by Caryl McAdoo
What a wonderful song. She started through a third time, and he belted out a sweet tenor, harmonizing to her tune. He sang with the Earth-woman of the glorious Lord above. Such an awesome gift God gave him, a powerful war hymn for his quiver.
The woman stopped, walked a while in silence, then the tears returned. “Are you sure my husband and father fell in battle?’
“Yes, Abinell. Both mortally wounded.”
She wailed then wilted. He caught her with one arm before she reached the still-wet ground and lifted her. Settling the cart handles down gently, he eased her into the back. The little female did not stir, but the man-child glared. Courage even for one so small. He would need it, for evil stalked him and his clan relentlessly.
Eighteen furlongs and two lower ridges later, he pulled the little wagon over a steep rise then lowered the handles. Below, a smattering of tents rested along a small creek. A few souls worked the fields behind the shelters made of animal skins. He whistled the clan’s greeting notes then backed away.
The man-child watched for several strides, then waved as Centurion retreated out of view. In another twelve steps, he flung off his cloak, tucked it away, then ran toward a nice-sized ledge and launched himself. Fifteen flaps later, he soared over the little valley. The sons of Seth pulled Abinell’s cart down the hill.
The woman held her children’s hands and walked safely amongst her kin.
He glided two full circles over the little village before flying to the closest portal. Singing it open, he blessed the Lord and thanked Him for calling on him to keep the woman and her children safe. He loved doing the will of God, serving His Creator.
1641 years from creation
While the war between the sons of Cain and Seth raged in the land of Nod and beyond, the inhabitants of Adam’s valley worked to complete the ark God had commanded Noah to build. His father and father’s father labored, too. Thankfully, each year, Noah’s sons took on more of the duties, especially his grandfather’s.
Methuselah. His very name prophesied the catastrophic event the entire family worked to survive. He’d already lived longer than any other man, save Grandfather Jared. Could he finish the ark and be ready in only eight years? Well, Abba knew he had not shirked and worked diligently.
At nine hundred and fifty-four years, the oldest living man continued to come and inspect the progress, but never lingered long or offered much in the way of instruction. Instead, he preferred spending most of his days in the company of whoever cooked the evening meal, warming himself by the oven.
Shem would have loved sitting and listening to the old man’s stories. Instead, he endlessly swabbed globs of hot pitch between the boards’ joints, careful not to waste any. Though his father had been right.
No way would only the twenty-one barrels be adequate. The ark’s hull neared completion, but by his calculations, he needed at least twelve to fifteen barrels to finish, and only four more waited to be opened and heated.
He eased along the scaffolding, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. He hated being the youngest by only breaths and having the worst job. However, such was his lot.
What did any of it matter? He and his brothers had no wives. Unlike all the mothers before her, his had left off bearing children right after giving birth to him and his brothers.
Short of a miracle—are You listening, Abba? Can You see?—the sons of Seth would die out with the death of him and his twin brothers. Oh, triplets were born, but the other two looked exactly alike, and all the elders called them twins, as though Shem had come another year. Twins or triplets, it made no difference.
The only thing of importance remained those words the Lord spoke to his father.
Build an ark.
For all of Shem’s eighty-five years, the feat had consumed his whole family. Grandfather Methuselah had worked so much of his life either getting ready for it or on the giant structure. Where the Lord would ever gather enough water to float the thing, he could not imagine.
But with the God of Adam, all things were possible.
He emptied his tar pot, and decided to check on his brothers. The day waned, getting too late to heat more pitch. He found Japheth and Ham working the second floor framing.
His oldest brother looked up. “Finished so soon?”
“I daubed all that was hot. How goes it?”
“Good, you still think we’re short?”
“Yes, at least eight barrels, ten would complete it all for sure.”
Ham pointed his mallet at him. “We need to go ourselves and fetch more. I, for one, am past ready to get this preposterous ark finished and be done with it.”
