“Yes.” Polly looked directly at him. “Remember that man you saw under the oak tree the day you came looking for me?”
“Yeah. He had a dog.”
“This dog.” Polly tried to keep her voice as dry and emotionless as Dr. Louise’s.
“So how come he’s here, obviously thinking he belongs to you?”
“Well. He just sort of appeared.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I said. That’s how my grandparents always get their dogs.”
“Crazy.” Zachary shrugged.
“Maybe,” Polly said. “The thing is, he’s come through the time gate, too.”
Zachary sighed exaggeratedly, then looked again at Og, who stood by Polly, long tail moving gently back and forth. “Dogs going through time gates? That’s as nuts as anything else.”
“Yes,” Polly agreed.
“He’s sort of odd-looking. Reminds me of some of the dogs on the Egyptian friezes. Well, if he’s three thousand years old, that would explain it all, wouldn’t it?” He laughed, a short, unamused sound. “Does he have a name?”
“We’re calling him Og, mostly. It’s short for Ogam.”
“It suits him, somehow.” Zachary plucked a blade of grass and chewed on it. “Polly, this dog—it’s just another sign. I want to go back to that place—the star-watching rock—and that oak tree—and the stone wall where I met you.”
“I can’t go there, Zach. I promised.” Og nudged his head under her hand, and she scratched between his ears.
“I just have this strong feeling that if we go there, there will be things I need to find out.”
“I don’t think so, Zach. There are things to find out just walking along here. This is a beautiful place.” She paused to watch a small stream, not more than a trickle, sliding under some water willows.
Suddenly fierce, he said, “I don’t give a bloody zug if it’s beautiful. What I want to know is if there’s some way I can live a little longer. I don’t think that’s likely here, in this time. I don’t like the way your doctor friend very carefully didn’t say anything. But I saw her face. I saw the look in her eyes.”
“You’re projecting,” Polly said firmly. “She didn’t say anything because she didn’t have enough to go on.”
Just past the small stream there was a faint path to their left, probably made by wildlife. “Let’s go this way,” Zachary said.
“It doesn’t go anywhere. It’ll just end up in underbrush.” Polly didn’t remember having seen the small path before, but it ran roughly parallel to the orchard and the field that led to the stone wall.
“Polly.” Now Zachary’s voice was soft. She followed him along the path in order to hear, Og at her heels. “I want to see what all this Ogam stuff is about. If somehow I could go back three thousand years, what would happen? Would I be the same me? Or would my heart be okay?”
“I don’t know.” Polly watched Zachary push through browning blackberry brambles. Then the path widened out slightly and wound between grassy hummocks and across the ubiquitous glacial rocks.
“Am I right?” Zachary asked. “Is this path going toward the star-watching rock?”
“I’ve never been on it before. I don’t think it goes anywhere.”
He reached back and caught her hand. “Polly. Please. I need you to help me.”
“This isn’t going to help. Come on. Let’s go home.” She tried to release her hand.
“Polly. Please. Please. Don’t pull against me. I need you to help me. Please.”
Og had run on ahead of them, and circled back, tail swishing happily.
“See, the dog thinks everything’s okay,” Zachary said.
Now the path went under some wild apple trees and they had to bend low. Then it opened up and joined the path at the stone wall. Louise the Larger was lying there in the sunlight, but they were on the far side of the stone wall and Zachary hurried away from her, along the path to the star-watching rock.
“No, Zach, come back!”
Louise raised her head and several inches of body and began weaving back and forth.
“No, Zach!” Polly repeated. “Zach! Come back!”
But he was continuing along the path, calling, “Polly! Please! Don’t desert me now!”
Og pushed against her, growling slightly, but she could not let Zachary go alone. Stumbling a little, she ran after him. “Zachary, this is foolish. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Okay, so if nothing happens, we’ll just go back for tea.” He stopped, breathing rapidly and with effort. His face was very pale, bluish around the lips. He reached out his hand for hers, and she took it.
