Many Waters

by Madeleine L'engle

  "Goodbye!" he called in return, trying to wave at them without falling off.

  The camel turned off the oasis onto the desert as the calls faded into the distance. Dennys clutched the bundle of clothes Matred had given him--what remained of his clothes after he had thrown away the ones fouled in the garbage pit. He could not imagine ever needing winter clothes again. He could not imagine going farther than Lamech's tent, where he and Sandy would be reunited.

  He remembered reading somewhere that to ride a camel was like being on a small ship rolling in rough seas, and that seemed to him to be a very good description. He bent over and clutched the white hair on the camel's neck, trying to let his body swing with the camel's odd rhythm. A soft night breeze only faintly gritty with sand touched his cheeks. Above them, the desert stars gave out a cooling light. In the distance the mountain smoked, and the horizon burned red. Dennys was glad the oasis was as far away as it was from the still active volcano.

  The camel lurched swiftly across the desert. Dennys found that the more he leaned into the animal's syncopated rhythm the less tendency he had to slither off. The camel was going with such speed that it would be halfway across the desert before it realized that Dennys had fallen, so he'd better hang on.

  He tried to breathe in time with the arhythmic ride. He would be incredibly sore in the morning. This was far harder on the muscles than riding a horse. He noticed a shift in pace, a quickening of rhythm. He clutched at the camel's neck, barely managing to hold on. Barely. He began to slip to one side, with the skins under him sliding with him.

  The white camel was racing across the desert. Suddenly Dennys realized that the sound of camel's hooves on sand, on stone under sand, was echoed by another sound.

  A voice from close behind them roared, "Hungry!" and Dennys felt a breath so hot that it seared. He felt himself slipping farther and farther off the camel, until he was clinging to the side, and then he realized that the camel had turned, so that it was between Dennys and whatever it was that was roaring. He found himself sliding so that he was head down, peering under the camel's belly.

  Something was peering at him from the other side of the camel. A face. Whiskers. A bulbous nose. Bleary eyes. Horns which curved down, with sharp, wicked points. Dennys looked for the body that belonged to the face and saw, instead, a lion's body. Looked along the lion's body to where the tail should be and saw, instead, a scorpion's tail, its sting rattling. He had never seen anything like it before. He did not want to see it now. Clutching the camel's white hair, he tried to struggle up onto its back again.

  The camel whickered, and continued to race across the desert.

  "Hungry!" the creature roared.

  Dennys felt very small. Very young. Very afraid. "Is it going to eat me?"

  The camel glanced back at Dennys, the gentian eyes enigmatic.

  "Hey!" he protested. "Aren't you going to stop it?"

  The huge face loomed over the camel's back. "Hungry!" it roared again. The enormous lips opened, to reveal a double set of ugly, stumpy teeth, which looked as though they had been worn down from gnawing. The purplish lips opened.

  Dennys pulled at the camel's hair. "Hey. Help." The ugly creature's breath came closer. The bloodshot eyes were looking directly at Dennys's grey ones. He tried to stare it down. The tongue, thick but long as a snake's, flicked toward him. He drew back, shielding himself with the camel, but the man/lion/scorpion bounded over the camel's back, landing on the sand beside Dennys.

  "Camel!" he shouted. "Please be Admael!" He sidestepped away from the monster.

  Again the camel agilely placed itself between Dennys and the creature. Gave Dennys a glance. Dennys remembered that seraphim did not like to interfere or change things.

  "Hey!" he shouted. "If he eats me, won't that change the course of things?"

  With a flash of lightning almost like the unicorn's, the camel stretched its whiteness up to the sky, seeming to brush against the stars, to catch blue fire, and then Admael stood beside Dennys. "Go, manticore, go quickly. And don't go to any of the tents. And don't even think of eating any of the mammoths. Do your hunting in the desert."

  Tears began to trickle down the manticore's cheeks, dampening its scraggly beard.

  "And don't try to make me feel sorry for you." Admael paused. "Though I am sorry for you. You appear to be one of nature's more peculiar efforts."

  The manticore turned, head drooping, and with its lion's body it padded across the desert, scorpion sting clacking as it went.

  "Wow!" Dennys said. "That was a close call."