Shem snorted, doing his best not to laugh. The twins were so different. “Better not let the grands or Father hear you talk like that.”
“What are they going to do? Without us, this ridiculous house will never be finished. It certainly will never float.”
Shem threw a nod toward Japheth. “Do something with your brother, will you?”
Ham dropped his mallet and held his fist up. “Come on, try it. I can take you both.”
For a few heartbeats his middle brother danced around throwing shadow punches, then snickered. “Remember our last fight?”
Japheth laughed. “How could we forget? Mother screaming for us to stop, then the Grands coming to see what the fuss was. Humph, they acted as though we were serious and going to kill each other.”
Shem rubbed his backside. “I swear, sometime late of a night, I can still feel the burn of Father’s stick.”
His hothead brother shook his head. “You didn’t get the half of it, whiny boy. Of course he started on us, by the time he got to you, wasn’t even mad anymore.”
“It’s true, Shem. He barely hit you. He wore his shoulder out on us.”
“Pshaw to the both of you. I guess I know how hard he administered my licks.”
Snickers echoed around the hollow interior. Maybe Ham was right. But that one time, seventy-five years ago, taught Shem a valuable lesson. “Come. Long shadows will be upon us. Grandmother hates it when we’re late for the evening meal.”
Taking his place at the table, he waited until his great-grandfather blessed the food then dug in. He couldn’t love his mother more, but bless God, no one cooked like her mother. He preferred her doing all the cooking, but, at almost seven hundred, every third night taxed her enough and proved about all she could manage.
Seemed Grandmother Laurel’s mother was even a bit more spry, except Ham claimed Old Methuselah let her nip the wine a bit too much. He hated even thinking it in his head and couldn’t believe his middle brother spoke with such disrespect. But he sure wouldn’t correct him.
At the meal’s end, Grandfather Lamech tapped his goblet. “Father, Sons, Laurel and I have spent much prayer over this and made a decision. I must return to Nod. We need more pitch.…” He looked first at Shem’s brothers then right at him. “On his deathbed, Padam told me to choose wisely. Not until we made this decision did I know what choice he spoke of.” He smiled. “When I return, I will carry twelve barrels of pitch and three young ladies.”
Chapter Thirteen
Hattimas jumped to her feet. “No, Father. The Lord. He will reopen my womb, surely. My sons should marry my daughters. It’s our way. The firstborn son has married the firstborn daughter since Padam and Meve…forever. Please. Don’t do this.”
Her mother joined her. “Sweetheart, sit down. Your father knows the voice of the Lord. The days are piling on top of each other. Soon….” She looked at her father. “We know not when, but Abba…He has His reasons for all that He does. Your sons need wives.”
She flopped down and glared at her father. Why was he doing this? “The Lord showed Noah how evil the sons of Cain are. That first time you went, you came home with your arm hurt. You’ve seen for yourself. To this day, I don’t know the whole story, but it can’t be good.”
“Hattimas, look at me.”
She turned her head and faced her grandfather.
“I have lived nine hundred and fifty-four years. Other than Grandfather Jared, I’ve outlived them all. The ark must be finished before I die. The boys need wives. Cain was Adam’s son, too. Your father will choose wisely. If Abba told His first man to give Lamech such a message all those years ago –”
“But…”
“No, if Abba intended to give you more children, He would have done so by now.” He rose, came and stood behind her then kissed the top of her head. She knew how much he loved her, but still….
“You must rejoice in the Lord, daughter, and be grateful that He put it in your father’s heart to find the boys wives.”
She bowed her head and closed her eyes. The vision she’d seen so many years before suddenly floated across her mind’s eye. Her father’s wagon coming toward the house, but with two little girls driving the team. Where was he? She ran to it and found him burning with fever in the back with a third baby girl hovering over him, her face and hair wet with tears. She always thought they were her daughters.
Oh, Lord, why have You closed my womb?
