He was tired of answering the old questions. "Another part of the planet. Another time."
"Why have you come?"
"It was a mistake," he said shortly.
"But why was it a mistake to come? It's wonderful that you're here! How long are you going to stay?"
"I don't know."
"But you do have plans? What are you going to do?"
"Take care of Grandfather Lamech's garden and groves."
"Is that all? You didn't come all this way just for that! You must have come for some reason."
"No," he said. He removed his arm from her hand.
"No," Tiglah said. "I didn't find out anything. I asked him all the questions you told me to, but he didn't tell me anything."
Rofocale towered over her, his wings flaming like the sun even in the moonlight. "He must have said something."
"He said he came from far away, and that it was a mistake to come."
"Mistake?" Rofocale queried. The garnet pool of his eyes looked opaque. "Could El have made another mistake?"
"You think your El sent them?"
"Who else? They are certainly not native. They may be as much of a threat to us as the seraphim. At least the seraphim are careful not to manipulate or change things."
"You think the young giants will?"
"Who knows? And you couldn't get anything out of him?"
The dimple in Tiglah's chin deepened. "At least he came with me this time."
"So he did. And did you kiss him?"
She nodded. "He tasted so young. Young as the morning."
"Did he like it?"
"He liked it. But just as I thought he was ready to go further, he pulled back. But give me time, Rofocale. This is, after all, the first time he's been willing to go with me."
Rofocale in a movement of swift grace knelt so that their eyes were level. "You must work fast, my little Tiglah."
"Why? What's the hurry?"
Rofocale rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead. "Some of our powers have been weakened. We can no longer tell--but Noah knows something. His sons married abnormally young, and hurriedly. Noah still speaks with the One on whom I have turned my back. There may not be another hundred years."
"But why do you want me to--to seduce him?"
"Wouldn't that put him in your--and my--power?" He drew her to him. "What you do with the naked giant will not make you any less mine, little lovely one. I like my women to be experienced in the ways of lust."
"Will I make a baby for you?"
He spread his wings so that she was wrapped in a cloud of flame. "Soon."
"Soon," Oholibamah said. "Soon. Press down, Mahlah, press down. Hard."
"Soon," Yalith echoed reassuringly. "It will come soon."
Matred said nothing.
Mahlah, lying on her back on a pile of skins, screamed. Her hands groped frantically, and Matred took them in a firm grasp, while Mahlah clutched.
"It's gone on so long," Yalith whispered. "How much more can she take?"
"Get up," Matred ordered Mahlah.
Mahlah wailed, "I can't. I can't. Oh, let it come, let it come soon--"
"Get up," Matred repeated. "Squat."
"I did, I did, until I was so tired I couldn't--"
"You've rested enough." Matred's voice was rough. "Help her up," she ordered Yalith and Oholibamah.
The two girls had to use all their strength to pull the resisting Mahlah off the skins.
"Squat," Matred said. "Bear down. Now. Now. Push."
"The moon is setting," Yalith said.
Oholibamah looked at Matred. "My mother went through this. She is still alive."
"Yes, my dear," Matred said. "Thank you." It was Oholibamah's first open acknowledgment that she had been sired by one of the nephilim, and Matred pressed her shoulder in gratitude.
The moon set. The sun rose. It was stifling in the small white clay house. The four women streamed sweat. Mahlah's hair was as wet as though it had been dipped in the water jar. Her eyes were wide open in agony. She moaned, screamed, shrieked. Occasionally, between contractions, her mouth would fall open laxly and her lids would droop shut as she dropped into an exhausted sleep, only to be wakened as she was assailed by a fresh pain.
The sun slid low in the sky.
"Squat," Matred ordered. "You must squat again."
Three nights and three days. Squatting, lying, screaming.
--She will die, Yalith thought.--This cannot go on.
"Soon," Oholibamah continued to reassure the tortured Mahlah. "It will come soon. Press down. Harder."
Matred's voice was sharp with anxiety. "Work, Mahlah, work. We cannot have this baby for you. Work. Push."
For the fourth night, the moon rose.
"Push," Matred commanded.
A long, grunting groan came from Mahlah, more terrible than her screams.
