A Wrinkle in Time Quintet (116 page)

She woke up with a jerk.

“Are you all right?” Anaral asked anxiously.

“You need more sleep,” Tav said.

She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“Blessed child”—the bishop’s voice was caressing—“we know about Zachary’s
abducting you. Can you tell us more?”

“Well.” She was still chilled to the marrow. “I don’t think I can leave Zachary there.” It was not at all what she had expected to say.

“Polly.” Bishop Colubra spoke gently but commandingly. “Tell us.”

Briefly she reviewed her attempted conversations with Tynak, with Zachary.

When she had finished, Tav leaped to his feet in rage. “So this Zak took you
to save his own life.”

“Heart,” she corrected.

“He was willing to have you die so he could live,” Anaral said.

Polly shook her head. “It isn’t that simple. I don’t think he admitted to himself what he was doing.”

“Why are you defending him?” Tav shouted.

“I don’t know. I just know it isn’t that simple.” But hadn’t she accused Zachary of the same thing? “I think I have to go back.”

“No.
It will not be allowed,” Tav expostulated.

“You are here. Safe. Stay,” Anaral urged.

“Why do you have to go back, Polly?” the bishop asked.

Her reasons sounded inadequate, even to herself. But a vision of Zachary trapped in the web kept flicking across her inner eye. “My clothes are there. Zachary’s icon is in my anorak pocket, and Tynak thinks it has great power. He tried to take it from me
once, but I hope he’s afraid of it now. And if I don’t go back, I don’t know what will happen to Zachary.” She shook her head as though to clear it. “I really don’t know why I have to go back. I just know I have to.”

Tav pounded with the butt of his spear against the hard ground of the tent. “What happens to this Zak does not matter. It is you. You matter. I care about you.”

“I can’t make rain
for them, Tav,” she said. “And if there isn’t rain they will attack you again. You said that yourself.” She wanted to stretch out her arms to him, to have him take her hands, draw her to him, but this was no time for such irrational longings.

“Karralys—” she started, but Karralys was not there.

“He has gone to the standing stones,” the bishop told her. “Didn’t you see him leave? He gestured
for Og to stay here in the tent, and then he went out.”

“But he will come back?” Polly asked anxiously.

“He will come back,” Anaral assured her. “It is the place of power. He needs to be there.”

Polly bit her lip, thinking. “If Tynak believes I have goddess-like powers, he’ll hold off. The icon had a terrific effect on him, Bishop. What else have I got?” She thought. “Well, there’s a flashlight
in the anorak pocket, one of those tiny ones with a very strong light. And a pair of scissors. And a little notebook and a pen. And some other stuff. Tynak will never have seen any of those before.”

“Notebook and pen?” Anaral asked. “Like Bishop’s? To write with?”

“Yes.”

“Karralys is the only one I know who can write, and he writes only on rock or wood. And his real wisdom is not written. It
is kept here.” She touched first her forehead, then her heart. “What do I have to give you? Oh, look! Bishop gave me this after I cut my finger.” She reached into a small pouch at her side and brought out a gold pocketknife. “It would not be much good for skinning a deer, but it is quite sharp. And I have another one of these.” And she gave Polly a Band-Aid.

“Stop!” Tav shouted. “No! Poll-ee
is not to go back!”

“Tav, I have to.”

“You swam. How far you swam! Not many people could swim across the lake, all that way, even in summer. You are here. We will not let you go.”

“I have to.” She sounded her most stubborn.

“Polly,” the bishop said, “you have not yet given us a real reason.”

“I can’t just leave Zachary there to be slaughtered.”

“Why not?” Tav demanded.

“I can’t. If Tynak
thinks I’m a goddess, maybe I can stop him.”

Tav shook his head. “You. They will sacrifice you.”

“No,” Polly said. “To them, I am a goddess.” She wished she was as certain as she sounded.

The bishop’s face twisted, as though from pain. “Polly is right. She can’t leave Zachary to be a meaningless sacrifice. No matter what he has or has not done, that is not what Polly does.”

