An Acceptable Time

by Madeleine L'engle

  "Alas." Bishop Colubra took a piece of bread and wiped up his gravy. "Bishops all too often limit themselves to the pragmatic. And there are times when pragmatism is essential. The trouble is that then we tend to forget that there's anything else. But there is, isn't there, Louise, even in the most pragmatic of sciences?"

  "Louise has a fine reputation as a diagnostician," Mrs. Murry said, "and--am I right, Louise?--her diagnoses are made not only from observation and information and knowledge but also on a hunch."

  Dr. Louise agreed.

  "Intuition." The bishop smiled at his sister. "The understanding of the heart, rather than the mind."

  "You were always wise, big brother." Dr. Louise suddenly sounded wistful. "You were the one I could always turn to for reason when things got out of hand. And now I'd think you've gone completely off your rocker if these eminently sane people sitting around the table didn't take you seriously. And Polly, who strikes me as a most sensible person, is having the same hallucinations that you are."

  "Mass hallucinations--though two people are hardly a mass," Mrs. Murry said. "It's a possibility, but not a likelihood."

  "I wish I didn't feel so outraged," Dr. Louise apologized. "It's making me inordinately grumpy. When Nase brought Annie to me, did I just move into his hallucination? If it weren't for that possibility, I could wipe the whole thing out and return to my rational world."

  Mrs. Murry took the casserole to the counter and brought back a bowl of fruit. "I couldn't eat another thing," Polly said, "not even an apple. Anyhow, I like our funny-looking gnarled ones better than these pretty ones."

  The bishop reached into the bowl and helped himself.

  No one wanted coffee and Dr. Louise rose and announced that it was time to go home.

  Polly and her grandparents went outdoors to give the Colubras the traditional farewell. The northwest wind was cold, but the sky was high and clear, the stars dazzling like diamonds. The Milky Way streamed its distant river across the sky.

  The bishop raised his face to the starlight. "How many millions of years are we seeing, Alex?"

  "Many."

  "What is the nearest star?"

  "Proxima Centauri, about four light-years away."

  "And how many miles?"

  "Oh, about 23 million million."

  The bishop's breath was cloudy in the light over the garage door. "Look at that star just overhead. We're seeing it in time as well as space, time long gone. We don't know what that star looks like now, or even if it's still there. It could have become a supernova. Or collapsed in on itself and become a black hole. How extraordinary to be looking at a star in this present moment and seeing it millions of years ago."

  Dr. Louise took her brother's arm affectionately. "Enough fantasizing, Nase."

  "Is it?" But he got into the car, behind the steering wheel.

  "Louise shows both courage and trust to let Nason drive," Mrs. Murry murmured.

  Dr. Louise, getting into the passenger seat, laughed. "He used to fly a lot, too."

  "Terrifying thought," Mrs. Murry said.

  They waved as the bishop took off in a cloud of dust.

  "Well, Polly." Mrs. Murry sat on the side of her granddaughter's bed.

  "Grand, there isn't any point keeping me cooped up. Zachary saw Anaral just outside the pool wing, he really did, even if we find it strange. And I saw Karralys." She thought of Karralys's warning, but said firmly, "I don't think there's any danger."

  "Not from Annie or Karralys, perhaps. But wandering about in time doesn't strike me as particularly safe."

  "It really isn't wandering about in time," Polly persisted. "It's just one particular sort of circle of time, about three thousand years ago, to now, and vice versa."

  "I don't want you getting lost three thousand years ago."

  "I really don't think that's going to happen, Grand."

  Mrs. Murry gently smoothed back Polly's rumpled hair. "Bishop Colubra suggested that you not go to the star-watching rock till after the weekend. Please abide by that suggestion. For my peace of mind. And not to the stone wall, either."

  "All right. For you."

  Her grandmother kissed her good night and left. The wind continued to rise and beat about the house. One of the shutters banged. Polly heard her grandparents getting ready for bed. She herself was not sleepy. Anything but sleepy. She shifted from one side to the other. Curled up. Stretched out. Flopped over onto her back. Sighed. Insomnia was something that very seldom troubled her, but this night she could not sleep. She turned on her bed lamp and tried to read, but she could not keep her mind on the book. Her eyes felt gritty, but not sleepy. She could not get comfortable in bed because something was drawing her out of it.

