The Wrinkle in Time Quintet

by Madeleine L'engle

  The moon was dipping behind the horizon when they reached Noah’s tents, tired, sorrowful, anxious.

  “Now, before anything else, all of us must eat,” Matred said.

  Noah said, “She is right. Come, Den.”

  Dennys accepted the bowl of broth Matred gave him. He knew that he needed all his strength for whatever lay ahead.

  With his strong teeth, Shem pulled the meat off a mutton bone. Elisheba handed him a bowl of broth. “Will you go look for the Sand?” Shem, the hunter, was the one who knew the oasis and the desert best. Japheth and Ham worked in the vineyards, close to home. Shem was the one who should go, and Dennys flashed Elisheba a glance of gratitude. Absently, he patted Selah, who was leaning against him, putting her trunk on his knee.

  Shem saw that Dennys had finished his broth, and nodded. He reached for one of the tall spears leaning against the inner wall of the tent. Hefted it. Offered it to Dennys. Dennys took it, though he had never used a spear. Shem checked his small quiver of blow darts, then reached for a second spear, and nodded at Dennys, not speaking. The boy followed the short, stocky man out of the tent, feeling a little hope. There was something about Shem that gave him confidence.

  Noah said, “Japheth and I will search the paths of the oasis.”

  Ham said, “Anah and I will go to the marketplaces.”

  Matred spoke too cheerfully. “If the Sand returns to the tent, which seems likely, we will let everybody know.”

  Shem and Dennys pushed out of the tent flap. The stars were dimming. Light tinged the eastern horizon. Heat was already beginning to shimmer in watery mirages on the desert. Dennys had on one of Matred’s woven hats and hoped it would be adequate once day broke.

  Shem looked at him. “Once the sun is high, you must go back to the tent.”

  Dennys nodded. Shem, like Japheth, was right about that. Already his skin was prickling from heat as well as anxiety. He tried to keep himself from imagining what might have happened to his twin. He followed Shem. Followed. The heat bore down. The futile searching seemed interminable. After what must have been several hours he asked, “Where’s Higgaion?”

  Shem said, “He will spend the day mourning at Grandfather Lamech’s grave. Then he will come to us. Selah will help lighten his grief.”

  “Higgaion scents for water,” Dennys said with sudden hope. “Do you think he could scent for Sandy?”

  Shem leaned on his spear, thinking. “Mammoths are strange creatures. They can do strange things. Let us try.”

  Shem strode off. He walked at a rapid pace, but Dennys, with his much longer legs, could easily have outstripped him and had to hold himself back. Grandfather Lamech’s burial cave was about halfway between his tent and Noah’s, and the sun was rising by the time they reached it. Higgaion was stretched out on the sand. His fan-like ears lifted at the approaching footsteps.

  Dennys hurried to him. “Higgy, do you think you could scent for Sandy, the way you scent for water?”

  The mammoth’s little eyes had been shadowed with grief. Now they brightened. Shem dropped to his knees by Higgaion, bending down toward him in intimate communication, speaking softly.

  The mammoth raised his trunk in a small, hopeful trumpet.

  Dennys’s eyes, too, were hopeful. “Oh, Shem, what could have happened to him?”

  Shem’s voice was heavy. “Some people are wicked, and the imagination of their hearts is only to do evil.”

  “What about Grandfather?” Dennys asked.

  Shem stroked his beard in a gesture much like Noah’s. “Grandfather knew. There is much wickedness. It, too, smells. You do not smell wicked, Den, nor does the Sand. Grandfather said that there is a great warmth in your hearts, and that is a pleasing smell.” It was the longest speech Shem had ever made.

  “Thank you,” Dennys said. Then: “Let’s go.”

  Shem shook his head, glancing up at the sun. “I thought we would have found him by now.”

  “Come on,” Dennys urged.

  “Den, I have hunting to do if we are to eat tonight.”

  “But—”

  “My sisters and their families ate hugely, did you notice?”

