The Ancient One

by T.A. Barron

  Laioni took three pebbles from the swirling streams of water—one buff, one black, one slightly crimson—and placed one into each of the toy canoes. Released into the whirlpool, the little boats floated in small circles, sometimes spinning rapidly, sometimes gliding into choppier waters, where they inevitably capsized.

  Kate was soon captivated by the miniature canoes. She laughed with Laioni whenever one tipped over, dumping the pebble occupant into the water. By vigorous gestures, Laioni indicated that the same thing had happened to her once or twice. Monga, having positioned himself by the edge, batted at the boats with one of his paws.

  What a far cry, Kate reflected, this was from the television and high-tech video games of her own world. Not since she had played Pooh Sticks as a small child down by the river with Aunt Melanie had she had such a good time with so few props.

  As she bent low to take a drink from one of the rivulets, Kate viewed the fragmented reflection of Laioni’s face in the water. She watched the Halami girl slowly cock her head to one side. Strange. For an instant, she saw not Laioni—but Aunt Melanie. Sitting up with a start, she gazed at the girl seated next to her and all at once realized why she had seemed so familiar from the first moment they met. Laioni’s eyes were the eyes of Aunt Melanie, black as ebony, with a few flecks of hazel green around the edges. Kate thought about the crumpled photograph she had seen at the cottage of two youngsters on the Isle of Skye. The dark-eyed girl in the picture taken fifty years ago (or four hundred fifty years from now, depending on how one counted) looked so much like Laioni it was uncanny. Of course, the very notion that they could be related was absurd, yet Kate couldn’t banish the feeling entirely.

  Abruptly, Kate noticed that Laioni was also staring at her. Not at her face, though: She was examining her green cotton sweatshirt with keen interest. Kate raised her forearm so that Laioni could feel the material. As the Halami girl rubbed the cloth between her thumb and forefinger, her face assumed the wondrous expression of someone encountering silk or satin for the very first time. “Mmmmmmm,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Kate reached to touch the strips of cedar bark constituting Laioni’s skirt, and the Halami girl started to giggle. Kate smiled at her and said, “Pretty different, huh?” Laioni seemed to understand, and giggled again.

  At that moment, a strange but lovely smell, almost like almonds roasting, came wafting through the air to them. With the ease of a springing fawn, Laioni jumped to her feet. Monga at once sprinted to her side, his tail swishing expectantly. She pointed to her mouth and patted her abdomen, indicating the time had come for a meal. Kate suddenly observed the slanting light crossing the cliff wall of the crater, and realized that it was late afternoon already. She was hungry, powerfully hungry, having eaten nothing more substantial all day than hot chocolate.

  As Kate stood, Laioni plucked the three small boats from the water and returned them to their resting place on the rock. Meanwhile, Kate happened to glance toward the reflectionless blue lake. Beyond the rising mist floated the same sinister island, as unnerving now as it had been the first time she had seen it with Aunt Melanie. Eerie in its utter blackness, it seemed to slide slowly across the surface. With a slight shiver, she turned away.

  Laioni led her back to the fire pit, where her mother continued to chant as she worked. At that moment, she was parching some type of seeds on a flat rock next to the hot coals. Kate could not keep herself from investigating the source of the rich aroma. Drawing closer, she watched the woman skillfully moving the seeds around with a wooden stick, taking care to heat each one evenly. It reminded Kate of making popcorn over an open fire, and she felt a sudden sense of loss amidst her swelling hunger. The last time she had made popcorn was with Aunt Melanie.

  Just then, the Halami woman put down the stick and directed her daughter to do something. Laioni quickly picked up a round, broad-bottomed basket with straight sides and very tight weave. Taking care to avoid the walking stick that Kate had leaned against a rock, she carried the basket to the nearest rivulet flowing into the lake. Dipping it into the water until its pattern of repeating parallelograms was submerged, she then brought it back to her mother.