  "Not really. Manticore's courage is as skimpy as its vocabulary." Admael picked up the skins which had served as saddle. "Let's go." Dennys looked at him questioningly. "It isn't far. I've been running parallel to the oasis. Can you walk a little?"

  "Sure." He'd just as soon walk as be bounced around on the camel's back. But he asked, curiously, "You're not going to be a camel?"

  Admael had slung the skins over one shoulder. "Not now. It takes considerable energy to transfer. We do not like to waste power when it is not necessary. The manticore is basically a coward, but there may be other dangers in the night desert. It's best that we keep moving."

  Admael glanced upward, and when Dennys looked skyward, he saw the dark wings of a vulture blotting out the stars in swift circles.

  The circle of the nephilim was dark against the desert, a dark shot with flames brighter than those from the mountain as they flickered in and out of their animal hosts in a show of power. They spoke from their nephil forms in bursts of primal energy, reverting in negative lightning to their animal hosts, and bursting with bright wings again in order to speak.

  The crocodile opened its enormous jaws, then lifted green wings as it stretched skyward. "What are they doing here?"

  "What are they?" Pewter wings faded like smoke and a rat's tail swished back and forth over the sand.

  There was a sulfurous smell as the nephilim flickered in and out, charging the air. "Not true giants." Red wings and hair flamed in the hot wind and then a mosquito whined shrilly.

  "Not one of us." Purple wings misted and the dragon/ lizard stretched its useless wings.

  "Though they speak the ancient tongue."

  "They burn in the sun."

  "They can't change form."

  "Young. Infants."

  "Almost men, though."

  "They don't belong here."

  "What to do with them?" Bronze wings dissolved and shrank with a tearing sound as the cockroach lifted its armored wings.

  "Do we let them live?" Great garnet wings dimmed the clouds, dropped with a sharp crack, and the red ant's small body cast a dark shadow in the starlight.

  Flicker. Flame. Shadow. In and out in prideful bursts of energy.

  "Ummm," moaned the nephil who was the cobra. "Maybe we promise them that they will live."

  "Ummm, kkk." The vulture appeared briefly and clicked its beak. Then dark wings shadowed the stars. "Power. Put them in our power."

  Yellow wings puffed into sulfur and the flea leapt from the dragon/lizard to the vulture, then raised wings high. "Power. That's right."

  "Temptation," the dragon/lizard nephil suggested.

  "Temptation. Good." And the mosquito droned.

  "Lust," suggested the cobra, and the nephil's face was whiter than the sand.

  "Ummm. Lust," agreed the vulture. "Kkk. Lust."

  "We'll sleep tomorrow in the heat of the day." The reunited Sandy and Dennys sat outside Grandfather Lamech's tent as the stars wheeled across the sky. The old man had gone in, after having sat outside with them to eat a fresh mess of pottage, and to prepare bowls of fig juice.

  Higgaion was curled in the star shade of the tree, his flanks heaving in and out as he slept, occasionally twitching in dreams.

  "Noah and Matred have a mammoth called Selah," Dennys said. "Usually she sleeps by Yalith's sleeping skins, but sometimes she came into my tent and slept with me. It was weird being without you." Dennys wriggled his
bare toes in the sand.

  "Yeah," Sandy agreed. "It was weird for me, too. Higgy and Grandfather Lamech have been very good to me." He wanted to ask about Yalith. But something stayed his tongue. He said, instead, "I love Grandfather Lamech. You will, too."

  "He seems okay," Dennys agreed. "I'm glad Japheth was the first person we saw. Otherwise, I'd suspect everybody of being like those awful people who threw me out of their tent into the town dump."

  "It sounds rough."

  "Well, everybody in Noah's tenthold was wonderful to me."

  "Dennys." Sandy was suddenly somber. "Do you remember the story? The story of Noah and the ark?"

  Dennys shifted uncomfortably. "The story we got blown into. At first I thought we were in some way-out solar system."

  "It might be easier if we were," Sandy said. "Grandfather Lamech sent me into town today to trade fruit for lentils. I passed a lot of people. They're all going to be drowned."

  Dennys looked at the glow of the volcano on the horizon. "I know. Everybody except Noah and Matred, Shem and Elisheba, Ham and Anah, Japheth and Oholibamah."

  Now Sandy's voice cracked. "What about Yalith?"