  —Funeral baked meats, Dennys thought angrily.

  “Den, we must eat if we are to have strength for whatever—”

  Dennys turned to Higgaion. “Come on, Higgy.”

  “Den. I hunt best alone. But I will continue to search for the Sand. Find Japheth.”

  “But he’s—”

  “He and Father will be searching near the tent. Do not go off with Higgaion alone. It is not safe.”

  Dennys looked at Shem’s anxious face. Not safe. Not safe, because whatever had happened to Sandy might happen to Dennys …

  “We will not stop until we find him,” Shem said. “Go find Japheth. You and Higgaion.”

  * * *

  Noah sat in the big tent, cross-legged, his elbows on his knees, his head bent down to his hands. Matred came and sat beside him.

  “I don’t know where he is,” Noah said. “Where he could be.”

  “Rest, husband,” Matred urged. “He will be found.”

  Noah nodded. “My heart is heavy. I grieve for my father.”

  “He was an old man, full of years,” Matred consoled him.

  “The Sand is not.”

  “You think something has happened to him?”

  “Why else would he not have joined me at my father’s tent? He is not like the young men of the oasis, thinking of nobody but themselves.”

  “He and the Den are not like anybody else,” Matred said. “We do not know that something terrible has happened.”

  Noah did not reply, nor did he look at her. “And I must begin to build the ark.”

  Matred said, “El has never before asked you to do anything wild.”

  “Is it so wild? If the rains cover the earth, as he says they will, it will not be a wild thing to have an ark.”

  “The rains had better not cover the earth for a while,” Matred said. “You have to build the ark, find all the animals.”

  “I will begin right away.”

  “And you will be laughed at. You will be the big joke of the oasis.”

  “I do not find it amusing,” Noah said. “My father is dead. The Sand is El knows where.”

  “Why don’t you ask El?”

  “I have. El says only that I must begin to build the ark. El says nothing about the Sand.”

  “Or the Den?”

  Noah grunted in agreement.

  “Will you bring them onto the ark?”

  “Of people, only you, and our sons, and their wives. No more.”

  “Yalith—” Matred started, but stopped as two men came, unannounced, through the open tent flap.

  Tiglah’s father and brother.

  ELEVEN

  Many waters cannot quench love

  Yalith went out into the desert. She was anxious, and anything but sleepy. She wanted to fling herself into Matred’s lap and sob, as though she were still a little girl. She wanted to cry herself to sleep.

  But she was no longer a little girl, and her eyes felt dry and burning. She was not used to being out at this time of day. She was not sure what drew her to the desert, because there was no hope that she might see Aariel. He would be in his cave, sleeping.

  Nevertheless, she walked in that direction, and as she approached she was amazed to see him lying in the shadows at the mouth of the cave. Although she was certain it was Aariel, she was cautious. She had been certain that it was Aariel when the lion turned into the dragon/lizard Eblis.

  She whispered, “Aariel—”

  The lion rose, stretched, yawned, then paced toward her.

  “Oh, Aariel!” She flung her arms about the tawny neck, though her tears were spent. “We don’t know where the Sand is! Grandfather Lamech sent him to get my father. The Sand knew that Grandfather was dying, so he gave the camel to my father so that he could get back to Grandfather Lamech in time, and the Sand said that he would wa
lk back. And Grandfather died, and everybody was thinking about him, and we didn’t even notice, at first, that the Sand was not with any of us, and then we had to bury Grandfather, and—oh, oh, Aariel, we don’t know what has happened—”

  Aariel let her talk. When her voice faded and she pressed her face once again into his fur, he transformed slowly, gently, until she was enfolded in his wings. “Higgaion has gone to scent for him.”

  “He left Grandfather’s grave?”

  “For the living, yes. The Den and Japheth will go with him.”

  “Oh, that’s good, I’m glad, I’m glad! Higgaion will be sure to find him, and Japheth will know what to do, and the Den, too.”