  The pool. She had to go to the pool.

  --Nonsense, Polly, that's the last place in the world you should go. You promised. Don't be crazy.

  But the pool kept drawing her. Maybe Annie was there. Maybe Annie needed her.

  --No. Not the pool. She lay down, pulled the quilt over her head.--No. No. Go to sleep. Forget the pool.

  And she could not. Almost without volition, she swung her legs out of bed, pushed into her slippers. Went downstairs.

  When she got out to the pool, the moon, which was only a few days off full, was shining through the skylights, so there was no need to turn on the lights. She pulled off her nightgown and slid into the water, which felt considerably colder than it did during the day. Swam, backstroke, so that she could look up at the night sky, with only a sprinkling of the brightest stars visible because of the moonlight. Then she swam the length of the pool underwater, thought she saw metal glistening on the bottom of the pool at the deep end.

  She dove down and picked up something hard. Shining. It was a silver circlet with a crescent moon. At first she thought it was a torque, but there was no opening, and she realized that it was meant for the head. She put it on over her wet hair, and it felt cool and firm. Took it off and looked at it again. She did not know much about jewelry, but she knew that this small crown was beautiful. What was a silver crown with a crescent moon doing in her grandparents' pool?

  She got out of the water, wrapped a large towel around herself, and sat down to dry off before going to her cold bedroom. She still felt wide awake. In the moonlight she could see the big clock at the far end of the pool. It was not quite midnight. She put on her warm nightgown, intending to go right back upstairs. But the silver circlet caught the light and she picked it up and looked at it again, and once more placed it on her head, with the crescent moon in the center of her forehead.

  The webbing of her chair no longer felt soft and resilient under her, but hard, and cold, and a sharp wind was blowing.

  She shuddered.

  She was sitting on a stone chair, slightly hollowed, so that her hands rested on low arms. A circle of similar chairs surrounded a large altar, similar to the one before which Anaral had sung her song of praise to the Mother, but several times bigger. Behind each chair was a large standing stone. The place was reminiscent of pictures she had seen of Stonehenge, except that at Stonehenge there were no thrones or jagged mountains in the background, no snow on peaks white with moonlight.

  She should never have gone to the pool.

  Her breathing was rapid, frightened. Her heart thumped painfully. Karralys was sitting on one of the thrones, about a quarter of the way around the circle from Polly. He wore a brass torque set with a stone she thought was a cairngorm, which reminded her of the topaz in Bishop Colubra's ring. He wore a long robe that looked like white linen but was probably very soft, bleached leather. His dog was beside him, sitting upright, ears pricked at attention, his dog which looked like the dog Mr. Murry had brought into the house. Anaral was at his right, wearing a silver circlet similar to the one Polly had found in the pool and which was still on her head.

  Across the altar from Karralys was Tav, who wore a short, light tunic, a wildcat skin over one shoulder, and leather straps around his wrists and upper arms. His great sp
ear was leaning against his chair. There were several other men and women, some young, some old, many wearing animal skins or cloaks of feathers. Only Anaral and Polly wore the silver circlets. The chair at Karralys's left was empty.

  The moon was setting directly behind the standing stone that backed Karralys's chair, and above the moon was a bright star. No, not a star, Polly thought; a planet. She started to speak, to question, but Anaral raised a hand to silence her.

  In the background there were more people, and she heard the low, almost subliminal throbbing of a drum. In the distance the sound was echoed. Otherwise, there was silence. All the faces in the circle were grave. Expectant.

  Karralys and Anaral rose and went to the outside of the circle, where a large fire was laid in a shallow pit. Anaral gave Karralys a flintstone and he struck a spark and ignited the fire. The two druids raised their arms in a wide gesture of praise, and together they danced slowly and majestically, first around the now blazing fire, and after that around the circle of standing stones. Then, one by one, each person in the circle took a brand and lit it from the fire, and handed it to one of the people who were outside the circle.