“No!” Tav cried.

Karralys returned, pushing aside the tent flap. “Bishop Heron is right. Polly is right. We cannot let the young man be sacrificed. It will not bring rain, and we would have sold a life and gained nothing.”

“Poll-ee’s life,” Tav said.

“It is never expedient that one man should die for the sake of the country,” the bishop said.

“We will gather all our warriors together—” Tav started.

“They are
many more than we are,” Karralys pointed out.

“I won’t have people fighting over me. People would get hurt or killed. It wouldn’t do any good, Tav. You mustn’t even think of it. You had rain here today. Maybe there’ll be another storm, one across the lake. That’s what we need.”

Karralys said, “Because of the position of the mountains and the currents of wind, we have rain here far more often
than across the lake. But it is possible that rain will come, not just a storm, but a rain all over the lake and shores.”

“Yes,” Polly agreed. “Rain. Not fighting. Rain.”

Karralys looked at her thoughtfully. “I lay on the capstone and listened. The stars are quiet tonight. I hear only that Zachary is to be saved.”

“I don’t understand.” Tav’s voice was savage.

“Nor I,” Karralys replied. “I
know only what I hear.”

Polly asked, “You consult with the stars?”

Karralys frowned. “Consult? No. I listen.”

“For advice?”

“No, not so much for advice as for—” He paused.

“Direction?” the bishop suggested.

“No. In the stars are lines of pattern, and those lines touch us, as our lines touch each other. The stars do not foretell, because what has not happened must be free to happen, as it
will. I look and listen and try to understand the pattern.”

The bishop nodded. “The story is not foretold. The future must not be coerced. That is right.”

Karralys looked at Polly gravely. “If you are going to return to Zachary, it is time.”

Tav turned to the bishop. “You would send Polly back?”

“There is no
would,
” the bishop said.

Polly looked at him, nodding. “It is what I am going to
do.”

Tav said, “Then I will take you in my canoe.”

Anaral said, “You will need something warm to wear. I will give you my winter tunic.”

“Thanks,” Polly said. “I’ll need it.”

“I go with you, Tav,” Anaral continued. “I have talked much with Klep, hoping to find a way to rescue Polly. He has told me of a small island not far from the village, hidden by the curve of the land. From there it is
only a short paddle.”

“Klep!” Polly had almost forgotten the young man with the broken femur. “Is he better?”

Karralys smiled. “He is better. His fever is gone. The broken flesh is healing cleanly. But it will be weeks before he can walk.”

“Perhaps Polly should talk with him,” Anaral suggested, “before she goes back to his tribe.”

Karralys nodded in approval. “Yes. That would be good. Tav,
can you and Cub bring him?”

“Can’t I go to him?” Polly asked. “Wouldn’t that be easier? Won’t it hurt him to be moved?”

“Tav and Cub will be careful. The fewer people know you are here, the better.”

Tav was already gone. Anaral detached the leather pouch from her waistband and removed a handful of small stones. Dropped them on the ground at her feet and looked at them where they lay. “If we
lose one, we lose all.” Her voice was soft. Bent down to touch another stone. “If we save one, all things are possible.” Touched another. “The stars will guide. Trust them.” And another. “The lines between the stars are reflected in the lines between the sacred places and in the lines that cross time to join people.” She looked up, blinking, as though waking from a dream.

Karralys smiled at her.
“The stones are well read.”

Anaral smiled back. “They read true.”

“Annie, dear”—the bishop looked at her searchingly—“these are not fortune-telling stones?”

“No, no,” Karralys said quickly. “The stones do not tell us what is going to happen, or what we are to do, any more than the stars. They speak to us only of our present position in the great pattern. Where we are now; here. Sometimes that
helps us to see the pattern more clearly. That is all. This worries you, Heron?”

“No,” the bishop said. “I trust you, Karralys. You and Annie.”

Polly said, “Some kids in my school got really involved in fortune-telling and the future and stuff, and my parents take a very dim view of that kind of thing.”

