Ark

  Japheth took her wrists in his hands and examined them, seeing a pair of faint lines crossing her left wrist. “You tried to kill yourself?”

  “I would not say I tried to kill myself.” She traced the lines. “It was more to prove a point to Father than to really hurt myself. I was terrified when I did this to myself. But then, I was more terrified of Sin-Iddim.”

  “With good reason, it seems.”

  “Yes, so it would seem.” Aresia looked away, picking splinters from the wood beneath her.

  “Can I ask—?” Japheth began.

  “JAPHETH! ARESIA!” Zara’s voice echoed from house, interrupting him. “COME EAT!”

  Japheth helped Aresia to her feet, and they walked together back through the grass. “Later, perhaps,” he said.

  Aresia nodded. “I am not ready for too many questions, anyway, Japheth. Not yet.”

  Within the house, Neses, Ne’eletama, and Sedele were setting dishes of food around the long, low table that was the centerpiece of the dwelling. Noah, Shem, and Ham were all lounging at the table already, picking at a loaf of bread as they conversed. Japheth entered first, and a few pairs of eyes glanced up at him, acknowledging and welcoming him. And then, when Aresia entered, ducking awkwardly to fit under the low lintel, Noah, Shem, and Ham ceased speaking, and Ne’eletama and Sedele froze in the act of placing the last dishes on the table. All eyes were locked on her, staring, apprehensive and judgmental. Aresia noticed this, and Japheth felt her tense under his arm.

  He hissed in irritation. “Your behavior is insulting,” he barked. “She has done nothing to any of you to deserve this treatment.”

  Zara bustled over and guided Aresia to a nest of pillows arranged near the table. “Sit, child, sit. You are welcome at this table.”

  Aresia lowered herself slowly through visibly excruciating pain to the floor, working to keep her expression neutral as she settled in. Her brow was dotted with sweat and her breathing was labored as she arranged her robe. She met the eyes of everyone in turn, Zara first, with a smile, then Japheth, and then Sedele, Shem, Ham, Ne’eletama, then Noah, and Neses last.

  “I am an intruder here,” Aresia said, at last. “There is no need to pretend otherwise.”

  “You have lived among her kind for a long time,” Ham said to Japheth. “For those of who have not spent so much time around Nephilim, it is somewhat disconcerting.”

  Zara’s gaze raked around the table. “Enough of this. Aresia is welcome at this table.” She repeated her earlier statement, this time voiced as a command, her tone brooking no dissent.

  Heads nodded in assent, yet eyes were cast aside, and Aresia only sighed.

  “Do not trouble yourself on my behalf, Zara,” Aresia murmured. “I do not expect a warm welcome.”

  “To be welcoming of guests and to show compassion is not a trouble, child,” Zara said, staring hard at her husband. “It is merely what Elohim would expect of us.”

  Silence then, thick and tense and uncomfortable. Eventually, Noah cleared his throat, his gaze going around the table. “Welcome, Aresia.”

  A brief hesitation, and then Shem, Ham, Sedele, and Ne’eletama each murmured, “Welcome, Aresia.”

  Neses alone remained silent, but her gaze was steady and even, her expression open, curious even, though even to Japheth’s eyes there was pain as well in her features and posture.

  A moment passed and then Noah gave the blessing of thanks for Japheth’s safe return and the plentiful food before them.

  Zara clapped her hands together. “There. Now that we have gotten basic manners out of the way, let us eat!”

  The clamor of assent then was much more enthusiastic, conversation resuming in a wave of appreciation. Zara served Noah first, and then once he had received his meal, she personally served each person herself in turn. The meal was a long affair, and awkwardness prevailed at first, conversation stilted. Slowly, however, everyone became accustomed to Aresia’s presence, and conversation flowed once more, though most of it circled around Aresia, floating past her, and she did not seem interested in attempting to join in. Japheth too remained aloof, watching his brothers with their wives, watching the ease with which everyone else interacted, their conversations easy from years of familiarity. One other, however, was often silent, seeming content to watch and listen rather than participate: Neses.

  By the time the food was gone and the dishes cleared, night had fallen and darkness pervaded.

  Noah tossed a log onto the fire, and the family gathered round the crackling flames.

