pale people, who arrived in great ships, and spoke a strange language.
The English previously kidnapped and interrogated a few of the young native men about the land, and game, requesting information about the chiefs. Manteo, son of the Croatan werowansa twice went willingly across the great water to live among them. He told stories of the English lands. He knew the English words and gave some to Ompeu, who’s curiosity about the white men, induced a desire to learn their language. Most of the Croatan were friendly toward the Tosh shonte. Ompeu grew wary of them.
An Englishman named Grenville took Ompeu’s friend, Towaye and sent him across the great water. Towaye went willingly with Manteo, but no one had seen either of them since. Though she did not speak of it, Sequan mourned the loss of her brother, and Poussu, the loss of her son.
Wherever the Englishmen went, death followed. Some of the People became sick with illnesses and died within days of the white men leaving the villages. The medicine people could not cure the sick ones. It was thought that the Tosh shonte could shoot invisible bullets which caused the sickness. The English took this as a sign that the People were weak and beneath them.
Wanchese acquired a different view. He, along with Manteo also lived with the Tosh shonte in their land. Wanchese did not wish to return. He warned Ompeu not to believe all that his friend, Manteo told him. Wanchese had no love for the English.
Some thought that the strange visitors were sent by the spirits; men who died but returned to earth. At first contact, the People made the newcomers welcome. The English claimed to be friendly but were distrustful and overly suspicious. Sometimes they took food without asking. They were greedy and child-like in their helplessness. Ompeu did not understand them. They had powerful weapons and gadgets not seen before. When they arrived, they set about building a fort on the island to the north they called Roanoke and wanted the People to feed them. Two years before, Grenville and his men explored a great deal of territory and visited the villages of Roanoac, Pomeioc, and Aquascogoc. A silver cup went missing. The English burned the entire village of Aquascogoc to punish the natives they suspected of theft. Later, Grenville sailed away, taking Manteo and Towaye with him. He left a soldier, Master Lane in charge of the men who remained on the island.
The Roanoac werowance Wingina initially welcomed the English, but as tensions grew, he gave himself a new name. He called himself Pemisapan and came to understand that the Tosh shonte were not spirits, but merely human beings incapable of feeding themselves. Pemisapan took his people away, moving the village, refusing to feed the English. Master Lane learned of this, suspecting conspiracy. The white men attacked Pemisapan’s village, murdering him, and taking his head. When a passing ship stopped, Master Lane and the remaining starving Tosh shonte returned home. Weeks later, another English ship arrived finding the Roanoke fort abandoned. They left fifteen Englishmen behind to guard it.
Ompeu rolled to his side, careful not to wake Sequan with the movement. He exhaled in frustration, unable to sleep, then rose quietly from his spot to kneel next to the tiny, sleeping bundle. With gentle fingertips, he stroked his son’s head. A fierce, protective resolve swelled in his heart. He would shield his family and do what he must to protect them from the Tosh shonte. There were things Ompeu did not tell his wife. Things that happened on Roanoke Island.
Ompeu lifted his eyes to the piece of night sky visible through the open smoke flap of the dwelling. The winds were warm, yet there had been little rain to quench the crops. Yes, the hunt was good. Ompeu and the hunting party brought meat for all. The Croatan hunters came upon a war party of combined Roanoac and Secotan warriors, bent on revenge for the murder of their chief, Pemisapan, and others who were killed by the Tosh shonte. Ompeu and his friends joined them. He watched as Wanchese greeted the Englishmen using the words he knew. Upon his signal, the war party emerged. Ompeu did not tell his wife of the white men they killed on Roanoke Island, nor did he tell her of the subsequent attack on the remaining Englishmen at the fort, whom they chased and scattered to the winds, leaving the English settlement on Roanoke, abandoned once again.
Ompeu’s heart was uneasy. More English would come from across the great water. As surely as the tide rushes to meet the sands, he knew more English would come. Ompeu left his son’s side and crept quietly back to the sleeping pallet. His eyelids closed over as thoughts of the Tosh shonte dissipated, and sleep claimed him.
Ompeu found himself in the darkened woods. His body was not his own. He looked down to find himself transformed into a large wolf; huge paws, thick, dark gray fur. A rustling in the brush drew his attention. He raised his wolf head, pointed ears perked up, turning sideways, then forward. He waited, wolf nostrils flaring, sniffing the night air until he caught the scent of her. His piercing wolf eyes found her through the leaves; a doe with a spotted fawn curled at her feet, both quiet and still. Her doe eyes stared back at him in silent defiance.
“She waits for you,” a voice said.
A pang of hunger burned his gut. He salivated, hoping to kill the doe, taste her blood. He panted lightly, sensing her fear, her breathing, and rapid heartbeat in his ears. She remained motionless, as they held each other’s gaze. When his wolf paws suddenly pushed against the earth, his body leaping forward, she darted, leading him away from her fawn. He chased her. She ran through the brush, past trees, over hills in mindless circles. He grew tired, for she was as elusive as the wind.
One last leap. He nipped a back leg causing her to stumble. He growled, his powerful wolf jaws snapping. He captured her. Snarling, his wolf teeth pierced her neck, her blood seeping onto his tongue. He shook his wolf head fiercely from side to side. His jaws locked crushing her windpipe. He held her there for long moments until she no longer struggled, then he released her. She was dead.
Or so he thought. She twitched and moved her cloven hooves. He tipped his wolf head to the side curiously. He watched as her deer’s body changed, growing larger. He yelped a wolf yelp and jumped back, watching as the transformation continued. Bushy tail, long snout, silver-light fur, large paws. The doe was gone, and in her place appeared a beautiful she-wolf. She stretched languidly, her front legs outstretched, her rump in the air. She yawned as though awakening, revealing sharp wolf teeth.
She took a tentative step toward him and whined. Ears flat, body hunched low, tail wagging furiously in greeting. He knew from her scent that she sought a mate. He went to her, unable to stop himself. She trotted around him, flicked her tail into his face, and ran from him in invitation. He chased her. They rolled and frolicked, and bit each other playfully. She turned her rump to him. He mounted her, and as he did so he became human again, the she-wolf became woman. His fingers grasped the smooth pale flesh of her woman’s hips as he entered her. A hand pushed against his shoulder. From far away, he heard someone whisper his name.
“Ompeu. Husband.” Sequan nudged him.
Ompeu sprawled on his back breathing heavily. He could not open his eyes. His enlarged manhood throbbed painfully.
“Husband,” she nudged him again. “You were dreaming,” she whispered.
Ompeu’s eyes obeyed his command and he blinked them open. He felt his body immobile, as though he had drunk a sleeping concoction. He could not speak.
Sequan snuggled close to him as his breathing gradually slowed, but the engorged male part of him remained evident. She wondered what he dreamed of but did not ask. “Ompeu? I will help you,” she murmured, her hand skimming over his lean belly, to the part of him that ached with need. She stroked him rhythmically.
His eyelids closed over as she touched him, the image of the she-wolf-turned-woman appeared, unbidden. He finished quickly, and Sequan rested upon him, her long, dark hair fanning over his chest. They did not speak. He lie there with her, the drug of sleep still strong in his veins. He did not know what the dream meant, or who the woman was; he could not see her face in the dream. But somewhere in the fog of his troubled mind, he knew that she was not his wife, Sequan.
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