People of the Tower (Ark Chronicles 4)

by Vaughn Heppner

  Odin’s knuckles whitened around his spear shaft.

  Her father slipped off his six-foot bow. “Going to charge me, are you? That’s just what I’ve been expecting from you.”

  “How can you say that?” cried Odin. “I’ve stepped in the path of snarling wolves for you. And you and I have jumped at lions together. If either of us had held back, the other surely would have died. But now you insult me and spy on us as if I’m a man without honor?”

  “Why act surprised? I know how Nimrod thinks, how he operates. A spy isn’t below him. You do remember Gilgamesh, don’t you? The first time we trust you—off you’ll sprint with my daughter. No. I’m not as gullible as that.”

  “Why let me walk with her then?”

  Color flushed her father’s features. “I ought to feather a shaft into you before you stick a dagger in my back. That’s what I told Assur, but he said to accept you and see what happens. So I figured the best place for you was close where I could kill you. Then I decided that maybe Assur had a point. I’m not the Mighty Hunter. I’ll only kill a man for what he does. Yet this I’ll tell you: for your own safety. Hold my daughter’s hand or attempt to kiss her and a bear’s fury will seem like nothing once I get my paws on you.”

  Hilda didn’t know why, but her heart sank. No one was brave enough to stand against her father.

  Furious, Odin spun on his heel and marched toward her. He didn’t look at her until he stood near the rock.

  “What did he say?” Hilda asked, as if she hadn’t heard the exchange.

  “He’s still watching us, if that’s what you mean,” Odin muttered.

  She regarded him. “This shouldn’t really startle you, not after all that my father has been through.”

  “Maybe not,” Odin said, as he became thoughtful.

  “It’s such a nice day,” she said, “and the flowers smell lovely. Do you want to smell the flowers?”

  He stared at her.

  “No?” she said. “What about the flower in my hair?”

  His eyes widened; she’d never been so familiar with him before. Then he chanced to glance at her father brushing one of his donkeys as Beor watched them.

  Odin muttered, “I’m not sure the whiff is worth an arrow through my chest.”

  “That’s not very gallant,” she said.

  “What do you expect me to say with your father watching?”

  “Are you afraid of him?” she asked.

  Odin shrugged moodily.

  She leaned back, bending her right leg and clasping her hands around her knee.

  Odin peeked approvingly at her figure.

  “You’re afraid of my father and yet you leer at me,” she said.

  He grinned. He seemed to like that. “Hilda, what do you want out of life?”

  “Nimrod’s defeat, I suppose.”

  He stepped closer, waving his pudgy hand. “Forget about Nimrod. Forget about Babel, the coming war and all that nonsense. Let’s do what Noah says. Head north with me into the wilds.”

  “How far north?” she asked, wondering why her heart beat so hard.

  “To where the ice grinds like rocks and the animals are magnificent. Come with me and settle that land.”

  The words almost stuck in her throat. “As your wife, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes!” he said, stepping closer yet. “Noah says we displease Jehovah by living in close settlements. Assur says we must do so for protection against Babel and Nimrod. But I say he’s wrong, for a world lies waiting for those bold enough to take it.”

  Didn’t Odin fear her father? Was he really that brave? She looked at him with renewed interest, even though she said, “First, we must stop Nimrod.”

  Odin shook his head. “Your father is brave and strong, but he and his handful aren’t going to stop the Mighty Hunter. It’s hopeless.”

  “Is this your trickery? To bore from within like a worm and sap our morale so we accept defeat?”

  “I’m saying the opposite. Assur will lose. Your father will lose. So why not trek far, far away where we’ll never have to worry about Nimrod again?”

  “Go,” she said. “Who’s stopping you?”

  “You are.”

  “Me?”

  He took her hand, even though her father gave a loud shout.

  “I love you, Hilda,” Odin said. “I risked everything that time Ham and I came to Festival. Be my wife.”

  “Unhand her, knave!” her father roared. The donkeys brayed as they halted by the rock. Beor fumbled an arrow to his bow.