She nodded, holding back the threatening tears, and looked toward her sons. “You boys need to move.” She squeezed her husband’s hand. “Where should they go?”
Noah looked to his father and grandfather. “Any objections to them staying in the empty suites?”
“I don’t have any. For now.” Lamech faced Methuselah. “What about you, Father?”
“Temporarily only. They need to build themselves a room in the ark.”
“Agreed.” Noah nodded then smiled at his sons. “Fitting, you may start on your suites, but don’t let it interfere with your regular work.”
Hattimas leaned back. “Good. I’ve got to get ready for the girls.” Smiling at her sons, she nodded. “Your grandfather is bringing me three daughters.”
Centurion strode through the Temple Built Without Hands. Oh, how he would cherish even a day to linger, hold on to God’s glory a bit longer. Instead, he spread his wings and shook gently until they no longer glowed. After a quick glance, he stepped into a side garden, nodded at the two elders who rested there, then leapt toward the sky, wings unfurled.
Only he and his nearest brothers could get enough lift to launch from the small area. Perhaps that was why the Lord instructed him to do so. He shot skyward, opened—then closed as quickly—a single angel portal he’d never known existed. Would the Lord’s wonders ever cease? His creations ever identified in total?
Shortly, he sang another small portal open then glided until spotting the raiders trotting toward the valley he’d seen Abinell and her babies safely to so many years before. So determined, those sons of Cain. All those ready within two ridges of where the sons and daughters of Seth, who could bear arms, waited.
Centurion soared a tight circle until the two groups engaged, no need for him to see the battle with his own eyes. The Lord had already shown him the outcome. He landed at the ridge a full furlong behind his target. If anyone happened to look in his direction, surely he’d been far enough away they would either mistake him for bird of prey or talk themselves into it.
He tucked his wings tight, spread his cloak over his shoulders, then hurried to her tent.
As expected, the old woman, young and beautiful the last time he’d seen her, sat beside the fire warming her hands. Living on Earth truly took its toll. The twins were nowhere to be seen, but his ears confirmed her granddaughters in residence. Only a tiny bit noisier than the mouse and its mate that hid under the blankets with them.
“Abinell, bid your girls come with me.”
The woman raised her head and stared a moment before her mouth fell open. “You? Is it truly? How can it be that you’ve not aged a day?”
He hummed a few bars of the song she’d taught him and he’d used so effectively. “Yes, it is I, and we need to hurry from the valley. The raiders will be here shortly and all will be lost.”
An almost-grown female flung back the covers. “No, you lie, stranger. We will win. Our father promised.”
“A good warrior and noble vow. He fights with much courage, as does your mother, but they, too, will fall, as all your kin.”
Abinell scooted around and pulled the woolen quilt off the other woman child. “Girls, go with him. Go now. He saved me once, let him save you.”
The first one stepped forward. “Bring my grandmother, or we don’t go.”
Centurion grinned at her grit. “She may come, too.”
“No, daughters, my days are over. I’ll stay here by the fire where it’s warm. Now you girls go on. You are the last of Grandfather Seth’s lineage.”
Each evening for three days, Lamech walked to the stinking slave market, but no maidens had been offered for sale. The few females to stand on the block looked beyond childbearing. Sin took its toll on all the land’s inhabitants. Though he would never have imagined it so, things had gotten worse, even more sinister and wicked.
The oppression had fallen on him before, but this time it ate at the marrow of his bones. Hopefully, this night would be more fruitful. He only had provisions for another two days and would never eat anything cooked by the heathens. Animal fat even crusted their bread. He’d seen it with his own eyes, and its stench turned his stomach.
“Welcome, swine. This night I’ve several specimens…nine! You’ll not want to miss a one! I warn you, do not leave early or you’ll sorrow on the morrow.” The slaver cackled at his own foul humor, and the sound of it chilled Lamech to the core. He watched with disgust as those in the crowd haggled over human flesh.
