An Acceptable Time (23 page)

The wind stirred the branches. Ruffled the waters of the lake. It was a warm wind, unseasonably warm. Listen to the heart of the oak. We are with you. Last night the water carried you safely. Trust us.

Yes, she would trust. The universe is a
uni
verse. Everything is connected by the love of the Creator. It was as Anaral had said: it was people who caused problems. And the dark angels who were separators added to the damage.

She waited. Og lay beside her, his tail across her legs. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, tail down, hair bristling.

Tynak.

He handed Polly the icon. She took it and put it back in her anorak pocket, then drew out the notebook and tore out the page on which she had sketched Tynak, and gave it to him.

He held it up, looked at it, turned the page over, saw only the blank page, and turned back to the sketch. Touched himself, touched the piece of paper, then put it carefully in his tunic. Satisfied, he gestured that she was to follow him. “Leave—” He gestured toward Og.

“No. Og goes with me.”

Tynak shook his head, but set off across the compound, looking back to see that Polly was following him. Several paces behind Polly, the two guards moved silently. Og walked slightly in front of her, putting himself between Polly and Tynak.

The chief of the People Across the Lake led her to a tent considerably larger than the others. The flap was pegged open, and she could see inside. Zachary had been right: on poles stuck deep in the earth of the tent were skulls. Zachary was there, and an old man, far older than Tynak, thin and brittle as a winter leaf. But his face had a child’s openness, and his eyes were kind. He looked at Og questioningly, and Polly gestured to the dog that he was to lie down.

“Where have you been?” Zachary’s voice shook with anxiety. “We were frantic. Where were you?” He rose from his pallet, his hair slightly damp, his eyes dark with fear. When she did not answer, he gestured to the old man. “This is their healer. He won’t touch me without you.”

Polly looked at the old man and bowed slightly. He smiled at her, and it was a child’s smile, radiant and without fear. He pointed at her hair, nodding, nodding, as though both surprised and satisfied. Then he looked at Tynak, pointed again at Polly’s hair.

Zachary said, “They think your red hair is another sign that you are a goddess. They go in for a lot of signs, these people. Now will you get the old man to take care of me?”

“You may examine Zachary’s heart,” she said, and the role of goddess was not comfortable. She pressed her hand against her own chest, then pointed to Zachary’s.

The old healer indicated that Zachary was to lie down. Then he knelt beside him. He took Zachary’s wrist in both his hands, touching it very lightly, just above the palm, listening intently, his eyes closed. Occasionally he lifted his fingers from Zachary’s pulse, lightly, seeming to hover over his wrist like a butterfly, or like a dragonfly over the waters of the lake. Then the fingers would drop again, gently.

After a while he looked up at Polly with a slightly questioning regard. She nodded, and he looked at Zachary again, indicating that he was to remove his jacket and shirt.

Obediently, Zachary complied, fingers shaking, then lay back down. The old healer knelt and bent over him, holding his hands stretched out about an inch above Zachary’s chest, moving his fingers delicately, cautiously, in concentric circles. After a long time he touched the tips of his fingers against Zachary’s skin. The healer waited, touching again, then hovering. Polly could almost see wings quivering. His palms pressed against Zachary’s chest. The old man leaned so that his whole weight was on his hands. After a moment he lifted his hands and sat back on his heels, his body drooping. His whole focus had been intensely on Zachary for at least half an hour.

He looked at Polly and shook his head slightly. “Big hurt in heart.”

Zachary cried out, “Can you fix it?”

The healer spoke to Tynak and Polly could not understand him, except that he was saying something about Klep.

Tynak said, “You, goddess, did help Klep. Help this Zak.”

Polly gestured. “I only held Klep’s hands while Cub set his leg. I would help if I could, but I have no training as a healer.” She could not tell whether they understood her or not.

The old healer indicated that he wanted to see her hands. Polly held them out, and he took them in his, looking at them, back, front, nodding, making little sounds of approval. He held out his own hands again, then indicated that he wanted Polly to hold her hands over Zachary’s chest as he was doing.

