A Wrinkle in Time Quintet (112 page)

“Zachary.”

“And you, too, Zachary.”

Anaral left her tending of the raider and took Polly’s hand. “And you will come with me.”

Anaral’s tent was a lean-to of young saplings covered with cured skins. It backed against a thick green wall of fir and pine and smelled fresh and fragrant.
There were two pallets of ferns covered with soft skins. Anaral handed Polly a rolled-up blanket of delicate fur. Polly took off her red anorak and sat down on one of the fern beds.

Anaral squatted beside her. “Tav is, well, Poll-ee, you must know he is drawn to you.”

Polly wrapped the fur blanket around her. “And I to him, and I don’t understand how I could be.”

Anaral smiled. “Such things
are not understood. They happen. Later, if two people are to be together for always, then understanding comes.”

“Is there going to be a later?” Polly asked. “I know the threshold is not open now, but I—I do need to get home to my own time. Before”—she could hardly bring herself to articulate it—“before I have to be sacrificed to the Mother.”

“That will not happen,” Anaral protested. “There
will be rain.”

“Across the lake?”

“Across the lake.”

Polly said, “If it hadn’t been for Tav this afternoon when the raiders came—”

“And the others.”

“But Tav leapt in and fought when he didn’t know if the others were coming. And it was, oh, in a strange way it was exciting.”

“You were a warrior, too,” Anaral said.

“I just wasn’t going to let those strange men carry you off.”

Anaral sighed.
“And I am grateful. To Tav. To you. And Karralys.”

“He tried to stop the fighting,” Polly said. “But when he couldn’t, he fought as well as Tav did.”

“We People of theWind”—Anaral sighed again—“we have always been what the bishop calls paci—paci—”

“Pacifists,” Polly supplied.

Anaral nodded. “It is the drought that has changed things. If it would only rain! The Old Grey Wolf told us that there
was drought many years ago and that we—my people—came here to this fertile place because our own grounds were parched, the grasses brown instead of green, the cattle with their bones showing, the corn not even making its tassels. We have been in this place since the Old Wolf was a baby. We cannot just leave and let the People Across the Lake take our home. Where would we go? Beyond the forest
there are now other tribes. If only the goddess would send rain!”

“Do you think the goddess is withholding rain?” Polly asked.

Anaral shook her head. “It is not in the goddess’s nature to destroy. She sends blessings. It is us, it is people who are destructive.” She left the tent abruptly.

In a few minutes she returned with a wooden bowl full of water, and a soft piece of leather for a washcloth.
She wet the leather and gently washed Polly’s face, and then her hands, and it was as much a ritual as the banquet and the singing and dancing had been. She handed the bowl to Polly, who understood that she in her turn was to wash Anaral. When Anaral took the bowl out to empty it, Polly felt as clean as though she had just taken a long bath. She lay down on the fern bed, wrapped in the soft
fur blanket, and slid into sleep.

When she woke up, she thought at first that she was at home with her grandparents. But there was no Hadron sleeping beside her. She reached out her hand and touched hair, not the fur of the blanket, but living hair, and Og’s moist nose nuzzled into her hand, his warm tongue licked her fingers. She was comforted and lay listening to the night. The quiet was
different from the quiet of her own time, where the soughing of the wind in the trees was sometimes broken by the distant roar of a plane going by overhead, by a truck on the road a mile downhill from the house. Here the lake covered the place where the road was, and she could hear small splashings as an occasional fish surfaced. There was also a sense of many presences, that the People of the Wind
surrounded her. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could see Anaral’s curled-up form on the other pallet, hear her soft breathing.

Polly sat up carefully. It was cold, so she put on the red anorak and crept out into the first faint light of dawn, Og following her. Stars still shone overhead, but the moon had long since gone to rest, and there was a faint lemon-colored streak of light on the
horizon far across the lake. She saw someone sitting on a tree trunk, facing the lake, and she recognized Bishop Colubra by his plaid shirt. Quietly she walked to him.

