Time Quintet 04-Many Waters (22 page)

So, why?

His stomach growled. How long had the poisoned dart kept him asleep? What time was it? He could not see even a line of light to indicate where the tent flap was. The light from the covered smoke hole was so faint that it might even have come from stars.

There had to be a tent flap. He wriggled around so that his feet touched the tent wall, and kept wriggling, feeling with his toes. Wriggled until he was exhausted and had found no way out. Rested. Wriggled again. Again. At last his feet felt a line of roughness. He pushed, and the flap moved slightly, enough so that he could tell that it was indeed night outside. Stars. A single palm tree silhouetted against them. He had no idea where he was, or even if he was still on his own oasis.

Worn out from his efforts, he fell asleep, his head just out of the tent. Sunlight blazing against his lids woke him, and he managed to slither back into the tent and sat leaning against the taut skins by the entrance. His stomach made loud, hungry noises. What wouldn’t he give for a mess of Grandfather Lamech’s pottage.

Grandfather.

When he got out of this tent and back where he belonged, there would no longer be the tiny, shriveled old man tending the hearth fire.

Come on. Sandy. He’s old. Seven hundred seventy-seven years. And Noah was pushing six hundred years old. It didn’t make any sense. Except, he believed them. And after the flood people weren’t going to live that long. At least, he thought that was how it was going to be.

“Twin!”

It was a girl’s soft voice. His heart leaped. Yalith.

Then smell followed sound. Not Yalith. Tiglah.

“Twin?” she repeated.

“Hello, Tiglah.” He did not sound welcoming. He remembered what Dennys had told him about the people in Tiglah’s tent. So it was they who were the terrorists. Terrorism was not just a twentieth-century phenomenon. It was evidently part of human nature, and it didn’t get wiped out by the flood. There seemed less and less point to the flood.

“You recognized my voice!” she chortled.

No, your smell, you slut, he wanted to say.

She pushed in through the flap and pegged it back to let in the light. She had taken unusual pains with her hair, so that it glistened brightly. Her loincloth was of white goat-skin. “Dennys?” She was tentative.

“Sandy.”

“Oh, I’m so glad it’s you! Dennys doesn’t seem to like me, and I think you do, don’t you?”

“Why would I like anybody who’s kidnapped me and tied me up and starved me?”

“But
I
didn’t do that!”

“You obviously knew about it.”

“But I didn’t do it! My father and brother did. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything!”

“But you don’t mind if your father or brother hurt me?”

“Oh, beloved Sand, I can’t stop them! I’ve come to bring you food and comfort “

He sniffed. There was a nourishing smell of stew beyond the odor of the tent, as well of Tiglah’s perfumed and unwashed body. If they’d already used some kind of poisoned dart on him, was it safe to eat the stew?

Tiglah said, “I made it myself, so I know it’s alt right, and it’s good, too “

“I can’t eat with my hands tied up.”

She paused. Appeared to be thinking. “I’ll feed you!”

Her dimples came and went with her lavish smile.

“No. I’m not a baby. Untie my hands.” He did not say please. How could he ever have been attracted by this girl?

She paused again. “All right. I’ll untie your hands and stay with you while you eat.”

“My feet, too,” Sandy ordered “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I need to urinate.”

“Oh, for auk’s sakes. Can’t you just do it in the tent?”

“No. You can come with me if you want. I don’t care, but I need to go.”

She knelt by him and began working at the thongs, first on his wrists, then his ankles. When he was freed, he stood up, feeling very wobbly. This tent was not nearly as high as Grandfather Lamech’s or Noah’s, and he bumped his head on the roof skins.

She took his hands and rubbed his wrists where the thongs had chafed them.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“I told you. I need to relieve myself.”

“Come along, then.” She pulled him out of the tent and to a small, grassy hummock a few feet away. There was no grove to provide privacy or a modicum of sanitation. “Go ahead.”

“Turn around.”

“You’ll run away.”

He looked about. He did not recognize the part of the oasis where this solitary tent was. A few yards away were some palms, and a rocky field dotted with black-and-white goats grazing under the high brassy sky. He had no idea in which direction to go. “I won’t run. Turn around.”

“Promise?”

 “I promise.” He suspected that his promise meant more than would Tiglah’s. When he was through, he said, “All right.”

She whirled around and caught his hand again. “Now come and have some of my good goat-meat stew.”

They ducked back into the tent, and she brought him a wooden bowl full of meat and vegetables. He had learned to eat with his fingers, if not as delicately as Yalith, at least tidity enough so that he did not slop food on himself.  Tiglah’s concoction was not bad. The goat meat was a little strong, but she had cooked it until it was tender. When he finished, cleaning the bowl with his fingers, he felt better.

“I’ll have to tie you up again.” Tiglah apologized. “They won’t like it that I let you loose at all.”

“Who’re they?”

“Oh, the men of my father’s tent.”

“What’s it all about?”

“What?”

“Kidnapping me. Keeping me tied in this stinking tent.”

She shrugged and giggled. “How would I know? They’re always up to things.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m only a girl.” She was full of righteous indignation. “I like you! Why would I want to tie you up?”

“Then don’t.”

She had the thongs in her hands. “But I have to.”

“Why?”

“They’d be furious. They’d hit me. They might kill me.”

Would they? He wasn’t sure. But he understood Dennys’s refusal to have anything to do with Tiglah. Never again.

 “How long are they going to keep me here? What do they think they’re going to get out of it?”

“Noah’s vineyards,” she said.

“What!”

“Noah’s vineyards. They’re the best on any oasis.”