  Kate turned to see the older woman pounding some seeds into meal on a flat stone between her legs. Every so often she put down her cylindrical pestle and sifted, lightly tapping a shallow basket of meal with her finger to make the finest meal fall into a woven hopper. All the while she watched Kate with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

  By now, Kate’s hunger was almost unbearable. She watched expectantly as Laioni’s mother, using wooden tongs, placed two round stones from the fire pit into the water-filled basket. Why is she cooking stones? Kate wondered. Then the woman added a bowl of rootlike tubers to the basket. Methodically, she began removing cooler stones and replacing them with freshly heated ones from the fire pit. Soon the water began to boil, and a new smell overpowered the aroma of the parched seeds. The baby, hungry as well, started to cry.

  At last, Laioni’s mother nodded to Kate to sit down. She said something to the older woman and to Laioni, and the meal was served. In addition to the freshly cooked tubers, Laioni produced a basket filled with red berries, seeds, and strips of some unknown vegetable. Her mother retrieved from the brush hut a tray of dried fish, as tasty as the smoked salmon Kate had eaten in Scotland once on a trip with Grandfather.

  For her own part, Kate contributed what little hot chocolate remained in the thermos, complementing the herbal tea brewing by the fire. Everyone ate ravenously, including Monga, who tore into a generous clump of fish meat by Laioni’s side. Lifting her baby from the cradle, Laioni’s mother began to nurse the child, who squeaked and squealed like a rusty wheel while drinking.

  As they ate together, the sun dropped below the line of cliffs to the west. The air grew a touch colder, though heat from the steaming lake and the fire pit kept them warm. In the distance, a lone owl called hooo-hooo, hooo-hooo.

  Kate surveyed the various tools and utensils scattered on the ground. They seemed so different here, freshly used and lit by the glow of fire coals, than they would hundreds of years later in some natural history museum or art gallery. Each one was made with such care and grace and pride that it was really a work of art. Yet they were made to be used, not shown. That, she suddenly realized, was the point: In this time, art and life were still the same.

  Soon Laioni’s mother replaced the now-sleeping baby in the cradle, lacing the strip of deer hide carefully across the tiny body. Kate could see no moon above them, and she shuddered to think that soon they would have no light at all but the campfire. The crater swiftly filled with darkness, the sort of deep impenetrable darkness that always made her feel uneasy. She wondered what might have happened to Jody.

  Then the Halami women began to chant, singing to the vanishing light ringing the rim of the crater. Laioni’s mother tapped lightly on the bottom of a large basket, while the old woman shook a rattle made from a deer’s hoof. Laioni hummed in the background, climbing a scale and then dropping back, joined on occasion by Monga’s high whining howl. Kate gazed into the glowing coals and listened, her eyelids growing heavier with each repetition.

  Ayah-ho ayah-ho

  Tlah hontseh na hoh-ah

  Ayah-ho Ayah-ho

  Heyowe halma-dru.

  Gradually, gradually, her cares melted into the mist and she thought only of the present, of glowing cliffs encircling her, of blue waters gently lapping, of voices strange and sonorous. The night-sky eyes of Laioni saw her nodding off, and she quietly came to guide Kate to her bed of soft grass in the brush hut.

  Kate felt like someone both dreaming and waking at once. It seemed almost as if Aunt Melanie had appeared in a younger form to put her to sleep, to tuck her in gently and whisper good-night, just as she had done so often when Kate was a child.

  12

  the time tunnel

  A chain saw buzzed, quite near her head. Kate woke up with a start.

  She found herself sandwic
hed inside the brush hut, with Laioni on one side and the old woman on the other. Laioni’s mother was nowhere to be seen. Monga lay curled up outside the entrance. Then the buzzing noise came again, and Kate realized that it was only the elder Halami snoring.

  All at once, her worldly concerns came crashing back. She reached for the walking stick, lying at the entrance to the hut, and pulled it to her chest. How stupid to have tried to fetch this stick alone! Aunt Melanie should have warned her, though most likely she didn’t know herself of the danger. And now she was here, thrown back five hundred years in time. Worse yet, she had not even a clue how to get home.

  She gazed at the indecipherable etchings carved deep into the wooden shaft. The owl’s head on the handle gazed back at her, unwilling to reveal its secrets. There must be some way to make it come alive again, Kate told herself. Less for her own sake than for Aunt Melanie’s. She needed help, and soon. Kate could feel it, as vividly as she could feel the chain saws about to rip into the trunk of the Ancient One.

