“But—”
“Unicorns are very responsible,” Lamech explained.
“But—”
“It is true that they are unreliable in that we cannot rely on them to be, but they are very responsible.”
“You’re crazy,” Sandy said.
“Hush, Sand,” Grandfather Lamech repeated. “We do not know where the unicorns go when they go out, but when somebody calls the unicorn again and it appears, Den will appear, too.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I am sure,” the old man said, and for a moment Sandy relaxed at the authority in his voice.
Then: “Well, call a unicorn, call him now!”
The old man and Japheth looked at Higgaion. Higgaion raised his trunk toward the roof hole of the tent. The rosy glow had faded, and the old man and Japheth and Higgaion were barely visible shadows in the tent. There was a sudden flash, and Sandy could see the shimmering silver body of a unicorn. But no Dennys.
“Dennys!” he cried.
And heard Japheth echo, “Den!”
Higgaion appeared to be consulting with the unicorn. Then he looked toward Japheth and the old man. Trumpeted.
There was another flash of light, and then a faint glimmering and the unicorn was gone.
Grandfather Lamech said, “It would appear that someone has already called the unicorn on which the Den was riding.”
Sandy jumped to his feet, but was so weak that he sank back onto the skins. “But he could be anywhere, anywhere!” he cried wildly.
“Hush,” the old man repeated. “He is on the oasis. We will find him.”
“How?” Sandy’s voice was a frightened small boy’s squeak.
Japheth said, “I will look for him. When I find him, I will bring him to you.”
“Oh, Jay—I want to come with you.”
“No.” Grandfather Lamech was firm. “You have the sun-sickness. You must stay here until you are well.” He looked up at the roof hole. The fading sunset was gone, and the moon, not full, but beaming bright, shone down on them. The old man touched Sandy’s arm, his thigh. “Tomorrow you will be all blisters.”
Sandy’s head felt strangely buzzing and he knew that it was from fever and that Grandfather Lamech was right. “But Dennys—”
“I will find him and bring him to you,” Japheth promised.
“Oh, Jay, thank you.”
The young man turned to his grandfather. “One of the women—my wife, or one of my sisters—will bring you a night-light, Grandfather.”
The old man looked at the moonlight which brightened the tent. “Thank you, my dear grandson. My grandchildren are kind to me, so kind…” His voice faltered. “My son…”
Japheth sounded embarrassed. “You know I can’t do anything with Father. I don’t even tell him when I’ve come to your tent.”
“Better that way.” The old man was sorrowful. “Better that way. But one day—”
“Of course, Grandfather. One day. I’ll be back with the Den as soon as I can.” He pushed out of the tent, and the flap slapped closed behind him.
Higgaion dribbled cool water from the jar onto the cloth on Sandy’s burning forehead.
“Giant”—the little old man leaned over him—“where do you come from?”
“I’m not a giant,” Sandy said. “Really. I’m just a boy. Dennys and I are still growing, but we’re not giants, we’re just ordinary tall.”
The old grandfather shook his head. “In our country you are giants. Can you tell me where you come from?”
“Home.” Sandy felt hot and feverish. Home might be galaxies away. “New England. The United States. Planet earth.”
The wrinkles in the old man’s forehead crisscrossed each other as he frowned. “You don’t come from around here. Nor from Nod. The people there are no taller than we are.” He put his hand on Sandy’s forehead. The hand felt cool, and dry as an autumn leaf crumbling to dust. “Your fever will go down, but you must stay here, in my tent, out of the sun, until the burning is healed. I will ask one of the seraphim to come tend to you. Seraphim do not burn in the sun. They are better healers than I.” Sandy relaxed into Grandfather Lamech’s kindness.
The mammoth started toward the water jar, then dropped to its haunches, whimpering in terror, as something screeched past the tent like an out-of-control jet plane. But on this planet, wherever it was, there were no planes.
The old man leaped to his feet with amazing agility and grabbed a wooden staff.
The hideous screech, not bird, not human, came again, closer, and then the tent flap was pushed aside and a large face peered in. It was the largest face Sandy had ever seen, a man’s face with filthy hair and a matted beard, tangled eyebrows over small, suspicious eyes, and a bulbous nose. From the mat of hair came two horns, curved downward, with sharp points like boar’s teeth. The mouth opened and shouted, “Hungry!”
