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Part VI: 1750- Another Man's War
"I dreamed a dream the other night/Lowlands, lowlands away me John…"
The lake shines a violent blue against a cobalt midsummer sky. The trees grow thick close to the water's edge, unbroken by paths or roads or footmarks of any kind. Birds call out in the canopy. It's an idyllic scene, lifted from a painting.
"My love she came, dressed all in white/Lowlands away…"
Somewhere, miles to the northeast, the city of New Orleans sits, the most populous urban center for leagues in any direction. The harbor teams with life, with sailors and soldiers loading and offloading cargo of all shapes and sizes. Men sing in English and French, their chanting carrying on the fresh morning breeze.
"I dreamed my love came in my sleep/Lowlands, lowlands away me John/Her cheeks were wet, her eyes did weep/Lowlands away…"
The gossip on the harbor is from distant lands. One crew tells another of a new treaty between Spain and Portugal over administration of Brazil. There is talk of treasure-seeking, mercenary work, the possibility of war. Another speaks (in lower tones, in the dialect of old Senegambia) of a slave revolt on a ship out of Britain. There is feverish excitement, hope, possibility.
"She came to me at my bedside/Lowlands, lowlands away me John/All dressed in white, like some fair bride/Lowlands away…"
There is talk, as well, of another war, closer to home, in the wilderness to the south. Peculiarly, all in the harbor know of this war, but every man's accounting is different from his neighbor's, as if he doesn't know himself what is happening.
"And bravely in her bosom fair/Lowlands, lowlands away me John/Her red, red rose, my love did wear/Lowlands away…"
Back away, that long distance, in the woods by a lake that has no name (or at least, no name that would be known to the men in and around the Port of New Orleans), the tranquil silence of the midsummer morning is broken by the sudden and abrupt arrival of a stranger, foreign not to this place, but to this time.
"She made no sound, no word she said/Lowlands, lowlands away me John/And then i knew my love was dead/Lowlands away…"
The slight, petite form of Ty appears on the crest of a natural earthen mound within running distance of the lake. There is nobody else around to mark their approach. Only a skylark in a nearby tree, who cocks its head to the side, cooing softly at the new arrival.
They may as well be the only person on Earth.
"Then I awoke to hear the cry/Lowlands, Lowlands away me John/Oh watch on deck
Oh watch, ahoy/Lowlands away…"
Ty hadn't even realized what was happening, the last thing they remember was protesting the victimization of Darcy, and now, they were in the woods, alone, nobody in sight.
what the hell, what the hell what the hell.
They thought to themselves as they started panicking, looking all around.
"Hello!!? Anne? Stogie!?"
They called out, hearing a stick break and seconding to run, utterly terrified.
Magic isn't real, it's not real, you're dreaming, it's a dream.
The tranquility of the mid-morning was broken. A man's voice somewhere in the undergrowth let out with a high, bloodcurdling battlecry. The next moments were a furious chaos. Men burst from the trees on either side of the glen, crying out in English and in another, more guttural language. There was a sharp whizzing noises of arrows being launched from bows from one side, and the short bursts of musketfire from the other.
Birds took flight from the treetops. The pastoral scene was now a battlefield, and Ty caught in the middle.
Ty hadn't even had time to react to the scream, before hearing the gunshots and hearing arrows hiss by them.
They couldn't think of any other option than to just drop to the ground and place their hands over their head, eyes squeezed tight as they prayed they wouldn't die.
For a few short, terrifying moments, there was nothing but screams and cries, the sounds of men falling to the ground, moaning in pain or else silent and lifeless as sacks of rocks. The battle, which was more of a skirmish, ended as quickly as it began. One side melted back into the trees, leaving their men bleeding, dying and dead, on the ground amongst the trees.
For the next minutes, the other side (who, having experienced the fewest casualties, could be counted the winners on that basis if no other) moved about the field, assessing the carnage.
"Damn," barked one heavily accented voice, "Blamed bastards got Beaufort."
"Wouldn't have gotten him if he hadn't been drunk," scoffed another, more assured. Clean leather boots plod the earth steps away from Ty, "I swear, I saw the chief."
"Are you balmy? The chief wouldn't go raiding."