  Then, like a slap in the face, she realized the true depth of her dilemma. She had traveled back in time inside of the great redwood, whose life reached from this time all the way to her own. If that tree were cut and killed, could she still get back at all? Even if she could solve the riddle of the walking stick’s power, if the medium connecting her to the future did not exist anymore, she would be stranded. She struggled to remember the theory about time tunnels. Something about places where living things can grow undisturbed for a very long time…So if one of those places is suddenly disturbed, let alone demolished, what happens to the time tunnel?

  She lowered the stick, knowing well the answer. Her thoughts then turned again to Jody. Troublesome as he was, he was lost in this strange time just like herself. She pondered what could have happened to him. Perhaps he had somehow wandered off, only to end up at the bottom of some Halami pit. Perhaps he had been removed from the tree by force. There was no way to know.

  Stretching, she crawled out of the brush hut onto the stony ground. Although the sun had not yet topped the ridge of cliffs, a diffuse early morning light filled the crater. Across the meadow, birds fluttered and chirped in the branches of the mighty trees. The lake sent up wispy trails of mist, obscuring the black island completely. She heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see Laioni’s mother emerging from the forest with a handful of skunk cabbage and a sprig of wild iris, the flower Aunt Melanie liked to call blue flag.

  Yesterday’s fear still written on her face, the woman glanced nervously at the walking stick, then acknowledged Kate with a nod of her head. Her eyes, not so dark as Laioni’s, looked at the purple kerchief tied around Kate’s hand, stained with blood from the day before. “H’ona tuwan teh,” she said in a low voice.

  Kate did not understand, but instinctively pulled her hand to her side. She sat on a nearby rock, watching the woman clean the broad cabbage leaves and the root of the flower in the stream, singing softly as she worked. Then she dangled them over the hot coals of the fire pit for a minute, warming them, before crushing them between two stones. At last, she scraped the moist mass onto her hand and carried it over to Kate.

  Keeping an eye on the walking stick, the Halami woman gently lifted Kate’s bandaged hand. Ever so delicately, she unwound the kerchief, exposing the tender skin to the air. As Kate winced, she applied the poultice to the spot, chanting some rhythmic words.

  Almost instantly, Kate felt a soothing sensation. Despite its pungent smell, the healing substance dulled the pain while sinking into her raw skin. Laioni’s mother quickly doused the purple kerchief in the water, then wrapped it again around her hand, weaving the ends together securely. She ceased chanting just as the sun edged above the cliffs.

  Laioni emerged from the tent. She eyed Kate mischievously and did an imitation of the old woman’s snore before bursting into a giggle. Kate laughed as well, for the moment forgetting her troubles. Monga pranced around the fire pit, bouncing on his scruffy brown legs.

  Laioni and her mother then exchanged some sentences, indicating the wounded hand as they spoke. Laioni’s mother, clearly concerned about something, tried to ask Kate a question, pointing first to the hand and then to the walking stick. Not comprehending, Kate could only shake her head. More than ever, she longed to return to her own time.

  Then Laioni decided to try. She gestured toward the stick, then staggered back a few steps as though she had encountered something of great power. Next she touched her own left hand, wincing as though in pain. She brought the hand nearer to the stick, whereupon her expression changed to satisfaction.

  At last, Kate understood. They could not fathom why, possessing the special strength of the walking stick, she had not healed her own hand. How could she explain to them she didn’t know how to use it? Then an idea took shape in her mind.

  Holding the stick in both hands so they might see the many intricate carvings on the shaft, Kate twirled it slowly in her palms. Finally, she laid it across her lap and began making various faces and gestures designed to show ignorance, confusion, uncertainty. Between each pantomime, she pointed to the stick.

  Only bewilderment registered on the Halamis’ faces. Determined, Kate tried again, running through any expression she could think of that could possibly convey her problem.

  Still there was no communication. Exasperated, Kate pointed to the confused faces of Laioni and her mother, exclaiming, “That’s how I feel. Don’t you see?”

