A Wrinkle in Time Quintet

by Madeleine L'engle

  “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 café 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.

  While they were waiting for the bishop, they had breakfast. Mrs. Murry had made oatmeal the night before, and it was on the back of the stove, hot, over a double boiler. Automatically she set out brown sugar, raisins, milk. “Help yourselves.”

  “I don’t like the implications of this,” Mr. Murry said. “There seems to be no way we can protect Polly, except by chaining her to one of us.”

  They stopped talking as they heard urgent barking outside. Mr. Murry put his hand to his forehead. “I’d almost forgotten—” He went out through the pantry door and came in with the dog, who pranced about excitedly. “Polly, is this Karralys’s dog?”

  “I think so.”

  Mr. Murry shook his head, went back out to the garage, and returned with the blanket, which he put down near the wood stove. The dog flopped down on it, tail thumping, and Hadron leaped upon him, playing with his tail as though with a mouse. The dog sighed with resignation.

  “Three thousand years don’t seem to make much difference to Hadron,” he said. “Somehow I find that comforting. But maybe I’m grasping at straws.”

  The bishop arrived with Dr. Louise. “I want to make sure that sanity outweighs my brother’s fantasy,” she said. “I don’t have to be at the hospital for another hour.”

  “The dog’s still here.” The bishop petted the animal’s head, stroked the great ears.

  “He was with Karralys last night,” Polly said, “whenever last night was…”

  “Have you had breakfast?” Mrs. Murry asked.

  “Long ago,” Dr. Louise replied.

  The bishop looked at the stove. “Very long ago.”

  Mrs. Murry handed him a bowl. “Help yourself, Nason. It’s only oatmeal this
morning.”

  He filled his bowl, heaped on brown sugar and raisins, added milk, and sat at the table. “I find it comforting that the dog is here. I’m sure he’s protection. Now, Polly, tell me exactly what happened last night. Don’t leave anything out.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she started, “and it was as though the pool was pulling me. I can’t explain. I knew I shouldn’t go to the pool. I didn’t want to go to the pool. But it kept pulling me. And I went.”

  The bishop listened carefully, eating all the while, looking up as she described the silver circlet with the crescent moon. “Surely,” he said, “a symbol of the moon goddess. You said Annie had one, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “The moon goddess. And the Mother, the earth. What we have, you see, is a mixture of Native American and Celtic tradition. They overlap in many ways. Go on.”

  After a while Mr. Murry interrupted, “You say that Karralys and this other person—”

  “Tav.”

  “—have been here, in the New World, only three years?”

  “I think so, Granddad. That’s what Anaral and Karralys both said.”

  The bishop nodded. “Yes. That’s what they told me. I’ve paid less attention to time than to the trip. Karralys and Tav came in a boat. Of course that would not be possible now with the lake long gone, along with the rest of the melt from the glaciers. But three thousand years ago it is quite possible that one could have come first across the ocean, and then by the rivers—and probably what are merely brooks and streams now would have been sizable rivers then—and so get to the lake and to this place. What do you think, Alex?”

  “Possibly,” Mr. Murry agreed. “Once they’d landed on this continent, they could probably have made their way inland in some kind of small boat.”

  “It’s the ocean crossing that’s hard to understand,” Dr. Louise said.

  “People did cross oceans, remember,” her brother said. “Navigating by the stars. And the druids were astronomers.”

  The bishop helped himself to more oatmeal. “Go on, Polly.”

  When she had finished, the bishop’s bowl was again empty. “All right. So you were part of the Samhain remembrance of the People of the Wind.”

  “And Karralys and Tav were assimilated by the native people—the People of the Wind?” Mr. Murry asked.

  “Karralys became their new leader,” the bishop said. “He and Tav were blown across the lake by a hurricane, which in itself would have seemed an omen.” He took a handful of raisins. “Karralys and Tav were each sent from Britain for opposite heresies—Karralys for the refusal to shed blood, and Tav not so much for shedding it as for performing the sacrifice that should have been done by a druid. Tav believed that human sacrifice was demanded, that the earth cried out for blood, and he acted accordingly.”

  “Polly. Blood.” Mr. Murry’s voice was heavy. “He’s thinking of Polly.”

  Until her grandfather put it thus baldly, Polly had not quite absorbed the import of Tav’s words the night before.

  Mrs. Murry asked, “Was blood sacrifice part of the druidic ritual?”

  “It’s not been proven,” the bishop said. “There is a theory that it was believed the Earth Mother demanded blood and that each year, perhaps at Samhain, there was a human sacrifice. If possible it was a prisoner. If not, then someone, usually the weakest in the tribe, would be laid on the altar and blood given to the ground.”

  Polly shivered.

  “What about the skulls?” Dr. Louise asked.

  “That, I understand, was common practice among some of the tribes. The skulls of the enemies were placed on high poles in a circle around the altar or the standing stones. Remember, these were Stone Age people and their thinking was very different from ours.”

  “Bloodthirsty,” Dr. Louise stated.

  The bishop asked mildly, “Any more bloodthirsty than incinerating people with napalm? Or hydrogen bombs? We appear to be bloodthirsty creatures, we so-called human beings, and peacemakers like Karralys are in the minority, I fear.”

  “Meanwhile,” Mr. Murry demanded, “what about Polly?”

  “Samhain is over,” the bishop said. “Karralys was able to send Polly safely home.”

  “You think the danger is over?”

  The bishop nodded. “It should be. The time has passed.”