  Dennys managed to keep his voice from soaring. "I don't know. But I don't think Oholibamah, Elisheba, or Anah are called by name in the story. Matred isn't, either." His voice jumped an octave. "Nor Yalith. At least as far as I can remember. I wish we had a Bible."

  "It was a very patriarchal society," Sandy said. "I do remember that."

  "Meg would call it chauvinistic," Dennys said. "Whoever wrote the Bible was a man. Men."

  "I thought it was supposed to be God. Wasn't that what we were taught in Sunday school?"

  "When we were little maybe. The thing is, the Bible was set down by lots of people over lots of years. Centuries. It's supposed to be the Word of God, not written by God."

  "Okay," Sandy said, "but nobody ever mentioned that there were twins named Sandy and Dennys Murry with Noah and his family."

  "Do you have any idea," Dennys ventured, "when the rains are supposed to start?"

  Sandy shook his head. "No, I don't. And I don't know how we're going to get out of here and go home. Do you?"

  "I thought you might have thought of something to do," Dennys said.

  "I don't have a clue. You pay more attention than I do when everybody goes on at the dinner table about tessering and red shifts and mitochondria and farandolae and stuff."

  "Mitochondria." Dennys looked at his twin. "Do you remember when something was wrong with Charles Wallace's mitochondria, and we thought he was going to die?"

  "We went out to the vegetable garden," Sandy said.

  "Because we had to do something."

  "Even though we knew it didn't have anything to do with helping Charles Wallace get well."

  "But it was something to do."

  They were silent for a dark space. Then Sandy said, "Well, we can do it again, work in a garden. Grandfather Lamech has this huge vegetable garden--I mean, you've never seen such gigantic plants. And weeds. I've pulled up a mountain of weeds, wait and see, and I've hardly made a dent. And then there are his groves to prune and water. There's plenty to do. Whether it helps anything or not."

  Under them the ground trembled slightly, but by now they were both so used to the shifting and sliding of the young planet that they hardly noticed. "Well. That's good. The garden, I mean. As long as we don't get sunstroke again."

  "Oh, we work only in the early morning and the evening. Grandfather Lamech is very careful about that."

  "Good, then."

  "Yes, but none of that gets us home. What do we do now?" Sandy was asking himself, rather than his twin.

  "I think," Dennys spoke slowly, "that we don't do anything. I mean, this is way outside our experience."

  "Outside anybody's experience," Sandy added. "I think you're right. We wait. With our eyes and ears open." He looked over to where Higgaion was sleeping. The scarab was not in its usual place on Higgaion's ear. Therefore, he thought, Adnarel must be somewhere else. Doing what?

  "We wait," Adnarel said. "To do anything is to make changes, to cause a paradox."

  "Does not their very being here in itself constitute a paradox?" Alarid, who was sometimes a pelican, asked.

  Admael, who had carried Dennys across the desert, said, "They have already made changes. The boy, Dennys, caused Noah to reconcile with his father, when it seemed that nothing would ever make that come about."

  Adnachiel, his wings as sunny as the hide of his giraffe host, said, "Perhaps the boy Sandy played a part."

  Aalbiel, with wings as white as those of a snow goose, asked, "Could they have been sent for this?"

  Aariel, tawny as a lion, said softly, "We do not know. Perhaps they are part of the pattern."

  Abdiel, sometimes a golden bat, spoke equally softly. "There are many things that even the angels in heaven do not know. And we have chosen--"

  "Been chosen," Abasdarhon, whose host was the golden snake, corrected.

  "Accepted being chosen," Akatriel, whose eyes were as round and wise and fierce as an owl's, corrected further.

  "--to stay with the children of humankind," Abdiel continued. "Therefore, we have relinquished some of our powers and there is much that we do not know."

  Abuzohar, who was sometimes a white leopard, inclined his head, his face luminous as the moon. "As long as the One knows, there is no need for us to know."

  Achsah, with wings and hair the soft grey velvet of his mouse host, nodded. "They are innocent boys, for the children of men. Likable. And they speak the Old Language."

  Adabiel, orange wings vivid as the tiger, agreed. "Good in their hearts. And they brought out Noah's goodness. Could that be part of the plan?"