The rest of the creature pushed into the tent. The head did not belong to a man’s body but to a lion’s, and as it came all the way into the tent, Sandy saw that the lion did not have a lion’s tail but a scorpion’s. Sandy was terrified.
The old man beat at it futilely with his staff. The man / lion / scorpion knocked the staff out of his hand and sent him flying across the tent. Grandfather Lamech fell onto a pile of skins. The mammoth lay flat on the skins by Sandy, trembling.
“Hungry!” The roar made the skins of the tent tremble.
Instinctively, Sandy thrust the mammoth behind him and, exerting the last remnant of his strength, rose, tottering, to his full height and took a step toward the monster.
“Giant!” the man’s head screeched. “Giant!” And scorpion’s tail, lion’s body, and man’s head backed out of the tent, so that the flap snapped back into place.
The old man pulled himself out of the corner where he had been flung. “Ridiculous manticore,” he grumbled, “wanting to eat my mammoth.”
Higgaion got unsteadily to his feet, raised his trunk, and trumpeted, but it was more of a whiffle than a call of triumph. He rubbed up against Sandy.
The old man retrieved his staff. “Thank you. You saved my mammoth from being eaten.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Sandy’s legs crumpled under him as he fell back onto the skins. “It’s the first time I’ve ever scared anybody, just by being tall and sunburned.”
“A gentle giant,” the old man said.
Sandy felt too weak to contradict him. “Anyhow, the manticore is a mythical beast.”
Grandfather Lamech shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Things like manticores are mythical,” Sandy stated. “They aren’t supposed to be real.”
Grandfather Lamech’s smile crinkled. “You will have to ask the seraphim to explain. In this time many things are real, you see.” He looked around. “Where’s the scarab beetle?”
The mammoth, too, looked around, but they both stopped, and the old man’s face lit up as a soft scratching was heard on the outside of the tent flap. It was obviously some kind of signal, because he called out gladly, “Come in, Granddaughter.” Then he turned courteously to Sandy. “Yalith, my youngest granddaughter.”
The tent flap opened enough to let a girl through, a girl about the size of the old man, barely four feet tall. She carried a shallow stone bowl which contained oil and a softly burning wick. By its light, which was brighter than the moonlight, which had moved beyond the roof hole, Sandy could see that the girl, who wore only a loincloth, like Japheth and Grandfather Lamech, was gently curved, with small rosy breasts. Her skin was the color of a ripe apricot. Her softly curling hair was a deep bronze, which glimmered in the lamplight and fell against her shoulders. She looked, Sandy thought, about his age, and suddenly his burning skin was not as painful as it had been, and he felt energy returning to his limbs. He got to his knees and stood to greet her, bowing clumsily.
She saw him and almost dropped the stone lamp. “A giant!”
The mammoth reached up with his trunk to Sandy,
and Grandfather Lamech said, “He says that he is not a giant, dear Yalith. Japheth carried him here, and they tell me that there is another one just like him, but he went out with a unicorn. Japheth is looking for him. This one”—he beamed at Sandy—“appears to be human, and he just saved Higgaion from the manticore.”
Yalith shuddered. “I heard it screeching and going off with a rat.” She put her stone lamp on a wooden keg. “I’ve brought your night-light, Grandfather Lamech.”
“Thank you, my dear.” There was a deep tenderness in the old man’s voice.
Sandy bowed again. “Hello. My name’s Sandy Murry.” He could not keep a foolish grin off his face.
She looked at him dubiously, backing away slightly. “You do not speak like one of us. Are you sure you’re not a giant?”
“I’m a boy. I’m sorry I look so awful. I have a fierce sunburn.”
Now she looked at him without flinching. “Oh, yes, you do. How do we help you?”
Higgaion dipped his trunk into the water pot again and showered Sandy with it.
Grandfather Lamech said, “Higgaion is keeping his skin wet. But I think we ought to get one of the seraphim to look at him.”
“Yes. That would be good. Where did you say you were from, giant—Sand?”