"Now. Now."
The groan seemed as though it would tear Mahlah apart.
"Now." And at last Matred reached between Mahlah's legs to help draw the baby out of her body. The baby's head was so large that Yalith could hear Mahlah's flesh rip as the child came out. Matred shook it, patted its buttocks, and the air rushed into its lungs and it howled.
While Sandy was with Tiglah, Dennys went in to Grandfather Lamech, uneasy about him. He walked to where the old man was lying.
"Son?"
"It's Dennys, Grandfather."
An old hand groped for his. Dennys held it, and it was cold, deathly cold. "Can I do something for you, Grandfather?"
A serene smile wreathed the old man's face. "El has spoken."
Dennys waited.
The old man seemed to be trying to suck in enough air to speak. Finally he said, "All will not be lost. Oh, my son, Den, El has repented. While you were in the garden, El spoke to me here in the tent. I have never heard him here before. Oh, my son, Den, my son, my son, Noah will be spared. Noah and his family. El has spoken."
"From what, Grandfather Lamech?"
"Eh?"
"From what will they be spared?"
The old fingers trembled in Dennys's hand. "El spoke of many waters. This I do not understand. But no matter. What is of concern is that my son will be spared." The fingers pressed against Dennys's. "But you, my son? What will happen to you? I do not know."
"I don't know either, Grandfather." Dennys massaged the withered old hand until a little warmth returned.
Ugiel stood looking down at the baby lying between Mahlah's breasts. The young mother looked pale and exhausted, but radiant.
The three women who had shared her labor were nearly as exhausted as Mahlah. Oholibamah had deep circles under her eyes, and her cheeks were ashen. It was she who had somehow or other stanched the blood that poured out, nearly taking Mahlah's life with it; she who had brought the afterbirth out safely. Her hands and arms were stained red from holding Mahlah's torn flesh together until the rush of blood slowed to a trickle and the danger of hemorrhaging was over.
Ugiel paid no attention to the others. He gazed at his baby. It had a full head of hair, black, like Mahlah's. He flipped it over and fingered the soft down outlining the shoulder blades. "I am pleased," he said.
Matred was sharp. "And well you might be. It almost killed her. Without Oholibamah, it would have." She turned away from Ugiel and fed Mahlah some of the strengthening broth Elisheba had sent over.
"Go home," she said to Yalith and Oholibamah. "Go and get something to eat, and rest. I will stay with Mahlah. Elisheba will be by later."
Oholibamah, also ignoring Ugiel, looked at mother and child. "She will need much care for the next several days. Be sure to call me if the bleeding starts again."
"I will," Matred promised.
Ugiel bent over Mahlah and with one long finger touched the baby on its eyelids, its nose. "I am pleased," Ugiel said again.
Oholibamah sat in the big tent, letting Elisheba feed them lentil soup.
Oholibamah said, "He didn't care whether she lived or not,
as long as she had the baby."
Yalith paused in the act of raising her bowl to her lips. "Do you really think that?"
"You heard him, didn't you? 'Why doesn't she get on with it?' he said. 'Why is it taking so long?' And then he would go away and not come back for hours and hours."
"Mother said she didn't want him around--" Then Yalith stopped. Matred had been with her older daughters when they gave birth, shooing their husbands away but giving a running account of the delivery. Nor had the husbands gone far away. They had, in fact, been maddeningly underfoot. They had not simply vanished, like Ugiel, leaving everything to the women. She finished her soup in silence.
Oholibamah, too, drank. Her dark brows drew together. Her raven-black hair had come loose from its thong and fallen about her shoulders.
"Oholibamah--" Yalith said softly.
"What is it?"
"The nephilim marry our women, give them babies. But the seraphim--"
"They do not marry. Or give babies."
"But in many ways they are like the nephilim."
Oholibamah pushed her dark hair back in a weary gesture. "No. I think that once the nephilim were like the seraphim."
"What happened to change them?"
"I don't know."
Yalith thought of Aariel, with the bright amber eyes and leonine grace, and then of Eblis, and she was glad she had run from the purple-winged nephil. She wanted nothing to do with Eblis, if he was like Ugiel, who did not care whether his wife lived or died. Could Ugiel once have been like Aariel? Could Eblis?
