A Wrinkle in Time Quintet (64 page)

Will it ever cease, the turning of brother against brother? Gedder wanted power, and I cannot grieve for his death, only for his life, with its inordinate lust and pride. Why does Gwen weep? I do not think she knows. “I am homesick,” she cries, “I want
to go home.” So Rich will
take her home. And what will happen then, who knows?

Gwydyr fought Madoc and lost and the battle continued through to Gedder, brother against brother

And the ship which brought Zillah carried Gwen and Rich to the Northern continent, to lilies of the valley and lilacs in the dooryard, to Merioneth and the store, and Papa will at last have his partner, and the store will be Maddox and Llawcae

Oh, Zillah, my Zillah

A coughing fit jerked Matthew awake, away from Vespugia, from Bran and Zillah.

“Gwen—” he gasped, “Rich—Can’t wait—sorry—”

Then the coughing took him, and when the racking had passed, there was nothing but agony.
His back was an explosion of pain and the room began to get dark, and a rank stink like spoiling flowers choked him. There
was no longer any light or warmth in the crackling flames …

“Matthew!” Meg opened her eyes, and she was calling the name aloud. The kitten, disturbed, jumped down from the bed. Ananda did not move.

—What happened? What happened to Matthew? to Charles Wallace? Is Charles
Wallace all right?

—Strange, she thought,—the kythe with Matthew was clearer than any since Harcels. Maybe because Matthew and Bran were kythers.

She reached out to Charles Wallace, and felt only absence. Nor did she sense Gaudior. Always, when Charles Wallace was brought out of Within, she could see him, could see the unicorn.

“I’m going downstairs,” she said aloud, and pushed her feet into
her slippers.

Ananda followed her downstairs, stepping on the seventh step so that it let out a loud groan, and the dog yelped in surprise. Behind them the kitten padded softly, so light that the seventh step made the merest sigh.

The kitchen fire was blazing, the kettle humming. Everything looked warm and comfortable and normal, except for Mrs. O’Keefe in the rocking chair. The kitten padded
across to her and jumped up on her lap, purring, and flexing its sharp little claws.

Meg asked, “Charles Wallace isn’t back yet?”

“Not yet. Are you all right, Meg?” her mother asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You look pale.”

“Maybe I’ll take Sandy and Dennys up on their offer of bouillon, if it’s still good.”

“Sure, Sis,” Sandy said. “I’ll make it. Chicken or beef?”

“Half a spoon of each, please, and
a slosh of lemon juice.” She looked at the twins with fresh comprehension. Was she closer to Charles Wallace than to the twins because they were twins, sufficient unto themselves? She glanced at the phone, then at her mother-in-law. “Mom—Beezie, do you remember Zillah?”

Mrs. O’Keefe looked at Meg, nodded her head, shook it, closed her eyes.

“Mom, Zillah really did get to Vespugia, didn’t she?”
Meg looked at the old woman, needing reassurance.

Mrs. O’Keefe huddled her arms about herself and rocked. “I forget. I forget.”

Mrs. Murry looked anxiously at her daughter. “Meg, what is this?”

“It makes all the difference who Branzillo’s forebears were.”

Sandy handed Meg a steaming cup. “Sis, the past has happened. Knowing who Branzillo’s ancestors were can’t change anything.”

“There was
a time when it hadn’t happened yet,” Meg tried to explain, realizing how strange she sounded. “It’s
the Might-Have-Been Charles Wallace was to change, and I think he’s changed it. It’s the charge Mom O’Keefe laid on him when she gave him the rune.”

“Stop talking!” Mrs. O’Keefe pushed herself up out of the rocking chair. “Take me to Chuck. Quickly. Before it’s too late.”

TWELVE

Between myself and the powers of darkness

They ran, pelting across the frozen ground, which crunched under their feet, Meg and the twins and Mrs. O’Keefe. They ran across the rimed lawn and through the aisles of the twins’ Christmas trees to the stone wall.

Meg held her hand out to Mrs. O’Keefe and helped her over the low wall. Then, still holding her mother-in-law’s hand, pulling
her along, she ran down the path, past the two large glacial rocks, to the star-watching rock.

Charles Wallace was lying there, eyes closed, white as death.

“Beezie!” Meg cried. “The rune! Quickly!”