“That’s idiotic. Noah wouldn’t give up his vineyards. They’re his livelihood.”

“He’d better give them up,” Tiglah said, “or they’ll kill you.”

Sandy stood up, outraged, hitting his head against the roof skins. “Do they know Grandfather Lamech is dying-is dead?”

“Of course.”

“They’re monstrous.”

“They’re clever. They knew everybody would be paying attention to silly old Lamech and wouldn’t miss you.  They’re very clever.”

“Oh, no, they’re not,” Sandy said. “No one gives in to terrorists. Noah won’t give anybody his vineyards.”

“Then they’ll kill you.”

“And what good will that do? They still won’t have the vineyards, and they’ll have murder on their hands.”

“Oh, Sand. Sit down. This tent wasn’t made for giants. I hate to tie you up again, but I have to. Unless—“

“Unless what?”

“Come with me.”

“What would your family think of that?”

“They’d hate it. But I care more about you than I do about them.”

Sandy did not believe her. There was a trap here. This had something to do with the nephilim, with that mosquito Rofocale. What, he did not know. Tiglah did not love him enough to anger her family. She did not love him at all.  But she would obey Rofocale.

He felt a sharp sting and slapped, but missed the mosquito, who buzzed out of the tent. Furious, he scratched at the bite. “Tie me up and go away.”

She pressed her face close to his. “You won’t come with me?”

“No.”

“You’ll risk being killed?”

His mouth twisted into a half grin. “There are fates worse than death,” and he laughed, because Tiglah did not have the faintest idea what he was talking about.

“I haven’t bound you yet. “ she whispered.

“No.”

“You’re a giant. You could grab me and run off with me, and you could tell them you’ll kill me if they try to capture you again.”

It was tempting. He shook his head, and a great wave of sadness washed over him. Tiglah had never heard o£ the great heroes of lance and spear, of longbow and sword. But this was what she was tempting him to be. What he could be if he wanted to be.

What in him was urging him to reject this attractive role? What was telling him to say no? It was more than his suspicion that all this was some kind of nephil trap.

The sadness washed over him again. Violence was no longer an option. The splitting of the atom had put an end to that, though the world was slow to realize it.

Yes, he could overcome Tiglah with ease. She was inviting him. But even if there was no trick in it, he would not do it. Violence met with violence produced only more violence. His stomach knotted.

“Are you sure?” Tiglah’s voice had a little whine in it.

“Of what?”

“That you won’t come with me.”

He smiled without mirth. There was poison in Tiglah’s offer, of that he was certain. “No, Tiglah, I won’t come with you. Yes, to you I’m a giant. I’m young and strong.  But then what? I couldn’t survive in the desert. I’ve seen bones there, and not all of them are animal.”

She pouted. “I thought you liked me.”

“You’re a delicious dish, Tiglah. Now please bind me again, but perhaps you don’t need to do it as tightly as before.”

She was offended. She tied the thongs as tightly as she could, with vicious little jerks, but Sandy used enough strength so that she did not succeed. Then she flounced out, slapping the tent flap closed behind her.

He didn’t mind the darkness. Enough light came in through the edges of the closed roof hole. He needed to think. He was extremely confused at his own reactions. He and Dennys had had their fair share of fistfights when they were younger, though perhaps not as many as their sister, Meg. They played mostly team games and did not go in for boxing or wrestling. Was he being a coward? He knew that Tiglah’s father and brother would not hesitate to use bow and arrow, stone knives, or spears. He knew they were quite capable of killing him, just as much if he ran away as if he stayed. In fact, he thought he had more chance of surviving if he stayed and figured out some way and route of escape than if he rushed out to the desert, unthinking. He was not so much afraid as outraged. He did not think he was a coward.

So. What to do? Violence was not going to work. Violence was what these little men turned to, and he did not want to be like them.

He wondered if they had gone to Noah with their wild demand for his vineyards. He did not know Noah as well as Dennys did, but he did not think Noah would give in.  Sandy’s rejection of violence had nothing to do with giving in. Anything but.

After Grandfather Lamech was buried in the grave in the small cave, and the singing had died out, and the seraphim were gone, Noah and his family walked slowly toward the big tent. Wherever there was an outcropping or rock or a cave, Japheth, holding his tiny bow and darts, would hurry to look, Dennys on his heels.  “I do not like this,” Noah said.

Dennys and Japheth returned from peering into the deep shadows of a little cave. The starlight was so bright that the shadows seemed to increase in darkness. “Is Sandy lost in the desert?” Dennys’s voice cracked more than usual in his anxiety.

In the distance they heard a howl; “Hungry!”

Yalith reached for Dennys’s hand and squeezed it.  Shem said, “If the manticore is hungry, then he hasn’t found anything to eat.”

Oholibamah said, “Don’t worry about the manticore. Sandy scared it away from Grandfather Lamech’s tent.”

Gould Sandy scare the manticore again, if they met out on the desert? Dennys was not certain, not after his own encounter with the ugly creature.

Elisheba said, “Sandy would never have just wandered off on his own.”

Yalith nodded. “He was following you to Grandfather Lamech’s tent.”

Noah rubbed his beard. “Yes, yes, that’s what we thought.  But when he didn’t come, then we thought he must have stayed in the big tent.”

Anah said, “Well, he didn’t, and that’s that. I think he’s off with my sister, Tiglah, that’s what I think.”

Nobody replied. The stars moved slowly across the sky.  Dennys tried to listen for their singing, but he could hear nothing. After the glorious requiem for Grandfather Lamech, they were silent.

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.