Oholibamah said, "I think that the seraphim are free to leave us for the stars at any time if they want to. I don't think the nephilim can. Not anymore. They stay with us, not because they have chosen to, but because they have to."
Noah and Japheth came into the tent, their arms and hands as stained with grape juice as Oholibamah's had been with blood. Japheth embraced his wife. Yalith ran to her father. "Mahlah has had her baby! It is all right!"
Noah put his arms around his youngest child, but he seemed strangely disinterested.
"Did you hear, Father?" Yalith demanded. "Mahlah's long travail is over at last!"
"That is good to hear," Noah said heavily. "We were worried."
"What is it?" Oholibamah asked. "Is something wrong?"
Japheth's arm tightened about his wife.
Noah drew Yalith close. "El has spoken. Strange words."
"Good words?" Yalith asked.
Oholibamah looked at Japheth questioningly, but he shook his head.
"Strange words," Noah repeated. "I do not know what to make of them."
"Be happy for Mahlah, Father," Yalith said. "It was such a hard birth, so long. If it had not been for Oholi--"
"Mahlah will be all right," Oholibamah said. "She is young and strong and will heal quickly."
"It is a big baby, Father," Yalith continued. "It is the biggest baby I have ever seen, with dark hair, like Mahlah's, and a button of a nose."
"At least it is a baby." Noah's voice was bitter.
"You are upset," Oholibamah said.
"Yes, I suppose I am upset. El has asked me to do strange things. I do not understand. Great changes are coming. Terrible changes."
"Japheth--" Oholibamah whispered.
"Hush. Later."
Within the comfort of her father's arms, Yalith shivered. "But now we can rejoice, Father, because Mahlah has had a safe delivery."
Noah continued to hold his daughter, pressing his lips against her bright hair. "We did not have a wedding feast for Mahlah. That hurt Matred. I had hoped that we could have a wedding feast for you."
"Oh, but I hope you will!" Yalith exclaimed. She thought of Mahlah's strange wedding, and she did not want one like that, isolated from her family and friends. Then she thought of the twins. In their own way, they were as alien as the nephilim and the seraphim, and yet they were human, totally human. And she loved them. She pressed her cheek against her father's chest, so that she did not see the expression on his face.
Oholibamah did, but before she could speak, Japheth had pulled her to him again in a loving embrace.
A soft whimpering woke the twins. Higgaion had come over to their sleeping skins to summon them.
Sandy opened his eyes. "Higgy, what's the matter?"
Dennys sat up, abruptly wide awake. "Is it Grandfather Lamech?" He looked at Higgaion, asking, "Should we get Noah?"
"Is Grandfather--" Sandy could not finish the sentence.
The two boys scrambled across the tent to the old man's sleeping skins. Grandfather Lamech was breathing in strange, shallow pants. Dennys reached to touch him, and saw the scarab beetle. He felt a surge of relief. Spoke urgently. "Adnarel, we need Admael. If he could be his camel self, he could carry one of us to Noah's tent far more quickly than either Sandy or I could run." Dennys gently touched the bronze armor of the scarab beetle, which thinned out and disappeared under his finger, so that he was touching only a corner of the old man's sleeping skin. Adnarel stood by them, a golden glimmer in the gloom of the tent. "I will get Admael. Wait with Grandfather Lamech." With one of his swift, graceful gestures, he bowed and went out.
Sandy and Dennys each took one of Grandfather Lamech's hands, which felt as cold and lifeless as marble. Sandy said, "Adnarel is calling Admael for us. We'll get Noah for you, as quickly as we can."
The old man breathed softly. "My good boys."
Dennys watched Grandfather Lamech's straining effort to breathe. Gently he put his arm under the small, frail body, easing it into a sitting position. The old man leaned against the boy, and his breathing lightened. "I'll stay with you, Grandfather." Dennys looked at Sandy and nodded.
Sandy nodded back.
"I can wait," the old man whispered, "until the last star goes out."
Adnarel returned. He knelt by Grandfather Lamech, examining him gently. He turned to the twins. "Admael is waiting outside. You don't need to rush, Sand. There will be time."