Under their feet the ground seemed to tremble. There was a faint rumble, as of distant thunder. The air about them quivered with concealed lightning.
“Hey! Polly!” Zachary’s voice soared with surprise.
The trunks of the trees thickened, the branches reached upwards. Ahead of them, sunlight glinted off water.
“Well,” she said flatly, “it’s happened.”
“What’s happened?”
“We’ve gone through the time gate. Look at the trees. They’re much older and bigger. And that’s a lake that fills the whole valley. And look at the mountains. They’re younger and wilder and there’s still lots of snow on their peaks. I guess in geological terms the Ice Age wasn’t so long ago.”
Zachary stared around at the primeval forest, the jagged mountains. “Maybe I’ve had a heart attack and died?”
“No, Zach.”
“In which case,” he continued, “you’d have to be dead, too.”
“No, Zachary. We aren’t dead. We’re three thousand years ago.”
“So in our time we’d be dead, wouldn’t we?”
“We’re alive. Right now.”
“I don’t feel any different.” He breathed in, deeply, disappointedly. “Hey, and the dog’s still with us.”
Polly put her hand on his arm as she saw Anaral running toward them.
“Poll-ee! Go back! It is not safe!” She looked suddenly at Zachary, her hand to her mouth. “Who—”
“Zachary Gray. He saw you the other day. I guess you saw him, too.”
Zachary stared at Anaral. “Who are you?”
Anaral’s eyes were veiled. Polly answered, “She’s a druid.”
“Holy zug.”
“Go back, both of you. It’s not safe.”
“What’s not safe?” Zachary demanded.
“Last night there was a raid. Several of our best sheep and cows were taken.”
“What’s that got to do—” Zachary started.
Anaral continued. “Tav is wild, and not only Tav. We are all in danger. Raiders may return at any moment.”
“Tav?” Polly asked.
“Tav is not the only one who is ready to fight for our land. Karralys fears that there will be much blood shed. You understand?”
“No,” Zachary said.
Polly still could not conceive of having fun with someone you were planning to sacrifice.
Anaral looked at her. “You understood what was being said—” She paused, looking for words. Continued, “—around the council table?”
“Most of it, I think.”
“What did you understand, please?”
“I think—I think Tav believes that the Mother—Mother Earth?”
“Yes.”
“That she demands a blood sacrifice, and that I have been sent—” Her skin prickled. “Do you and Karralys—?”
“No. Not us. For us, the Mother is loving and kind. Karralys, too, believes that you have been sent.”
“Sent?”
“Not for the shedding of blood. Karralys lies on the great altar rock and prays, long, long, and he says the pattern is not yet clear.”
“Hey, what are you talking about?” Zachary demanded.
“Well.” Polly’s face was stark. “Tav believes—perhaps—that the earth demands blood in order to be fertile, and that my blood…” Her voi
ce trailed off.
Anaral said, “Karralys says that there is—is problem—across the great water where he and Tav come from. He says it used to be that the shedding of the blood of a lamb was—was—” She stopped.
“Enough?” Polly suggested. “Sufficient?”
“Yes, and the lamb was thanked, and mourned for, and then there was a great feast. But there came a time of no rain—you remember, Tav told—”
“Yes.”
“The lamb’s blood was not suff—”
“Sufficient.”
“Sufficient. Rain did not fall. Crops died. People were hungry. And after Tav killed the man and his blood was spilled on the ground, rain came.”
Zachary asked, “Do you think that was why the rain came?”
“No. We People of the Wind do not try to tell the Presence what to do, but to understand and use what is given, whether it seems good or bad. Some of my people think that there may be other gods across the water, gods who are angry and have to be—”
“Placated?” Zachary suggested.
Anaral looked at him questioningly.
Polly said, “The gods will be mad at you unless you give them what they want?”
“Yes.”
Zachary scowled. “But you think your god loves you?”