“I, too,” Karralys said. “Only Anaral reads stones, that they may not be misused.”

They
broke off as Tav and Cub came into the tent, bearing Klep between them, his broken leg stretched motionless between two oaken staves. Gently they set him down before the fire, which still burned brightly, illuminating the interior of the tent. When he saw Polly, he smiled in relief.

“You are all right?” Klep asked.

She smiled back. “Now that I’m thawed, I’m fine.”

“You swam the whole way?”

“I grew up on islands,” Polly said. “I’ve swum all my life.”

“Even so,” Klep said, “it is a long way.”

Polly grimaced. “Don’t I know. I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

“And you are going back?”

She squatted beside him. “Klep. Tell me. If I don’t go back, what will happen to Zachary?”

He in turn asked, “We had no rain today, on my side of the lake?”

“No. Not a drop.”

He made an unhappy
grunt. “There will have to be a sacrifice.”

“Zachary?”

“Yes.”

“But they will wait till the full moon?”

“Yes.”

“Two nights from now,” Karralys said. “Polly, Og will go with you. If you need help, send him. Like you, he swims like a fish. However, Polly, know that we are with you. The lines between the stars and between us are like—like—”

“Telegraph lines,” Bishop Colubra supplied. “This won’t
mean anything to you, Karralys. But in our time we can send words across lines.”

“Faxes,” Polly suggested.

“If you will keep your heart open to us, Polly, the lines, too, will be open.”

“Karralys!” The bishop pulled himself up, waving his arms. “I have just had a thought!” He looked around the tent, letting his gaze rest on Klep, then returned to Karralys. “You don’t want to keep Klep here
as a prisoner of war or a slave, or anything like that, do you?”

“No. He is free to go as soon as he is healed.”

“If he is well enough for Tav and Cub to have brought him here, he is well enough to be put in the canoe with Polly. Let us send him back with her. Then she will be the goddess who has rescued Klep.”

Klep burst into delighted laughter. “That is splendid! But how strange. I do not
want to go.” He looked at Anaral, and she returned his gaze steadily, and the line of love between the two of them was almost visible.

“But you will go,” Karralys said. “What Bishop Heron has thought of is perfect. And if you, Klep, are to be the next leader of your tribe, the sooner you return, the better.”

“I am very young.” Klep reminded Polly of her brother, next in age to her, Charles,
with his wisdom, unusual for his age, and his lovingness.

“Your Old One still has years to live,” Karralys assured him. “We will send two canoes. Polly is too tired to go alone with Klep. Tav, you will paddle Polly and Klep. Cub, you will go with Anaral. When the canoe is near enough shore for Polly to bring it in, you, Tav, will join Anaral and Cub.”

“We must hurry,” Klep said, “to be there
before dawn.”

It all happened so quickly that Polly barely had time to think, only to accept that the bishop’s plan was the best possible under the circumstances. She was given a warm sheepskin tunic to wear, which she put on gratefully. Klep was placed in the bottom of one of the canoes. Polly sat in the bow, with Og curled at her feet. Tav took the stern. Anaral and Cub got into a slightly
smaller canoe.

They pushed out into the dark water. Polly turned once to wave to the bishop and Karralys. Then she turned her face toward the dark horizon.

The two canoes moved silently across the lake. Tav and Cub paddled in rhythm, making no sound of splashing as the paddles dipped cleanly into the lake, thrusting the canoes forward.

Klep lay silently, looking at the sky, the velvet dark sky untouched by city lights. The stars were there, but dimmed by a faint mist, and a few patches were blotted out by clouds. Polly huddled
into Anaral’s sheepskin garment. The night air was cold, and she was still chilled from the long swim.

She turned around and looked at Tav, his muscles rippling gently as he paddled. There was no way she could think as Tav thought. She could conceive with her mind a world of gods and goddesses, of Mother Earth, but she could not understand it in her heart, except as part of the glorious whole.

“Tav,” she whispered.

“Poll-ee?”