  “The world is a corrupt place,” Noah said, his face lit by the leaping yellow flames, “and Elohim cannot any longer stomach the stench of sin in His nostrils. Man’s time upon this earth is short. Soon, all will be wiped away by floodwaters. Nothing will remain.”

  Noah poked at the embers with a long, weathered stick, its tip blackened and cracked and hard from years of fire-prodding. The embers flared, sparked and spat orange flecks. Noah’s face was a rough thing in the dim light, all angles like chipped stone and deep lines like crevasses.

  Japheth lay with his head propped on his hand; Aresia curled in sleep in front of him. His brothers were spaced around the fire; their wives also asleep nearby. Zara sat cross-legged next to her husband, listening and staring at the coals. Neses sat away from the fire, in the shadows, her hair in a thick braid dangling over a shoulder, her eyes downcast, intent on scraping the hide of the sheep slaughtered for the evening meal.

  “If He is wiping the earth clean of His creation, then why the boat?” Japheth asked.

  Noah jabbed the fire in irritation. “It is an ark, Japheth. A boat is a vessel built for a journey, meant to arrive somewhere, to go somewhere. The ark is meant only to float upon the floodwaters.” He stabbed the fire again, but less vehemently. “I build the ark on His command.”

  “Why is the ark so big, then? If it is only meant for you, why is it so big?”

  “It is not meant only for me,” Noah answered. “Elohim spoke to me, one night. I was out in the fields, watching stars fall from the sky in a silver rain, and I heard His voice. All my life I have believed in Elohim. My father Lamech, my grandfather Methuselah, and his father Enoch . . . all of them walked with The One God. Enoch, he was taken from this life without death, removed to the heavens by the very hand of Elohim. Long have I worshipped, long have I prayed, and long have I believed. But never had I heard the voice of Elohim with my own ears.”

  A pause, as Noah recalled the moment, his gaze vacant, remembering, staring into the fire. “He spoke with the voice of the stars, and their lights pulsed at His breath. The moon shone brighter with His words, until it was blinding. He spoke to me, Japheth—His words . . . touched my soul. He has . . . Elohim has made a covenant with me.

  “He spoke to me, and He said: ‘Behold, I will bring a flood of waters upon the earth to destroy all flesh which is the breath of life under heaven. Everything that is on the earth shall die. But I will establish my covenant with you, and you shall come into the ark, you, your sons, your wife, and your sons’ wives with you. And every living thing of all flesh, you shall bring two of every sort into the ark to keep them alive with you.’”

  “So . . . you’re building this ark, and you’re going to fill it with animals, and then all of us are going to get on it, and then, what? Some kind of flood will come? It will rain for months, or years? And we are meant to live on this boat? For how long? How does this work?” Japheth was struggling to keep his voice level, but none of it made any sense. “How are you supposed to get the animals onto the boat? And what about the dangerous ones? Will you bring the lions, too? Will they come to your call like a palace dog?”

  “You mock, Japheth,” Noah said, with more patience than Japheth remembered him ever possessing, “But you do not mock me, you mock The One God. The truth is . . . I don’t know. I don’t know how it will all work. I don’t know how the animals will get onto the boat, or how the waters will come, or for how long, or anything. All I kno
w is what Elohim has told me—build the ark, He said, so I build the ark. He is Elohim, The One God, the Creator, He of many names and all names and the One Name. If He wishes to bring two of every animal on this ark, then He will do so. He made them all with His voice and His breath, just as He made you and me and all things. Do not mock the will of The One God, son.”

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Japheth said, truthfully. “I didn’t mean to mock. I just find it . . . hard to believe.”

  Noah shrugged. “Your belief is not necessary. His will remains true and constant, whether you believe or not. I have my work, and I will do it whether you assist or not. Shem came a year ago, and he, much like you, mocked and remained skeptical, but now he too believes. Ham believes. Your mother, and Sedela, and Ne’eletama, they all believe.”

  “And what about you, Neses?” Japheth looked at Neses, glancing at her for the first time. “What do you think?”

  She started at the sound of her name from his lips, and then looked up hesitantly, gazing into his eyes for a long moment. He saw hurt, and disapproval, and anger there.

