An Acceptable Time (21 page)

Anaral had talked of the Presence. That was as good a name as any. “We believe in the Presence,” Polly said firmly to Tynak. “The One who made us all and cares about us.”

“This Presence wants sacrifice?”

“Only love,” she said. But perhaps that was the greatest sacrifice of all.

“This Presence sends rain?”

“Not always. We have droughts, too.”

“Where you come from?”

—When, she thought, but nodded. It was impossible to explain.

Did she have anything from her own time which would be impressive to Tynak? She felt in the pockets of the red anorak. Yes, she had several things, artifacts, that might seem to Tynak to have power. Her fingers touched Zachary’s icon. She pulled it out. Held it in front of Tynak. Zachary had bought the icon for her because he cared about her.

Tynak stared at the icon intently, almost fearfully, then looked at her questioningly.

She pointed to the child in the icon, then to herself. Then she pointed to the angel, and stretched out her arms as though embracing all of Tynak’s compound, the tents, the lake, the great snow-capped mountains on the far side.

Tynak took the icon from her and again stared at it, then at Polly, then back to the icon. He pointed to the angel, his fingers touching the great wings. “Can fly?”

“Yes.”

“Goddess?”

Polly shook her head. “Angel.”

He sounded the word out after her. “An-gel. An-gel will help you?”

She nodded.

“Angel will let no harm come to you?”

“Angel loves me,” she replied carefully.

He nodded several times. Turned the icon over, looked at the plain wood of the back, turned it so that he was looking at the angel and the child again. “Where you get?”

“Zachary gave it to me.”

“Zak. Zak. You speak now to the Zak.”

She held out her hand for the icon. “Please give it back to me.”

He pulled his hand away, still holding the icon.

“Please give it back,” Polly repeated, and reached for it.

“No! Tynak keep an-gel power.”

Why did she care so much about keeping the icon? If she tried to grab it away from him, others would come to his rescue immediately. She stared into his dark eyes. “Angel has good power for me. Bad power for you.”

“Not so. I take an-gel. I take your power.”

It was absurd to feel so threatened by Tynak’s taking the icon. It was nothing more than a painting on wood. Zachary had said that it had no value. But it was affirmation that he cared about her, that he meant it when he promised that he never wanted to hurt her. Her voice shook. “Bad power for you.” She could only repeat herself.

She stopped as she heard a low growl. Wet and dripping, Og bounded toward her.

“Og!” She was almost as glad to see him as she had been to see Tav.

He was at her side, baring his teeth at Tynak.

“Give.” She reached for the icon again. “See? Good power for me. Bad power for you.”

Tynak put the icon into her hand and walked away, very quickly.

Og licked her hand gently and she burst into tears.

Og’s frantic efforts to lick her tears away made Polly laugh, and she wiped her hands across her eyes. “Oh, Og, am I ever glad to see you! How did you get here?” Perhaps Anaral or Tav or Karralys had brought Og most of the way in a canoe. There was no way of guessing. She was just warmly grateful that the dog was with her.

She looked at the icon of the angel and the child. Undoubtedly, Tynak had never seen a painted picture before. If she had a camera with her, one of those instant ones, and took his picture, that would surely convince him of her power. But she didn’t have a camera.

Og growled slightly and she looked up to see Zachary in his elegant hiking outfit, incongruous in this ancient village devastated by drought.

“Polly, sweet, are you okay?”

She looked at Zachary, at his pale face, his darkly shadowed eyes. “You kidnapped me.”

He put his hand against one of the poles that supported the lean-to. “Polly, don’t you understand? I needed you. I needed you terribly.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

He dropped down to sit beside her on the fern pallet. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“But you didn’t even try. You let that man kidnap me.”

“Oh, sweet Pol, don’t call it that. They made it very clear to me that the healer wouldn’t come near me if I didn’t bring the goddess to them.”

“You know I’m no goddess.”

“They don’t.”

“Zachary.” She looked straight at him. “You do understand that Tynak is planning to sacrifice me in order to get rain?”

“No, no, he’d never go that far.” But suddenly Zachary looked very uncomfortable. “You’re a goddess. He just wanted to have you here because you have power.” He looked at Og. “And you do, don’t you? The dog has come to you, and Tynak would think that was terrific power, wouldn’t he?” He was talking too much, too fast.

“Zachary, would you let Tynak sacrifice me?”

“Never, never, Polly.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Polly, I want their healer to help me.”

“At this price?”

“There isn’t any price.”

“Isn’t there? My life for yours?”

“No, no. Tynak thinks you’re a goddess.” Zachary ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Listen, Polly, this Tynak made it clear to me that the healer wouldn’t touch me unless you—okay, that’s the problem. I couldn’t understand what he wanted. Can you understand him?”

“A little.”

“You’re angry with me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Polly, you have my icon. You do care about me. Tynak said the healer would help me if you came here. You’re a goddess, don’t you understand?”