  Hilda tugged her hand out of Odin’s and rose with dignity. “I’ll consider your words.”

  “What did he say to you?” Beor shouted.

  “He asked me to marry him, Daddy.”

  Beor snarled with rage. Hilda ran around the chariot and jumped beside her father, putting a hand on his brawny arm, the one drawing the arrow. “Please, Daddy, not yet. Let me break his heart first.”

  Beor eased tension from the bowstring as he glanced at her.

  She laughed at Odin, tossing her head. “Take me away from him, from this stench of Babel.”

  Beor grinned. He handed her the bow and picked up the reins.

  Woodenly, Odin stepped aside. Then she caught Odin’s eye and winked at him. He blinked in confusion.

  As the chariot rattled away, she glanced back. Odin stood bemused and almost dejected. Yet it seemed he didn’t know whether to whoop with joy or throw down his spear in disgust.

  Hilda sighed as her father grinned triumphantly. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

  8.

  Europa and Rahab sat cross-legged at a low table, inspecting mounds of cloth. Europa seemed agitated, glancing now and again at Rahab.

  “Perhaps this is what I need,” said Europa, pulling out the reddest color.

  Rahab nodded. For whites, browns and black colors, weavers primarily chose wool from a sheep with white, brown or black wool. Black could also be achieved through various kinds of charcoal and soot, while animal skins were dyed black with gall apples and copper sulfate. Mixing different kinds of ochre made brown pigments, while for blue a length of cloth first took a bath in an alkaline vat and was later trampled underfoot and dyed with something called woad.

  Fabrics could also be dyed blue with pastel-wood. A special concoction of pomegranate rinds produced yellow dye, as did ground weld and saffron plants. Vegetable dyes produced green colors, although the best green came from a tree whose leaves possessed a peculiar property. The leaves when crushed and stripped in water produced a powerful dye. Madder roots that had been thoroughly ground and crushed produced a red color, and crotal lichen that grew on trees was scraped off, put into a pot with wool and water, and boiled for two hours. It produced a red-brown color. Scarlet, a blood-red dye, came from an insect that frequented the boughs of the ilex tree. The female grub alone produced the dye, when alive about the size of a cherry kernel but at death, it shriveled up to the size of a grain of wheat. It had an agreeable aromatic smell and of course when crushed gave up a fantastic scarlet color.

  Often the borders of a cloth were dyed or special threads were later woven into the cloth to make pretty designs. Yet as skilled as they had become here, nothing seemed to match the best cloth out of Babel.

  “What do you want for this?” Europa asked, with a hand on the red cloth. “I have perfume that will match anything Semiramis is said to own, or I have a kohl pot with a fine long brush and red ocher for your cheeks and lips.”

  Rahab unfolded the cloth, running her worn fingers over it. Europa used a great variety of cosmetics, especially henna in her hair to hide the gray streaks. The bush known as henna or privet grew far to the south. Yearly some of her sons traveled there, bringing back baskets full of henna leaves, the dye extracted by grinding them. Europe feared growing old, and this fear she tried to push onto Ruth and now onto her.

  Europa and Rahab had known each other for well over one hundred years. Rahab recalled the storm-tossed d
ays of the Flood, when each of them had looked after a section of deck and animals. It was difficult to think back to then, when the entire world had rested on their shoulders, whether they did their tasks dutifully or not. Fail to feed your animals properly and one eighth of all kinds might perish. Now the world seemed so vast, so teeming with creatures both great and small: sparrows, eagles, worms, pythons, mice and lions. The eight of them—the riders of the Ark—had gone through so much together. Now they seemed to have grown apart. Or maybe after nearly one hundred years of change, the differences between them had finally become apparent.

  Rahab folded the red cloth and handed it to Europa. “It’s yours.”

  “For…?”

  “For a year together on the Ark,” Rahab said.

  “No. I-I cannot accept it.”

  “Why not?” Rahab asked, smiling, patting Europa’s hand.

  Europa seemed on the verge of asking a question.