“The United States,” Sandy said, though he knew it would mean nothing to this beautiful, strange girl.
The girl smiled at Sandy, and the warmth of her smile enveloped him.
“The United States is—are—a place,” he tried to explain. “You might say that my brother and I are representatives.”—Even if inadvertent ones.
“And you have a brother, who is out with a unicorn?”
Her question made it sound as though Dennys and the unicorn had gone off cavorting someplace together.
“My brother Dennys. We’re twins. Identical twins. We do look a lot alike to people who don’t know us well. Your brother Japheth is trying to find him.”
“Well, he will find him, then. Do you need anything more, Grandfather Lamech?”
“No, my dear Yalith.”
“I’d better go home, then. My brothers’ wives are all there, and our mother likes to have me around to help keep everybody from fighting.”
She smiled, turning from the old man to Sandy, who was dizzy with fever, but also with Yalith. He gazed at her as she said good night to them. For the first time in his life, Sandy had a flash of gratitude that Dennys was not with him.
Then anxiety surfaced. “Dennys—”
“Japheth will find him,” the old man said. “Meanwhile—Higgaion, see if you can find our scarab friend.”
Higgaion trumpeted softly and left the tent.
* * *
After Yalith and Higgaion had gone, Sandy was assailed by a wave of feverish sleep. It was dark now, with no moonlight coming through the tent’s roof hole, and the oil lamp burned low. He closed his eyes, curled on his side to sleep, and felt an emptiness.
Dennys. He was just as happy that Dennys had not seen Yalith. Nevertheless, he had never before gone to sleep without Dennys. At home he could just reach up and punch the mattress above his to get his twin’s attention. At Scout camp they had always been in the same cabin. Despite their parents’ efforts to allow the twins to develop as individuals, never dressing them alike, the fact remained that they were twins. He did not know what it was like to go to sleep without Dennys.
Higgaion came in and went to Grandfather Lamech, plucking something from his ear with his trunk and holding it out to the old man. Grandfather Lamech took it on his palm, a scarab beetle, glinting bronze in the lamplight. The old man stroked it gently with a trembling forefinger, and closed his palm.
Then came a vivid flash of light, similar to that of the unicorn’s horn, and a tall presence stood in the tent, smiling at the old man, then looking quietly at Sandy. The personage had skin the same glowing apricot color as Yalith’s. Hair the color of wheat with the sun on it, brightly gold, long, and tied back, falling so that it almost concealed tightly furled wings, the light-filled gold of the hair. The eyes were an incredibly bright blue, like the sea with sunlight touching the waves.
Lamech greeted him respectfully. “Adnarel, we thank you.” Then he said to Sandy, “The seraph will be able to help you. Seraphim know much about healing.”
So this was a seraph. Tall, even taller than the twins. But the only resemblance was in height. Otherwise, it was totally different, beautiful, but alien. The seraph turned to Lamech. “What have we here?”
Lamech bowed, seeming more than ever like a small brown nut in comparison with the great winged one. If all the ordinary people in this strange place were as little as Japheth and Lamech and Yalith, it was small wonder that Sandy and Dennys were confused with giants. Lamech said, “We have with us a stranger—”
Adnarel touched Sandy’s shoulder, pressing him back down on the skins as he started to struggle to his feet.
Lamech continued, “He is, as you can see, almost as tall as you are, but not as—not as completely formed.”
“He is very young,” Adnarel the seraph said, “barely hatched, as it were. But you are correct. He is not one of us. Nor of the nephilim.”
“Nor of us,” Lamech said. “But we think he is not to be feared.”
Adnarel reached out to touch Sandy gently on the back, the long fingers delicately exploring the shoulder blades. “No wings, not even rudimentary ones.”
Higgaion approached the seraph, butting him to get his attention, then indicated the water pitcher.
Adnarel reached down to scratch between the mammoth’s ears. “Call the pelican,” he ordered.
‘Higgaion left the tent. Lamech looked up, up, to meet Adnarel’s startling blue eyes. “Are we doing the right thing, keeping him cool and wet to bring down the fever and heal the burning?”