  Admael said, "We still have no real idea why they are here, or how they are to be returned to wherever it is they come from."

  Adnachiel, sometimes a giraffe, looked up at the stars. "We willingly gave up some of our powers when we chose to stay on this planet."

  "We do not have to stay." Abdiel's seraphim wings were as bright a gold as his bat ones. "We are free to leave at any time and to resume our full powers."

  Adnarel threw off light like the sun flashing against the scarab beetle. "It was our free choice. And now--I would not leave while they--the twins--are still here."

  "We may not be able to save them," Alarid warned.

  "Then I will stay with them," Admael said, for a fraction of a second looking more like a white camel than like a seraphim.

  Eleven luminous heads slowly nodded in agreement with Admael.

  EIGHT

  Oholibamah, Japheth's wife

  Mahlah and Tiglah were waiting near Grandfather Lamech's ancient fig tree. Mahlah's belly was softly rounded. Tiglah was round by nature, all soft curves and delicate plumpness that had not yet run to softness, as Anah's was doing.

  The twins came from the garden, where they had weeded two long rows of plants which might have been forebears of tomatoes, and pulled off the suckers. Higgaion was in the tent with Grandfather Lamech. The twins did not see Mahlah and Tiglah until the two girls came to meet them. Tiglah walked slowly toward Sandy. She tossed her head so that her red hair flew about her face. She lowered the heavy fringes of her lashes. "I'm sorry my father and brother didn't treat you better when you appeared in our tent that time." She paused, and added virtuously, "They have to be very careful that strange men don't take advantage of me." Then she stopped. "Am I speaking to the right one?"

  "No," Dennys said.

  Mahlah fluttered her small hands like birds. Her dark hair concealed her swollen belly. "But which one of you was guest in my father's tent?"

  Sandy stepped forward. "My brother Dennys. You're Yalith's sister?"

  "Yes. Mahlah. But I am Ugiel's bride and no longer live in the home tent."

  Sandy looked at her, thinking that although Mahlah was beautiful, it was in an obvious way; she had none of the subtle loveliness he associated with Yalith. Tiglah's flash
y beauty was almost an assault. He still didn't know what to make of her. "Tiglah?"

  She giggled, so that dimples came and went on either side of her reddened lips. "Don't you remember me?"

  "You were talking to me the other day, before the griffin came."

  "Yes, and the silly griffin interrupted us. I think she was jealous. But she's not here now. Would you like to come with us?" She turned from Sandy, to include Dennys in the invitation.

  "Where?" Dennys asked suspiciously. His first encounter with Tiglah's family had made him far more cautious than Sandy had cause to be. He did not trust her, nor, indeed, any of the small people who did not come from Noah's tenthold.

  Mahlah, unlike Tiglah, was not a giggler. She smiled. "We'd like to get to know you better. My father thinks the world of you. So let's go for a little walk."

  Dennys looked at the sky, which was already beginning to shimmer with heat. "It's too hot. Thank you, anyhow."

  Tiglah pushed her fingers through her curls, so that they glinted with gold in the sunlight. She, too, looked at the sky. "It's not going to be really hot until the sun is above the palm trees." She turned her dimpled smile toward Sandy. "We'd really love to show you around a little. You haven't seen much of the oasis."

  Sandy stepped forward. He had not enjoyed his brief excursions onto the public path, but if Tiglah and Mahlah were there to show them where to go, it might be fun. It was time to go farther than Grandfather Lamech's compound and the nearby shops. "Well--"

  "You go, if you like." Dennys was firm. "I nearly died of sunstroke, and I'm keeping out of the sun."

  Sandy looked at his brother, noticing the still pinkly mottled skin. "I'm sorry. My skin's all healed. I forgot--"

  "You go, if you like," Dennys repeated.

  Sandy shook his head. "No. Grandfather Lamech wanted us to bring him some onions for his stew, and we were too busy weeding. We'd better go pull them before the sun gets too high."

  A great whirring of wings shook the sky above them, and the griffin landed between the two boys and Mahlah and Tiglah.

  "Go away, spoilsport." Tiglah kicked at the griffin, and her green eyes sparked with resentment.

  Dennys backed away in fear. The griffin looked to him as fierce as the manticore.

  "It's all right," Sandy reassured him. "It's a griffin, and she's a friend."