  Rahab was certain she knew what it was. Most people asked eventually. She had always been surprised that Europa never had. But then Europa didn’t come around much. Even after all these years, Japheth and Ham seldom spent any time together. Old memories died hard, especially the bitter ones. How unfortunate. How foolish.

  “What was it like?” Europa asked, as if thirsty for knowledge. “Do you remember?”

  “When I died?”

  Europa nodded.

  Rahab smiled. “When I woke, I felt refreshed.”

  “When you woke?” asked Europa, puzzled. “But you weren’t asleep.”

  “It felt as if I had been.”

  “Don’t you remember anything?”

  She didn’t like to speak about what she remembered. It was personal. “Please,” she said, while touching the red cloth. “I want you to have this.”

  Europa stiffened. “Yes, thank you.”

  Rahab felt the strain. It troubled her. More than anyone, Europa had always been closed to her.

  “We’re leaving,” Europa said suddenly. “Japheth, I and Gomer, all his clan has decided to leave the plain of Nineveh.”

  “Is it because of the threat of war?”

  “That’s just a rumor. Baseless rumor, says Japheth.”

  Ham didn’t agree. But then Japheth and Ham never agreed on anything. A sudden suspicion of where they traveled chilled Rahab. Their eyes met.

  Europa’s features became pinched, and she pulled up the cloth, hugging it, as if for protection. “Yes, we’re going to Babel. I can see the accusation in your eyes. I know you think that Babel is…that they’re heading in a wrong direction. Why is it that everyone here thinks that? What is supposed to be the reason for their apparent waywardness?”

  Rahab opened her mouth to explain about the angel of the sun and now this angel of the moon.

  “Wait,” Europa said. “The reason they’ve become wayward—if that’s even the right term. Japheth believes we’ve overreacted. If they have propagated a few foolish concepts, it must be because none of us are there. Ham and you…well, you left Babel. And Shem only went that one time in order to give them a stern warning. People don’t react well to lectures or finger-waving preaching, and that’s what Shem and Beor did. Japheth—and I quite agree with him on this—believes that what they need is a guiding hand.”

  “Yours?” Rahab asked.

  “After Noah, Japheth is the eldest. And many of our children already live there. Yes, Japheth is certain that he can straighten out any irregularities. He knows that Nimrod styles himself as Babel’s king, but our husbands are the patriarchs. The weight of knowledge and stored wisdom are theirs—and ours as women as well. Certainly, we wouldn’t go if we believed the baseless rumor that war threatens. I know Ham believes in a coming war, and Shem, too, of course. He claimed to have a vision about it.” Europa smiled, but it didn’t seem genuine. “I won’t say that Ham or Shem is wrong about Babel. That wouldn’t be polite, seeing as I’m in your house.”

  “You may speak your mind. In fact, I insist you do.”

  Warmth filled the smile. “Oh, Rahab, you’ve always been so sweet and so kind. I’ll miss you.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider.”

  “Yes, I know all the arguments. But our minds are made up. I really think this is for the best.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “In a week, maybe sooner.”

  “Ah…” Rahab said, troubled, nodding, wondering what more to say. “May you go with the peace of Jehovah.”

  Europa’s mouth tightened, and soon thereafter, she took the cloth and departed.

  Rahab didn’t see Ham until the next morning. He woke earlier than she did and helped himself to milk and bread. He sat at the table eating and cutting strips of leather as she shuffled to him, setting down a bowl of figs.

  “Thank you,” he said, popping one into his mouth.

  “What are you working at?” She nibbled on a fig. One would do her for the entire morning.

  “I’m making slings,” he said. He tested a strip of leather, yanking it, before he frowned. “Do you recall Ymir’s host?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Yes, a bad time,” he said. “But after much experimentation, Ymir discovered that slingers were able to out-range archers.”

  She took another bite of her fig.

  “They used different lengths of slings,” he said. “I remember quite well.”

  “Lengths?”

  He lifted two leather strips. On each end was tied a small leather pouch, the place where a stone went. A slinger twirled the leather strip, the sling, over his head. At just the right moment, he released one string while holding onto the other. That shot the stone at the target. It took practice and skill to hit an object. In the Old World, shepherds had made the best slingers, probably because they had plenty of spare time to practice.