  The dog rose from the blanket and came over to Polly, sitting beside her and laying his head on her knee. She put her hand on his neck, which felt strong and warm. His hair, while not long, was soft.

  The bishop nodded again. “Karralys and Annie will protect Polly. Karralys has sent his dog.”

  Mr. Murry spoke sharply. “It is not necessarily the same dog. I don’t want Polly to see them again, not any of them. And as soon as your time gate is closed, I want Polly away from here.”

  “But, Granddad, if the time gate is closed, then there isn’t any problem, and we don’t have to worry about the tesseract one way or the other.”

  The bishop agreed, then said, “Samhain is over. This is All Souls’ Day, when we remember those who have gone before. It is a quiet day when we can let our grief turn to peace.”

  “Nason.” Mr. Murry’s voice grated. “What do we do now? Can you guarantee that the danger to Polly is over?”

  The bishop gazed at a last raisin in his bowl as though searching for an answer. “I don’t know. If it weren’t for that young man, Zachary.”

  “What about him?”

  “His part in all this, whatever it is, has not been played out.”

  Mrs. Murry asked quietly, “Is Polly still in the tesseract?”

  Again the bishop stared at the raisin. “There are too many questions still unresolved.”

  “Is that an answer?”

  “I don’t know.” The bishop looked at Mr. Murry. “I don’t understand your tesseract. Polly has been through the time gate, and if I am the one who opened it—forgive me.”

  “Bishop,” Polly interrupted, “Tav. What about Tav?”

  “Tav has reason for concern. There are neighboring tribes which are not as peaceable as the People of the Wind. There have been several summers of drought, far more severe across the lake, where there is no underground river to be tapped for irrigation. Raids have already begun. This land is eminently desirable. Tav is ready to fight to protect it.”

  “Is Karralys?” Mr. Murry asked.

  “I’m not sure.” The bishop rubbed his forehead. “He seeks peace, but peace is not easy to maintain single-handed.”

  Mr. Murry went to the dresser. “I wish you’d never found the Ogam stones, or opened the time gate.”

  “It was—it was inadvertent. It was nothing I planned.”

  “No? You opened the time gate thoroughly when you brought Annie to Louise.” Mr. Murry’s voice was level, but it was an accusation nevertheless.

  Dr. Louise said quickly, “She would have lost the use of her forefinger. Infection would probably have set in if I had not used antibiotics. What might seem like a simple slip of the knife could well have proved fatal.”

  Mrs. Murry smiled slightly. “Brother and sister do stick together when push comes to shove,” she murmured to Polly. “Anyhow, Alex, you and I were fascinated, disbelieving but fascinated, until Polly was involved.”

  Mr. Murry asked, “Is it safe for us to send Polly home to Benne Seed Island?”

  “No—” Polly started, but the bishop interrupted, raising his hand authoritatively.

  “I think not yet. Things have to be played out. But meanwhile we will keep her safe here. One of us must be with her at all times to prevent a recurrence of last night.”

  “Not you, please, Nase,” Mrs. Murry said. “Sorry, but it’s you who opened the gate.”

  “You’re probably right,” the bishop conceded, “but you, my dear. And Alex. Just be with her.”

  “What would happen,” Mr. Murry suggested, “if you sealed up the root cellar?”

  “Nothing, I fear. It was simply the closest root cellar to t
he star-watching rock, and the place of your pool. These are the holy places.”

  “Holy?” Dr. Louise asked.

  “Sacred. We have lost a sense of the sacredness of space as we have settled for the literal and provable. We remember a few of the sacred spaces, such as Mount Moriah in Jerusalem, or Glastonbury Abbey. Mount Moriah was holy before ever Abraham took Isaac there. So was Bethel, the house of God, before Jacob had his dream, or before the Ark of the Covenant was briefly located there, according to Judges.”

  “Nase,” his sister said softly, “you’re getting in the pulpit again.”

  But he went on, “One theory is that such sacred spaces were connected by ley lines.”

  She interrupted, “Nase, what on earth are ley lines?”

  “They are lines of electromagnetic power, well documented in England, leading from one holy place to another, lines of energy. I suspect that there is a ley line between the root cellar and the star-watching rock, between the star-watching rock and the pool.”

  “What faddish rubbish,” his sister said.

  But Polly remembered Karralys talking about lines between the stars, lines between places, between people. It did not seem like rubbish.

  “It can become a fad,” the bishop told his sister, “but that doesn’t make the original holiness any less holy.”

  “I don’t want you falling for fads in your old age,” Dr. Louise warned.

  “Louise, I didn’t ask for any of this. I wasn’t looking for Ogam stones. But they can hardly be classified as rubbish. I had no idea that your root cellar was in fact not a root cellar at all. I didn’t expect three thousand years to be bridged by Annie. But Annie is a lovely, innocent creature, and I feel a certain—a distinct—responsibility toward her.”

  “How can you be responsible for someone who has been dead for approximately three thousand years?” Dr. Louise demanded. “Her story is already told. Kaput. Finished.”

  “Is it?” the bishop whispered. “Is it?”

  Dr. Louise went to the door. “I have to get along to the hospital. But I think it might be a good idea for all of you to come over to our house for lunch and perhaps the rest of the day. The greatest risk to Polly seems to come from right around here, and I think there’s a certain safety for her from being with us pragmatists, who may well keep Nase’s time gate closed because basically we still don’t give it our willing suspension of disbelief.”