  Aariel drew her into the shade of the entrance to his cave.

  “Aariel—my father is going to build a boat, an enormous boat.”

  “That is wise,” Aariel said gravely.

  “For my brothers and their wives. For animals of every kind.”

  “Yes, to preserve the species.”

  “But not for my sisters, Seerah and Hoglah, and their husbands and children. Not for Mahlah and her nephil baby. Not for—not for me.”

  Aariel drew her close. “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.” His voice was calm, gentle.

  “What about the twins?” Again her eyes filled.

  The seraph’s arm was strong as it held her. “I do not know.”

  “But you know that El told my father to build an ark?”

  “Yes. That I know.”

  “But you don’t know about the twins?”

  “We do not have to know everything.”

  “But you could ask—”

  “We have asked.”

  “Are the stars silent, too?”

  “The stars are silent.”

  “Aariel, I’m afraid.”

  “Fear not. I will hold you,” he promised.

  “I am more afraid for the Sand and the Den than I am for myself. I love them.”

  “And they love you.”

  “I don’t want them to die. Will they die?”

  Aariel folded his wings about her. He did not look at her. “I do not know.”

  * * *

  Sandy slept. He still did not understand his reaction to Tiglah and her proposals for escape, but after a while he stopped questioning himself. When the time came for him to do something, he would know what to do.

  Daylight was not a good time for escape. Perhaps in the cover of the night …

  “Twin!”

  It was Tiglah’s voice, Tiglah’s smell.

  She pegged open the flap. “You have a visitor,” she said.

  He sat up, instantly alert. So her father and brother had come to kill him.

  But it was Rofocale who came into the tent, bowing low to enter, so that his flaming wings dragged in the dust. Like Sandy, he was too tall to stand upright in this small tent. With swift grace he sat, facing Sandy, staring at him with garnet eyes. His bright hair was tied back, his cheeks white as snow.

  He thrust out one hand and touched Sandy on the knee. The touch was that cold which is so cold that it burns. Sandy flinched, but did not cry out. “Why are you still here?” Rofocale demanded.

  Sandy replied in his calmest voice. “I have been kidnapped and am being held hostage. If I escape and leave this tent, I will be easily seen. There is no way I can lose myself in a crowd. I am as tall as you are. I’d make an easy target.”

  “Why have you come?”

  “Come? I didn’t come. Tiglah’s father and brother kidnapped me, and I suspect you put them up to it.”

  Rofocale said, “I am not asking why you are here, in this tent. I am asking why you and your brother chose to come to this oasis.”

  “It was a mistake,” Sandy said, as he had said to Tiglah.

  Rofocale again stretched out his hand, again touched Sandy on the knee. Sandy had had frostbite one winter, and this was how it had felt. “If it was a mistake for you to come, why do you not leave?”

  Sandy said, slowly, deliberately, “We will leave when it is time to leave.”

  “And how, then, do you plan to leave?”

  How, indeed? “We will know that when the time comes.”

  “You do not belong here.”

  “No. I belong with Noah and his family.”

  Rofocale made a noise like a mosquito shrill. “You do not belong here on this oasis. There are no giants like you in this time and place. Why do you not have wings?”

  “We fly in planes and spaceships.”

  “What?”

  The nephilim did not know everything. Sandy said, “We have machines that fly.”

  “Can you leave the planet?”

  “We have gone to the moon. We fly among the stars.”

  “You?”

  “I am too young,” Sandy said. “My father has made several space flights.”

  “Did El send you to torment us?”

  “What do you think?” Sandy asked.

  “You are not of us, the nephilim. Neither are you, I think, of the seraphim.”

  “No. We are human beings.”

  “Mortals?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why have you come?”

  “It was a mistake,” Sandy said again.

  “Would you like me to take you out of this place, this little tent?”

  “No.”

  “They will come and kill you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Noah is unwilling to give up his vineyards.”

  “He is quite right. One does not give in to terrorists.”