“Bishop—”

He turned and saw her, and invited her with a motion to sit beside him.

“The time gate—”

He shook his head. “It is still closed.”

“Yesterday, when Dr. Louise came over, she said you’d gone off in hiking boots—”

He looked down at his feet in laced-up leather boots. “I thought I’d better be prepared.”

“You mean you knew—”

“No. I didn’t know. I just suspected that something might happen, and if you came to this time and place and couldn’t get back, I wanted to be here with you.”

“Are we going to be able to get home? To our own time?”

“Oh, I think it’s highly likely,” the bishop said.

“But you aren’t
sure?”

“My dear, I’m seldom sure of anything. Life at best is a precarious business, and we aren’t told that difficult or painful things won’t happen, just that it matters. It matters not just to us but to the entire universe.”

Polly thought of the bishop’s wife, of Dr. Louise’s family. She did not know that Karralys was there with them at the lakeside until he said, “Zachary is not in the tent.”

Karralys stood with his back to the lake, looking down at Polly and Bishop Colubra. “I do not wish to raise an alarm. You have not seen him? He has not spoken to you?”

“No,” both the bishop and Polly replied.

“I had hoped he might be with you. Wait here, please. I will check the other tents. If Zachary should come to you, please keep him here till I return.” He turned away from them, walking
rapidly. Og looked at Polly, licked her hand, then took off after Karralys.

“Bishop,” Polly said softly, “Zachary is terrified of dying.”

“Yes.” The bishop nodded.

“And he thinks his best hope is here, in this time. So I don’t think he’d go off anywhere. He tries to be so glib about everything, but he’s frightened.”

The bishop’s voice was compassionate. “Poor young man, with his house slipping
and sliding on sand.”

Polly said, “If it was my heart, and I was told I had only a year or so to live, I’d be afraid, too.”

“Of course, my dear. The unknown is always frightening, no matter how much we trust in the purposes of love. And I do not think that Zachary has that trust. So the dark must seem very dark to him indeed.”

“It can seem pretty dark to me, too,” Polly admitted.

“To all
of us. But to you, and to me, there is the blessing of hope. Isn’t there?”

“Yes. Though I’m not exactly sure what my hope is.”

“That’s all right. You’ve lived well in your short life.”

“Not always. I’ve been judgmental and unforgiving.”

“But on the whole you’ve lived life lovingly and fully. And I suspect that much of Zachary’s life has been an avoidance of life. Now
I’m
sounding judgmental,
aren’t I?”

Polly laughed. “Yes, well. Being judgmental has always been a problem for me. And Zachary’s the kind of person who just seems to get judged. If he weren’t so sort of spectacular, people probably wouldn’t care.”

They looked up as Karralys returned, his face grave. “I cannot find him. And the raider is gone, too, the one whose head was nearly broken. Brown Earth, he is called. His pallet
was by Eagle Woman’s, but Cub gave her a potion to ease her pain and she is still asleep.”

The bishop asked, “You think Zachary and the raider went off together?”

“It is possible the raider took him as hostage,” Karralys suggested.

“But how would they get away? You had watches posted at all points.”

Karralys sat down beside Polly on the fallen log. “Those across the lake move as silently
as we do. Brown Earth could have gone into the forest and come out to the lake from another direction. There are many miles of shoreline.”

“But the raider couldn’t have taken Zachary if he was unwilling,” Polly objected. “Wouldn’t he have yelled and made a noise?”

Karralys appeared to be studying a bird who was flying low over the lake. “We went through the raider’s clothes. We took away his
knife. He had no arrow, no poison to make Zachary helpless.” Suddenly the bird swooped down and flew off into the sky with a fish.

“But why would Zachary have gone with him?” Polly was incredulous. “Karralys, he thought his hope for life was here, that Cub could help his heart. He wouldn’t just have gone off.”