Anaral smiled. “Oh, yes. We do not always understand our part in the working out of the pattern. And you see, it is possible for people to work against the pattern, to—to tangle the lines of love between stars and people and places. The pattern is as perfect as a spiderweb, and as delicate. And you”—her level gaze rested on Zachary—“we do not know where you fit in the pattern, which lines come to you, or which lines are from you, or where the lines that touch you touch us.”
Og, who had been standing quietly by Polly, moved to Anaral, and she reached down and patted the dog’s head. “Karralys has sent him to you. I am glad. Now go. Please go. To your own place in the spiral.” She turned from them and ran swiftly away.
“Wow,” Zachary said. “Let’s go after her.” He took a few hurried steps.
“No, Zach. Let’s go home.”
“Why?”
Polly was impatient. “You heard Anaral.”
“Yes, and I’m fascinated. I want to know more.”
“Zachary, it isn’t safe.”
“Surely you don’t believe anybody is going to sacrifice you.”
“I don’t know what to believe. I know we should go home.” She walked in the direction of the house, or what should be the direction of the house, but the trees continued to tower above them.
From behind one of the great oaks came a low whistle, and she froze. Og pressed against Polly’s legs, ears up and alert, tail down and motionless.
“Poll—ee.” It was Tav’s voice. He appeared from behind the tree, and Og’s tail began to wave. “You’ve come.”
“Who’s that?” Zachary was startled. “I can’t understand a word he’s saying.”
“It’s Tav,” Polly said, “and he’s speaking Ogam.”
“I know that.” Zachary sounded irritated. “It’s much faster than when my boss tries it.”
Polly turned back to Tav, and despite Anaral’s warning, she was absurdly glad to see him. “He’s a Celt, a warrior from ancient Britain.” Og was pressed close against Polly, but he was not growling. His long rope of a tail was swishing back and forth.
Tav, holding his great spear firmly, pointed at Zachary. “Who?”
“His name is Zachary.” Polly spoke slowly in Ogam, sounding out Zach-a-ry carefully. “He is from my time.”
Tav raised his eyebrows. “Zak?”
“Zachary.”
“But we do not need another one!” Tav’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Why would the goddess send another one? I do not understand.” The sun turned his pale hair to silver.
Zachary interrupted, “What’s he saying?”
Behind them came the throb of drums, low, menacing. Og’s tail dropped, and he began to growl, his hair bristling.
Tav listened. “There is danger. Go back. Do you know that we have had a raid and some of our best animals taken?”
“Yes,” Polly said. “I’m sorry.”
“Go home,” Tav said. “Quickly.”
“I’m not going back,” Zachary muttered.
Tav ignored him. “Oh, my Poll-ee, there will be another raid. You must go. I do not understand why this one”—he looked at Zachary—“this Zak one, has been sent.”
The sound of the drums grew louder, closer. Og barked.
Polly turned to Tav. “I don’t know how to get him to go back.”
Tav shook his spear. “Go, then, Poll-ee. Go.”
But suddenly the beating of drums was upon them, was joined by shouting, screaming, closer, louder, and up the path from the direction of the lake burst a group of men wearing skins, with feathers in their dark hair. Two of them were dragging Anaral with them, and two of them held Bishop Colubra. Anaral was screaming, and the bishop was shouting, trying to free himself.
Into their midst leapt Tav with his great war spear, one man against a mob. Polly grabbed a branch from the ground and rushed after him. Og crouched low and then launched himself at one of the men who held Anaral. He let her go, clutching at his throat. But she was still held in the other warrior’s arms. Polly hit at him with the branch, which was dry and broke off ineffectually. She began kicking, hitting, clawing, biting, whatever she could do to free Anaral. She must have seemed such an extraordinary apparition in her red anorak and with her flaming hair that she almost wrenched Anaral away from the warrior before he thrust her roughly to the ground.
“No!” Anaral screamed. “Go home, Poll-ee!”
The men were shouting, singing a high-pitched melody, each line ending with a shrill “Hau!”