“Stay,” she said firmly to Og, and knelt beside the healer. He put his hands over hers, and together they explored the air over Zachary’s chest, and she felt a strange tingling in her palms, and her hands were no longer ordinary hands, and they were not functioning in ordinary time. She did not know how long their four hands explored, moved, touched Zachary’s heart without ever touching his skin. Slowly, discomfort moved into her hands, and a feeling of dissonance.

The old healer raised his hands, and suddenly Polly’s fingers were icy. She looked at the healer. “Power,” he said. “Good power. Not enough.”

“What’s he saying?” Zachary demanded.

“He’s saying that together we have good power.”

“You’re not a doctor,” Zachary said. “Does he know what he’s doing?”

“Yes. I think he does.” She wondered what Dr. Louise would feel.

“You really do?”

“Zachary, these people don’t think in the same way that we do. They look at healing in a completely different way.”

“So am I healed?”

She looked at the old man. “Is he better?”

“Better. Not—”

“His heart?”

The old healer shook his head. “Better, but not—”

“What’s he saying?” Zachary demanded anxiously.

“He says your heart is somewhat better, but it is not cured.”

“Why not?”

“He says there is not enough power.”

Zachary seemed to shrink. “Why not?” His voice was thin, a child’s wail.

The healer rose and beckoned to Polly. She followed him, calling over her shoulder to Zachary, “I’ll be back.” Og was at her heels like a shadow as she and the healer went to Klep’s tent.

He greeted them, smiling. “The healer says I am—am a marvel.”

“You’re healing well,” Polly agreed. “You’re young and healthy. You’ll be fine in a few weeks, as long as you do what Anaral says, and take care of yourself.”

The healer spoke to Klep, then bent to look at his leg, nodding in approval.

Klep said, “He wants you to know that you helped. But Zak’s heart is bad.”

“I know,” Polly said. “Oh, Klep, he is so frightened.”

“Healer has helped. If he had more power, he could help more. Why is Zak so afraid? Life is good, but where we go next, that is good, too.”

“Zachary doesn’t believe that,” she said.

“He thinks it is bad?”

“No. He thinks it’s nothing. That he’ll be gone.”

Klep shook his head. “Poor Zak. Healer will try again. Try to help.”

Could he, Polly wondered, when doctors with all their modern tools of surgery could not? But that the old man was truly a healer in some way she did not yet understand was certain.

There was nothing specific for her to do. Wherever she went, the two guards were in the background, not approaching her, but keeping her in sight all the time. She walked around the village with Og, but the villagers were nervous about the dog and shot fearful glances at Polly. She did not understand why the fear was also angry, but there was no mistaking their antagonism.

She did not know what was on Tynak’s mind. He spent a long time in his tent with Zachary, and came out, looking at the sky as though seeking a sign.

Doe brought Polly her lunch. She drew away, but did not leave. Polly asked, “Why must I eat alone?”

Doe shook her head, glanced at the guards. “Tynak.”

“Why are people afraid of me?”

“Goddess.” Doe’s eyes were troubled. “Where rain?”

Shortly after lunch Tynak came to the lean-to. “Angel?” he asked.

Polly brought the icon out of her anorak pocket and held it up so he could see it, but did not give it to him.

“An-gel has power?”

“Yes. For me. Good power.”

Tynak pulled the sketch out from under his tunic. “Power.”

“Power is mine,” Polly said firmly.

“Mine.” Tynak put the sketch away. It was crumpled, as though he had shown it to many people. “Come.” He beckoned, and she followed him, Og at her heels. Tynak led her past the village, along a narrow path through the forest of great and ancient trees, until they came to a clearing. All the trees that surrounded the clearing were completely defoliated. Not a single leaf was left clinging to the branches. The trunks and limbs were dark and bare and somehow sinister. The trees farthest from the clearing held a few fading yellow leaves, so pale as to be almost white, and one by one they were drifting listlessly to the ground. In the center of the clearing was a large rock with a flat top, slightly concave. Tynak went up to it, and Polly followed him. There was a foreign chill to the air. Polly felt an oppressiveness on her chest, so that she gasped for breath. On the rock were rusty stains.

Polly pointed. “What?”

“Blood,” Tynak said.

Blood. Dried blood. So this was where sacrifices had been made, and where Tynak was considering a new sacrifice.