  When the passing of the fire was complete, there was a burst of song, rich in harmony, joyous in melody. Polly's heart soared with the voices of the people in and around the circle, so that she forgot her fear. Slowly the song died away into a gentle silence.

  Then Karralys spoke in his low, ringing voice. "The year has been kind." He indicated the empty chair next to his. "The Ancient Grey Wolf was full of years and was gathered to the ancestors on the sixth day of the moon during the night. His spirit will continue to care for us, joined to the spirits of all of the People of the Wind who are among the stars but whose concern is never far from us." A soft breeze touched Polly's cheeks, moving over the great circle of standing stones. Behind them shadows swayed, purple, silver, indigo, shadows of men and women so tall that they seemed to reach to the stars. Polly could not understand all of what was said, but she felt wrapped in loving strength.

  Karralys continued, "The Cub is still young, but he has the gift, and he will learn under the guidance of those who have gone before."

  A young man, indeed very young, wearing a grey-wolf skin, rose. "And from you, Karralys." He turned around slowly, bowing to the assembly.

  Then Tav spoke, standing and leaning on his great spear. The moonlight touched his hair and turned it to silver. His grey eyes glinted silver. Moonlight touched the ruffling of feathers on his spear. "We have honored the ritual. The fire burns. It flames as brightly as the head of the one who has been sent us by the Mother." He indicated Polly, and his face was solemn.

  "Tav, you assume too much and too quickly," Karralys chided.

  "The Mother has kept her promise," Tav said. "And so have I. She has come." Again his spear pointed toward Polly.

  "You brought her." Karralys spoke sternly.

  "I did what the Mother bade. I put the diadem on the altar and she translated it to the place of sacred water."

  "Time is fluid at Samhain," Karralys said. "This may not have been the Mother's will."

  "Listen to me." Tav leaned forward earnestly. "The Mother speaks in the dark, in the waters, in the womb of the earth. She is never to be understood directly."

  "She does not ask for blood!" Anaral's voice rang out clearly.

  "No," Tav agreed. "The Mother does not want the blood of her children. Her children. Hear me! This sun-headed child is not one of hers, nor of ours. She has been sent us so that the Mother may be nourished and her demand fulfilled."

  Tav spoke more rapidly than Karralys and the implications of his speech did not fully reach Polly because she was struggling to understand the Ogam phrases. If she listened carefully she could make out each word, but it took several beats before the sentences had meaning. The fire had something to do with Samhain, a sacred fire that was passed to each family of the tribe. The dancing had been beautiful and serene, and the singing had been pure joy, taking away her fear, but now Tav was bringing in a different note, a somber note, and her skin prickled.

  "And what does the goddess say?" Karralys demanded.

  Tav looked up at the moon. "The goddess says that there is danger for us. Grave danger. There has been no rain for the People Across the Lake. Last week a raiding party took sheep from us, and two cows. Their drums tell us that their crops wither. The earth is dry and must be nourished."

  Karralys replied, "Ah, Tav, it is not blood that our Mother demands, nor do the gods across the lake. What is asked from us is nurture, our care for the crops, that we not overuse the land, planting the same crops in the same place too many years in a row, not watering the young shoots. Our Mother is not a devouring monster but a loving birth-giver."

  "And for such strange ideas you were sent away from home. Excommunicated." The moonlight struck against Tav's eyes.

  "And you, Tav? Why were you sent from home?" Karralys demanded.

  "You have not forgotten that there was a time when there was no rain, and the little people from the north came and stole our cattle. Our own crops withered, as the crops of the People Across the Lake are withering. Then I understood that blood was demanded, not the blood of a lamb, but real blood, human blood. A raider came by night and I fought him in fair combat and I took him. And so we had the necessary sacrifice. I put him on the altar, yes, I put him on the altar because you would not, nor would you permit the others. I, only I, obeyed the Mother. And so we had the blood that brought the rain, though I was expelled for taking upon myself the sacrificial role of a druid. And so we were both sent away--you for refusing, I for doing what you should have done. Blood was demanded by the Mother then, and it is demanded now. If we do not take care, tribes who are stronger than we are will come and drive us away from our land."