She shook her head. Looked at him. He was tragic and handsome, but she had a sinking feeling that he would do anything to get what he wanted. A big thing, this time: life.

“Don’t you want me to live?” He was pleading.

“At my expense?”

“Polly, stop exaggerating.”

“Am I?”

Zachary stood up. “Polly, I wanted to talk to you, but I can see there’s no point while you’re being unreasonable. I’m going back to Tynak. I’m staying in his tent. And in case you’re interested, there are skulls on poles in his tent.” His voice was tight and defensive. “You’ve brought me back in time to this place where the people are hardly more than savages. I think you should feel a certain sense of responsibility.”

“If they’re savages, why do you have so much faith that their healer can help your heart?” she asked.

“Ah, Polly, I can’t stand to have you mad at me! I thought we were friends.”

Friends? She was not sure what a friend was. She thought of her conversation with Anaral about friendship, about how friends cared for and tried to protect one another. Friendship was a two-way street. She wished Zachary would go away and leave her alone. She put the icon back in her pocket, the icon Zachary had given her because his grandmother believed in angels. Bishop Colubra, too, believed in angels. If the bishop could believe in angels, so could she. Not in the angel painted on the icon, but in real powers of love and care. The icon was not a thing in itself, but an affirmation.

For Tynak it was a thing in itself.

“Have you seen the healer today?” she asked Zachary.

“Seen him and spoken—if you can call it that—with him. He’s very old. Older than Tynak. He has long, skinny arms, and enormous, strong-looking hands. Listen, Polly, you will help me, won’t you? You will?”

He was frantic, out of his mind with terror, she knew that. But she also knew that his denials that Tynak was going to use her as a sacrifice were hollow. She felt a deep pain in her chest.

“See you.” Zachary tried to sound casual. Turned away from her and left.

The sun was well above the horizon and slanted warmly against the lean-to. It was going to be a warm autumn day. Indian summer? She slid out of the anorak. Tav had said that nothing would happen until the full moon. Day after tomorrow, she thought. Many things could change between now and then.

She left the lean-to and walked across the compound, Og by her side. People looked at her curiously, cautiously, even fearfully, but no one spoke to her. She felt as though her red hair were on fire. There were many surreptitious glances at Og. These people were not used to dogs, at least not to domestic dogs. Perhaps they thought Og was part of her magic. Perhaps that was why Og had been sent across the lake to her. Og was protection, the bishop had said. She needed his protection.

The sun beat down with a sulfurous glare. It was hot, actually hot, but a strange heat. The sky was yellowish, rather than blue, and her one hope at this moment was that this odd weather meant a storm was coming, and rain.

Whenever she approached a group of people, conversation stopped. Og nudged her, pushing her gently in the direction of the lean-to, so she went back.

At noon, when the sun was high, Doe brought her a bowl of broth and some heavy bread, but did not stay. Polly ate and lay down on the pallet, hands behind her head, staring up at the skins of the roof, trying to think, but her thoughts would not focus. She rolled up the anorak to make a pillow and raise her head so she could see out of the lean-to, across the compound, and to the lake.

Zachary had said that there were skulls in Tynak’s tent, that these Stone Age people were savages. But were the people of her own time any less savage? Within her grandparents’ memories, Jews and gypsies and anyone who was thought to be a danger to Aryan supremacy were put in concentration camps, gassed, made into soap, used for medical experimentation. At more or less the same time in her own country Japanese people who were American citizens were rounded up and put into America’s own version of concentration camps. Surely they were not as brutal as the German ones, but they were as savage as anything on either side of the lake.

She thought then of Bishop Colubra lying on the great capstone and praying, and she closed her eyes and tried to let her mind go empty so that she could be part of his prayer. He and Karralys knew that she and Zachary were here. They had sent Og to her. She hoped that they were praying for her. She knew that they cared, that they would never abandon her. Tav would rescue her.

But there was still an aching hurt in her heart.

In the late afternoon, thunder rumbled from the mountains across the lake, and lightning flashed. The clouds came down in a curtain, but across the lake, not on Tynak’s side. It looked to Polly as though the People of the Wind were getting a good shower. The smell of rain was in the air, and it was a summer smell. The air continued to be hot and heavy.

Tynak came to her again.

She sat on the anorak, to protect the icon. Og sat beside her. Tynak pointed to the dog and looked at her questioningly. “Animal?”

“He’s a dog. Dog.”

“Where comes from?”

“He belongs across the lake. We think he came across the ocean with Karralys—the druid. The leader.”

Tynak pointed to the storm that still played across the lake. “Power. You have power. Make rain.”

Polly shook her head.

“Earth must have rain. Blood, then rain.”

“A lamb?” Polly suggested.

“Not strong enough blood. Not enough power.”

Only Polly had enough power for a successful sacrifice. A sacrifice must be unblemished. Tynak was afraid of Polly’s power. He had considered the possibility of sacrificing Zachary, he told Polly, but Zachary might not provide enough power to appease the anger of the gods and bring rain to this side of the lake, and return Klep to his people.