Og growled, low and deep in his throat. Polly put her hand on his head and tried to still the apprehension which prickled her skin.

“An-gel protect?”

She tried to look haughty. “Yes.” Quickly she pulled out the notebook and pen and made another sketch of Tynak, not as good as the first, because her hands were shaking in her hurry, but still recognizable. She reached in her pocket for the scissors, and cut the picture in half. Then she looked at Tynak. “Power.”

Tynak clutched his chest as though she had actually hurt him.

Polly put the pieces together, shut the notebook, and put it back in her pocket.

Tynak was visibly shaken. “An-gel give knife with two blades?”

“Angel guards me. Og guards me. Why are you bringing me here?”

“Place of power.”

“Bad place,” Polly said.

“Good power. Makes rain. Makes Zak’s heart good.”

“I want to talk to Zak,” Polly said sharply.

Tynak gave her a sly, slantwise look. “Goddess’s blood has much power. Tomorrow full moon. Power.”

She had to ask directly. “Does Zachary know?”

“Know what?”

“About this place? About—” She swallowed painfully. “About my blood giving the healer more power.”

“Zak knows. Zak wants.”

“Suppose,” Polly said, “I am not here tomorrow? Suppose the angel takes me away?”

Tynak glanced at the two guards standing uneasily at the outside of the circle. “No. Angel not take you away.”

“And if it rains before tomorrow?”

Tynak clapped his hands. “Good. More power.”

“And the healer will help Zachary?”

Tynak shrugged. “If healer has enough power, will help.”

Og’s growl was low and deep and menacing.

“Stop,” Tynak said.

She pressed her hand against Og’s head. Tynak would not hesitate to kill Og. If it would make it easier for himself, or for whomever he would order to capture Polly, to drag her to this clearing with the terrible stone, to add her blood to the blood that had been shed there through the years—yes, Tynak would kill Og if he thought that would lessen her power. Og, if he was not killed first, would not let Polly be taken without a fight. But Og could not hold out against an entire tribe. She looked at Tynak and decided that the only reason he had not already killed the dog was a superstitious fear that Polly’s and the angel’s powers would wreak vengeance.

What was there to do? Her heart was thumping painfully, heavy as a stone. Was that how Zachary’s heart felt all the time?

Tynak turned away from the dreadful rock and led her back to the lean-to. The two guards drew near again. One had a bow and arrow, the other a spear. She might be a goddess. She was also a prisoner.

After Tynak left, she walked out of the lean-to, passing between the guards, and they followed her, silently, as she went to the lake. “Go, Og!” she cried, and the dog ran into the lake and swam rapidly. She swung round on the two young men, stopping the one who was fitting an arrow to his bow. “No!” she ordered.

The two men looked at each other, not knowing what to do. When one hefted his spear, she hit his arm sharply. She was sure that they had been told not to hurt her. Her blood was too valuable to be spilled other than ritually. She watched until Og was barely visible, certainly out of range of arrow or spear, swimming strongly away from them. Then she went back to the lean-to, and the young man with the bow and arrows hurried away, no doubt to report to Tynak.

She had sent Og off and that was all she could do.

She sat on the pallet. Did Zachary know what he was doing? Had Tynak somehow promised him that the healer could cure him if he had just a little more power and Polly’s blood would give him that power? She did not know him well enough to guess whether or not in his extremity he would willingly, knowingly let her be killed in the hope that his heart could be mended.

She thought of the healer holding his hands over Zachary with the delicacy of a butterfly, of her own experience of the healer holding his hands over hers, as warmth flowed through them. There had been incredible power and beauty in the old man’s hands. Could he be a healer and yet with his healing hands take her blood to enhance his power? Could benign power and malign power work together? Mana power and taboo power were each an aspect of power itself.

Well, she, Polly, meant nothing to the healer. He operated from a completely different view of the universe from hers. And she could not superimpose her mores on him.

There were skulls in Tynak’s tent.

She was three thousand years from home.

She tried to breathe slowly, calmly. Tried to pray. Bishop Colubra had made it quite clear that although Jesus of Nazareth was not to be born for another thousand years, Christ always was. She turned to the words of a hymn that had long been a favorite of the O’Keefe family: