On Etruscan Time (10 page)

“I don't know,” Arath said. “A few years, I guess. I mean, it was still my time, but I didn't recognize anybody. I tried to talk to people to find out when it was, but they couldn't hear me or see me. And then I was afraid that I wasn't going to be able to get home, so I prayed to my protectors,” and he quickly touched the pouch hanging from his neck, “and they brought me home again.”

“So why did you do it again?”

“Wouldn't you?”

Hector shrugged. “Not if I thought I couldn't get home.”

“But I trusted my protectors.” Again, his hand brushed the leather pouch. “I knew they would take care of me. And also, I knew that I would be pulled back to my own time even if I didn't do anything to make it happen.”

“What do you mean, ‘pulled'?” Hector asked.

“It's like—” the boy looked around and frowned. He focused on the stream. “It's like in the spring, when the stream is full. If you fall in, it takes you where it wants you to go, no matter how hard you try to stay in the same place. It's like that with time. When I go away from my own time, I have to fight to stay there. That's why I can't be with you for very long. And after a while, it wins. The farther away from my own time I travel, the harder it is to stay there. But when I want to get back in a hurry, before time pulls me away, I still pray to my protectors and they always take me home.”

“What do you mean, ‘protectors'?” Hector asked.

“Don't you have yours?” Hector shook his head. “What, you've had your manhood ceremony already?” Arath looked skeptical. “How old are you?”

“Eleven,” Hector said. “Why?”

“They do the ceremony when you're
eleven?
” the boy asked.

“Look,” Hector said. “You've got to stop talking in riddles. What's a manhood ceremony, and what are protectors?”

For an answer, Arath loosened the rawhide ties on the pouch hanging around his neck. His long fingers pulled out several objects—a tooth, a tiny gold lump that could have been meant to represent a person, and a round white stone with a blue eye set in it. He lined them up on his palm.

This can't be,
Hector thought, and he dug into his own pocket. He pulled out the eye and held it next to Arath's.

The two rocks were remarkably similar. They had the same lightning-shaped crack radiating out from the blue center, only the crack in Hector's was deeper. Some fuzz from the leather pouch was stuck to Arath's, but otherwise they were identical.

“That's mine!” Arath said sharply, taking Hector's eye-stone from him and inspecting it. “Where did you get it?”

“I found it,” Hector answered. “In the ground over there. Ettore said it's a good-luck charm, but it isn't Etruscan.”

“It is,” Arath said. “I mean, it's good luck, and it's Etruscan. All the Rashna children carry one, along with their first baby tooth and other special things, until they become adults. These are their protectors. They take care of you until you're grown enough to take care of yourself. Then at the manhood and womanhood ceremonies you give them up to the gods, and they get destroyed to show that you don't need your childhood protection anymore. I'm having my ceremony in two years,” he added, “and then I won't need them. But until then, they keep me safe.”

“Well,” Hector said thoughtfully, taking his own stone from Arath's palm, “well, then, I guess this explains the ‘why me' part of my question.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't you see?” Hector asked. “The eye is supposed to protect you. You lost it—I mean, you're going to lose it—you know what I mean.”

Arath nodded.

“And then I found it—or I mean, I'm
going
to find it—” This was hopelessly confusing. “Anyway, I found it in my time. It made me find it. I bet it was looking for someone to protect you, since it couldn't do it by itself.”

“But how did you get it?” Arath asked.

“I found it in the dig,” Hector said. “I—”

At that moment he heard a voice from down in the village. It was a woman, and she was calling Arath's name.

“My
ati
—my mother,” he said and scrambled to his feet, hastily dropping his lucky pieces back in the pouch. Hector stood up and shoved his own stone eye into his pocket.

“Where should I go?” Hector asked.