Mrs. O’Keefe was panting, her hand pressed to her side. “With me …” She gasped. “Grandma …”

Dennys knelt on the rock, bending over Charles Wallace, feeling for his pulse.

“With Chuck in this fateful
hour,” Mrs. O’Keefe gasped, and Meg joined in, her voice clear and strong:

Light returned slowly. There had been pain, and darkness, and all at once the pain was relieved, and light touched his lids. He opened them, to the sharpness of starlight. He was lying on the star-watching rock, with Gaudior anxiously bending over him, tickling his cheek with the
curly silver beard.

“Gaudior, what happened?”

“We barely got you out in time.”

“Did Matthew—”

“He died. We didn’t expect it quite so soon. The Echthroi—”

“I guess we got to 1865 after all.” Charles Wallace looked up at the stars.

“Stand up.” Gaudior sounded cross. “I don’t like to see you lying there. I thought you were never going to open your eyes.”

Charles Wallace scrambled to his feet,
lifted one leg, then the other. “How strange to be able to use my legs again—how wonderful.”

Gaudior knelt beside him. “Climb.”

Charles Wallace, legs shaky as though from long disuse, clambered onto the great back.

He rode a Gaudior who had become as tiny as a dragonfly, rode among the fireflies, joining their brilliant dance, twinkling, blinking, shooting over the star-watching rock, over
the valley, singing their song, and he was singing, too, and he was himself, and yet he was all he had learned, he carried within himself Brandon and Chuck and their song and the song was glory …

And he rode a Gaudior who had become as large as a constellation, rode among the galaxies, and he was himself, and he was also Madoc, and he was Matthew, Matthew flying through showers of stars, caught
up in the joy of the music of the spheres …

part of the harmony, part of the joy

The silver neigh of the unicorn sounded all about the star-watching rock, rippling over Meg and the twins, Mrs. O’Keefe and Charles, and the night was illumined
by the flash of the horn, blinding them with oblivion as it pointed at each of them in turn.

Meg thought she heard Charles Wallace call, “Gaudior, goodbye—oh,
Gaudior, goodbye …”

Who was Gaudior?

She knew once who Gaudior was.

Again she heard his silver knell ringing in farewell.

Sandy asked, “Hey, did you see lightning?”

Dennys looked bewildered. “It’s too cold. And look at all the stars.”

“What was that flash, then?”

“Beats me. Like everything else tonight. Charles, what was with you? I couldn’t find a pulse and then suddenly it throbbed under
my fingers.”

Slowly, color was returning to the boy’s cheeks. “You came just in time.” He looked at Mrs. O’Keefe, who still had her hand to her side and was breathing with painful gasps. “Beezie. Thank you.” There was infinite sadness in his voice.

“That’s what Meg called her,” Sandy said. “What is all this?”

“Mom O’Keefe laid a charge on me …”

Dennys said, “We told you it was nuts for you
to think you could stop Branzillo single-handed. Did you fall asleep or something? You could have got frostbite.” He sounded concerned and uncertain.

“Come on in, now,” Sandy added, “and no more of this nonsense.”

“After the president’s call, you call it nonsense?” Meg demanded fiercely.

“Meg, you shouldn’t be out in the cold,” Dennys objected.

“I’m all right.”

Charles Wallace took Mrs. O’Keefe’s
hands in his. “Thank you.”

“Chuck’s no idiot.” Mrs. O’Keefe thumped Charles Wallace on the shoulder.

“Come on,” Sandy urged. “Let’s get moving.”

Dennys held Mrs. O’Keefe’s arm. “We’ll help you.” They returned to the house, Sandy and Dennys supporting Mrs. O’Keefe; Meg holding Charles Wallace’s hand as though they were both small children once more.

Ananda greeted them ecstatically.

Mrs. Murry
hurried to her youngest son, but refrained from touching him. “She’s really adopted us, hasn’t she? You’d think she’d been with us forever.”

“Watch out for that tail.” Mr. Murry moved between the dog and the model of the tesseract. “A couple of indiscriminate wags and you could undo years of work.” He turned to his daughter. “Meg, you shouldn’t have gone out in this weather with your cold.”

“It’s all right, Father. My cold’s better and I didn’t get chilled. Did the president—”

“No. Nothing yet.”