  “Ymir’s slingers used various lengths for different types of missiles,” explained Ham.

  “I thought slingers used stones.”

  “Some slingers used stones as big as fists. Others used small leaden pellets, depending on the missile’s speed to impart damage. The pellets, incidentally, outranged the fist-sized stones.” He grinned. “In the Old World, they used all sorts of missiles. Why, I recall stories of slingers with fireballs of flaming pitch.”

  “Like your brimstone balls?”

  “Yes, only much smaller. And some used heavy lead balls that were able to crack and break bronze shields.” He stood, and looped a sling around his shoulder. “That was how they carried them.”

  “Why are you so interested in slings?”

  He snorted as if the question was foolish. “Nimrod has trained Mighty Men. What I’m looking for are advantages. If our slingers can outrange his archers, perhaps we can send swift youths to pepper them daily on their march to us. By constant harassment, we might wear down their resolve.”

  She thought about pointing out that charioteers might overtake swift youths, but she was certain he had already considered that. Besides, he didn’t like it when she poked holes in his ideas. So she asked him if he had heard that Japheth, Europa and Gomer were leaving for Babel. Ham had heard, and he grumbled about it. He said part of the reason why they were leaving was that Shem and he hadn’t put up with Japheth’s airs. In the last fifty years, their oldest brother had gotten too used to being the wise one, the grand patriarch of Japheth Land. He couldn’t stand being with his equals for more than a week or two, like the times at Festival. Certainly, Japheth thought he would be able to browbeat Nimrod.

  As Ham spoke, he brought out little lead pellets from his belt pouch, dribbling them onto the table. They clicked onto the wood, heavy pieces of shot.

  Rahab put her hands over his. “Ham, can I speak with you a moment?”

  “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing.”

  “No,” she said. “Can we talk?”

  He seemed to restrain from rolling his eyes and finally nodded as he pushed the slings and pellets into the middle of the table.
r />   “Hilda visited me yesterday,” she said.

  “This isn’t about Odin and her?”

  “You know about them?”

  “Rahab! You’re the one who told me long ago that the boy was wild about Hilda. Don’t you remember that’s how I got him to drive me to Festival several years ago?”

  “Oh,” she said. “Yes, that’s right.” She didn’t always remember things, and that troubled her. She wondered if it had anything to do with her…passing. “My point is that Hilda is worried.”

  “If she doesn’t want Odin hanging around all she has to do is tell Beor,” Ham said. “Believe me. Beor will take care of it.”

  “That’s just it. Hilda is afraid what her father is going to do if he finds out about them.”

  “Ah,” Ham said. “I see. It’s like that.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “She’s been seeing Odin behind her father’s back?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Now I want you to talk to Beor.”

  “Me?” He shook his head. “The last time I did that—”

  “Please, Ham.” She squeezed his hand. “I think the girl’s in love.”

  “How can that be? She acts more like a man than a woman, always carting around javelins.”

  “The reason why you made her that wonderful amber necklace, remember?” Rahab smiled. “I think that underneath her warrior-maiden exterior is a woman waiting to flower, at least flower for the right man.”

  “Ha!”

  “Ham. You must talk to Beor. He respects you. He can’t keep on warping his daughter the way he has.”

  Ham picked up a lead pellet, rolling it between his fingers.

  “Please, speak to Beor. Make him see reason.”

  Ham sighed.

  Rahab hid her smile, but for form, to make him feel better about it, she kept on asking and pleading.

  He finally nodded, and then he gathered his slings and pellets. “I’m going outside to practice, before you give me anything else to do. Like plead with Japheth to stay.”

  “Japheth is your brother.”

  Ham grunted, and then he was out the door.

  9.

  Hilda fed twigs into the fire. It blazed with warmth, with crackling light. Somewhere in the hills, a wolf howled at the moon. A Scout on a nearby rock looked up, while the donkeys munching on oats in their feedbags grew still. Another wolf joined in, and then yet another. Soon a pack howled, their chorus filling the night.