  “I believe Elohim can do all things,” Her voice was small and quiet, but confident. “Elohim has not spoken to me in an audible voice as He did Noah, but . . . I have heard His voice nonetheless. His will does not depend on our approval.”

  Japheth shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes remained on him, watching him, examining him; she was supposed to be his wife, but he held another woman in his arms. Neses’s eyes flicked down to Aresia and then back up to Japheth, the pain in her eyes deepening and sharpening until she returned her gaze to the hide she was scraping.

  “I cannot tell you what to believe, my son,” Noah said, after a long, awkward silence. “If you do not believe, then do not help build the ark. But, if you are to remain here, under my roof, then you must help the family in some way. You can help with the harvest, perhaps.”

  “I thought you said we had to remain apart?” Japheth asked.

  “I did, and I would prefer it, but we don’t have the time to build a separate dwelling.” Noah glanced at Neses, who was scraping the hide with more force than was necessary. “It is unfortunate, but it is the way it must be.”

  Neses looked up, feeling Noah’s eyes on her. “I have accepted my lot in this life, Noah. Do not seek to spare my feelings.”

  Japheth looked from Neses to his father, and then at his mother. Zara was looking at Japheth with the same disapproval and hurt as Neses had given him. He cursed under his breath, slipped his arm free of Aresia, and left the house.

  Beyond the walls and away from the fire it was cold. Stars winked and flashed in their millions above him, each one seeming to glare at Japheth with disapproval. What was he doing wrong? He never loved Neses, and he didn’t think she had ever cared for him any more than he did her—it was an arranged marriage. He’d known her for many years and liked her well enough, but he simply did not love her, and refused to marry someone simply because his father said so.

  Shem came out after a moment, holding a wineskin in one hand. He took a swig and passed it to Japheth without a word, and Japheth drank, grateful for the burn on his throat and the heaviness in his stomach.

  “She loves you, brother,” Shem said, his voice a sudden rasp in the darkness. “Neses, I mean. She’s always loved you. She was heartbroken when you left. She wept for weeks, thinking it was her you were rejecting. Mother eventually helped her realize the problem was between you and Father, but it didn’t help, and she just . . . never left. She is as much a part of the family now as Ne’eletama or my own wife.”

  Japheth stared at Shem, disbelieving. “She barely knows me! How can she love me?”

  Shem smirked in the darkness, rubbing his scar with a thumb. “That Nephilim princess of yours, how long did it take before you knew you loved her? Did you need years together to know? I think not. Give me the wineskin back . . . Father disapproves of wine, so I must drink in secret.”

  Japheth handed over the skin. “Well, what am I to do? I love Aresia, and she loves me. I can’t go anywhere else.”

  “Why not?”

  “Gods, Shem. Do you have any idea how complicated that is?” Japheth took back the skin and drank, feeling a lightheadedness set in. “No, I don’t suppose you do. She’s King Emmen’s daughter, you know that. But she was also married to Sin-Iddim. She did it to protect me, because Emmen-Utu found out I was a worshipper of Elohim.”

  “I thought you had forsaken Elohim,” Shem said.

  “I did, but things . . . changed.” Japheth gave a quizzical look. “How did you know about my feelings for Elohim?”

  “I left home too, not long after you did, and I only came back last harvest. I lived in Bad-Tibira most of the time. I apprenticed to a metalworker, and eventually had my own business. At least, until that foolish war with Larsa.”

  “You fought in that?”

  Shem nodded, tracing his scar. “Got this from a Nephilim arrow. Nearly killed me. You know, I saw you in Bad-Tibira a hundred times, but you never saw me. I fought in the same unit as you, three rows back. I watched you take out those Nephilim like they were mere mortal men. The men in my unit, they spoke of you with awe after that. You were an idol to them, but you never knew it . . . and then you disappeared.”

  “I found work with a mercenary company,” Japheth answered. “It frequently took me away from Bad-Tibira.”

  Shem strode away, took a long piss into the grass, and then returned, staring up at the bright wash of silver stars. “Neses is a good woman, Japheth,” he said, eventually. “No one can make you love her, but . . . don’t hurt her any more than you already have. She’s been through enough.”