“If Tynak decides that I—that I am to be the sacrifice to the Mother—”

“No.” Tav was emphatic. “I will not let that happen.”

“But if there is no rain?”

“I will not let Tynak hurt you.”

“But if I come back to you and the People of the Wind, and the drought continues, if there isn’t any more rain, what would you do then?”

The silence was palpable.

“Tav?”

“I do not know.” His voice was heavy, and for a moment his paddle faltered with a slight splash. “My training is that of a warrior. At home, across the great water, there were people we had captured from neighboring tribes. The Mother did not ask us for anyone dear to our hearts.”

“But you still believe that the Mother needs blood to be appeased?” Tav would not know what she meant by appeased,
which she had substituted for the unknown Ogam word, so she amended, “The Mother needs blood or she will be angry and withhold rain?”

“I do not know,” Tav said. “The Mother has been good to us. Karralys with his knowledge of the stars brought us safely across the great water, but the winds were kind. Then we were given a canoe, bigger than this one, and the wind and rain blew us along rivers
and into the lake and to the People of the Wind. The storm ceased and the rainbow came. I did not die. Karralys is a healer. We blessed the Mother, and she blessed us, but now the rain is being held back, and even though our land is still green, we will not be able to protect it if the drought continues across the lake. I thought I understood the Mother and I have tried to be obedient to her ways.
But now I do not know. I do not know.”

Polly thought,—I don’t know, either, about the Creator I believe made everything.

She glanced at the sky and between wisps of clouds the stars shone serenely.—But if I knew everything, there would be no wonder, because what I believe in is far more than I know.

“Why, my Poll-ee”—Tav interrupted her thoughts—“does this Zak want so much to see the healer
across the lake when the far greater healer is with us?”

“The greater healer?”

“Karralys,” Tav said impatiently. “Did you not know?”

“Cub—”

“Cub has the tribal knowledge of healing. And his hands are learning the gift, as you saw with Bishop.”

“Yes.”

“But it is Karralys who has—how do I say it—who has made Cub’s gift to grow.”

Now that Tav was telling her this, it became obvious. Why had
she not realized it? Zachary had been so focused, first on Cub, then on the healer across the lake, that Karralys had been pushed out of her thoughts. “I was stupid,” she said.

“There has been much happening,” Tav defended her. “Hsh. We are nearly there.”

Never before had the Mother asked for anyone dear to his heart, Tav had said. She held those words to her own heart. She wanted him to touch
her, to tell her that he could care for and protect her, never let anyone put her on the altar to be sacrificed. Could Tav keep his promise to protect her from Tynak? He was as confused in his own way of thinking as she was in hers, and their ways were so alien that it was impossible to think of them as being connected by one of the lines that patterned the stars and the places of benign power
and the love between people.

If she could not understand his belief that the earth demanded blood, would he not be equally horrified by the slums of modern cities, by violence in the streets, drug pushing, nuclear waste? How could the star lines be connected to urban violence and human indifference?

The two canoes drew together. Anaral reached across to hold Polly’s hand in a gesture of comfort
as well as a way of bringing the two canoes together.

Tav stood, balancing carefully, then transferred to the other canoe. Both canoes rolled slightly, but no more. When Tav was seated, he handed a paddle to Polly.

“You can turn the canoe?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“If you will paddle equally to the right and toward shore, you will reach Tynak’s village.”

“Right.”

“Klep.” Anaral’s voice was soft.
“Give your leg time to heal. Do not use it too soon.”

“I will be careful,” Klep promised. “Do you be careful, too. Oh, be careful, be careful.” There was a world of meaning in his repetition.

“I will,” Anaral assured him. “I will.”

“Hold out your paddle,” Tav told Polly.

Not understanding, she did as he asked. He used her paddle to pull the two canoes so that she and Tav were side by side.
With one finger he gently touched her lips and it was the most marvelous kiss she had ever been given. She reached out and touched his lips in return.

“Ah, my Poll-ee. Go.” He gave her paddle a quick shove.

Polly waited, watching, while the canoe with Tav, Anaral, and Cub headed back across the lake.