“Wherever you want,” Arath answered. “With me, if you like. Remember, no one can see you when you're not in your own time. Just don't expect me to talk to you. They'd think I was talking to a
hinthial.
” And he ran down the slope. Hector took off after him, feeling strange and almost weightless as he bounded down the hill. When he caught up with Arath, he saw him going into the door of the house next to the temple. The door swung shut behind Arath, and automatically Hector reached for the rope handle, but his hand went through it after a tiny hesitation.

Now what?

Well, if the man in the square could walk through him, maybe he could walk through the door. But that was just a dream, wasn't it? And this time he was really here, really back in Etruscan time. Or was he? He was getting confused about what was a dream and what was reality—if time travel could be called reality.

Still, it was worth a try. He didn't want to be stuck here in the dusty street. He laid his hands flat on the door and pushed. It felt lighter than wood should feel. He pushed harder, and suddenly he popped through it to the other side.

Wow. It felt like going through a wall of Jell-O. Solid, but not really. It gave Hector a sick feeling, and he stood still for a minute to let everything settle. The room was dim, but enough light came through the small windows that his eyes soon adjusted.

Several mats were scattered on the dirt floor, and a stool stood by the fire. The walls were white but also stained with dark streaks from the smoke of the cooking fire, he supposed. There was very little decoration, just a kind of alcove by the door where a couple of figures like dolls were standing. He went closer and peered at them. The two crude wooden figures stared back blankly. Worn paint faintly indicated their eyes, mouths, and clothing.
A strange kind of thing to have in your wall,
he thought.

A small woman who had a dark braid down her back and was wearing a loose brown robe came in through another door on the opposite wall. Hector froze, but she gave no sign of seeing him. She spoke to Arath and then stooped over the fire, ladling something into a wooden bowl. From her tone, it appeared that she was scolding him. She didn't really sound angry, though. She handed the bowl and a spoon to Arath, who was squatting on a small rug, and passed her hand over his black hair. He looked up and smiled at her as he began eating what must be his breakfast.

Two other women, older than the first, appeared. They wore long robes with stripes down the sides, and one looked cranky. She held her hand to her cheek as the first woman soaked a piece of cloth in hot water that was steaming over the fire. She held it against the older woman's face, speaking soothingly.

Hector stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Arath either couldn't see him anymore or was pretending not to, and the women gave no sign that they were aware there was a fifth person in the room. Hector cleared his throat. Arath's eyebrows shot up and Hector saw a little smile on his lips.

“So I can say anything I want,” Hector said. Arath, still eating, gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“I can go wherever I want,” Hector said. Arath nodded again.

“And no one can see me or hear me or anything.” This time a little shake of the head.

“What's the matter with that woman?”

Arath opened his mouth as though yawning and pointed a finger at one of his back teeth.

“Toothache?” Hector guessed. Again a little nod and a smile.

At that moment Arath's mother straightened.

It was the same woman who had been wailing in the square in that terrible dream, and she was staring him right in the face.

12

Hector yelped and stumbled backward. But Arath's mother must have just happened to be looking in his direction, because she paid no attention to him.

Arath let out a snort of laughter. His mother said something that must have meant “What's so funny?”

Arath bowed his head over his bowl and scraped out the last of whatever he was eating. His mother took the empty bowl and said something else as she passed food to the other women. The one with the toothache groaned as she opened her mouth a tiny bit.

Arath nodded to his mother and went back out the door. Hector didn't want to repeat the creepy experience of pushing through wood, so he slipped out behind the other boy before it had a chance to close.

In those few minutes the town had come alive. It looked more like what Hector had seen on his first visit. Several women were carrying jugs on their heads. Four little children, naked except for strings of beads around their waists and leather pouches like Arath's dangling from their necks, followed, laughing and playing as they went. Two men were working on the wall again, and Hector could see that some time had passed since he had last been there, because they had almost finished the repairs.

“Where are we going?” Hector asked, but Arath just frowned and kept walking. Oh, right. He couldn't answer in front of all those people.

