“For which one?” Mahlah demanded.
A slow flush spread across Yalith’s cheeks. She still thought of the twins as one person divided into two places. “I saw the Sand first, in Grandfather Lamech’s tent. and I have helped bring the Den back to life when he was nearly dead.”
“That is not enough reason for this stupidity. Eblis can give you anything you want.”
“Even if I want the twins?”
”Don’t be a fool,” Mahlah snapped, and jumped down from the wall as Anah and Ohoiibamah came toward them, Ohoiibamah carrying a small jar.
“Well, Mahlah.” Anah looked at her pointedly. “Are you getting ready to move into your own tent?”
Mahlah smiled a secret smile and tossed her head so that the dark hair glinted in the light. “I will not have a tent. I will have a house, a house of white stones.” She drew back as a snake uncoiled at her feet, spreading a jeweled hood. “Ugiel—“ she gasped-
For a moment of mirage, the snake seemed to uncoil upward, to raise great lavender wings, to quiver with white skin and amethyst eyes. Then the mirage was gone and the snake undulated across the path and disappeared into a clump of scrubby palmettos-
Yalith reached for Oholibamah’s hand.
Anah gave Mahlah a malicious smiie. “Is he playing tricks with you?”
Mahlah raised her head proudly. “Ugiel comes to me only when I am alone.” She turned back to Yalith, asking in such a low voice that she excluded the others. “If it were not for the young giants, would you go with Eblis?”
“I don’t know,” Yalith said. “I don’t know.”
Mahlah spoke in a louder voice. “Tell our parents I’ll be sure to let them know when I’m married.”
“Couldn’t you bring yourself to tell them, beforehand?” Yalith begged.
Mahlah shrugged. “We’ll see. I have to go now.” And she turned back to the low white house and shouldered her way through the tinkling curtain of beads.
“Let’s go,” Anah said. “I have other things to do.” And instead of dawdling as she had done on the way in, she strode off impatiently.
Oholibamah spoke calmly. “It’s really very good of Anah, and of Tiglah, too, to get the ointments for us.”
“They aren’t doing it for nothing,” Yalith said. “I gave them all my share of the figs, and the crop was good this year. And you gave them all your almonds.”
Oholibamah stated a known fact. “Anah and Tiglah don’t know how to do something for nothing. That’s how they are.”
“But Mahlah wasn’t like that,” Yalith protested. “She’s changed. I don’t know her anymore.”
She jumped as a rat scuttled across her toes. Again there was a flickering of height, of wings and brilliant eyes, and then there was only the sleek body of the rat. Yalith thought of the dragon/lizard Eblis, who could offer her more than she could dream. And then she thought of the twins, of Sandy bowing to her in her grandfather’s tent, of Dennys sitting with her at night—Dennys, who was able to understand the language of the stars.
And she knew she would never go with Eblis.
She turned, to see tears in Oholibamah’s eyes. “Oholi,” she started in surprise.
Oholibamah reached up to wipe away her tears, smiled her quick smile. “This morning I saw my face reflected in the water jar. Oh, Yalith, little Yalith, I love my father, and now I don’t know it he is my father, after all.”
Yalith took her sister-in-law’s hand. “If you love him, he is your father, no matter what.”
Oholibamah nodded gratefully. “Thank you, little sister. I needed to hear that.”
“You are my brother’s wife,” Yalith continued, “and my friend. And if—well, if the nephilim are related to the seraphim, which my father believes, then you are like the seraphim.”
“Hurry up,” Anah called, and beckoned to them imperiously.
“We’re coming,” Oholibamah said. And they hurried toward the central section of the oasis, where Noah’s vineyards were, and his grazing grounds, and his tents. And where Dennys was waiting for them.
The moon set, its path whiter than the desert sands dwindling into shadow. The stars moved in their joyous dance across the sky. The horizon was dark with that deep darkness which comes just before the dawn.
A vulture flew down, seemingly out of nowhere, stretching its naked neck, settling its dark feathers.