Klep’s voice was warm and soft. “Tav would draw a line between the two of you.”

Polly turned
the canoe around, facing in the direction Tav had told her Tynak’s village would be. “You think he loves me?”

“Loves? What is loves?” Klep asked.

Was it in Bishop Colubra’s notebook? “When two people really want to be together, they love each other.”

“Love,” he repeated. “To join together?”

“Yes. When you love someone, you would do anything to help. It is like being friends, but much more.”

“The lines between you,” he said, “they grow short, the way the line between Anaral and me came close, close, and now it is being pulled.” He looked longingly in the direction of the canoe with Anaral in it.

“Yes. That is love.”

“You love?”

“Yes. Lots of people.”

“Love who?”

“Oh, my parents and my grandparents and my brothers and sisters.”

“But you do not join together with them as one.”

“No. That is different. My mother and father, they are one, that way. And my grandparents.”

“You and Tav?”

She shook her head. “You have to know someone for more than a few days. If things were different—”—If three thousand years didn’t separate us. If totally alien views of the universe didn’t separate us, if, if…“If we had a lot of time together, then maybe.”

“Anaral and I have not a lot
of time, but the line is strong.”

Yes. Klep and Anaral reached out for each other as Polly would reach out for Tav, but Klep and Anaral were not separated by thousands of years, and if Anaral was a druid, Klep would one day lead his tribe, having been born under a great omen.

“If rain comes, if my people no longer steal cattle and sheep from your people…”

Romeo and Juliet all over again—or
presaging—the People Across the Lake versus the People of the Wind? “I hope it will work out for you,” Polly said. “It would be”—she had no word for suitable, or appropriate—“right.”

“I would make short the line between Anaral and me in a way I have never known before.”

There was no word for love in Klep’s vocabulary, but Anaral would teach him.

They were nearing the shore. Polly could see
a shadow, someone standing there, waiting. She drove the paddle deep into the water and sent the canoe sliding up onto the pebbly sand. She jumped out and pulled the canoe far enough onto the shore so that it would not slide back into the lake. Og was at her side.

The shadow came toward her. It was Tynak.

“I have brought Klep to you,” she said.

She was a goddess.

She simply smiled at Tynak
when he questioned her. “I have brought him to you. Isn’t that enough?” She was surprised at the haughtiness in her voice.

As for Klep, he, too, smiled and said nothing. Pushing himself up with his arms, he looked about his village, and Polly recognized anew how much larger it was than the village of the People of the Wind. Tynak summoned four young men, who carried Klep to his tent, and it was
one of the largest tents on the compound. Tynak and Polly followed, Polly making sure that Klep’s leg was not jolted. Og trotted by her side, occasionally reaching out to nudge her hand. He was not going to leave her.

Klep was placed on his pallet, over which hung a great rack of antlers, even larger than the one in Dr. Louise’s kitchen.

“When daylight comes,” Tynak said, “the healer will look
at your leg.”

Klep replied, “My leg is good. She”—he indicated Polly—“has the healing powers of the goddess.”

Polly had stopped feeling goddess-like.

Klep asked, “You are cold?”

Even in Anaral’s sheepskin garment, she still felt the cold from the lake. Drawing herself up again, she ordered Tynak, “Have someone bring me my coat.” Not only would it feel comforting and familiar, but she wanted
to know whether or not Tynak had taken Zachary’s icon.

He spoke to one of the men who had carried Klep. “Quick!” And the man ran off swiftly.

Klep spoke to Tynak. “Across the lake, I was well treated.”

Tynak nodded. “Brown Earth told us the same.”

“I was not treated as a prisoner or an enemy. I was treated as a friend.”

Tynak shrugged. “Trust easily come by can vanish as easily.”

Klep asked,
“Where is the young man, Zak?”

“In my tent. See, I am treating him with kindness.”

“He is well?”

Again Tynak shrugged. “The healer will tell.”