After only a few steps, Arath turned and ducked into the temple, Hector close at his heels. Its cool darkness was pleasant after those few minutes in the glaring sun. “Can you talk now?” Hector asked. As an answer, Arath made a slight motion with his hand.

Two large shapes were in front of them. Hector peered more closely and realized that he was looking at two men, both standing with their backs to him, hands raised to the ceiling, long black hair falling down their backs. On one, a gold armband glinted. The other man was shorter and more muscular. Neither paid any attention to the boys—or rather, to Arath, since they couldn't be expected to notice Hector.

They started talking rapidly and rhythmically, first one, and then the other.
They must be praying,
Hector realized. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw that the walls were painted with pictures of people. He walked hesitantly to one of the pictures, feeling that he probably shouldn't touch it and feeling uncertain about being there, even though no one but Arath could see him.

The painting showed some kind of party. In the middle a man was dancing, arms and legs thrown out at odd angles, feet flexed and long hands bent way back. Another man blew on a flute, and a woman was holding something that looked like a rattle.

Men and women were lying on couches, tables covered with food all around them. One woman's hand was stretched out in front of her toward a smiling man, and in her long, elegant fingers she delicately held an egg. Little naked children with flowers in their hair held jugs that looked just like the ones the women had been carrying outside. Something dark was flowing out of one of them. The colors were so bright that even in the semidarkness they were easy to see. Everything in them seemed to be moving and swirling, so that it was hard to believe that they were paintings and not living people.

Arath stood in silence behind the two men, as though waiting. After a few minutes, the shorter man lowered his hands and spoke to Arath in a normal tone, no longer the singsong of a prayer. Hector had no trouble catching the man's meaning. It was as though the longer he stayed in the past, the more he understood. He could tell that the man was asking Arath why he was late. Arath mumbled something like “I'm sorry.” The other man turned around and glared at him, and even in the dim light, what Hector saw made his heart stop for a second and then start thumping rapidly.

This was the man who had dragged Arath away and had been with him when those sickening screams came from the temple. Looking at his cruel face, Hector had no doubt that he was the one who had been beating the boy.

The man turned away, raised his hands, and started chanting again. It went on and on.

Hector took a hesitant step forward. Arath rolled his eyes, evidently exasperated at Hector's timidity.

Hector gathered together all his courage and said, “It's easy for
you.
You're used to people not seeing you.” He flinched at the sound of his voice, but the men obviously didn't hear him, although Arath rolled his eyes again.

It was weird. He could go anyplace, do anything, and no one would ever know. He took another step. Still no reaction from the men. So he walked firmly forward and looked at the objects on the table in front of the men. Three small statues, only a few inches tall, stood stiffly in a row. They glittered so richly that Hector knew that they had to be made of gold. The figures were human, one male and two female, but unnaturally long and thin. The man and one of the women wore strange helmets with wing-like things sticking out on both sides and the top. The woman clutched a spear, and the man held a crooked stick. The other woman wore a long skirt and no top. All of their bodies were strangely flat, and their clothes were covered with tiny gold balls in beautiful patterns. Despite their size, the details were perfect.

Hector knew who they were from the book on the Etruscans that his mother had made him read. And even if he hadn't read the book, he would have recognized them. The man was Tinia, the sky god, Uni was the earth goddess, and Menrva was their daughter, a wise warrior and leader. And their statues were the most beautiful things Hector had ever seen. He reached out a hand to touch them, forgetting that he wouldn't be able to feel them. Arath cleared his throat sharply and Hector dropped his hand.

The cruel-looking man turned when Arath cleared his throat. Arath looked at him innocently. The man glared at him and then grunted something at the other man, who must be the priest, Arath's father. The priest said something that sounded like he was telling the man to forget it and handed Arath a small bowl with a kind of bump in the middle. Arath took it carefully, holding the edge with his thumb, and putting his middle and ring fingers into the depression on the back, as if he were holding a CD.