One by one, five able-bodied men and three strong youths sold and were carried away in shackles.
Then the slave master held his hands out. “Now for our final offering of the night. I told you, you won’t be sorry for staying. Come closer and see. Gaze on the young beauty my servants brought me. Untouched and unspoiled this one. Pure as the driven snow.”
The three dozen or so men and women who stood around laughed and jeered at the slaver shouting all sorts of blasphemies. How could mankind have sunk so low, gotten so horrendously evil?
“Ah, wipe your ugly faces. Wait and see.”
The man’s assistant walked out holding a five- or six-year-old girl who kicked and flailed wildly at her captor. She caught an arm too close and got a mouthful of the man’s meaty forearm. He yelped and raised his hand.
“No! Don’t hurt her!”
His man cursed the girl and he grabbed a wad of her hair and passed her off to the slaver. Blood dripped from his arm. He glared at the child, to the crowd spouting obscenities then with a leering look at the child stomped away. The girl twisted and kicked, but the seller held her at arm’s length. “See? Came in just today. With that great spirit.”
“Spirit! I’d say your man plucked her out of the forest where she grew up.”
“Shut that trap of yours. You know you want her. Now what will you give me for my little angel?”
Another man held up a fist. “You mean your little devil. She’s a wild one.” A roar of laughter exploded and echoed in the square.
Lamech held up two fingers. “I’ll have her.”
“Two pieces of gold! A good start, but not near her price. Think of all the fun awaits taming this one.”
“Three.” Another offered.
“Better, but why don’t you men get serious? Maybe a bit hard to control, but did you hear me? The little darling’s a virgin! Do I hear ten?”
He did and much more, but Lamech topped every bid, putting up with their crude remarks until the little one belonged to him. But when he paid the bill, a realization dawned. He had not brought enough gold. Even if the man had two more suitable young ladies to offer, Lamech would not have enough to buy them.
The slaver put the last gold piece in his mouth, tested it as he had the others, then handed over the leather strap attached to her bound hands and collared neck.
“Have fun, old man.” He laughed. “If she don’t kill you first.”
He
kneeled and wiped a tear from her dirty little face. What a disgrace for a precious child to be treated thus. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The child’s spit hit him on the temple. “Never tell. I hate you.”
He moved in toward her ear. “I’ll not hurt you, dearest. I’m taking you to your new mother. Her name is Hattimas.”
Pulling back, she wrinkled her nose and glared. “A pox on your eye.”
Oh, Lord, what have I done?
He scooped her up and turned.
“Watch her mouth! She’s vicious.”
He held the little one out. “Promise not to bite, and I’ll give you a honey cake.”
“What’s that?”
“My wife makes them.” He smiled. “They’re very delicious and sweet, like I want you to be.”
“You can’t eat me.”
He laughed. “No, never. Haven’t you ever tasted bees’ honey? The cakes are one of my favorites.”
“If you hurt me, I’ll bite your nose off.”
He pulled her in tight and strolled north. “Sweet child, I’ll never hurt you. You’re my new granddaughter.”
“Then put me down.” She wiggled and tugged at the leather strap around her neck.
“Not yet. I’ll carry you until we get to my camp.”
She huffed. “Where’s my cake? I want it now. I’m hungry.”
“We’ll eat later.”
She put her head on his shoulder, a low whine filled his ear. How long since he’d heard a little girl make that noise? The high-pitched protests stopped, she snuggled in tight. “Don’t let him hurt me.”
“Who?”
“Him.” She tapped his back.
He turned around, the slaver’s assistant hurried toward him. “Old man, a word.”
Lamech waited. The child pressed in tight.
“My master would like to buy the girl back.”
“She’s not for sale.”
“Too bad.” The slaver shrugged, half turned as if to leave, then swung back with a dagger in his hand. He lunged. Lamech turned sideways, shielding the girl from the attack. The blade sank into his side up to its hilt.