Suddenly the bishop began to sing, too, his voice quavering but clear. “Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison! Kyrie eleison!”
There was a beat of silent surprise, then the clamor began again as the People of the Wind came running from all directions, carrying spears, clubs, bows and arrows, shouting as they rushed the raiders. The noise and confusion made Polly reel, but she continued her wild fighting.
Then, seemingly out of the blue, came Karralys, bearing a staff, trying to thrust it between the two groups. “Stop!” he was shouting. “Stop this madness!”
“You can’t stop it!” Tav shouted back. “They have Anaral and the Heron!”
Polly was grabbed from behind and heaved up into the arms of one of the raiders. She grabbed at his hair, knocking his feathers askew. Og leaped to her defense, and was felled by the blow of a heavy club.
“Help!” Polly shrieked. “Help!” Then a hand slapped roughly against her mouth, and she bit at it.
“Help!”
Now Karralys was thrusting with his great staff fiercely, and his young warriors were shouting, too, and there was nothing but chaos and terror.
Polly wrenched her head free of the man’s hand.
“Help!” she screamed again.
Then there was a strange hush, still as the eye of a hurricane. A harsh cry of terror. The raiders holding Anaral and the bishop let go abruptly, and to Polly’s amazement they turned and ran away. She herself was dumped on the ground. She picked herself up and saw Louise the Larger slithering along the path, red tongue flickering.
As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
The raiders were running away, bumping into each other in their fear.
The battle had been noisy and rough rather than lethal. The wounded were gathered together.
The raiders were in long, swift canoes, and were already well out into the lake, paddling fiercely.
Among the People of the Wind was a woman whose hair was white and who had a broken arrow still stuck in her shoulder. Karralys looked around and saw Polly. “Our Eagle Woman is hurt and cannot help with the wounded. Cub and I will have to have some assistance. What we need is a steady hand and head.” He looked at her questioningly.
/>
“Sure, I’ll do what I can,” Polly said. “I’m not afraid of blood.” She looked around for Zachary but did not see him anywhere. Meanwhile, she was obviously needed. She turned to Karralys, who introduced her to a young man who had a grey-wolf skin over his shoulder, the young man who had been at the circle of standing stones on Halloween—Samhain.
“This is Cub, our young healer.”
“I have not the experience of Karralys or the Old Wolf,” the young man said. “I will be grateful for your help.”
She did whatever Karralys and Cub told her to do when they took the arrow from Eagle Woman’s shoulder, which had been broken from the impact. She clenched her teeth while they worked, and Polly kept wetting a soft piece of leather and wiping the sweat from her face. Then they moved on to set broken bones, stanch blood from a few wounds.
Mostly what was required of Polly was to hold a bowl of clean water and replenish it from the lake after each use. One of the raiders was laid out with a concussion, and Karralys had him stretched out on a bed of moss, covered with skins to keep him warm. Another had been left behind with a compound of his leg, and Polly helped hold his head while Karralys and Cub set the leg. It was a bad break, and the young raider clutched her in pain. Cub gave him something to drink, telling him it would ease the pain, then poured a thick greenish liquid into the wound where the jagged bone had broken through the skin, explaining that this would help prevent infection.
When the leg was set and bound between two splints, the young raider was able to talk. Polly had difficulty in understanding him, and Karralys translated for her. “He says their crops have failed. There is no corn. Their grazing grounds are parched and the earth is dry and hard. They will not have enough to eat this winter. They will raid us again, with more men this time. They have no choice, he says. If they do not take our land and our crops and herds, they will starve.”
“Couldn’t they just come ask you to share with them?” Polly asked.
Karralys sighed. “That is not how it is done.”
“Well.” Polly sighed, too. “At least nobody was killed.”
“This time,” Karralys said. “Thank you for your help, Poll-ee.” He glanced over at the white-haired woman, who was still among the wounded, her shoulder held immobile by a stiff leather sling. “Eagle Woman is our—” He paused, searching for the right word.
A Wrinkle in Time Quintet Page 92