Meg tried to think. What did she remember? The president’s call, of course. Mrs. O’Keefe’s rune, and the response of the weather. The coming of Ananda. Kything with Charles Wallace in the attic, kything through aeons of time, kything which had faded to dreams because the unicorn—

A unicorn.
That was absurd.

There was Mrs. O’Keefe’s phone call in the middle of the night. Sandy went for her and brought her back to the house, and she had an old letter—who was it from? What did it say?

“Well, Charles.” Mr. Murry regarded his son gravely. “How about the charge?”

Charles Wallace did not reply immediately. He was studying the model of the tesseract, and he touched one of the Lucite rods
carefully, so that the entire model began to vibrate, to hum softly, throwing off sparkles of brilliance. “We still don’t know much about time, do we? I think—” He looked bewildered. “Father, I think it’s going to be all right. But not because I was intelligent, or brave, or in control. Meg was right, earlier this evening, when she talked about everything, everywhere, interreacting.”

“You were
gone longer than we expected.”

“I was gone a long time. An incredibly long time.”

“But what did you do?” Sandy asked.

“And where did you go?” Dennys added.

“Mostly I stayed right by the star-watching rock—”

“Father!” Meg exclaimed. “The letter Mom O’Keefe brought. Charles hasn’t seen it.”

Mrs. O’Keefe held out the yellowed paper to Mr. Murry.

“Please read it to me, Father.” Charles Wallace
looked pale and exhausted.

“My dear Gwen and Rich,” Mr. Murry read,

Thank you for writing us so promptly of Papa’s death. Zillah and I are grateful that he died peacefully in his sleep, with none of the suffering he feared. I know that you both, and little Zillah, are a consolation for Mama. And Papa had the satisfaction of having Rich for his partner, and of knowing that the name of Maddox
and Llawcae will not be lost, for our young Rich talks with great enthusiasm about going to Merioneth when he is old enough.

Our little Matthew is a rapidly growing boy. I had hoped that as he grew out of babyhood he would be called Matthew, but he keeps the nickname given him by the Indian children, Branzillo, a combination of my name and Zillah’s. Little Rich tries to keep up with his big brother
in every way …

Mr. Murry looked up. “The letter breaks off there. Strange—it seems diff—is that what I read before?”

Mrs. Murry frowned slightly. “I’m not sure. It didn’t sound quite—but we’re all exhausted with strain and lack of sleep. Memory plays queer tricks at times like this.”

“It has to be what Father read before,” Sandy said flatly. “It offends my reasonable mind, but it really
does seem possible that Branzillo’s forebears came from around here.”

“The letter did come from Mrs. O’Keefe’s attic,” Dennys said. “So it’s even likely that he’s distantly descended from her forebears, and that would make them umpteenth cousins.”

Sandy protested, “But what effect could that have on his starting a nuclear war? Or—we hope—on not starting one?”

Charles Wallace turned away from
the argument, looked once more at the tesseract, then went to Mrs. O’Keefe, who was once again huddled in the rocking chair in front of the fire. Meg left the twins and followed Charles Wallace.

“Beezie,” he asked softly, “what happened to Chuck?”

—Beezie, Chuck. They were in the vanishing kythe. Meg stepped closer to the rocker to hear Mrs. O’Keefe’s reply.

“He died,” she said bleakly.

“How?”

“They took him away and put him in an institution. He died there, six months later.”

Charles Wallace expelled a long, sad breath. “Oh, Beezie, Beezie. And the baby?”

“Took after Duthbert Mortmain. Died in the State Penitentiary. Embezzlement. Let it be. What’s done’s done. What’s gone’s gone.”

Ananda pressed against Meg, and she stroked the raised head.

Beezie. Chuck. Paddy O’Keefe. The kythe
flickered briefly in Meg’s mind. Beezie must have married Paddy for more or less the same reasons that her mother had married Duthbert Mortmain. And she learned not to feel, not to love, not even her children, not even Calvin. Not to be hurt. But she gave Charles Wallace the rune, and told him to use it to stop Mad Dog Branzillo. So there must be a little of the Old Music left in her.

“Matthew’s
book,” Charles Wallace said. “It’s happening, all that he wrote.”

The phone rang.

Mrs. Murry looked toward her husband, but did not speak.

They waited tensely.