Adnarel nodded, as the tent flap opened and Higgaion returned, followed by a pelican, large and white and surprising. It waddled over to the clay water pitcher, opened its great beak, and filled the pitcher.
Lamech asked anxiously, “The pelican will see to it that we have plenty of water? It will take many trips to the well, too many for me now that I am old and—”
“Fear not. Alarid will see to it,” Adnarel reassured.
“A pelican in the desert?” Sandy asked, feeling that the great bird was part of a fevered dream.
“A pelican in the wilderness,” Adnarel agreed. He dropped to one knee and put his hand against Sandy’s reddened cheeks. Through the fingers flowed a healing warmth, a warmth which had nothing to do with the stifling heat in the tent. Sandy had almost grown accustomed to the strong, gamy smell of the skins, but the seraph seemed to bring a lightness and a freshness to the air.
“Where, young one, are you from?” Adnarel asked.
Sandy sighed. “Planet earth, where I hope I still am?”
The seraph smiled again, not answering the question. He touched Sandy’s forehead gently, and the touch helped him to clarify his thoughts, which seemed to lose their focus. “And from where on planet earth do you come?”
“From the United States. The Northeast. New England.”
“How did you get here?”
“I’m not sure, uh, sir.” There was something about Adnarel’s presence which brought out the old-fashioned forms of respect. “Our father is working with a theory about the fifth dimension and the tesseract…”
“Ah.” Adnarel nodded. “Did he send you?”
“No, uh, no, we—”
“We?”
“Dennys, my twin brother, and I. It was our fault. I mean, we have never before done anything so incredibly stupid as to mess with anything of Dad’s when an experiment was in progress, except we didn’t realize that an experiment was in progress.”
“Where is Dennys?”
“Oh, please—” Sandy implored.
Grandfather Lamech explained, “The brother, the Dennys, went out with a unicorn, and has evidently been called back elsewhere. Japheth is looking
for him.”
The seraph listened gravely, nodding at what Sandy felt was an insufficient and unclear explanation. “Fear not,” Adnarel said to Sandy. “Your brother will be returned. Meanwhile, Grandfather Lamech and Higgaion are doing the best thing for you, in keeping your skin moistened.” From a pocket deep in his gown he took out what looked like a handful of herbs and dropped them into the water jar. “This will help the healing.” He smiled. “It is good that you have at least some knowledge of the Old Language.”
“But I don’t—” Sandy started.
“You have been able to understand, and talk with, first Japheth, and now Grandfather Lamech, have you not?”
“Well. Yes. I guess so.”
“Perhaps the gift has been awakened because you have not had time to think.” The seraph’s smile illumined the tent. Adnarel turned from Sandy to Lamech. “When the cool of night comes, wrap him in this.” And the seraph took off his own creamy robe. His wings were visible now, as golden and shining as his long hair. He gave an effect of sunniness in the dark tent, lit only by the oil lamp. “The animal skins are too rough for his burned flesh. I will come by in the morning to see how he is doing. Meanwhile, I will check on Japheth and see if he has found the brother.”
As Adnarel talked, Sandy felt his eyes close. Japheth was looking for Dennys. Adnarel was going to help him. Surely, if the seraph was involved, then everything would be all right.
His thoughts drifted off into soft darkness.
THREE
Japheth’s sister Yalith
When Yalith left her grandfather’s tent, she hurried toward home, near the center of the oasis. At her side she had a small pouch of darts, similar to Japheth’s, but instead of the miniature bow she carried a small blowpipe. The arrows were tipped with a solution which would temporarily stun but not kill a predator, even one as large as the manticore. The manticores were strong and bad-tempered, but not intelligent or brave. She feared the manticores less than she feared some of the young men in the town, and she kept a dart in her hand in case she needed it.
After leaving the grazing grounds around Lamech’s tent, she walked through one of his groves that led her onto the desert of white sand lapping against brown grasses. Wherever there were not enough wells to provide for irrigation, the desert took over. But she preferred walking across the desert to the dusty, dirty paths of the oasis. Stars were bright against the velvet black of sky. At her feet, a late beetle hustled to burrow itself under the sand until morning. To her right, high in the trees of Lamech’s groves, the baboons were chittering sleepily.
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