"Theirs might, if they felt their honor was being impugned. This was our one chance to flush him out..." the boot stopped just short of Ty's splayed fingers, "Well, then."
The soldier got to one knee before Ty, revealing a handsome, broad face and a wolfish set of teeth, "This one's alive."
-Harrow et al
Ty slowly lifted their head, and raised their hands.
"Listen, I don't know where I am, and I don't mean any harm."
They were scared, and it was clear, they were practically shaking. They're anxiety only intensified by the soldiers surrounding them.
They looked old timey like those old American revolution type books. Were they in the middle of some fucked up reenactment?
"Huh," the soldier's face changed at once, "She's a girl," with one hand, he took Ty by the chin, turning their head one way then the other, as if he were inspecting a horse, "And she speaks English."
He seemed to truly see Ty for the first time, taking in the peculiar clothes with a keen scrutiny. The other soldiers were moving about the field, surveying the other casualties. Some of the wounded were still clinging to life.
"Has it gotten that bad, then? They're sending out their women to fight?"
-Harrow
All Ty knew was that they were in an unfamiliar place, with a bunch of unfamiliar men, so now wasn't the time to start correcting them on what their pronouns were.
"I wasn't fighting anyone, I was lost, and then I heard a scream."
Ty said, uncomfortable with being inspected like something other than human.
"Well, you're not dressed like one of them," Harrow took a fistful of Ty's hair in hand, to tug them roughly to their feet, "Which end are you with? East or west?"
"What makes you think she answers honest?" asked another one.
"She'll answer me," Harrow looked her over, "She's got no other choice."
-Harrow
Ty felt the rough pull of their hair and let out a short hiss,
"What the hell!?" Ty asked as they got to their feet, looking at the guy.
"You get some sort of thrill beating up on people? I'm not from anywhere, I'm from right here. Where are you from!?"
Their words were spat out fast, taking all the nerve they had. They had the very bad feeling that something bad was happening and that this wasn't some reenactment
"Right here," he repeated, "Well, I gathered that. I meant more in the line of 'Oh, from over that rock', or 'south of that mudpile yonder'," but he seemed to find the defiance funny, "Where I'm from? Cheeky, little squaw. Got to hand it to ya."
He belted Ty clear across the face, enough to knock anybody out of commission. In the next instance, he barked to the others, "Gather whoever's fit for the march. Finish off the rest. 'Least it wasn't a complete waste."
He scooped Ty up in his own arms, slinging them roughly over one shoulder as easily as if they were a sack of potatoes, and with as little care.
-Harrow
"Complete waste?" A skeptical cockney comrade scoffed. "Only good squaw is a dead squaw, 'Arrow. Unless you got boyish intentions with the wretch, put 'er down. Don't look too fit to work, one way or the other."
Meek private Abner Rooney chirped in. "We should decide quickly, fellows. I swear I heard rustling in the bushes over yonder. I fear we are not..."
PFING!
An arrow pierced Abner through the eye, killing him swiftly.
"Blasted savages found us!" A stocky fellow fired his flintlock into the bushes. "We must make haste!"
-Abner Rooney (RIP) and fellow officers
"Damn fool!" Harrow swore, "Brought them right back down on us! Take with you can and git!"
***
It was an uncertain amount of time later, in a capacious canvas tent some distance away, that Ty began to become aware again, prompted from unconsciousness by the sound of a familiar voice.
-Harrow
"Hello, young Ty!" It was none other than the visage of Dr. Galdamez, dressed as a pilgrim! Attire in a century too late to be sure, but he had to meet in Ty in great haste in order to guide them as quickly as possible, especially with how disastrous a turn things had taken already. "Quite a pickle you've found yourself in. You could even say a jar of pickles! Or a farm! My, my, my. Tsk, tsk. This is an ordeal..."
Ty furrowed their brow as they slowly gained awareness of where they were.
Seeing Dr. Galdamez again, they had almost hoped it was all some hallucinogenic nightmare, that was until they felt that they're wrists were bound.
"Why did you do this to me..." Ty asked the man, who they were realizing looked as if they were part of the Macy's parade.