  Anaral rose. "Tav, here on my land you and Karralys have lived together in harmony for three turns of the sun. Do not start the old quarrels again, especially on this night."

  Tav's voice was urgent. "There will be more raids. And we ourselves have had no rain since the last moon."

  "Our crops are harvested. Corn was plentiful." Karralys smiled.

  "The water of the lake is low. The rivers run dry. Even our underground river which gives water to our crops flows less swiftly."

  "As always at this time of year. When the winter snows come, the rivers will be refilled."

  "The winter snows may not come," Tav warned, "if the earth is not given what she demands."

  "Tav." Karralys looked at him sternly. "Why bring up again what was resolved when we became one with the People of the Wind? Those of this land who have welcomed us into their lives forbid such sacrifice. As do I."

  "There are other peoples, across the lake, beyond the mountains, who do not think as you do, or as the People of the Wind. We must protect ourselves. Can you not hear the drums which echo ours and are not merely an echo? It is the People Across the Lake. Do you think they will stop at one small raid? Please understand. I know you do not like the sacrifice. Nor do I." He looked at Polly and his face was anguished. "But unless we obey, our land is doomed."

  Behind Karralys the moon slipped below the great standing stones, leaving the star to shine brightly just above it, almost like a jewel touching his fair hair.

  Tav's voice grated with urgency. "Will one war spear be enough if others want our land?" He raised his great spear. "And why, Karralys, why have we been sent this sunlit stranger?"

  "Sunlit, yes," Karralys said. "Life, not death."

  "A time gate has been opened," Anaral said.

  "And why? A time gate opens once in how many hundred years? Why now? Why here? And when the time is needful?"

  Anaral rose again. "She has been sent for good, not ill. This girl and also the old Heron. They have come for our good. We must treat them with courtesy and hospitality until we understand."

  "I understand!" Tav cried. "Why are your ears closed?"

  "Perhaps it is your ears that are closed," Karralys
reprimanded gently.

  "I long for home," Tav said. "Around our standing stones were poles and on the poles were the skulls of our enemies. Blood ran from the altar into the ground and the summers were gentle and the winters short. Here we wither from the heat of the sun, or our bones are brittle from the ice and cold. Yes, we have been treated gently by the People of the Wind, but their ways are not the old familiar ways. And now a time gate has been opened and if we are not careful it will close again, and we will have lost the one we have been sent."

  Behind Karralys the star, too, was slipping below the great stone. He rose, walked slowly around the table, and took the silver circlet from Polly's head. "Go home," he commanded. "Go home."

  Chapter Seven

  She jerked upright, as though out of sleep. She looked around. There was no silver circlet with crescent moon. She wore only her damp nightgown. The pool rippled in the starlight. The moon was gone. The distant sound of the village church bell came to her, twelve notes, blown and distorted by the wind. She shivered.

  All she knew was that it had not been a dream.

  When Polly woke up, it was broad daylight and the sun was streaming into her room. She lay in bed debating. How could she explain to her grandparents what had happened to her? On Samhain. All Hallows' Eve. It was over. Today was Friday, All Souls' Day.

  She heard them coming up from the pool. She dressed and went downstairs, feeling weary and anxious. Coffee was still dripping through the filter into the glass carafe. She got a mug from the dresser. The Ogam stones were still there. She wondered where her grandmother was going to take them. She waited till the coffee had stopped dripping, then filled her mug and added milk. She was too tired to make cafe au lait.

  Her grandparents came downstairs and into the kitchen. Greeted her. Then: "What's the matter?"

  She started to spill out her story.

  "Wait," her grandfather said, and poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at his place.

  Her grandmother, too, sat down. "Go on."

  They listened without interrupting. They did not tell her she should not have gone down to the pool. When she had finished, they looked at each other.

  "We'd better call Nase," her grandfather said.