“You promised to help Zachary’s heart,” Polly tried to remind him, pressing her hand against her heart.

Tynak shrugged.

“You promised Zak that if he brought me to you, your healer would help his heart,” she persisted. “Do you not have honor? Do you not keep your word?”

“Honor.” Tynak nodded thoughtfully. “Try.” He left her.

She stared after him, wondering if the healer indeed had enough of the gift of healing to give new life to a badly damaged heart.

Doe brought her another bowl of stew in the early evening. Polly ate it and sat listening. The wind moved in the branches of the oak behind her. Sultry. Too hot for this time of year. The village was quiet. Tynak had left her unguarded, probably because there was no place for her to go. The forest menaced behind her. The lake was in front of her.

The water rippled softly. The wind seemed to call her, to beckon. She was not sure what the wind was trying to tell her. The moon rose. Close to full, so close to full. The village settled down for the night. Fires were extinguished or banked. There was no sound except for the stirring of the wind in the trees, ruffling the surface of the lake. The village was asleep.

Og rose, nudged her. Went to the edge of the lean-to, looked at Polly, tail barely moving, waiting. Then he went to the edge of the lake, put one paw in, looked back at her, put his paw in the water again, looked back, wagging his tail. Finally she understood that he wanted her to go into the lake. To swim. She slipped out of her shoes and socks, jeans, sweatshirt, and left the lean-to in cotton bra and underpants. Og then led her along the lake side, farther and farther away from the tents.

There was no sound from the village. Sleep lay heavy over the compound. The snow on the mountains across the lake was luminous with moonlight. Polly followed Og, trying to be quiet. She could not move silently, like Tav and Anaral. Twigs crackled under her feet. Vines caught at her. Now there was no more beach. The forest went right down to the water’s edge. She tried not to brush against branches. Tried not to cry out when twigs or stones hurt her bare feet.

Finally Og slid into the water, again looking back at Polly to make sure she was following him. She walked into the lake, trying not to splash. She slipped into the water when she was knee-deep. Og swam steadily. The water was cold. Bitter cold. On the surface it had been warmed by the unusual heat of the day, but underneath it was cold, far colder than her grandparents’ pool. The brazen sun had warmed it just enough so that it was bearable. She followed Og, swimming strongly but not frantically. She had to swim steadily enough so she would not get hypothermia, but not so hurriedly that she would tire before she got across the lake.

The water was quiet. Cold. Cold. She swam, following Og, who moved at an even pace so she could keep up with him without straining. But as they swam, her body felt colder and colder, and her skin prickled with goose bumps. She trusted Og. He would not have led her into the lake if they weren’t going to be able to make it to the other side. She had swum all her life. She could swim forever if she had to.

They swam. Swam. Polly’s arms and legs moved almost automatically. How long? How far was it? Now, even in the light of the moon, she could not see Tynak’s village, which she had left behind her, nor could she see across the lake, except for the snow-capped mountains.

She felt her breath coming in gasps, rasping in her throat. She was not going to make it. She tried to look for land ahead of her, but her eyes were dazzled with exhaustion and all she saw was a flickering darkness. She went under, gulped water, pushed back up. Og looked over his shoulder, but swam on. Her breathing was like razor blades in her chest. She tried to call, “Og!” but no sound came out of her throat. Her legs dropped. She could not go on.

And her feet touched the rocky bottom.

Og was scrambling onto the shore, barking.

And Tav was rushing across the beach to greet her. He splashed into the water, followed by Karralys and Anaral. The bishop hurried to meet them, bearing a fur robe. Anaral took it from him and wrapped Polly’s wet body in warmth.

She was in Tav’s strong arms. He carried her into Karralys’s tent.

She was safe.

A bright fire was built in a circle of stones in the center of the tent. The smoke hole had been opened and blue tendrils of smoke rose up and out into the night. Anaral brought Polly something hot to drink, and it warmed the cold which had eaten deep into her marrow.

“Did you have rain this afternoon?” she asked.

“Yes. Rain came,” Karralys said.

Polly sipped at the warm, comforting drink. She was still shivering with cold and Anaral brought another fur rug to wrap around her legs. Bishop Colubra reached out to touch her wet head. She was so exhausted that she lay down, wrapped in the warm fur, and fell into a deep sleep.

Whether it was strain from the swim, or from something in the warm drink, she moved immediately into dreaming. In her sleep she was the center of a bright web of lines, lines joining the stars and yet reaching to the earth, from her grandparents’ home to the star-watching rock to the low hills to the snow-capped mountains, lines of light touching Bishop Colubra and Karralys, Tav and Cub, Anaral and Klep, and all the lines touched her and warmed her. Lines of power…Benign power.

Then the dream shifted, became nightmare. The lines were those of a spiderweb, and in the center Zachary was trapped like a fly. He was struggling convulsively and ineffectually, and the spider threw more threads to tie him down. Zachary’s screams as the spider approached cut across her dream.

She woke up with a jerk.