Vultures are underestimated. Without us, disease would wipe out all life. We clean up garbage, feces, dead bodies of man and beast. We are not appreciated.
No sound was heard and yet the words seemed scratched upon the air.
A scarab beetle burrowed up out of the sand and blinked at the vulture. —It is true. You help keep the world clean. I appreciate you.
And it disappeared beneath the sand.
A crocodile crawled across the desert, lumbering along clumsily, far from its native waters. It was followed by the dragon/lizard, who stretched his leather wings, showing off. A dark, hooded snake slithered past them both.
A small, brown, armored creature, not much bigger than the scarab beetle, skittered along beside the snake. —We are invulnerable. We have survived the fire of the volcanoes, the earthquakes that pushed the continents apart and raised the mountain ranges. We are immortal. We cover the planet.
A bat, brighter than gold, swooped low over the cockroach. —You are proud, and you can survive fire and ice, but I could eat you if I had to. I hope I never have to.
And the golden bat soared high, a bright flash against the dark.
A tiny mimicry of a crocodile, with a blunt nose, a skink scrabbled along beside the crocodile and the dragon/lizard.
I am small, and swift, and my flesh is not edible and causes damage to the brain. I am the way that I am. That is how I am made.
On the skink’s back, a flea tried to dig through the armored flesh. —I, too, am the way that I am.
A shrill whine cut across the clear air. A mosquito droned. —I, too. I, too. I will feast on your blood.
A small, slimy worm wriggled across the sand, leaving a thin trail. A slug’s viscous path followed. —I am not like the snail, needing a house. I am sufficient unto myself.
A red ant crawled along the dragon/lizard’s wing, and held tight as it tried to shake the biting insect off. A rat, sleek and well filled, wriggled its nose and whiskers and looked at the vulture’s naked neck. —I, too, eat the filth off the streets. I eat flesh. I prefer living flesh, but I will take what I can get. I, too, help keep the world clean.
No sound was heard. Like negative light, the words cracked the desert night.
The twelve oddly assorted creatures began to position themselves into a circle.
The nephilim.
Oholibamah lay in Japheth’s arms on a large, flat stone a short walk into the desert. So intent were they in each other that they did not notice the lion pacing past them, the pelican flying high in the sky, the scarab beetle coming out of the sand.
“My beloved,” Japheth whispered into the pearly shell of Oholibamah’s ear. “My mother spoke to me about it long ago. If you have nephil blood, it explains some of your healing power.”
“But I don’t know—it isn’t certain—“
Japheth covered her mouth with his. Then pulled back just enough to say, “You are my wife, and we are one, and that is all that matters.”
And they were one. And it was good.
Yalith left the tent and went outside to wait for dawn. She had spent over an hour working at Dennys’s scabs, carefully pulling off those which were loose enough. Most of the oozing sores had healed. More and more of Dennys’s care was given over to her, as Oholibamah could trust her to do what the boy needed. Oholibamah, after all, had duties in her own tent.
Matred prepared meals for the boy, soups, and mashed fruits which were soft enough for him to swallow.
“But what do we do with him when he is well?” Noah asked his wife.
“He is our guest,” Matred said. “We ask him what we can do to help him.”
“He wants to go home,” Yalith said.
“Yes, but where is home?” her mother asked.
Now Yalith crossed one of her father’s vineyards, went to the small grove that the women used. and relieved herself, then walked on until she came to where the desert lapped whitely against the oasis. She picked up a handful of the fine sand and rubbed it against her palms, between her fingers, to clean them.
The moon had set, and the dawn stars were low on the horizon. She would take a long nap the next day during the heat of the sun. Often, the best sleeping was done then.
In the coolness just before morning she liked to go sit on one of the great exposed rocks and rest, and listen to the slow song of the setting stars. Lamech, her grandfather, had taught her how to listen to the stars. Only Yalith and Japheth, of Noah and Matred’s children, could understand the celestial language.