“No one knows what that young man would or would not do,” Karralys said. “Is he not—”

“Unpredictable,” the bishop supplied.

“Well, yes,” Polly agreed, “but this doesn’t seem reasonable.”

“Many things that people do are unreasonable,” the bishop pointed out. “Now what should we do?”

The lake was bathed in a radiant light as the sun rose, and with the sun the rich singing of the morning song. “I will ask the others,” Karralys said. “Then we shall see.”

Karralys
went around the compound asking people singly, in pairs, in small groups, Og at his heels, whining a little, anxiously. There was consternation over the disappearance of the raider, more than over Zachary.

Eagle Woman berated herself. “I should have heard him. Normally, my ears are tuned—”

“Normally, you do not have a shoulder that has been pierced by an arrow,” Karralys said.

“And the young
man—where can he be? Cub told me his heart sounded like a dry leaf in the wind.”

“We will call council at the great stones,” Karralys said. “Meanwhile, we must get on with the day’s work. We will continue to keep watchers posted to look out for canoes, or perhaps an attack from the forest.”

Polly and the bishop were asked to join the group in the circle within the ring of standing stones.

“If they think they can use this Zak—” Tav started.

“Zachary.”

“—as a hostage, they are wrong. He is worth nothing to us.”

“He is our guest,” Karralys said quietly. “Under our hospitality.”

“I do not understand why he came,” Tav said. “I fear that he will bring us grief.”

“We are still responsible for him.”

Cub turned to Karralys anxiously. “If they treat him roughly, I do not think his heart
will stand it.”

“That bad?” Eagle Woman asked.

Cub looked at her soberly.

“Then,” Tav deliberated, “it was just as well he did not fight yesterday?”

“It might have killed him,” Cub said.

“He is young for his heart to be so feeble,” a man wearing a red-fox skin protested.

“Perhaps he had the child fever with the swollen joints that weakens the heart,” Cub suggested.

—Rheumatic fever, Polly
thought.—Yes, that sounded likely.

“Enough,” Tav said. “What are we going to do? Why did the raider take him? Of what use can he be—except as a hostage?”

“If it is as a hostage,” Karralys said, “we will hear from them, and soon.”

There seemed nothing more to discuss. Karralys dismissed the council, doubled the watch. Polly helped Anaral make bread in an oven made of hot stones. She looked around
for Og but did not see him. He must be with Karralys, she thought.

“This goddess,” Polly mused, “and the Mother. Are they one and the same?”

Anaral punched down the risen dough. “To me, and to Karralys, yes. To those who are not druids—Tav, for instance—the goddess is the moon, and the Mother is the earth. For some, it is easier to think of separate gods and goddesses in the wind, in the oaks,
in the water. But for me, it is all One Presence, with many aspects, even as you and I have many aspects, but we are one.” She placed the bread in the stone oven. “It will be ready when we return.”

“Where are we going?” Polly asked.

“To the standing stones. In that place is the strongest energy. That is why council is always held there.”

The standing stones. Where, three thousand years in the
future, Polly’s grandparents’ house would be, and the pool which could not be dug as deeply as planned because there was an underground river.

“Below the place of the standing stones”—Polly followed Anaral away from the tents and the lake—“there is water?”

“A river. It runs underground and then comes up out of the earth where it flows into the lake. But its source is beneath the standing stones.”

“How do you know?”

“It is the old knowledge.”

“Whose old knowledge?”

“The knowledge of the People of the Wind. But Tav would not take my word for it, so I gave him a wand of green wood and told him to hold it straight in front of him, and not to let it touch the ground, and then I asked him to follow me. He thought I was—what does Bishop call it? Oh, yes, primitive. But he followed me, laughing,
and holding the wand. And when we got to the standing stones, he could not keep it still, he could not keep it off the ground. It leaped in his hands like a live thing. Then he knew I told true.”