Grandfather Lamech gasped. "Until the baboons--"
Adnarel smiled. "Until the baboons clap their hands and shout for joy to welcome the dawn."
Dennys said, "I'll stay with Grandfather."
Adnarel nodded, touching Dennys's shoulder lightly. "Good. I will be here if you need me." His bright form misted, swirled softly like fog, and the scarab beetle shone against Higgaion's ear.
When Dennys had ridden the white camel across the desert, coming from Noah's tent, he had still been weak from his sunstroke. Sandy was well and strong, and had little difficulty keeping his seat, his body quickly becoming accustomed to the erratically rolling rhythm. They crossed the desert without trouble. On a high outcropping of white rock, a lion stood majestically to watch their progress.
There was no sound around Noah's tenthold beyond contented snores. Sandy pulled back the flap to the big tent, calling, "Noah!"
It was Matred's sleepy voice that answered, "Who is it?"
"It's Sandy. Grandfather Lamech sent me to get Noah."
"El." Noah's voice was deep. "I'll be right out."
Sandy stood outside, listening to the sound of night insects mingling with snores from Ham and Elisheba's tent. He looked up at the sky and the low, blurred stars seemed to be calling him, but he could not understand what they were trying to say.
Noah came out, wearing a fresh loincloth.
"Dennys is with Grandfather," Sandy said, "and Higgaion."
Noah nodded.
"Adnarel said there would be time, but you'll get there faster if you ride the camel alone. I'll walk back."
Again Noah nodded, accepting the offer. The camel's legs were folded under it so that Noah could climb up easily. He sat astride, his work-gnarled fingers gripping the hair at the camel's neck. The white beast rose slowly, leaned its head on the long, arched neck low enough so that it could nuzzle Sandy softly, then took off, heading for the desert.
Sandy followed slowly. He knew that as soon as Noah reached the tent, Dennys would leave Grandfather
Lamech, to allow the old man his last minutes with his son. Dennys would be waiting for him, probably sitting out on the root bench, perhaps with Higgaion to wait with him. But Sandy could not make his feet hurry. He jumped down onto the desert, and sand lapped at his feet. He let it run like water through his toes.
When Grandfather Lamech died, what then? Would it be near time for the flood? Would Sandy and Dennys be allowed to stay in the old man's tent and take care of his garden and groves?
Asking these questions of the silent stars did nothing to ease the lump of sorrow in his throat. He moved slowly over the sand, stubbed his toe on a hidden rock. Said "Ouch" in a loud voice. Walked on.
On his rock, the lion now lay still, watchful, its ears pricking as Sandy plodded by.
The horizon was touched with a faint rose color. The stars were dimming. The birds were waking in the trees. He thought he heard a sleepy jabbering from the baboons. He turned in toward the oasis. He could not delay his return any longer.
His head was down; he was looking at his feet moving across the sand. He did not notice sounds behind him. Suddenly something noxious was thrown over his head, blinding him. He was picked up roughly, his feet jerked out from under him. Two people were carrying him. The foul-smelling skin over his head was pressed hard against his mouth so that he could not scream. He tried to wriggle out of the clutch of whoever was carrying him, and a fist crashed into his belly, winding him, and something sharp pricked his arm.
TEN
The Song of the stars
Yalith left the tent and slipped away, to the desert, to the rock where the great lion lay. He jumped down from the rock as she approached, and she ran to him, flinging her arms around his great ruffed neck, and sobbing, so that her words were barely coherent. "Grandfather Lamech is dying." Her tears spotted his fur. When her weeping was spent, the great cat's tongue gently licked her tears away, and then they sat, Yalith between the front paws, in silent communion.
The stars moved in their slow dance, dimmed. Neither lion nor girl moved. But Yalith, leaning against the great tawny chest, hearing the thudding of the lion's heart in time with the soft singing of the stars, moved into peace.
Outside Grandfather Lamech's tent, Dennys sat on the old root of the fig tree, Higgaion at his feet. Neither moved. Above them, the stars were quiet.
Within the tent, Noah held his father up so that the old man could breathe.
"My son," Lamech whispered. "You have been a blessing to me and to the land..."
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