  “What does that mean? And how would I hurt her?”

  Shem shot Japheth a frustrated scowl. “Are you dense? I told you, she still loves you. She always has. Seeing you with that princess, Aresia? It hurts her. Can’t you see that?”

  “I suppose. But what did you mean, she’s been through enough?”

  Shem shook his head. “That’s her business, not mine and certainly not yours. If she wants to tell you, she will—I surely won’t. Just . . . have some tact, will you?” Shem turned to go back into the house, but stopped, and spoke over his shoulder. “And just so you know, when the floods come, Father won’t let your Nephilim girl onto the ark. She’s part of the corruption Elohim is wiping out, Father would say. Remember what he said Elohim told him? ‘Your wife, and your sons, and your son’s wives.’ You know what that means, in his eyes, whether you agree or no. He’s softened some these past years, but not that much.”

  Shem went back inside, leaving the nearly empty wineskin with Japheth.

  The stars continued their bright gaze. Japheth drained the wineskin, and tried to count the stars above his head. He passed a thousand, and then another thousand before he lost count and began again. The skies lightened to gray and the stars began to fade, but Japheth was no closer to knowing what to do, or what to believe.

  When he returned to the house, the fire was stoked and the sound of snores echoed. Aresia, alone, was left awake, sitting near the fire pit where she’d been, the embers casting an orange glow on her features. She did not look up as he sat beside her.

  After a few moments of silence, Japheth said, “I understand if you don’t want to talk about this, but . . . what happened?”

  Aresia shook her head, wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “As you say, I have no wish to talk about it. I want to forget.”

  “But you can’t, can you?” Aresia didn’t answer, and Japheth kept speaking. “Listen, I know how that feels. I mean, I don’t know what you went through, not specifically, and I know there are things you experienced that I haven’t . . . but I do understand.”

  “You think so?”

  “There are things that keep me awake at night. Memories I can’t escape, no matter how far I go, no matter how much wine I drink.” He fell silent, thinking of the temple whore from Ur, the priest lapping at her blood as it spurted from
her throat.

  He felt Aresia’s eyes on him, knew she could see his pain.

  “Well, you can probably imagine, then, what happened to me, and you would be right.” Aresia shuddered. “Picture the worst, most brutal things one person can do to another, and he did them to me. He forced himself on me, day and night. He sodomized little boys in front of me. He beat me and he tortured me. He did everything but kill me, and that was not for lack of trying.”

  “He impregnated you,” Japheth stated, and Aresia only nodded. “And you got rid of it.”

  “Of course I did,” she spat, bitterly. “Such a child would have been an abomination. I could not love such a thing. Perhaps that makes me a bad person, but I cannot make myself regret it, even if I do feel Elohim judging me for it. I would not choose otherwise, were I made to choose again.”

  “I would not assume Elohim judges you ill for that,” Japheth said. “I do not.”

  “You are not Elohim. But I am glad you do not think less of me for it.”

  Silence.

  “What happened to Irkalla? Neither she nor . . . what was his name . . . the soldier from Larsa who was driving the wagon . . . Uresh? Neither of them would speak of it.”

  “Oh, that poor girl. Inanna—I mean . . . Elohim be with her.” Aresia dug at the dirt with her toe. “It was awful. Worse than what happened to me, in some ways. Sin-Iddim had done his worst to me, and Ereshkigal himself could not have devised worse torture. I wanted to die. I had killed the child inside me, and he was torturing me for denying him his heir. He had executed the healer who provided the herbs, and Irkalla couldn’t bear to watch me waste away, I suppose, so she devised a way to get me out.

  “She had arranged to make sure one of the gates would be unguarded at a specific hour, but her plan didn’t work as expected. She found Uresh, somehow, and convinced him to carry me out. I don’t know how. I remember nothing from Larsa but pain, and being carried out of the palace in the dead of night. We came to the gate, which I suppose was meant to be unguarded, but it wasn’t. There was a guard there, the gate captain himself. He knew me, and knew what Irkalla was doing. She . . . he made her pay with the only coin she possessed: her body. Right there at the gate, in the dirt, in front of me, and Uresh who was carrying me in his arms.”