  A light seemed to kindle in Laioni’s eyes. She chattered something to her mother, who grew suddenly somber. The woman pointed to the stick, indicating the full length of the shaft, then turned her gaze back to Kate. The look of fear in her face had deepened.

  “That’s right,” blurted Kate, her vision growing misty. “I don’t know how to use it.” She looked to the sky and raised her hands in despair. “Who can help me?” she cried. “Who can help me?”

  The Halami woman stared at her for a long moment. Then she uttered a single word, so softly Kate could barely hear it. “Azanna,” she said. “Azanna.” Then she stepped quickly away to the other side of the fire pit, dragging Laioni by the arm.

  Azanna, repeated Kate to herself. The word sounded vaguely familiar. She knew she had heard it before, but where? It doesn’t matter, she shrugged sadly. Just another Halami word.

  Dejectedly, she lifted herself from the rock. Laioni was arguing with her mother about something, but Kate was not interested. She swung the walking stick angrily. With a sharp crack, its base whacked against the stone.

  All at once, she remembered. Kate could hear Aunt Melanie’s voice telling her the meaning of Azanna, speaking hesitantly in the hollow of the tree. To learn more about the stick, to have even a chance of going home, she knew she must return to the Circle of Stones.

  13

  the circle of stones

  STRIDING around the foggy perimeter of the lake, Kate tightened the knot of the kerchief around her hand. Fear of the deadly green pool rose within her as she stepped over rivulets running down from the cliffs. Aunt Melanie had said that its spell would work only once. Yet Kate now existed in an earlier time, so perhaps the pool’s curse would call her still more strongly. She grasped the walking stick tightly, as a climber grasps a safety rope. Almost as dreadful as the green pool, in her mind, were those seven stones themselves. Something about them haunted her, something more than their sheer size. They had seemed eerily aware of her presence, almost as if they were alive.

  Before turning to ascend the rocky slope, she stooped to pick up a small piece of pumice and hurled it into the lake. Though fog obscured its landing place, she heard a distant splash. Somewhere across the water was the Halami camp she had left so abruptly, not even staying to have some breakfast. She recalled the faces of Laioni and her mother, one crestfallen to see her go, the other clearly relieved. She picked up another of the light stones and threw it in the same direction. To her surprise, this time there was no splash. All she could hear was the sound of waves
lapping against the shore.

  She did not linger to learn what had happened. Perhaps it had landed on the island, although that begged the question of why the first stone had hit water instead. Unless the island really could move…No, that was impossible. Looking up the slope to her right, she could see the misty outline of the ribbed formation that rose out of the cliff wall behind the Circle of Stones. But the Circle itself remained invisible.

  Turning her back to the lake, she started clambering up the rocky incline. As before, she was forced to use her hands to pull herself higher. Suddenly, she heard a clatter of rocks falling not far behind her. She whirled around.

  “Laioni!”

  The Halami girl struggled up the slope to meet her. Just behind, pouncing from rock to rock, Kate could see a familiar shaggy, brown shape. Stretching below them, a curling cloud rolled across the lake. At length the pair arrived, panting heavily.

  Kate shook her head. “You shouldn’t come,” she said sternly, waving Laioni back.

  The girl set her jaw firmly and looked straight at Kate. It was clear she did not want to go back.

  “But it’s dangerous up there,” insisted Kate. “Go back now, while you can.”

  Laioni didn’t budge. Instead, she held out her hand, which was full of dried seeds. She took a mouthful, then offered the rest to Kate.

  She not only looks like Aunt Melanie, thought Kate. She’s just as stubborn. Frowning, she took a swallow of the seeds but didn’t taste them. Then she continued climbing the slope, motioning to Laioni to stay behind her.

  As the ground at last began to level off, Kate caught a glimpse of the great boulders. Their cracked and blistered surfaces loomed ominously, half hidden by the swirling mist. They seemed to change constantly as she approached them, like huge faces moving back and forth between light and shadow. Kate eyed the spot, at the base of the smallest of the enormous stones, where she knew she would find the bubbling green pool. Sucking in her breath, she prepared to confront it.