  “You are foolish. I could give him a message, if you like. If you ask him, I think he will give up the vineyards.”

  “I wouldn’t ask him.”

  “Then you will die.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Sandy asked. “Perhaps you’d like to kill me yourself?”

  “I will leave you. You are insolent.”

  “Why don’t you like us, my brother and me?”

  “You do not belong to our world. You will cause trouble. I think you have been sent to cause trouble to the nephilim.” Rofocale rose. Energy crackled in the air, so that Sandy’s skin prickled, and a mosquito flew away.

  In a few minutes, Tiglah came in. “Did he tell you?” She was giggling. In the light slanting from outside, the dimple in her chin seemed a cleft.

  “That your father and brother plan to kill me, yes, he told me.”

  “Not that.” She was consumed with laughter.

  He saw nothing funny. “What, then?”

  “About Noah.”

  “He said that Noah is unwilling to give up his vineyards.”

  “No, no, not that, either.”

  “What, then?” He was irritated at her giggles.

  “Noah is building a boat. A boat!” Her laughter peeled out.

  Sandy sat up. Asked, carefully, “Why is he building a boat?”

  “An ark, he says.” Her laughter was derisive. “The nearest sea or river is moons away.”

  “Then why is he doing it?” Sandy asked.

  “Who knows.”

  “Is he building it by himself?”

  “Oh, no, it’s a very big boat. I mean, hugely big. His sons are helping him. He says it is going to rain!” Her laughter jarred against Sandy’s ears. “We have rain only in the spring, and then not much. He is the laughingstock of the oasis.”

  Sandy sat, alert, watching her.

  “Rofocale thinks he may be building it to get rid of you. A boat where there is no water is silly.”

  “I’m hungry,” Sandy said.

  “Oh, I’ve brought you more food.”

  “Then just leave it with me.”

  She pouted. “You don’t want me to sit and talk with you while you eat? I’ll unbind your hands and feet.”

  “I’ll manage.” Sandy flexed his muscles so that the thongs looked tight. “I need to think.”

  “About the silly ark?”

  “About
a lot of things.”

  “Well … all right.” She left the tent, returned with a bowl of stew. “You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  Sandy was firm. “Quite sure. Give up, Tiglah. Go.”

  Pouting, she went.

  He sniffed at the stew. Ugh. It was spoiling. He pushed it aside, worked his hands out of the thongs, unbound his feet. If Noah was already building the ark, there was no time to wait. Dangerous or not, as soon as it got dark, Sandy would leave the tent, head for the desert, try to find out where on the oasis he was being held, and head for whichever was nearer, Grandfather Lamech’s tent or Noah’s.

  Then he lay down to rest and wait for nightfall.

  * * *

  “They have gone too far,” Noah said, “taking our Sand.”

  The family was gathered back in the tent, retreating from the heat of the sun.

  Ham said, “You’re certainly not going to give them the vineyards!”

  Noah shook his head. “I told them that I would not. But now—I have already turned one of the older vineyards that needed replanting into a lumberyard. What difference will the vineyards make if they are all covered with water?”

  Ham said, “We are helping you with this idiocy, Father, because you have asked us to. But surely you don’t believe that there will be that much rain?”

  “That is what I have been told.”

  Shem had returned from hunting, and was sitting on a pile of skins with Selah next to him. “You’re sure it was the voice of El?”

  “I am sure.”

  Elisheba suggested, “It couldn’t, maybe, have been the voice of a nephil?”

  “I know the voice of El from that of a nephil.”

  “They mimic very cleverly.”

  “El is El. If one of the nephilim tried to sound like El, then El would tell me that.”

  Matred looked up from her stewpot. “When will the rain start?”

  “When the ark is ready.”

  Shem said, “What about our sisters and their husbands and their children?”

  Noah wiped his hands across his beard. “I am to make a window in the ark, and set a door in the side, with lower, second, and third stories. El told me that I am to bring in animals of every kind, and my wife, my sons, and their wives.”