"I did nothing to you," Galdmez countered. "The séance did as was intended. It just so happened you landed in an unfortunate position." He clapped his hands. "But nevertheless, you have been sent to this link in the chain of la mort to see what exactly transpired at this time. My fear, though, is that there will be much bloodshed for you to sort through, for this was a violent time in history."
"Yeah from the sounds of it, it's one of the many times my people died for the conquests of colonizers."
Ty said, giving up and just accepting the fact that they were in another time, a quite horrific one.
"So what happens if I die here, before I solve whatever riddle you have for me this time?"
If you die, 'twill be just that: you die. You fade away from existence, and the timeline will be forever fractured." Galdamez tapped Ty's nose. "Which is why I'll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen. You have my full, guaranteed protection, mon cher. Consider me a guardian angel."
"Please don't touch me."
Ty said, before giving a sigh, and taking it back.
"Actually please untie me."
Galdamez got to his feet, raising his finger high. "That, I will not do."
"The what is even the point of your coming here? Just wanted to see me go through hell? Get your rocks off?"
Ty tried to struggle against their binding.
"Oh, to inform. To educate. To elucidate. That sort of thing," Galdamez headed for the tent's exit. "Now you know what you must do. Solve the mystery of the tragedy of 1750. Investigate the deeper truths of this conflict. This violence that truly was...another man's war." He looked up the heavens dramatically, the burden of the task at hand bearing down greatly upon him.
Then, a smile flashed on his face in an instant. "That is all! Bonne chance, mademoiselle."
The cockney soldier from before was heard from outside. "Oy, was that French I 'eard in the tent?"
"Oops! Gotta run!" And like that, Galdamez was gone.
In peeked the cockney, very much confused. "Oh. Must be losing my mind, I must, yessiree." He turned behind him. "Savage is in 'ere sir. The one in the bizarre clothes."
-Galdamez and Cockney
The officer flanking the younger man was a tall, refined individual whose uniform marked him as a General. He looked down a beak-like nose at Ty, the sharp angles of his face made all the more prominent by a pair of fierce gray muttonchops.
"There were no other survivors?" he asked his subordinate coolly.
"No sir. Harrow says there may have been, 'afore they had to clear the field. But this was the only one they could wrangle..."
"I couldn't give half a mite what Harrow thinks of anything, thank you, Private."
"Aye, sir," the younger man lowered his eyes ashamedly.
"The Clan Mother will be en route to us," he said shortly, "She'll want to know which of her people we pranced off back home with."
His brows knit together as he scrutinized Ty, "Can you understand me?"
-General Dandridge
Ty wasn't sure whether or not they should speak up, furrowing their brow as they looked the man in the eye.
But figuring that the soldiers who had heard them talking in the woods might put them as an English speaker, Ty figured it'd be best to start in an honest foot. Maybe this caricature of a man, was one of the rare good ones. Though they heavily doubted it.
"Yes, I can speak." They said, clearly and calmly.
"And better than some of my men," he added derisively, "How many were in your party when my men ambushed you?"
-Dandridge
"It wasn't my party, I was lost in the woods when the fight broke out."
Ty said, looking down at them selves.
"Do I look like i spend a lot of time in the woods?"
"Lost?" Dandridge stepped back, his face working spasmodically, "So you are not with her clan," he paced feverishly about the tent, "Which side of the alliance, then, are you with? Or are you not Choctaw at all?"
-Dandridge
"The west, yes the west."
Ty said, trying to remember any minor bits of information from stories and history lessons their grandfather and grandmother had told them that hadn't been completely fried from their brain after years of not needing to know.
They nodded,
"Yes, I was lost."
"A wise answer," said Dandridge, "Which demonstrates you're intelligent, even if still dishonest," he was quiet for a while, "And you just happened to wander into a skirmish between my men and men of a different clan? That's quite convenient. Or, I suppose, inconvenient for you."
-Dandridge
"Respectfully, you have me all tied up, and I'm in no position to lie to you. I really was just lost, I was scavenging, and you know how we are, I got lost in my own mind, and all of a sudden I didn't recognize my surroundings."
It killed Ty to talk down and fuel stereotypes about themselves and their people, but they needed to get out of this alive.