The man came back with Polly’s red anorak, and she put it on over Anaral’s tunic, feeling in the pockets. The icon was gone. That was not surprising. She pulled out the flashlight and shone it directly in Tynak’s eyes. “Give me my angel,” she demanded.

Tynak put his hands to his eyes in terror.

She turned the flashlight off, then on again. “Give me my angel.”

Tynak shook his head, though the flashlight had shaken him badly.

Polly kept it shining into his eyes and he turned away. “The icon of the angel has no power in itself. The power of the angel is for me.” She touched her chest. “If you try to keep it, it will turn against you.”

“Tomorrow,”
he promised. “Tomorrow.”

Where had he hidden it?

She flicked off the flashlight. “Light that does not burn,” she said.

She turned the flashlight on again, not to blind Tynak with its beam, but to give more light to the tent, and she could see that there were beads of sweat on Klep’s forehead and upper lip. The trip across the lake and then to his tent had been hard on him. Polly pointed to
him with the light. “He needs rest. Someone should be near in case he calls.”

Tynak understood. “Doe will stay.”

“I want to go now,” Polly said. “I am tired and wish to rest.” She moved toward the tent flap, Og beside her.

Tynak bowed and escorted her back to the lean-to, taking care not to get too close to Og. They were followed by two of the men who had carried Klep, not Brown Earth, but
Onion and another man, squat and strong. Tynak spoke to them rapidly and sharply. Then he bowed and turned back toward Klep’s tent. The two men stationed themselves on either side of the lean-to. She was being guarded. She had proven that she could escape, and Tynak was going to see that this would not happen again.

Polly went into the lean-to and pulled on her jeans under the sheepskin tunic.
She was shivering with exhaustion as well as cold. She zipped up the anorak, then wrapped herself in the fur. She was so tired that she almost fell down on the pallet. Og lay beside her, warming her.

When she woke to daylight, Tynak was again squatting at the entrance to the lean-to, watching her, eyeing Og, who was sitting up beside Polly, his ears alert. Her two guards had drawn respectfully
away a few yards, but they were still there. It was one day off full moon.

She sat up, regarded Tynak in silence for a moment, then demanded in a tone she hoped befitted a goddess, “Bring me my angel. Now.”

He looked at her and his eyes were crafty.

She felt in the anorak pockets and pulled out the notebook and pen. She opened the notebook, which must have been used by her grandfather, for
the first pages were filled with incomprehensible equations in his scratchy writing. She held them up to Tynak. Then she turned to an empty page, and took the cap off the pen. She was no artist, but she managed a recognizable likeness of the old man. She held it out to him. Snatched it back as he reached for it.

“Power,” she said. “It has great power. Bring me angel icon. Bring me Zachary. Bring
me healer.”

He stood. Held out his hand again. “I-con?”

“Picture of you is not icon. You bring me angel icon, I give you picture. Pic-ture.”

His hand reached for it.

“Not now. When you come back with angel.”

He left, walking with what dignity he could. The two guards drew in closer to the lean-to. After a few minutes Polly was brought a bowl of gruel by Doe, who looked fearfully at the dog.
Polly took the bowl, said, “Thank you,” and put her hand on Og’s neck. “He won’t hurt you.”

Og’s tail swished gently back and forth. Doe smiled, not coming closer, but standing and watching Polly. It was obvious that she would have liked to talk if she could. Polly thought that it was not only Og or the language difficulty. She suspected that Tynak had forbidden conversation.

“Klep says careful,”
Doe warned. “Careful.”

One of the guards peered at them.

“Thanks,” Polly said softly as the girl hurried away.

She ate the gruel, which was dull but nourishing. It made her appreciate her grandmother’s oatmeal. Would she ever have that again? She put the bowl down at the entrance of the lean-to and waited. Waited. The great oak trunk behind the lean-to rose up high into the sky, much higher
than the Grandfather Oak. Polly listened, and seemed to hear the heartthrob of the huge tree, the sap within the veins running slowly as it drew in for the winter. Patience. Do not fear. A star-line touches my roots and my roots are under you.